#HE IS THE SON OF A POOR FISHERMAN AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

[daisies-on-a-cup]

do they ever talk about how will’s hobby fishing and making his own lures is most likely 100% due to his daddy’s influence and growing up being the son of a poor fisherman.

[mrs-lockley]

part 1 || reflection

Part 1 of the True to Your Heart Series

Summary: After failing to secure yourself a husband from the Matchmaker, you come home and find your older sister, a former gunner of the Republic, has been drafted by the Resistance. 

Pairing: An Asian!Reader x Poe Dameron, Mulan AU. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: At long last, the first part of the Disney AU is finally here! [screams excitedly] Please let me know what you think, I’d love to hear your thoughts! I decided to tag the individuals who voted for the Mulan AU; if you like to be added to the list, please shoot me an ask and let me know! :)

Unfortunately, Commander Poe Dameron does not make an appearance in this chapter, but he will in the next chapter, so stay tuned!

Tagging: @damndamer0n, @writefightandflightclub, @perfectly-mendess, @asianravenpuff, @thottiewinemom, @callingmrsbarnes, @winters-buck​ 💕

Closing your eyes, you cast your head down, causing the loose strands of your hair to conceal your face from prying eyes as your lips begin to tremble. You try to block out the image of the orange flames consuming the thin paper of the Matchmaker’s fan, her eyes wide with terror as the fiery sea swallowed her wooden table, and almost, her dress. You had done everything you could to put the fire out, but the flames disobeyed.

Through the wisps of smoke curling around you, you feel nothing but a sea of fiery tears licking at your cheeks and burning your cracked lips.

“You may look like a bride, but you will never bring your family honor!”

You try not to flinch at her words as the Matchmaker sneers at you, her cheeks streaked with angry lines of dark ink, her lips smeared like red paint dripping on a canvas as her dark eyes narrowed in contempt. You could not put a brave face as you keep your head bowed, the bamboo of your fan threatening to snap from your iron fist as you hear the echoing footsteps of the Matchmaker disappear with a slam of her door.

With a deep breath cutting through your chest, you wipe your tears with the back of your hand and turn away, keeping your head low as the crowd begins to part for you. You fix your gaze on your silver skirt and clutch your fan to anchor you before you drown in an ocean of sympathetic, empathetic, and apathetic stares. Your ears catch their hushed whispers of gossip and contempt, and you give in.

“Poor girl, what is her family going to do now?”

“I always had a strange feeling about that girl. No wonder she can’t find herself a husband.”

“Her poor family … what would they say when they hear what happened?”

Hoisting your skirt at your hips, you look up and run, run as fast as you can and through the crowd of parents, daughters, and sons as you kick off your shoes and run. Run away from their scrutinizing gaze, their low whispers, their gossip. You run as far as you can as the tips of your skirt begins to turn green from the dewy drops jumping from the grass. You run until the people blur into an ocean and the rising branches of the trees appear like land from the sea. You run, run, run until your feet give out and your lungs burst, until you crash at the mouth of a stream.

You stop and fall to your knees as your spine curls over the edge. Slowly, you release your skirt and drop the fan beside you as you clutch the dewy grass and peer at your reflection staring at you from the river.

The girl in the reflection blinks at you, mirroring your confused gaze with a slight tilt of her head. She stares at you, her scarlet lips parted for air, her gaze blank beneath her darkly coated lashes.

You stare back at her. All you tried to do was move the Matchmaker’s fan from catching on fire when she bumped the table, but you had failed when the candle lit not only her fan, but the entire table, and almost the Matchmaker herself in the process.

“I will never pass for a perfect bride, or a perfect daughter,” you whisper, your reflection echoing your words with sorrowful eyes. Your reflection gazes back at you, and with an unsteady hand, you dip your sleeve into the water and watch as your reflection disperses into a vibration of ripples. Slowly, you press the damp sleeve to your face and wipe at your crimson-stained lips, your coated lashes, your blushing cheeks, your dark brows. After a moment, you cup your hands into the water and allow the coolness of the stream to wash over you, to cleanse you from the afternoon’s traumatic events, to free you from the paint your mother had tried to mold you in.

Almost hesitantly, you reach for the ribbon in your hair and pull it out. Your hair falls ungraciously onto your shoulders in a tangled nest, but you could not help but feel liberated as you brush your trembling fingers through your hair to comb out the knots, allowing the wind to seek shelter in your hair.

You dry your face with your dry sleeve and peer over the edge to look at your reflection once more. The girl in the water stares at you curiously, but radiates familiarity and modesty compared to the girl who had stared at you moments before.

With a shuddering sigh, you grab your fan and begin your walk back to your village. As you venture through the thicket of trees, the mishap sinks in. You messed up, and lost your chance of securing yourself a good husband. You were no longer a teenager, but a young woman trying to support her family. You weren’t a gunner like your sister, a fisherman like your father, a teacher like your mother. You were nothing but a medic volunteer, unpaid and unappreciated for your services while looking for work. You would not be a wife, and with a sinking realization, you are a nobody.

