#bern's night chapter one

[weshallc]

Bern's Night (part of the Crown Jewels series, Call the Midwife AU)

(Previously published on A03 and FF.net nothing new, sorry.)

Chapter One: Fair Fa' Your Honest, Sonsie Face

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang’s my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

"Will You Recognize Me? Call My Name Or Walk On By." Don't You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds 1985

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin’, rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the North Star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his late 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one, as the incision was violently made. No one dared to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. "Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London, she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar’s daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well, sort of a queue. In London, a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready, hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those exact words.

All her life, she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea. He had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend, Valerie. I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm, a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of..?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Famous Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash. And a pint of Buckles Best. And for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

"Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights. Or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name. Most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner. Most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double. It’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over. She was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there were just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry, most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I’ve met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don’t mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a…”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time, none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can’t imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now, who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realising the stranger was still watching her, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realising her arse was in the air, and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion, don't you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that? God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me. I can feel it.

[xxblairexxss]

We’ll be fine

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Word count : 4.7k

Requested!

Relationships aren’t all sunshines and rainbows. Charles and you were trying so hard to maintain this long distance relationships but everything seemed to be going the wrong way. Was it the miscommunication, the lack of reassurance or was it because of your job?

The FaceTime’s outgoing ringtone blasted through your Macbook’s speaker, giving you a jolt, though you had bern waiting for it for the past 30 minutes.

"God, I miss you so much, baby."

The sight of your boyfriend in red, all sweaty, made you all giddy like a high school teenager. "Hi, boyfriend! Congratulations on the P3!" He went on to talk about the race and everything you had missed for not being able to join him this weekend while you rested your chin on your palm whilst listening to him.

"No way! You saw the same cut board again? Was it from the same person?" You asked; your work-related stuff was long forgotten.

"I'm not sure about that, but it freaked me out a little bit seeing my face that big over and over."

You cackled. He had propped his phone against his stuff, so you got a good look at him while he sorted out things before the press conference. It made you feel as if you were there with him.

This was the first time in a while that you didn’t get into an argument during a 10-minute video call. A few weeks ago, as frequent as it was, Charles and you would always get into an argument, sometimes one that lasted for days. It was all because of your new job and the upcoming summer break.

When you first got the offer, you could see Charles wasn’t too elated about it. It didn’t mean he was unhappy to see you step up into another chapter of your life. He was so ecstatic that he even prepared a small celebration and gifts to celebrate it. For the whole week after you told him about your promotion, that was all he ever talked about.

"I’m so proud of you."

"My hardworking girl"

"You deserved it so much".

Those were the words he kept on showering you with, like a mantra.

But those words eventually turned into fatalistic, forcing you to accept the culpability of the constant disagreement in the relationship.

"Not this again, Y/N."

"I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for you."

"I’m doing this for us too!"

"Am I the only one who gives a fuck about this relationship?"

Being able to talk to him and seeing him all smile with eyes full of accolades and longing for the touch from you erased all of the tainted spots.

That was until he called you again that night. When you told him about your upcoming project was when he blew up all over again. You saw it coming. Even before you picked up the call, before you had arranged those words in your head.

"What do you mean you can’t join me next week? Y/N, it’s my summer break. Don’t you want to spend some time together?"

You covered your face with your hands, internally screaming. He always acted as if you had a choice to reject every offer that the company had arranged for you. As if you didn’t care about this relationship as much as he did. "They asked me to take over the project. I can’t say no."

"I haven’t seen you in weeks." He muttered.

"I wanted to see you too, Charles, but..."

"Don’t say that." He heckled. You saw him roll his eyes, moving away from the camera. "Don’t say shit like that just to make me feel better. I know you don’t actually mean any of it."

"Charles, I really wanted to see you but I can’t say no!" You yelled out, desperately trying to make him see things from your point of view.

"Bullshit." He sniggered.

"What?"

"What if I tell you, Oh, I missed you so much, I can’t wait to see you, then chose to spend the weekend with my friends after saying all that? It sounds bullshit to you, isn’t it?" He shook his head, as if what you said vexed him even more. 

“I wasn’t spending the weekend with my friends. I’m working! It’s a different case.” You argued back, feeling unfair from his reactions.

"I’m going to sleep. Good night."

"Already? But I thought we could talk some more. I wanted to hear your story, I wanted to tell you about happen to me on my way to work this morning.." Your pleas were ignored as he stayed silent, looking as if he were so ready to click the end call button. "It’s okay then. Good night. I love you.”

The call ended. Well, he ended the call without saying it back.

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The summer break came around. Just like any other year, Charles would spend a week with his friends and the other week with his family. You would always join him, but not this year.

You have seen videos and pictures of his friends laughing, teasing each other, and filming funny videos here and there while you were stuck in your office.

Charles would still text you; he would wish you good morning and good night; he would ask you if you had eaten and if you needed him to arrange a food delivery for you; but he never spoke about the summer break anymore. In one way, it just felt like he had erased the words from his mind. Though you still saw pictures and videos of him on his yacht, riding his jet ski, you never asked him about it—basically anything that involved the break—because you just didn’t want to get into another fit of disagreement and his failure to see your situation.

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"What are you having for dinner, baby? I can’t see." He was in his bed, barely keeping himself awake after the full-blown activities in the sea today while you were just getting ready to eat your dinner.

"I’m having sushi!" His eyes widen at the huge selection when you tilted the plate of sushi.

"That’s a lot! You got carried away with the menu again, didn’t you?"

"Yeah.." Your lips were pressed in a thin line, shoulder-sloping like a child who got into trouble.

"Can you actually finish that, love?"

"Obviously no! I’ll figure out a way to not waste any of this." Picking a salmon out of 20 more selections on the plate, you dipped the end into the small plate of soy sauce and devoured one, smiling at the fresh, delectable taste.

"You know I can’t finish them for you. I’m like thousands of miles away." Charles was propping his chin on his hand, forcing himself to stay awake.

"I know. I miss you a lot." You covered your mouth, holding your laugh, when his chin slipped off his palm and he nearly slammed his head against the pillow. "You know you can go to sleep, right? I am fine eating dinner on my own."

"No, I want to stay awake and watch my girlfriend eat her sushi."

You stuck out your tongue and scrunched your nose, making him chuckle. "Which one should I try next?" You moved the phone a little so he could get a full view of the plate again.

"Try the scallop one, baby. It looks good."

You picked the one he chose with your chopstick and ate it up, letting out a squeal of excitement when the taste activated your taste buds. "It’s so good! You would have liked this one."

Charles eventually fell asleep before you could finish your so called eating show. He fell asleep hugging the pillow, which acted as your replacement because he always had trouble sleeping without you. He even asked you to leave a travel-size perfume of yours the next time you came home, just so it felt much more pragmatic in his mind.

Unknowingly to him, you had requested leave from absence home earlier this week, and it was just approved by your supervisor today. It was only for a week, but at least you could see your boyfriend and spend time with him this summer.

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Charles came home, and he was confounded by how tidy his apartment looked. The pile of clothes he had set aside in the laundry room to be washed was gone, and the washing machine was on as it was counting down to 15 minutes, rotating and spinning his clothes. He had left the house quite in a hurry this morning, so he expected it to be out of place, just like how he left it.

"Surprise!"

He sprang back, his head hitting the wall when you jumped out from behind the door as he was about to walk in, causing him to bend down, his hand holding the crown of his head.