Who were you, truly, deep down inside?

Up ahead, you see the familiar huts of your village and hear the sounds of laughing children. Instead of heading back home, you pull up your skirt and make your way to the top of the hill, your eyes set on the temple resting at the top. Through the wind, you can almost hear the voices of your ancestors calling out to you, and you seek their comfort.

You stop until you spot the familiar bench at the end of the trail. The hill was not too high, but high enough to overlook most of your quaint village as you watch the children chase each other across the fields. A familiar X-Wing smiles at you from a distance, and your heart sinks.

Almost instinctively, your hands reach for the crescent necklace resting on your chest and beneath the layers of silk and fabric, and pull it out so it rests on the outside.

“You’re back so soon.”

You freeze, your hands shaking as you turn around. Your older sister, Lara, stands behind you, her hair tied back in a messy bun, a small smile on her face as she walks towards you.

“I take it that it went well?” She asks gently with a slight tilt of her head.

The words die in your throat. Rather than responding, you look down as the biting sting of tears threaten to spill from your eyes once more, and turn away. You couldn’t speak. How could you face her after what you had done? You failed her.

You don’t say anything as you hear her shuffle behind you. A moment later, she takes a seat beside you, but you still don’t say a word.

After a quiet moment, she takes the fan from your lap and gently taps your arm with the bamboo handle. “Remember when Mama gave me this fan?”

Hesitantly, you turn towards her and nod, not trusting your voice to speak.

Lara smiles gently again as she uncaps the fan, showcasing its golden intricate design across the red paper. “She was just your age when she first met Papa.”

You could not help but smile back. “Papa didn’t know how to flirt with her and she accidentally thought he was trying to make a pass at her.”

“And she slapped him with this fan, and gave this to me and said to use it as a weapon,” Lara adds as she snaps it shut, offering the handle to you, “just in case.”

A small laugh escapes your lips as you accept it.

“Are you insinuating that I keep this as a weapon?” You ask.

“Listen, Y/N,” your older sister sighs, “there’s a lot of cute moons here in Naboo. But there are other moons in the galaxy too.”

You nod, unsure of where she was going.

She turns to you and gently takes your crescent amulet between her fingers. “There are other moons and suns and stars in the galaxy, Y/N. But the one that’s worth waiting for will be the one lighting the sky beside you.”

You could not help but smile weakly. “Thank you, Lara.”

Your sister smiles softly. “Are you going to be okay?”

You nod, “I’m just going to stay here for a little while.”

“Okay,” Lara nods and stands, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “I’m gonna head back. If you need anything, BB8 and I will be there.”

You smile back at her and nod, watching her retreating back descend the hill. Slowly, you comb your fingers through your hair again as you overlook your little village from the temple, counting the heads of the fishermen, the children, the farmers. Somewhere down below, your parents were at home waiting for you, wondering if you found a husband. How could you tell them you failed?

Your gaze falls on the fan on your lap, reminding you of your sister’s words. As you lower your hands to grasp the object, the distant rumble of thunder echoes in the distance.

You pause, brows furrowed. The sky was cloudless, how could there be thunder?

Curious, you look up at the sky. In the distance, a white ship sails through the blue and descends towards the village. Although your village frequents travellers and tradesmen from time to time, there is something about that ship that isn’t right. It’s big and white, and as it approaches, your stomach turns.

The Resistance.

…

You ran as fast as you could, but you tripped over your ankles and skirt as you ran down the hill. Through the teasing cracks of the trees, the dark heads of the villagers scurry about with bursts of poppy orange blooming from the crowd. Your feet ache as you slip on the grass, trip over scratchy twigs, and bump into the trunks as you descend the hill. You could not hear, could not think of a possible reason why the Resistance would be here, of all places to be. You were in Republican territory--

Republican territory.

No. No, no, no.

You reach the bottom of the hill and sprint towards home, your hands aching from how tightly you were gripping your skirt. Your mother sits outside, weeping in your father’s arms as your grandmother sits silently a few feet away. A knife cuts deeper into your lungs with each gasping breath, but you push past the pain as you run up the wooden steps of your home and through the front door.

At the table, your sister sits with a holograph in her hand. A circular symbol glows in the center-

Your breath dies in your chest, your blood cold. Your sister rises as her eyes fall on you, her words inaudible as the muffled cries of your mother overpowers your senses.

Your sister reaches for you, but you pull away before her hand could reach for yours. You shake your head as your heartbeat thunders in your ears and pounds in your throat. The floor sways beneath you and the world spins.

“No,” you whisper with a shake of your head. Lara gazes at you, her eyes wide as she calls your name. “You can’t, you can’t, you already served and fought and almost lost your life.”

Your sister calls your name, but you shake your head again. A tear streaks down your cheek, followed by another. And another.

“Please, Lara,” you whimper as you meet her gaze. She could only look at you as her tears mirror your own. “Please, there are other people who can fight, please-”

This can’t be happening. This can’t-

You look to your older sister for answers, but her eyes hold the answer you were afraid to accept.

Lara sighs deeply as a tear falls from her eyes, eyes that match your mother’s and your own. “I’m sorry.”

Your body acts before you could speak. Your arms circle around her as you hold her in your arms and bury your face in her neck. You feel your sister hold you close, your skin tickling from her tears as you hold onto each other until your bones ache from holding onto her so tightly. You think back to the times your sister supported you and stayed by your side, even when all hope was lost.

You try to remind yourself of how strong your sister was throughout the night. As you sit beside her and help her fold your grandmother’s dumplings at the kitchen table, you do your best to smile to assure that you were okay. While your grandmother excused herself to make a cup of tea, you could not help but notice the sad look in your grandmother’s eyes, knowing that she only excused herself to fetch the kettle so she could wipe away the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

Lara continues with her story from when she first trained with her comrades, laughing at the memories as she reaches for the bamboo steamer. As she begins to steam the first batch, you quietly fold the next few as you try to follow her tale. Yet, you sneak a glance at your sister, cataloging the way she stands at the stove with her dark hair tied back into a loose braid, her excited smile at the savory aromas steaming from the bamboo steamer. Your parents come into the kitchen with your grandmother and begin a new conversation that you tune out of.

She’ll be fine, she came back home, you chide yourself as you wrap another dumpling, She’ll come back home, like always.

You repeat this to yourself like a mantra throughout the afternoon and throughout the night, even after you clean up the table. As your parents and grandmother leave for an evening prayer at the temple, you offer to stay behind to keep an eye out for your sister who was nowhere to be found inside the house.

Confused, you set your cup of tea on the table and walk out to the back just to catch the final rays of sunlight before the night consumes your village. As night falls, you find your sister sitting under a tree with her orange and white astromech droid by her side. Quickly, you slip back inside and peer at her through the kitchen window.

She fiddles at something in her lap with BB8 beeping something next to her. Lara blows the loose strands of her dark hair out of her face, her brows furrowed in frustration as BB8 nudges her arm. Something white glimmers in the light, and you stop.

It was her old blaster.

Biting her lip, she rolls her sleeves up and closes her eyes. Even though you couldn’t hear what she was saying, you already know. The blaster in her hand, the cartridges at her feet, her droid nudging at her arm. Her hands shake, and you catch a glimpse of the charred skin at her wrist.

You still remember the early morning she came home. Your parents were sound asleep while your grandmother was at the temple. You, on the other hand, were unable to sleep that night for a reason you could not explain. You had tossed and turned praying to the ancestors to sleep, but their voices kept you awake. Something had been keeping you up, and you could not figure out why.

Not until you left your room and walked into the kitchen to find your sister sitting at the table, her arm wrapped in a sling across her chest. Peeks of angry red skin scratched her neck like protruding veins, and her glassy eyes only passed through you for a brief moment until you called her name.

With a shout, her blaster drops to the grass. BB8 quickly nudges her arm to console her, but she only pushes him away. She could not reload her blaster, could not shoot, could not fight.

How could she fight?

…

You lay beside her that night with your eyes fixed on the ceiling and the window cracked open, a sliver of moonlight streaming across your sister’s sleeping form. Beside you, she sleeps, and you watch the steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Down the hall, your grandmother and parents sleep, but you are wide awake.

Lara did not say a word when she came back in, and you didn’t, either. Your parents and grandmother shared their last cup of tea with her at the porch, but you lingered behind, unable to shake the image of your sister struggling to hold her blaster in her hands. But as she left to retire for the night, your grandmother only brushed your hair out of your face and patted your cheek.

“Your sister is a strong woman, Y/N,” your grandmother told you. “I would not worry too much about her. She’ll always find her way home.”

You nodded. You wanted to tell her what you saw, but how could you? That was your sister’s secret, and who were you to betray her trust?

Yet, your grandmother smiled sadly. “She’s a lot like your Grand Uncle Chirrit.”

“Mama, I thought you said your brother was an idiot,” your mother chided from the kitchen.

Your grandmother laughs, but her jovial smile does not match her eyes.

As your parents retired to their room, your grandmother patted your hand. “I dream about your ancestors every night, and talk to them everyday.”

Your blood ran cold, your heart leaping to your throat.

“Lara is a brave woman,” your grandmother patted your hand again and turned to you, her voice low. “You and I both know that this time, she will not return.”

She will not return.

Your hands reach for the crescent necklace on your chest and you run your fingers over the ridges, your grandmother’s words echoing in your ears. While your grand uncle was no Jedi, your grandmother had always had a connection to your ancestors. She prayed at the temple every morning and every night, and each time she spoke about a revelation with your ancestors. There were times she was wrong, but there were times that she was right.