"Oh my God! I’m so sorry!" You chortled, covering your mouth from the loud thud sound as you hugged him.

"Ow, I think I got a concussion, baby." He buried his face against your neck as you cradled him like a child. "Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?"

"I wanted to give you a surprise! And a concussion." You stroked his hair, barely able to breathe from the tight grip around your waist.

"God, I missed you so, so much." He planted a trail of kisses along your shoulder blade up to your jawline and ended it on your lips, only pulling away when both of you were out of breath. "I missed you, baby."

"I missed you more. I’m all yours, love. No more hugging pillows!" You snaked your arms around his neck, giggling when you felt his lips on your nose.

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"Y/N, baby, no. I just changed!"

You saw a perfect opportunity when he was standing at the edge of the yacht, seemingly to be in very deep thoughts, so you dashed into him, making him lose his balance as he grabbed you by your arm and pulled you with him back into the water.

"Why do you have to do that?!" You cried out, splashing the water on him with a frown.

"Oh, are you mad at me? Really, baby?" He laughed and lead you back to the yacht as it started getting a bit chilly. You still refused to talk to him, even when he wrapped you in a new towel and engulfed you in a hug. He, however, found the whole situation funny. "Okay, baby, I’m sorry for pulling you into the water. I should have been the only one cold in the sea. " Charles finally surrendered when you seemed to be so in persistent with your sulking attempt.

Rolling your eyes, you fell into a fit of laughter as you threw yourself on him, making him lay down with you on the lounge seats. "I’m just kidding!" You cupped his cheeks and brushed your lips on his. "You are so cute!"

"You make me the happiest man in the world." He caressed your cheeks while you braced yourself on his body. Everything was just so perfect you never wanted this moment to end. Just getting lost in those green eyes gave you a vivid view of the beautiful landscapes. The way you felt his soft, loving touch on your face, trailing the structure of your face tucked on your heart, just when you thought you couldn’t fell in love with this man even more.

"I love you so much, baby." He mumbled, drumming his fingers on your chin, which made you chuckle.

"I love you even more, love."

"Let’s stay like this for a little while. I missed having you in my arms." He leaned his head back on the seats, wishing for the time to stop because everything—literally everything—was just so perfect for him.

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"Baby?"

"Yeah?" Charles came to the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you still had your eyes on your tea, stirring it after you put a spoonful of sugar.

"Mom wished you could join the family’s vacation next week. Is there any way you can extend your leave?"

"I’m so sorry, love, but I need to be at the office by next week." Since you were working on a new project at the moment, it was difficult for you to be absent even more when you already got a week off though you knew right away you would have to pull an all-nighter once you touchdown tomorrow just to go through all those unreplied emails.

"Y/N, please. For me," He held your hand, which was circled around the mug. “For us.”

"Charles, this isn’t about us. You know—"

"Here we go again. I’m the only one who has to tolerate, give in, and follow your schedule. Y/N, this relationship isn’t about you all alone." His voice was louder now, half shouting as he left the kitchen.

"Yes, I know, Charles. I know! You are not the only one who has to ride the wave right now. You are not the only one giving in. I had been with you in every race that I could though I had to constantly fly back and forth. I have told you I was required to be at the office even more now that we’re working on a new project. Once it is all done and sorted out, my schedule will be more manageable. A couple of months is all I ask! I’m so tired of explaining this over and over, but you still keep on thinking I am being selfish in this matter. I am mentally and emotionally drained every single day! I spent hours in the office, coming home, expecting my boyfriend to be my comfort, but you kept on shouting and cursing at me." Your cup of tea was long forgotten as you trudged along his steps to the living room. "I took a leave for one week, hoping it would make you happy, but it is still not enough for you. I don’t know what you want me to do!"

"No one forced you to take the job, Y/N. You have no right to complain about that. I told you numerous times that I can always support you financially." You grabbed his wrists, tugging on them harshly to make him face you.

"That’s not how it works, Charles! I don’t want you to support me with your money. Just because I want and love this job doesn’t mean I can’t get tired of it. I’m a human with a capability to an extent. I just want you to be there for me when I need you." Charles looked away, hands clenched into a fist, when you started choking back tears.

"I feel like you are more scared to lose your precious job than you are losing me, Y/N. It’s more important than me, isn’t it? Your job." He snickered, his head shaking at how absurd this whole argument was.

"I got fired for leaving abruptly during my meeting because you got into a crash. I stayed with you for days, taking care of you, ignoring every call and text from my boss because you were all I could think about, and I could go insane if I wasn’t by your side, waiting for you to wake up. I had to build my career back up. Yes, this is my dream job, but I would drop everything again for you, and you know that too." You harshly wiped another trail of tears on your cheeks. You just wanted to rip your hair out because he kept on turning this back to you, as if you never sacrificed anything for him.

"Are you trying to blame me because you got fired? Is that what you meant? Y/N, that was on you!" Charles hollered, making you flinch as he pointed his finger at your face.

"That’s not it! If something happened to me and you left your race for me, would you blame me for that? No, you wouldn’t! Because there’s no one to blame! That’s what I—" Your words came to a pause when you saw him simpered. "Are you—Charles, what’s with that smile?" Your grip on his arm tightens to get his attention. "Are you saying you wouldn’t leave your career for me? Charles!" He tried to walk away, and you grabbed his shirt, yanking it. "Don’t just walk away! Answer me!" You pulled on his shirt again. "Charles!"

"Don’t ask me that! You and I are not the same, Y/N. Our career, our way of thinking, it’s just not the same."

It hurt. It hurt because you thought you meant a lot to him. You didn’t even want him to choose either one, but the fact that he acted as if your career and his weren’t on the same level shredded your heart to pieces. It was as if your career were nothing compared to his. Sure, it wasn’t one where people paid thousands to see; it wasn’t a career where you got paid hundreds of thousands, even millions, per year, but he, out of all people, knew how hard you worked for it, so you never expected him to disparage your career in front of your face.

"I don’t think I’m the one being selfish right now." He saw you walk past him into the bedroom with your head dropped. It was your last night before you had to fly back tomorrow, and he had ruined everything again. You had actually planned to bake cookies together just so the two of you could spend more time together for the last night, but the whole apartment is cold now, and there was no other sound except your irregular sob.

He stayed up, placing all those ingredients for cookies that you had arranged on the kitchen counter back to where it was. You were so excited to try the new cookie cutter, and he felt so bad for blowing up again.

"Y/N?"

You tugged on the cover, half hiding your face when you heard him walk in. It might not be as convincing as it was, but you held your sob, trying to control your shoulders from shaking too much, so it seemed as if you were already asleep since you didn’t want to talk to him. Not anymore. You were so tired. You would have packed and left right away if only you could, but you knew he would block your moves, holding you back and you didn’t want that to happen because you would have given in again. What you thought was a bad attempt was still able to convince him that you were asleep.

"Good night." He slanted over and pecked at your cheek before getting under the cover and facing the other way. He knew he didn’t deserve to hug nor touch you after making you cry yourself to sleep.

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Charles woke up, frowning, when a shaft of sunlight sipping through the curtain hit his face. "Baby, the sun is blinding me again." He mumbled and shifted to your side of the bed to hide his face against your neck, but all he could feel was a chilly, cold space. "Baby?" He called out a little louder and still didn’t get any response. "Y/N—" He was stunned when he realised your phone, hair tie, and your stuffs on the dressing table were gone. "Fuck!" The fatigue and drowsiness were gone in a blink as he threw the duvet off, feeling himself getting warm even though the AC was frigid.

"Y/N," He went through every room, and all of your clothes were gone. It was as if you were never here for the whole week. “No, no, no, no.”

Your phone was off when he tried to call, and none of his text messages went through. He even went to the airport because he knew your flight was 4 hours away, and he spent hours walking around to look for you, but to no avail. He would have kept you in his arms if he knew last night would be the last time he saw you.

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"Y/N! How are you? Oh my God!" Carla’s eyes widened. Just like any other day, Carla, Arthur’s girlfriend, would ring you just to update you on your life. You met her years ago when she and Arthur started dating, and ever since then, it had been like having a new baby sister. She was also the only one who knew your new phone number. And like always, you guys would talk for hours about everything, and though she never came here to New York, she was basically familiar with your apartment. This time around, you just didn’t happen to be in the apartment when you picked up the call. You were in the hospital, head wrapped up in a bandage, and your hand was as stiff as a rock from the hand cast. "What happened to you?" She yelled out.

"I got into an accident last night. No, two days ago. It wasn’t that bad, though." She rolled her eyes, finding it hard to believe when you winced from the pain as you tried to play it all cool.

"How did you get into an accident? That looks really bad, Y/N! You should tell Charles!"

Charles. It’s been nearly a month since the last time you left his apartment without confronting him. You remember staring at him that night while he slept, like a creep, thinking if you were making the right choice and decided there was no point staying in a relationship where you and him never see things at the same level. You changed your phone number because you knew he would spam your calls, and you knew the moment you heard his voice, pleading and begging you to forgive him, you would crawl your way back to him.

"No, don’t tell him. You promised me you wouldn’t tell anything to him or Arthur. I don’t know if you can call it an accident, but I lost my balance and fell down the stairs at the office. It wasn’t that bad, but I do need a few stitches on my forehead."

"That’s so bad! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Just so you know, if he finds out that I knew about this and didn’t tell him, you need to back me up. How long do you have to be at the hospital? Are you okay all alone?"

"Yeah! I’m completely fine on my own. I will be discharged tomorrow!" The hand cast was actually quite heavy, and it was hard for you to do things on your own, but you’ll manage.

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"Why are you laughing?"

Clara put her phone away from her face, still giggling at the picture that you sent to her. It was a picture of you trying to make a thumbs up with your broken hand because she wanted proof that you had safely arrived at your apartment.

"Oh, it was Y/N!" She chuckled, turning her phone back to show her boyfriend the picture. "Look!"

Arthur blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that at all. "What happened to her?"

"Oh, um—"

"What’s wrong?" Charles intervened, his eyes now on the couple.

Before Clara could make up a lie, her boyfriend was quick on his act. "Y/N. She was covered in bandages. Is that a bandage? Yeah, it is. Oh, it’s a hand cast." Arthur confirmed it himself after double-checking the picture on his girlfriend’s phone.

"What?" Charles furrowed his brows and took Clara’s phone from her hand. "What happened to her? Why didn’t you tell me about this?"

"She told me not to tell you. But she’s fine! Well, she said she’s fine." Clara stated, seeing how the older guy started heading out with only a few of his stuffs.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, chasing after his brother.

"I’m going to see her."

"What? You mean right now?" The younger one yelled out. "Has my brother gone mad?"

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"One second!"

You ran from your room, anticipating another delivery from your window shopping gone wrong, and you ended up with 10 parcels that was supposed to arrive by today.

"Hi! You can just put the box here. I— oh,"

Charles was stunned. You were in a short with an oversized jumper, your hair tied up in a messy bun with your bangs pinned back where he could see the stitches right above your brows.

"Can I—can I come in?" His questioned, dragging you back into reality.

"My house is a mess." That was a bad one. You couldn’t come up with a better excuse, and he was still waiting, evidently disregarding whatever you just said. "Fine, come in. Do you want a drink? Coffee?"

"It’s okay. I’m all good."

"Coffee then." You felt his gaze on the back of your head as you grabbed a mug. The airtight instant coffee jar had to be the most difficult thing to open in one hand, even though you had the front part of your elbow circled around the jar. "Can I just get you water?" His laughter made your cheeks red.

"I’m okay, precious. There’s no need for that." He then marched to stand in front of you, hand cupped on your cheeks as he tilted your head to see the stitches. "What happened?"

"I fell. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much." He was gazing at you, and you could feel the wall you built starting to quiver, so you took a step back.

Charles missed you. He missed you a lot. He knew you would have back away, but it never occurred to him that it would hurt this much to see the woman he loved pull in one’s horns with him. "I—,"

"You can’t do this to me." You cut him off, mumbling with your eyes looking down on your hands. "You can’t come here and touch me, forcing me to fall back and jump on you after the way you treated me."

"I came here to apologise." His voice became a whisper, barely audible to you.

"You have apologised for the million times, but I still got blamed for my career, for choosing to be my own person. Everything I do will always be seen as a selfish act by you. I can never make you happy, Charles."

"You have always made me happy, Y/N. Not my career, not my fame. It was wrong for me to say that, but it wasn’t my intention to disparage your choice, your career, or your life. I know you are not living your life as my girlfriend alone; you have your own dreams. I just got so—" He inhaled, looking away, unable to finish his words.

"Charles.."

He felt your cold hand on his, softly tugging it to get his attention and make him look at you.

"I just— I got so used to having you in my life every second before you moved away.” He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to hold in his tears. "I got so frustrated because I came home and it was cold. I was so used to hearing your voice the second I stepped into the house, so used to you screaming my name when you greet me as if you haven’t seen me for years. You moved away so sudden, and it felt so lonely. I am happy for you, Y/N. I am so happy when you tell me about your days at work. I fell in love all over again when I saw the way your eyes were glistening when you talked about your new, dream job, but I wanted you to be with me. It just felt so distant. I am the selfish one all this time. I’m sorry."

You were a crying mess. You had never seen him this broken before. When you accepted your job offer email, you were so perturbed that you would have a hard time living thousands of miles away from your boyfriend, but it never once occurred to you that he would get the short end of the stick. Instead of saying anything, you cradled his head against your neck.

Charles’ arms went around your waist as he buried his head in your neck, replenishing his longing to have you in his arms for weeks. It had been so long since he held you, taking all that you were, everything he ever needed.

"It is not a bad thing to not be able to see each other every day." You mumbled, pulling away to cup on his cheeks. "It is sad, of course, but having you to miss is a privilege to me."

"I never want to lose you, Y/N."

"We just need more patience, understanding, and trust, Charles. I need you to understand me." His hands went on your back as you rested your head on his chest.

"Can you give us another chance?" He felt it was impossible to hide the slight quaver in his voice, too anxious for the worst thing to come. "I truly understand if you don’t want to because—"

"I’m staying." You leaned away and beamed, stroking your thumb against his cheek. "As long as you’re trying, we are trying, and I’ll stay. We’ll be fine."

“I know I said it otherwise but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t come running to you if something happened. You are my life, Y/N.” 

You leaned into his hand, drowning yourself with his touch. “We both need to work on our communication skill. You suck at it.” 

He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. “Yeah, I am so bad it also costs me my happiness.”