You denied it, but deep down, your stomach turns.

You cradle your necklace in your hands. On her bedside drawer, you find Lara’s matching sun necklace sitting beside the Resistance. Through the open window, the wind calls to you and whispers in your hair, their whispering voices calling to you like the moonlight reaching for your hands.

The Resistance symbol glimmers in the silver moonlight, smiling as if you shared a secret.

A fire burns in the pit of your belly as the wind calls to you and envelopes you in its embrace. Slowly, you unclasp your necklace and place the moon beside the symbol.

With a trembling breath, you press a kiss to your sister’s forehead for the last time.

You know what you have to do.

[deerheadlights]

Chapter 5: Lady of Olympos Bay

“He’s a good boy, his edges just don’t fit with this isle.” Tydeus’s gaze didn’t waver from the sea as the fisherman spoke.

“I’ll try to bring him back in one piece. Best I can do as a guest friend.”

When had he taken on so much responsibility? Alkyone was a given, but that Persian, a horse, and now this boy? What was he, a nursemaid? It was true, he hadn’t savored going to Athens alone, for a man of his (previous) means, this living rough was starting to wear, even in war time he had had a hypastist to do menial tasks. Nothon’s a poor substitute.

“Could you let us know where your shrine is, so we may give thanks for our lives?”

“The Lady of Olympos Bay has an alcove by the sea cliffs, Glaukos will go with you to leave some of the gold.”

“My thanks.”

I better check on that Persian now that I’m a nursemaid. Tydeus ducked into the house to find him sitting up looking… confused, as one of the fisherman’s daughters looked at him like he was  a demon. When he saw him he looked reassured. “Sir… when are the others going to get here… or will we be going to meet them?”

“Well Alkyone is resting, and you’ll be resting too. And you are…?”

“You mean you don’t know my name? Then how did you know to guide me across the river?” Tydeus gave him a hard look. “Guide you? That was the Aegean Sea, boy”

“That… that was that not the River of Ordeal?” Tydeus gave a heaving sigh and paused for a time. “What, did you think you were dead?” A complete change came over the Persian’s demeanor. I’ve never seen anyone so upset about not being dead.

“I’m captured? Wait, so how can you speak Persian? I should have known when you gave away my plaques, I thought it was just losing-- I -- I won’t tell you anything, Yauna!” Should have just let him keep believing he was dead.

“Listen, I don’t care about Persia, I just want Alexander the Macedonian wiped of the face of the earth. And don’t you want that too?” Tydeus continued, “So if you know anyone who would be amenable to financing some Greek rebellions…”

“Aren’t you all Yauna? Why would you be working against him. I’m not falling for such a simple trick.”

“I’m not a Yauna - Ionian. I am Tydeus, son of Medon, a Boeotian of the mainland, and I am definitely not some Macedonian hill man. Alexander razed Thebes, killed my people and I want revenge!”

“Oh, Thebai, that city that helped King Khshayarsha during the Yauna Rebellions… I guess that’s more plausible.” The Persian sighed “I am Marduniya, son of Arsama, who I saw die, of the clan of [name plz] that has lost at least 3 other men. I don’t know about the satrap of Varkana, but if the Great King is injured… it was already hard enough to get everyone to fight together, I heard talk in the camp… anyway, if we can barely work together I don’t see how we can work with Yauna across the sea.” Just what I didn’t want to hear.

“Now that he’s freed Ionia he may turn back.” Tydeus said mostly to himself. Marduniya shook his head.

“No conqueror turns back after a win.”

 ----

 Alkyone slept the whole day and night away. When she awoke the next morning, they were getting ready to leave. She had shovelled some fishy kerkyon into her mouth as gracefully as she could and went out to see Tydeus bundling some meager provisions on the horse. “Do we need that much, the lady told me Rhodes is just a few hours away.”

“I’m not going to Rhodes.”

“What, what do you mean?!” Tydeus turned around with a look and Alkyone cringed. That may have been a bit hysterical, but I don’t want to be alone again!

“Things have gotten serious, I have to go to Athens to inform our old friends, and I’ll attract less attention alone. Nothon and Lethos will take good care of you.”

“I see… be safe.”

“I won’t be there long, just to deliver the news, should be in Rhodes before the second week is up. I gave Nothon a longer time table, just to get him off my back.”

Still plenty of time for things to go horribly wrong. Alkyone pushed the thought away.  Tydeus continued:

“We’re going to make offerings to the Lady of the Bay on the way to the harbor, so we don’t have a repeat of our last time at sea.”

“I promised Poseidon and Aeolus a goat each if we didn’t have a storm, so they’re not getting anything from me now. Not that this place has any goats for miles.” Alkyone sniffed. After so many of her petitions to the gods ending in the opposite result, she was starting to feel a bit cynical.

“There’s a few shepherds up on the hills if we need some goats,” One of the fisherman’s sons appeared holding some cheese curds.