“Can you stay here and keep me accompany for a couple of days?” You just couldn’t let him go today so you had to be self-obsessed today if it got him to be with you for at least another day.

“Of course, baby. Though I might need to buy some new clothes because this,” He extended his arms. “This is all I have.”

“You come here with just these?” There wasn’t any luggage, anything that made it seemed as if he were planning to come and visit you.

“Yeah, I came in a rush when I saw the picture you sent to Clara.”

“You are so silly. I only broke my hand!” He laughed along when you lifted up your hand cast, as if it was something normal to break your hand on a random Thursday.

“Only broke your hand? Only? Really, love. You even got stitches.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[naturallyteal]

A dream fanfic by NaturallyTeal ~ 17th Day

Summary: The Secret Dream Diary of a Good Omens fan (anonymous, he) who contracted a severe case of the fandom-typical brain rot from watching S1 & S2 too often, reading too much fanfic on AO3, and spending altogether too much time engaging on tumblr, digesting gifs, fanart and meta.

He dreams about Good Omens every night.

Short dreams, daily.

~~~

17th Day: Devine Ecstasy

I dreamed I was in Rome, 1652. I was very tired from all the sightseeing. It was a hot and thirsty day. Gian Lorenzo from Bern approached me, and said in Italian, which I miraculously understood and spoke, that he had a room for me in his ostello, where I could rest. I followed him. He called me Teresa, and I was too tired to correct him. I fell asleep and dreamt. In the dream in the dream, Aziraphale drilled through me with his flaming sword.

He grinned infernally, meanwhile.

[previous day] [next day]

I’m planning to post one _short_ dream daily, for 20 days. If you like, subscribe on AO3!

There’s also a “mailing list” (tagging in the replies) here on tumblr, let me know if you want on it! 😇😎

Credit:

I mixed two sculptures: The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and Laocoon

Also, a shout out to 3D websites I used: Aziraphale’s flaming sword and Laocoon

Bonus question: did you see Laocoon in Good Omens? Where, which scene(s)❓😇

[four-loose-screws]

FE6 Novelization Translation - Chapter 14 Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

Chapter 14 - Breath of Fate (Section 2)

*Note: The 1st 13 chapters are FE7's novelization.

“What I need to know is where Her Highness is now!”

In the castle on the border with Lycia, Belreth, Milady’s shouting was echoing through the entrance hall. She was a female wyvern rider and commander of Guinivere, Princess of Bern's, personal guard.

She wore a deep red suit of armor, and her almond eyes were seething with anger, glaring at the short, plump man in front of her.

He was the lord of this castle, Rude. The livid anger on her face made him break out in a cold sweat and plead, “And I-I’m telling you, Commander Milady… Sh-She was in her room this morning…”

“I’ve been told that multiple times! I'm asking you where she is now!”

“Um, uh…”

“Our decisive battle with the Lycian League could start at any minute. What would we do if anything happened to her?!” Milady continued shouting, then crossed her arms and bit her lip.

‘She did suddenly say she wanted to see the border… I really should have stopped her.’ The person she was supposed to be guarding, Princess Guinivere, had declared out of seemingly nowhere the day before that she wanted to survey the situation at the Lycian border. Milady said that it was dangerous for her to go out on the front line, and strongly rejected her proposal, but the princess was so insistent that Milady relented and brought her to this castle.

But at dawn, Guinivere and the cleric that served her both disappeared.

Milady did not know what had happened, but because she was supposed to protect her mistress, she saw Guinivere’s going missing as her own personal failure.

But no matter how much she blamed herself, it would not help get the princess back. She immediately shifted her focus and went directly to Rude to give him her orders.

“I've been ordered to return to the capital. You will find Her Highness, so this cannot become an even bigger problem than it already is!” Milady said without waiting for a response, before storming out of the room.

-

Rude looked out the meeting room window and up at the sky.

Before him, he saw Milady and the imperial guard that served her all straddle their wyverns and take flight. They gradually became smaller and smaller. After he was certain that they had disappeared completely, he turned around to face the soldier standing behind him.

“Nothing has changed with Princess Guinivere, has it?”

“No, Sir. As you ordered, we are keeping a close eye on her in one of the cells in the dungeon.”

“Excellent. Do whatever it takes to make sure she does not escape.” Rude said with a smile on his face, happy to hear his soldier’s report.

Princess Guinivere had gone missing - and it was all in accordance with Rude's orders. The night before, when Milady’s imperial guard took their eyes off her, he locked her and her attendant up together in the dungeon.

Seeing Rude treat their king’s younger sister with a complete lack of respect made the soldier feel uneasy, so he spoke up and said, “A-Are you sure? Should we be doing something like this…?”

“Worry not. There are many, many groups that are currently hostile towards our country. Whoever we sell the princess of Bern to… they will pay us so handsomely that we will never have to work another day in our lives!”

Bern was a country that highly revered hard work and living a simple lifestyle. To rise quickly in social status, superior talent in combat skills was a necessity. Rude was not good at fighting, nor did he have the intelligence to make up for that weakness. Neither did he have the wealth or connections to buy his way into a position in the government.

But he was a little bit cunning, and by stretching that skill to its limits, he had come up with his current plan.

And so far, his gamble of a lifetime was all going according to plan.

As Rude gloated at the thought of how much money would soon be his, the soldier said hesitantly, “Y-Yes, Sir. …There’s just one problem with your plan…”

“What do you mean?”

“I just received word… that Princess Guinivere’s attendant has escaped…”

“What?! You fool! Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?!” Rude shouted as the color drained from his face.

If word of this got out, then he would lose his current social status. The crime he was attempting to commit was so great that not only he, but his entire family could be killed for it. Anyone who could possibly reveal his plot had to be exterminated.

“Find her this instant! You cannot let her get away!”

☆

As Rude flew into a panic and started to look for the escaped cleric, the Pherae army, led by Roy, was just arriving in front of the small village on the opposite side of the mountain next to the castle.

Roy, out of consideration for the villagers who might be scared by a large group of soldiers marching through the middle of their home, had most of his forces wait outside, while only Marcas and a few others went inside.

Because the village was on the border of a country at war, very few people were out and about, making it feel nearly deserted.

“Lord Roy, I am certain that this is the place.” Explained Merlinus, serving as not only the leader of the convoy carriages, but also as an adviser to the young boy.

He was a government official who had now served House Pherae for over twenty years as the person in charge of all their finances. If Marcus was the most essential soldier in Pherae’s army, then Merlinus was the person who contributed the most directly within their government.

In his old age, all the hair on top of his head had fallen out, but both his mind and body were in such good health that one would never believe he was as old as he was.

“Is this where we will meet up with the mercenaries my father said he hired?”

“Yes. …However, I don’t see anyone here yet.” Merlinus ook a good look across the village, but didn’t see anyone that fit the description of a group of mercenaries.

Roy decided to let everyone take a short break until the mercenaries arrived. The road ahead would be long. If they did not rest when they had the opportunity to do so, they would be unable to make their move when the time came to fight.

Just as he was about to give his soldiers the order to leave the village, a cleric came running up to them, completely out of breath. It seemed like someone was chasing her, as she looked behind her constantly, paying so little attention to Roy in front of her that she bumped straight into him.