“Do we need anything else, sir?” he addressed Tydeus.

“Your best cloak would be good for Athens.” He ducked back inside.

“I thought you said you’d attract less attention alone,” Alkyone narrowed her eyes.

“Well, being too alone can be suspicious as well.”

 The boy got hugs from his mother and sisters before they all set out on the path towards the harbor. Marduniya was remarkably better, though he was walking about in a drabber shirt after they had left his purple tunic as payment for all of the homespun cloaks they were bringing with them. “Are you sure we shouldn’t tie his ankles together or something?” the boy, Glaukos, asked. “No, he wants to go to Rhodes more than he wants to stay on Karpathos, and he doesn’t have the resources to do it on his own.” Tydeus said, before switching to Persian and saying something that earned him a glare and a short reply. Alkyone had understood the words Greek, Persian, their own and fool, but not the rest. In Sardis Tydeus had tried to teach her a little, and many people spoke it in their everyday business so that it was easier to absorb, but he had gotten busy and Alkyone was loath to talk to people alone. Is Marduniya coming to Rhodes? Tydeus could hardly bring him to Athens if he was trying to be discreet.

 The path moved down the hillock that the little village was on, towards towering cliffs carved out by the sea. There was a cavern with a few fingers’ width depth of water on its floor that Glaukos led them into. The edges of the wall were rimmed with crystals of salt, the veined light colored stone of the cliffs was carved into a statue of a Nereid. Some flowers, a few twists of white wool and a charred bone lay on her altar. They put their cloaks over their heads and stood solemnly while Tydeus intoned a prayer, “Thank you lady, for bringing us to safe harbor from your father’s wrath, we give you thanks, and offer you these tokens for a safe journey.” He placed another gold plaque on the altar, and Glaukos followed suit. Alkyone set down some of the copper bells that had been attached to her shawl. The storm had pulled off so many she figured the sea may as well take the rest. When Marduniya reached in his pocket she saw Tydeus tense up, but he just took out a big silver earring. It had a ribbed edge with a recumbent ram in the middle. He put it down and this time Alkyone was able to understand his gist, “One gray ram now, Anahita, you’ll get the other one later.”

“And here I thought I had searched his pockets well enough, should have known from the holes in his ears.” Tydeus shook his head.

 Olympos compared to the hustle and bustle of Thebes, Athens, Sardis, and even Cyprus was basically a ghost town. But there were some respectable biremes in harbor they were able to acquire the services of. “We weren’t going to go to Rhodes until tomorrow… but if you can give my eyes something shiny to clap on we could move ahead of schedule.” was a familiar refrain of these shipping captains. But it was done, and soon they would be saying their farewells. “You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?” Nothon asked Tydeus, “The boss will have sent news to Athens for sure.”

“With these men it’s best that I talk to them face-to-face.”

“Yeah, you’re a great talker,” Nothon chuckled. I’m sure Tydeus has had it with this rude man, and so have I, thought Alkyone, maybe he will shape up around his “boss”.

“You had best be a good talker, if you’re going to wrangle a young lady and Persian across the sea.”

“Don’t you worry, Lethos will be quite attentive to the young despoina’s safety, and we know that no one likes a banged up hostage.” Alkyone hadn’t actually met Lethos, he had only met with Tydeus once before they went to Cyprus, but she found herself worrying about his attentiveness. What’s wrong? If a rich nobleman likes you at this point, it’s the opposite of a problem! “Be safe, both of you,” Alkyone repeated to Tydeus and Glaukos. She wished she could give Tydeus a hug, but in public that would be inappropriate. Compared to everyone else, Glaukos looked positively giddy. Lastly Tydeus addressed Marduniya. Alkyone couldn’t parse much of it, but he gave a solemn nod. At last they had reached the dock, the boat peacefully swaying by the quay. She stepped on the gang-plank. I’m serious Poseidon and Aeolus, two goats each if we get to Rhodes safely!

[marjaystuff]

Elise Cooper’s Interview of Leila Meacham

Dragonfly by Leila Meacham is a spellbinding novel.  The story from the very first line pulls readers into the mystery: which of the five American spies embedded in Nazi occupied Paris has survived? The dramatic scenes are riveting as each character plays a cat and mouse game with the Nazis.

In 1942, Americans Brad, Bridgette, Bucky, Chris, and Victoria have been recruited as spies for the CIA’s Office of Special Services.  They are recruited for their skills, but also have a personal agenda.  The two women and three men are from very different backgrounds: Texan athlete with German roots, an upper-crust son of a French mother and a wealthy businessman, a dirt-poor Midwestern fly fisherman, an orphaned fashion designer, and a ravishingly beautiful female fencer. Each is assigned a new identity as well as a code name.( It seems like a lot to keep track of, but there's a cast of characters at the beginning of the book and Meacham does a great job intertwining all the names throughout the story.) The team is code-named “Dragonfly,” and upon arrival in Paris, the group disperses and sets about to fulfill their individual missions while also pursuing their own agendas. Not allowed to share their identity it was planned that they would meet on a certain date in a certain place at a certain time after the war.