“I-I’m sorry… I was in such a hurry that… um…” She wore the robes of a cleric of St. Elimine’s church, and apologized profusely for her rudeness.

“I’m fine. I’m more concerned about you…”

“Ah… I’m fine, thank you.”

“I’m happy that you aren’t hurt.” Roy said with a kind smile that also made the cleric smile back.

Her long, chestnut colored hair glistened with sweat, and her chest was heaving violently. As further proof that she had been running as fast as she could, the sleeves and hem of her cassock were covered in a light layer of dirt and dust.

After calming her breathing back down, she asked timidly, “Um… Are you… from Lycia?” 

Her eyes glanced up at the flag his cavaliers were flying. It was the flag of the Lycian League, decorated with a sword surrounded by flames on a white background. It represented the founder of the Kingdom of Lycia, which predated the current Lycian League, Roland. He was one of the Eight Legendary Heroes of Elibe, known also as the Little Knight.

The crest on the flag was an image of the divine weapon he wielded, Durandal.

“Yes, I am Roy, son of Marquess Pherae.”

“Ah…! Oh, Goddess Elimine! I thank you for your guidance!!”

“Huh?”

She suddenly started thanking the goddess, causing Roy to open his eyes wide in surprise.

But she ignored his shock and pleaded, “My name is Ellen. I am a cleric of St. Elimine’s Church. Please… won’t you help my mistress?”

“What’s wrong?”

“My mistress wanted to meet with the marquesses of the Lycian League, and made it this far. But… then she fell into Rude’s trap, and he captured her! He is the lord of the castle in this area, Belreth.”

“L-Lord Roy! We can do no such thing! Fighting an unnecessary battle here with Bern would not be a wise strategy!” Merlinus was direct in expressing his opposition to Ellen's plea.

Roy's army was rather small at the moment, and they still hadn't met up with the mercenary group yet. They also didn't know how strong the forces stationed at Belreth Castle were, nor anything else about its current status.

It was too dangerous of a fight for them on their own. Roy knew that. “It is too risky for us to make any rash movements. But we cannot just abandon someone who came to meet with the marquesses…”

Just as he finished his sentence, they saw several soldiers appear from the woods near the village.

They appeared to be looking for something, as their eyes were darting around in all directions. That is, they were until they saw the cleric standing next to Roy, and one shouted, “There she is! Over there!! Do whatever it takes to get her back! She is coming with us, dead or alive!”

“Aaaaah…!” Ellen shrieked.

With it now clear that the Bern soldiers intended to fight them, the moment Roy heard Ellen scream in terror, Roy made up his mind. “Merlinus, if they started the battle, then we have no choice but to fight back, do we?” He said with his eyes on the Bern soldiers.

The first person to give a response to his decision directly was Alen, as commander of Pherae’s cavalier vanguard unit.

“Let’s do this, Lord Roy! Leave the vanguard to me, Alen!”

“Alen, do not be so rash. Do you think you’re going to rush headfirst into battle without taking in any observation of your surroundings, like you did in our previous battle against the bandits? This enemy is a proper army!” His fellow cavalier Lance was angered by his words, and scolded him. 

But Alen did not feel the same way in the slightest, instead thumping his fist against his chest and saying, “I’ll be fine! I shouldn’t run into any trouble if I follow you around!”

“Seriously… You never learn…” Lance said, but still had a smile on his face, as he was not opposed to fighting Bern here either.

“C’mon, Lance! Not a level-headed soldier like you too! No matter how you look at it, this is…”

“Give it up now, Lord Merlinus. Once Lord Roy has made the decision for us to fight, it is our job to work towards claiming victory!” Marcus said to pressure Merlinus, still protesting even now.

At the words of a veteran general, even the veteran government official had no choice but to fold. “I concede defeat.… If there's no changing his mind, then shall we see how much he has grown during his time in Ostia?”

“I won’t let you down! Our goal is to attack Belreth Castle! You go hide somewhere safe…” Roy told Ellen to stay in the very back.

But she shook her head and said, “No, please take me with you. I cannot fight, but I can help your wounded.”

“Really? But…”

“I appeared before you out of nowhere and asked for your assistance with a request that does not involve you. Please at least allow me to do something to help.”

“Alright. In exchange, I ask that you do not put yourself at risk.” Roy said, then returned to the front line to march his army into battle.

-

The Pherae army entrusted Alen and his troops to be their vanguard. He rushed into battle, directly flanked by Lance and Marcus. This was a complete surprise attack, and so the enemy army did not know the best formation to fight in. Because of that, when they were rushed into battle, none of their soldiers were properly prepared for combat, and they were in total chaos.

The number of soldiers that Belreth Castle sent out to fight them was much higher. But since they were not expecting to fight Lycia either, at the beginning of the battle, they were also not ready to fight.

However, as the battlefield gradually calmed, the enemy army started to put up a long, hard fight by shutting themselves into the fort on the front line. Even Pherae's cavaliers, who demonstrated unmatched strength on flat land, struggled during sieges and attacks on forts.

As the battle slowly reached a stalemate, another army appeared from the road located south of the fort built on the Bern side of the country border.

Their leader was a muscular mercenary with scars over his eyes and on his cheek.

He was the commander of this army… or more accurately, this group of mercenaries, Dieck.

“They should be waiting somewhere around here… Shanna, look around and see if the Pherae army is close by.”

“You got it!” Shanna replied cheerfully, and flew up into the sky on her mount, a pegasus.

Though she was still just a young trainee, she was already an expert in maneuvering her pegasus. The mercenary group deeply appreciated her invaluable reconnaissance skills.

One of their other members, a powerful fighter named Wade, watched her disappear upwards, then asked, “Commander Dieck, who is our employer this time?”

“House Pherae, one of Lycia’s territories. The marquess’ son is going to help lead the Lycian army.”

“Then that would mean our foe is the Kingdom of Bern?”

Another member, Lot, followed up with his own question. He was from the same village as Wade, and often served the role of stopping him from rushing recklessly into battle.

“Yes, it does.”

“Heh he he, sounds fun! My muscles are tingling already!”

“Bern, huh? They’re going to be a tough opponent… If we go in unprepared, then we’ll be in trouble!”

Both Wade and Lot shared their individual feelings of the battle at hand, just as Shanna was already returning from gathering reconnaissance.

“I found a person at the northern fort that matches the description of our employer! But he seems to already be involved in a skirmish.”

“Huh? They’ve already started?! Then let’s go!”

The moment he heard Shanna’s report, Dieck grabbed his iron blade that he carried on his back and immediately broke away from his spot in the front of his group’s formation, then ran towards the battlefield. Each of his mercenaries also unsheathed their own weapon, and followed after him.

The addition of Dieck and his mercenaries was more than enough to completely change the tide of battle.

“Let’s go, everyone! Cut into their ranks from the side!” Dieck shouted his orders out as loudly as he could.

The mercenaries were much more agile than the heavily armored knights. Using that difference to their advantage, they all climbed the mountain to the west of the fort, then charged down it at once to unleash a surprise attack.

“I-It can’t be! Are those enemy reinforcements?!”

With this second surprise attack coming from a direction they did not suspect at all, the Bern soldiers could finally no longer hold the fort, so they abandoned it. Now that the front line had lost their higher ground, Belreth’s forces crumbled back into chaos, and started to flee.

“Grrrr! You cowards! Hold your ground and keep fighting!!”