An added bonus is how their cover stories offer surprising glimpses of daily life for the French and their German occupiers. Vividly portrayed is the treachery in German-occupied Paris that constantly existed for those working to remove Hitler and the Nazis. This includes those Germans plotting against Hitler as they extricate others from his machine in the hope of saving Germany.

This clever, suspenseful, and character-driven plot is not the typical espionage story.  It is uplifting and shows the close bond where each spy considered the others in the team part of their family. The novel takes readers on a journey with the characters as they attempt to navigate and defeat the Nazi regime. This story is as compelling and riveting a novel as Kristin Hannah’s The Nightingale.

Elise Cooper: You drew readers in from the beginning?

Leila Meacham:  I write my books with a certain level of suspense that hopefully keeps readers questioning what is really around the corner.  Generally, I start out with the first line and go from there. In this book, I wanted to write more of a human interest story than a war story, a different kind of spy novel without the seek and destroy mission.

EC:  What is your style?

LM:  I just sit down and write watching my characters evolve.  I do not have much of a plan for the place, characters, and plot before I begin writing.  I also do not sign up front contracts.  For heaven’s sake I am eighty years old and didn’t start writing until I was 65.  After five years, at the age of seventy, by a string of miracles, my book was picked up by a literary agent.  I have been writing ever since.  I made a deal with Grand Central Publishing that I will write a book without a contract.  I am only out of time and if they like the book then we can talk contract.

EC:  Why the cast of characters chart?

LM:  There were five main characters.  Each had three names: their Christian name, working name, and code name plus there were different police and military organizations.

EC:  How would you describe the five spies?

LM:  Collectively each was smart, capable, innovative, honest, and resourceful.  They were all patriots. They are loyal, devoted, and consider each other family. As with any family those that survived mourned the possible loss of those that did not.  All are fearless.  

EC:  Why the code name for the group, “Dragonfly?”

LM:  As Brad said in the book, they are almost impossible to snare and have no blind spots.  Their eyes wrap around their heads like a football helmet to give them a three-hundred-sixty-degree view.  Dragonflies have no vulnerable areas and can see all around. They are natural escape artists.  

EC:  How did you come up with that name?

LM:  Grand Central Publishing likes one word titles for my books.  On my end table was a little box and on the top lid was a dragonfly.  There was also an inscription, which I used in the book, “The sun on the hill forgot to die, and the lilies revived, and the dragonfly came back to dream on the river.” It is a great translation for the reality of the plot.  The French did not die and the spies that lived went back to the river to reunite eighteen years later.

EC:  You also compared those qualities with the spies characteristics?

LM:  Dragonflies do not track their prey.  They would calculate the insect’s location, direction, and speed, then lay in wait in their prey’s flight path for the chow to fly right into their mouths.  Similarly, the team of spies would be inserted directly into the enemy’s line of sight without the target being aware of their presence.

EC:  You even evoke sympathy for the two Nazi characters?

LM:  They turned out not to be the enemies of America.  I tried to make a distinction between the horribleness of the Nazis and a German.  I think readers sympathized because these men were working against the regime.  They saw the wrongness of the Nazis. I contrast that with how the Parisians were treated by the other Nazis: no food and no heat.  I tried to write an authentic environment.

EC:  You also talk about the atrocities of the Nazis?

LM: I wrote in the book how Hitler ordered 16,000 Jews murdered at Pinsk in the Soviet Union, and how SS troops locked 200 Polish Jews into a synagogue and set it afire. I also wrote how Hitler expected the German youth to be physically strong and if not they were basically tortured, such as water dunking, beatings, and the requirement that the student stand on his toes with arms outstretched for an unendurable length of time. My character, German Major General Konrad March was horrified when he learned of these.

EC:  You also have the Nazis against Christmas?

LM:  March was also horrified as he described how German soldiers were ordered by Hitler to pass out posters that forbade any display of the Christian elements.  Shops were ordered to replace their Christmas toys with tanks, fighter planes, and machine guns.  The star on top of the Christmas tree was to be replaced with a swastika. They emphasized that Christmas was not about the coming of Jesus, but the coming of Hitler who they are to consider the real savior of the world. Such a nasty regime.

EC:  What role did the mural play?

LM:  The spy, Bridgette, who became the radio operator had to communicate with the team.  She would be given information to pass to the rest of the team.  Because she could not negotiate the logistics of the drop boxes she came up with the idea of a mural, which also became a work of art for the neighborhood.

EC:  Your next book?

LM:  It will take place in Avon Colorado over a period of one month.  A housewife, Kathryn, thinks she is being stalked.  She comes in contact with a former Delta military fighter who informs her she is being investigated, and that could lead to her demise.  