But no matter how long Rude shouted for, he could not get his troops to reorganize. Once a cowardly wind had blown through an army, it was a difficult task for even the most valiant or intelligent leader to get them back in formation. And Rude was neither valiant nor intelligent. At best, he was a perfectly mediocre commander.

The path between the fort and Belreth Castle was on entirely flat land, and had not a single obstacle along it. Pherae’s army marched along entirely unmatched. They chased after the fleeing Bern soldiers and flooded the castle in one fell swoop.

Before the might of Pherae’s army charging forward with weapons at the ready, Rude kept the castle’s front gate closed, but his face was as white as a sheet.

“Y-You won’t be able to get me while I’m locked up in the ca-” His sentence was cut short.

Holding one’s army up a castle to buy time and call for reinforcements was a common strategy. But Rude could not do that. He had Princess Guinivere inside the dungeon. In the one in a million chance that any reinforcements found her, his life would be ruined forever.

And to make matters even worse for him, the enemy army was protecting the escaped cleric. There was also a chance that they may reveal his secret plot.

The moment Rude realized he would have to drive away the enemy army and kill the cleric alone, he froze in shock. When he turned around, he could clearly see the dust cloud Pherae’s cavaliers were kicking up.

“Just as I was finally getting my chance in life… Damn it!” Those were Rude’s final words.

☆

[kitsune024]

Crossovers

Jujutsu Kaisen

MCU

blackugou widow by @wonhaebunny I Chapters: 11/? I BAMF Bakugou Katsuki, Reincarnation, Natasha reincarnates into Bakugou

Rurouni Kenshin

Echoes of Your Silence by LLewtwo, Popjeckdoom I Chapters 27/40 I Immortal Himura Kenshin

-

A Study In Deceit by @mentallyunawareofpapaya | Chapters: 15/? | Sherlock AU, Bakugou has the intelligence of Sherlock, Bakugou Katsuki & Todoroki Shouto Friendship, Bamf Bakugou, Psychological Horror Slope by sunfleurmoon | Chapters: 35/40 | Bakugou Katsuki Redemption, Bakugou gets expelled, Bakugou Whump, Torture, Bakugou adopts Eri, Quirkless Bakugou, Bamf Bakugou Your Sun in the Night Sky by @jothebakuho I Chapters: 10/11 I Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto, This time Bakugou saves a kid instead of Midoriya- He gets too into it, Kid Fic Ground Zero by Windschild8178 I Chapters: 18/30 I Bamf Bakugou, Bakugou/Deku sibling shaninigans, Torture, Psychological Torture. Mental Anguish, Chronic Illness I Provide Protection by hitomi_mimii (PuffedGill) I Chapters 87/100 I Bakugou/FemOc, Cute fic, slow burn Can't See Shit by alice_tryingtowrite I Chapters 36/? I Bakugou has a different quirk, child neglect, bakugou and Izuku stay best friends, bullied bakugou, bullied Izuku, childhood friends, good parent Inko, class representative bakugou I Wasn't Here (But I am Now) by Emo_With_Ink, Sunshines_Catharsis I Chapters: 22/? I Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Gets Hit by a Quirk, Traitor Bakugou Katsuki, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe

Completed

Flip Off by @bern-the-bridge I Chapters 1/1 I one shot 5+1 Things, ooc Bakugou, Personality switch, Quirk Shenanigans End of the Line by LinatheLoud I Chapters 10/10 I Bakugou Katsuki & Class 1-A, Bakugou becomes Class 1-A's medic, Class 1-A as Family, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Hero Public Safety Commission Bashing, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery, you won't like All Might here

@ladygreenfrisbee

Standing at Ground Zero I Chapters: 16/45 | Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku but not main focus, training camp arc, Vigilante Bakugo Katsuki, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Bakugou doesn't get rescued, Canon Divergence The Ticking Time Bomb | Chapters: 15/25 | bakugo angst, Violence, All for One is a scheming monster, Dabbling in Quirks Elixir I Chapters 13/40 I Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, AU- Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, HealingQuirk!Bakugo, secondary quirks, Angst Bookmark Series All That Is Left | Part 1 - 2 | Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, All for One, Possession, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon Divergence

@anonymoustwit

Completed Our Hero I Chapters 8/8 I Earthquakes, Whump, Hurt!Bakugou, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku Friendship, Soft Bakugou Katsuki A Little Demonstration I Chapters 3/3 I BAMF Bakugou Katsuki, Bullies, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, In This House We Appreciate Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Katsuki Is A One Man Protection Squad

[rose-arwen-padme]

Suppression

The forbidden tale of Anakin and Padmé's AOTC courtship. A detailed expansion covering the movie, known deleted scenes, and many new scenes. If George showed 20% of their screen time, this is the other 80%. Told in Padmé's POV with ROTS awareness. Written for the enduring fans of Anidala.

I Coruscant. Chapter 3: Executive Order

It was the familiar savory smell that roused me awake. When my eyes squinted open, I saw Dormé's oval face looking down on me from her stance next to the sofa. A promising mug was in her right hand. "Caf?" she asked, sweetly.

Oof. Did I fall asleep looking at drafts on the couch again? This was hardly the first time Dormé had found me on the yellow bench, greeting me in the morning with a pleasant smile and a hot cup of my favorite spiced brew.

The apartment was cast in yellowish amber, as the emerging sunrise entered the space like gold filling a basin. It was going to be a beautiful morning. For a wonderful moment, life was as it had been. Normal. Uneventful. I was too recent a visitor of the mind-numbing sleep world, and I didn't yet remember the events of the landing platform. The deaths. The grief. The close call of the second attempt. But the ignorant spell was broken when a shiver went through me and I realized how frigid the room was, and why. Normally, I kept my apartment at humid, slightly warm temperature that mimicked Naboo's southern climate. It reminded me of home. But the busted window in my bedroom— an area that was merely one open corridor away— must've allowed Coruscant's chilly dry air to infiltrate throughout the apartment during the night.

And with that dawn of understanding, reality came rushing back. Because it was a window broken when a bounty hunter— or their accomplice, I was still hazy on the details, especially now— tried to assassinate me. Had tried again— after slaughtering innocents yesterday.

Cordé. Bern. Torin.

Seven faces flashed before my eyes in quick succession. I stared momentarily at the deep blue ceiling, composing myself, halting the way my lungs seemed to constrict and fill with rocks in my chest. Then I swallowed the grief back. I propped myself up on my left elbow— like I'd prophesied, I had indeed rolled over in my sleep to better adjust myself to the "C" curve of the sofa— and with a grateful smile, I reached up. Dormé carefully passed me the purple mug of caf, just like she had for hundreds of mornings. Some routines just carried on. "Thank you." I wrapped all my fingers around the cup luxuriously— it warmed my chilled hands.

That's when I noticed there was a second, thicker blanket draped across my lower half, covering the thin one I'd brought with me from the veranda's couch. It was the purple top linen from my actual bed. That was unexpected. Without it, I might've frozen through the night. I credited its presence to Dormé. She must've placed it on me while I slept.

Unless…

"Where's Ani?" My eyes scanned around the room, failing to find their target.

Dormé studied me for a moment, pausing ever so briefly before she answered, with a directional tip of her head, "He's just outside. I think he's doing some morning reflection ritual."

Careful not to spill my drink, I sat up enough to peek over the rim of the furniture at the figure out on the balcony. His back was to us, and his hands were clasped low behind him. His brown robe floated around him in the breeze, showing us that his feet were spread shoulder-width apart. There was no hint of tension in his frame. The sunrise rays illuminated his dark blond hair, making the short strands appear almost crown-like around his head.

When Dormé answered me, her voice had been quieter than when I'd asked my question, and I knowingly matched her low volume now. "He's meditating."

Dormé shrugged. "Like I said."