THANK YOU!!

[akissatmidnight]

Good morning, fellow Outlander fans! Today, I’m getting into one of my favorite things…History! Specifically, I’ll be talking all about the Scottish clans and giving you a little Outlander love along the way! Because there are numerous Highland and Lowland clans, I’ll be picking some of my favorites with the most amount of history fun.

The Gregor/MacGregor Clan

Clan Motto: Roighal Mo Dhream-Royal is my Race

Minor Motto: Een dhn bait spair nocht-Slay and spare not (this one is so metal)

War Cry: Ard choille!-The woody height!

The Traditional Tartan

The “Primitive” Tartan

The Highland Dance Tartan

Here are several facts associated with this the MacGregors:

They were among the first clans to adopt the bagpipe in the 1600s!

In 1603 James IV outlawed the MacGregor name, forcing them to renounce their heritage or die. Many took on other Scottish names, but others were hanged.

During the Jacobite Risings, the Gregor clan (which was not an outlawed name), fought with the Jacobites and was defeated at the Battle of Littleferry, making them unable to participate in the Battle of Culloden.

The MacGregors were reestablished in the 1800s, finally bringing back the chiefs.

The only MacGregor mentioned in Outlander is Alexander MacGregor, the 18 year old cattle thief who was a victim of Black Jack Randall, and the initial owner of Jamie’s bible.

I’ve written a romance novel, The Amethyst Bride, featuring a MacGregor man. You can read about it here!

Clan Fraser of Lovat

Clan Motto: Je Suis Prest- I am Ready

War Cry #1: A Mhor-fhaiche!- The Great Field!

War Cry #2:Caisteal Dhuni- Castle Dounie (referring to their ancestral seat)

Fraser of Lovat Tartan

Dress Tartan

Jamie Fraser Tartan (NOT an actual Fraser Tartan)

Here are several facts associated with this clan:

There is also the “Lowland Fraser Clan”, which is entirely separate from the Frasers of Lovat.

The Frasers fought with William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, who you might know from the (historically inaccurate) movie Braveheart, in 1303.

The clan supported Mary Queen of Scots in the Siege of Inverness in 1562.

A real man named James Fraser hid in a cave for years after surviving the Battle of Culloden. Read more about him here!

The Frasers have participated, in force, in all of the wars based on American soil, such as the Seven Years War and the Revolutionary War.

Here are some bonus pics of our fav Fraser…

Clan MacNaughten

Clan Motto: I Hoip in God-I Hope in God

War Cry: Fraoch Eilean!- The Heathery Isle!

The clan’s tartan…festive.

Here are several facts about this clan…

This clan are descendents of the Picts, some of the earliest, tribal, dwellers of Scotland. Possibly with Celtic roots.

They opposed Robert the Bruce (ya know…the Braveheart guy) and when he took the throne, they lost much of their lands to the Campbells.

There are many forms of this clan, such as McNitt, Macnaughton, McNett…and McKnight! Yeah, it’s my family’s father clan!

The MacLeod Clan

Clan Motto: Hold Fast

Old Clan Motto: Murus aheneus esto- Be the wall of brass

Their traditional tartan

The hunting tartan

Here are some interesting facts about the MacLeods:

My first historical romance novel, Queen of Emeralds, follows a MacLeod Chief and a British Heiress. You can read about it here!

They are the holders of the Fairy Flag. Shrouded in mystery, this flag is said to have come from the far east, possibly made by vikings, or have been used during the crusades. But in one popular MacLeod tale, the Fairy Flag was wrapped around a MacLeod Chief’s baby by a group of fairies. It has been artfully preserved and says to have the power to heal the sick, give military prowess to in battle, and protect the clan in times of famine or danger. But you’re not supposed to touch it, nor photograph it…but here’s a photo lol.

In the early 1600’s, the Clan MacLeod of Lewis became extinct and the seat, Castle Leod, it fell into the hands of the Mackenzie clan. It then became the seat of the Mackenzies. It was also the inspiration for Castle Leoch in the Outlander book series. It would have been used for filming, as it is still in good condition, but another castle was selected instead.

Castle Leod

The Mackenzie Clan

Clan Motto: Luceo Non Uro-I Shine Not Burn

Clan War Cry:Tulach Àrd-The High Hill

Dress tartan

Regimental tartan

Outlander show Mackenzie tartan (NOT actual Mackenzie tartan)

Let’s look at some fun Clan Mackenzie facts…

Mackenzie is actually an Anglicized version of “Mac Coinnich”, which means handsome.

They were once the 4th most powerful clan in Scotland.

In the 17th century, the Crahan Seer  foretold that the direct Seaforth Mackenzie line would die out after a deaf mute was born. A few years later there was a Seaforth Mackenzie named Francis. Wouldn’t you know, a bout of Scarlet Fever made him deaf and mute and he outlived all his sons, ending the line for good.