I sat up fully, my aching back protesting but also reveling in the chance to straighten out. I stretched it as best I could while sitting and holding a cup of hot fluid in my hand. At least my neck seemed to have decided not to hurt anymore. I ventured the mug to my lips, but the toasty air before I made contact alerted my senses that it was still too hot. I blew habitually on the liquid, then dared to take a sip anyways. I licked my scorched lips and looked expectantly up at Dormé. "Any news?"

Only her eyes betrayed Dormé's otherwise stoic countenance. "Hundreds of messages of condolence came during the night. Honestly, it might be in the thousands by now. Even some of the factions who don't like you sent words of sympathy. And there are numerous requests for interviews from the media."

I sighed. "So, word has gotten out."

At least the families of the victims knew— I'd made sure they'd been contacted before I gave my speech to the Senate yesterday. In my opening remarks to the assembled chamber, I'd publicly announced the seven lives lost. It would've been unforgivable if the families found out either that way or through some back channel.

"Should we tackle the media all at once? Call a press conference?"

"No," my tone was adamant, imperative. "No, not with the vote in the balance. I don't even want to give the appearance of capitalizing on tragedy."

The life of a politician mandated that press conferences be a part of the diet, but instigating them when it wasn't absolutely necessary was the style of other Senators, not me. Besides, the threat was still ongoing, and there was no need to make Obi-Wan and Ani's job any more difficult.

Dormé nodded, and I knew she both understood and agreed. "A memorial service is going to be held at the Naboo embassy this morning. There's to be moment of silence, time for remarks, as well as grief counseling for anyone seeking it. The service is going to be semi-private— Naboo only at this time."

I knew the staff at the embassy extremely well, and I was proud and glad that they were putting something together. The shock and brutality of this attack would be felt by all who called Naboo home, and I was grateful that those here on Coruscant had a place to come together.

I took another sip of caf. "I'll be there, too." Dormé's lips twisted, and lines appeared on her forehead. I was about to take another sip, but as I studied my handmaiden the mug stayed paused before my lips, inadvertently heating the tip of my nose. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Well. I just think— yes, it would be good of you to go."

I gave her a wary look. "What are you not telling me?"

A rushed sigh suddenly escaped through Dormé's nose. "Last night the embassy held a candlelight vigil for the fallen at Lucian Park— completely open to the public. The crowd was… large."

I didn't believe my ears. "Our embassy? The embassy for Naboo?"

The look on her face was all the affirmation I needed.

I gaped at her, incredulous. "Why wasn't I told?" I should have been there!

Dormé was immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry. You were in your room eating dinner when I found out, and the Jedi and Captain Typho told me not to."

My lips straightened into a thinly pressed line, and then my voice rang out clear and loud. "Ani!"

Continued at AO3 Link and FanFiction.net Link

[homicidalbrunette]

Timeline for The Marriage Story/Lezzing Out

To help with clarity, here's where the out of order chapters of The Marriage Story fit into the Lezzing Out timeline. Contains a few mild spoilers.

2022

(TMS Chapter 5) One, two, three and four

December/January 2022/23

(LO Chapter 16-17)

Viral video of Katya kicking ass

End of European Leg of tour

Berlin chapter

Go to the motel for Christmas Eve

Creates San Bern room/wedding night

February/March

(LO Chapter 16) Last leg of tour in the US

(LO Chapter 16) AMA Insta Live

(TMS Chapter 4) Snowed in in Milwaukee

(TMS chapter 3) Katya sick at the gig

(LO Chapter 16) Tattoos

April

Home from tour

(TMS Chapter 1) Trixie initially at San Bern a lot

(LO Chapter 17) Dinah Shore White Party

(LO Chapter 17) Advocate article

(TMS Chapter 3) Australian Solid Pink Disco

(TMS Chapter 3) Hip Surge/Stagecoach

(TMS Chapter 4) Domestication��

May 

(LO Chapter 17) Rolling Stone article 

(TMS Chapter 2) Promoter calls Brian Ryan

(TMS Chapter 1) Trixie and Brian date

June 

(LO Chapter 17) Second Honeymoon show/wedding

(TMS Chapter 2) Mexico Honeymoon

(TMS Chapter 5) Five, NYC Apartment 

(TMS Chapter 4) Making a bebé

July

(TMS Chapter 3) Solid Pink Disco in NYC

(TMS Chapter 5) Plus One, Follow Through

August

(TMS Chapter 7) PWP: Brian/Trixie, Brian/Brian, Mama/baby girl

December 

(TMS Chapter 6/stand alone) Hallmark Christmas special

[kmomof4]

A Spy Finds a Home: A Snowing Tale for A Family Affair  Ch. 1 Mérida

Thank you all so much for your response to the Prologue!!! I’m so excited that y’all are excited for what’s to come!!! In this chapter we meet Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard and dive right in to the action! I hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think!

All the love and thanks again to my beta, brainstorming, and encouragement team of @hollyethecurious @jrob64 and @apiratewhopines!!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! I couldn’t have done this without you all!

And please, go give ALL the love to @motherkatereloyshipper for her manip of David!!! Doesn’t he look great???!!! Well, maybe not great... he looks a little worn out to me... but that’s exactly how he’s SUPPOSED to look for this chapter and Kit did a FABULOUS job capturing him!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH, babe!!!

Summary: International spy David Nolan is tired. 

When his mentor dies unexpectedly, he is drawn back into a world he wanted to leave behind, courtesy of a quarter million dollars and a beautiful woman. Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard is too much of everything- too smart, too gutsy, too alluring, and too naive to survive on her own.

Now, with the risk of world-wide nuclear war on the line, David has little choice in the matter. If he can just remember that the gorgeous raven haired doctor is a means to an end and nothing more, he'll have it made.

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, minor character death)

Words: 5,332 of 52K

Tags: Inspired by Without a Trace The O’Hurley’s by Nora Roberts, Spy Fic, Espionage, Smut, Minor Character Death

On ao3 From Beginning/ Current Chapter

Series on ao3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells​ @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​ @jrob64​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @zaharadessert​ @elizabeethan​ @xhookswenchx​ @gingerpolyglot​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @deckerstarblanche​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @batana54​ @purplehawkcaptain​ @k-leemac​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @apiratewhopines​ @killiansqueenofthejollyroger​ @onceuponahookandswan​ @meat-pie-with-sauce​ @cosette141​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @fleurdepetite​ @hookmecaptain​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Chapter 1 Mérida

David Nolan sat in the dingy Mexican cantina, a whiskey in his hand, and contemplated the brevity of life- the insanity of the life he’d been born into and then later, chosen, in a manner of speaking. It had been a decade since he’d left his family outside of Atlanta. Nothing more than a kid who wanted to see the world.

David Swan had $300 in his wallet as he started on his journey north, staying far away from the small towns that made up the entertainment circuit he’d traveled all his life. By the time he made it to New York, he had enough money to buy a one way ticket to London.

That first year and a half away from home, David made his way across Europe and the Middle East, playing piano and singing in bars and strip clubs by night while soaking up the exotic locales by day. He saw Paris- where he got his first scar from a knife while breaking up a fight- Munich, Berlin, Warsaw, Bern, Salzburg, Venice, and Rome, before crossing the Mediterranean and landing in Greece. His sister Ruby was always the history buff, but he wasn’t immune to the solemn grandeur of temples erected to ancient gods, nor the other historical landmarks he visited across the continent. He also saw Jerusalem, Baghdad, and Constantinople. Whenever he wrote to Ruby, usually nothing more than a postcard, he’d always tell her about the places he’d seen since he last wrote.