Here are some bonus pics of your fav Mackenzies…

Outlander Season 2 2016

  The Wallace Clan

Clan Motto: Pro Libertate- For Liberty

Clan War Cry: Freedom!

The Wallace tartan

Here are a few little facts about the Wallace Clan…but mostly William Wallace.

The Wallace clan came to Scotland in the 11th century from Normandy, France.

The true William Wallace is nothing like what you saw in Braveheart!

Little Willie wasn’t a poor orphaned kid. He was raised a nobleman and even became a knight. Far cry from the ragamuffin living in a shack.

Wallace never met Isabelle of France. Girl was like…5 when he was participating in Scottish military endeavors.

Wallace wouldn’t have worn a kilt. Kilts didn’t become a thing in Scotland until the 1600’s. So no butt flashing in real life.

Scots in the 12 and 13,000s never painted their faces blue. The Picts did to scare off Roman invaders hundreds of years before Wallace was even a gleam in his noble father’s eye.

But he was hanged, drawn, and quartered…so that’s true. Yay?

Robert the Bruce was the real Braveheart. Literally. After he died, his heart was removed and given it’s own fancy casket.

Clan Murray

Clan Motto:Furth, Fortune, and Fill the Fetters.

Old Motto: Tour Pret- Quite Ready

Murray of Atholl Tartan

Murray of Tullibardine Tartan

Here are a few facts about this clan:

They descended from Flemish and Norman lords and prided themselves on being from noble stock.

After Culloden, there was a massive diaspora from the Highlands, due to persecution of the clans. A great number of Murrys settled in Nova Scotia.

Their old crest featured a mermaid

This clan maintains the old private regiment in Europe; the Atholl Highlanders. This is because Queen Victoria was so moved by the Murrays of Atholl’s greeting to her upon visiting the country, she repealed the man that outlawed Scottish military regiments, just for them.

Bonus gif of our fav Murray…

Clan Campbell

Clan Motto: Ne Obliviscaris- Forget Not

Clan War Cry: Cruachan!- Referrs to a popular rallying spot in times of crisis

Here are some facts about this clan:

At one point, they were the largest and most powerful clan in Scotland.

Their name might have come from the phrase “cam bul”, which means “crooked mouth”, referring to a founder of the clan.

They could be d*cks…especially to the MacDonald clan. But, that’s how you stay on top. We’ll talk about their issues in a bit.

Their castle seat, Inveraray Castle, was used in some filming for the show Downton Abbey.

Clan MacLean

Clan Motto: Virtue, Mine, Honor

Clan War Cry: Bàa no Beatha- Death or Life

Here are some fun facts about the MacLean clan…

They are one of the oldest clans in Scotland and are known for their fierceness in battle.

in the 1500s a chief named Lachlan MacLean married a Campbell girl. He hated her so much, and instead of just ignoring her and getting a mistress like the other guys in the 1500s, tied her to a rock by the sea in hopes the tide would drown her. But much like a Batman villain, he was too cocky and didn’t see her death through. She was saved by a fisherman and one of her brothers killed Lachlan…but he deserved it.

Clan Donald/MacDonald

Clan Motto: Per Mare Per Terras-By Sea and By Land Minor Clan Motto: Fraoch Eilean-The Heathery Isle

Here are some interesting things to know about the Donalds…

One of the oldest on record, the clan is descended form both the Norse and the Celts.

The MacDonalds were sneaky in the Battle of Culloden!

Many of them bailed when they saw how the Scots were being slaughtered

They also had two minor regiments fighting for the British, so some of the smaller groups were able to maintain their positions and lands.

Remember how I told you that the Campbells and MacDonalds had some major bad blood?

In 1642, a group of Campbell soldiers in Ireland were ordered to kill all the MacDonald Catholics and threw dozens, possibly even hundreds, to their deaths over a cliff. This sparked a long series of battles between the two clans

And the Campbells kept being jerks…any Game of Thrones fans? Remember “The Red Wedding”? Well that scene was inspired by the Massacre of Glencoe, where a bunch of Campbells came to chill with the MacDonalds of Glencoe…as you can probably guess, it ended up with the Campbell forces massacring numerous people, burning homes, and allowing scores of woman and children to die of exposure.

Shown: Frank Randall partying it up at the Red Wedding before it all went to shite.

 Are you part of a clan? Which one? 

That’s it for this week! I know I didn’t come close to covering a fraction of the clans, but I think we all had fun. Was your clan not mentioned? Let us know, maybe we’ll bring up the clans in a future post. And make sure to check out out Outlander page here to help you through Droughtlander.

And see who’s hot for teacher in Sarah’s contemporary romance series here and learn about Kelsey’s contemporary and Scottish romance series here!

An Outlandish Clan History Good morning, fellow Outlander fans! Today, I'm getting into one of my favorite things...History! Specifically, I'll be talking all about the Scottish clans and giving you a little…