His travels continued this way until the fateful night in Singapore when he either made the best or worst decision of his life. Depending on his mood, it could truly go either way. He saved a man in a back alley from a mugging, his second wound from a knife. That man turned out to be Lance Knight, American agent. That was the night David Swan disappeared and David Nolan was born.

David Nolan had indeed seen the world in the years since he’d left his family. And he’d been bankrolled by the International Security System. But now Lance was dead and David drank a toast to his friend and mentor. In the end, it hadn’t been an assassin's bullet or a knife in a dark alley that got him, but a stroke. Lance’s body had simply given out. Fate had decreed that Lance would have fifty-two years, eight months, and seventeen days. And David would have to live with that.

The funeral was in the morning in Chicago, but David was on vacation and he was damn well going to enjoy it. So he sat in the corner of the cantina and held his own wake. Lance wouldn’t mind. Lance had always been no nonsense. Do the job, have a drink, and get on with the next one.

The smells of onions and enchiladas frying were nearly overpowering. As the sun set outside over the Gulf, the cantina got noisier, conversations being held in rapid fire Spanish that David understood and ignored. He knew the picture he presented. Anyone with half a lick of sense could see he was dangerous. Most of the deep tan he’d carried since his last job was gone, the bones of his face stood out, and the rest of his body was thin as well. All this due to a lengthy hospital stay after the last bullet he’d taken had nearly killed him. The scraggly beard and intensity of his eyes kept the other patrons far away. He had his whiskey, his solitude, and his fajitas were coming.

He saw her the minute she entered the cantina. Training had him taking in her details without seeming to look at all. A round face, rosebud lips, her skin as pale as could be under the Mexican sun, black hair that swept her shoulders. He smirked as a sizzle of attraction swept through him. She was petite and looked appalled as her eyes scanned the room in front of her. A tourist who’d obviously made a wrong turn. His smirk disappeared when her eyes settled on him, and with a hard swallow he could see from where he sat, she began making her way to his table.

“David Nolan?” she asked. There was a hint of nerves in her voice, and now that she was closer, he could see the dark smudges under her green eyes that spoke of fatigue. He took another sip of his whiskey and decided he was just a bit too drunk to be annoyed.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name is Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard,” she informed him. “I was told you’d be in Mérida. I’ve been looking for you for two days.” And he was the last thing she expected to find. He was dirty, smelled of whiskey, and looked like he could peel the skin off you with his teeth without leaving a drop of blood. If she wasn’t so desperate, she’d have already fled, but this was the man she’d been directed to find. She took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. “May I sit down?”

An agent, from either side, would have approached him differently. He kicked the chair on the other side of the table out enough for her to sit. “Suit yourself.”

She sat, her back straight, her hands twisting the strap of the bag that now lay in her lap. She swallowed hard again, her eyes cutting to either side of their table. “It’s very important that I speak with you. Privately.”

David raised his chin and looked beyond her to the nearly full cantina. “This’ll do. Now, why don’t you tell me how you knew I’d be in Mérida and exactly what you want.”

She moved her chair closer to his, still concerned about being overheard. The past few days had taught her well to be careful. “Lance Knight told me where to find you, and I want you to save my parents.”

David was thankful he was able to keep his gaze on her steady when she mentioned Lance’s name. “Lance is dead,” he murmured.

“I know,” she commiserated. There’d been a flash of something in his eyes, a bit of humanity, perhaps, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Whatever it was, Mary Margaret found herself responding to it. “I’m sorry. I understand you were close.”

David grunted in acknowledgement and took another sip of his drink. “Why would Lance tell you where to find me?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope sealed with red wax. Something told David he’d be better off not taking it; just rising to his feet and getting lost in the warm Mexican night. Only the fact that she mentioned Lance kept him from doing exactly that. With the feeling that his old friend was still controlling his life from the grave, David took the envelope from her and opened it.

Lance used the code they had used on their last mission. Listen to the lady. No involvement with the organization at this time. Contact me.

But of course, there was no way to contact Lance now. He looked up from the missive. “Explain.”

“Lance was a friend of my father’s,” she began. “About fifteen years ago, they worked together on a project called Horizon.”

David pushed the bottle of whiskey aside. Vacation or not, he couldn’t afford to dull his senses any further. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Leo. Dr. Leo Blanchard.”

He knew the name. He knew the project. A serum that would protect against ionizing radiation injury, one of the nastier side effects of nuclear war. ISS had been in charge of security. It had cost hundreds of millions of dollars and had been a whopping failure.

“The project was dropped,” she continued, “but in his spare time, my father continued to work on it. He believed in Horizon.”

David’s eyebrows rose. Not only a scientist, but a rich scientist. Without funding, he would’ve really had to believe in the project to continue to pursue it on his own time and money.

Mary Margaret’s eyes closed briefly and she could feel herself sway with exhaustion. The lack of sleep and terror were catching up with her. But she had to get through this. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Mr. Nolan, may I have a drink?”

David smirked and pushed the bottle and glass toward her. So he was testing her. She was used to being tested. She lifted her chin and poured, slamming it back like a pro before replacing the glass on the table. It burned going down but it was exactly what she needed in order to continue.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze again. “Last week,” she continued, “my father was kidnapped by an organization called Excalibur. You know it?”

Only years of training kept his face impassive with the mention of Excalibur. David cursed internally. His last association with the organization had nearly killed him.

“I’m familiar with them,” he acknowledged.

“They took my father from his home and intend to hold him until he’s perfected the serum.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“The recorder was running when he was taken,” she explained. “The men told him who they were with and exactly what was expected of him.” She grabbed his forearm urgently. “I don’t think I have to explain the repercussions of an organization like Excalibur getting their hands on the serum.”

He covered her hand with his own and deliberately pulled it off of him. He wouldn’t be manipulated into taking on this job, no matter who had sent her. He had earned some time off, dammit, and he wouldn’t be giving it up without a fight. All he wanted was to do some snorkeling, explore a few ruins, and look at the sky. Just enjoy being alive for a little bit. He’d even started thinking about going to see his family.

He held her gaze with his own. “No, you do not.” Leaning back in his chair, he added, “That still doesn’t explain why Lance sent you to me.”

“Once I knew my father was missing and listened to the recorder, I contacted Lance since he was familiar with the project. He sent me to you.” The drink had put some of the fire he could sense in her back in her eyes. “He said you were the man for the job.”

That wasn’t all he’d said, but Mary Margaret didn’t think David would have appreciated the words Lance had used. He’d described David as a lethal weapon, too smart for his own good, not a team player in the least, if he was, he’d be running the ISS by now, and excellent at finding a needle in a haystack. Especially if you didn’t mind the haystack getting mussed a bit in the process. He’d said he would trust David with his life.

“Lance was off base,” David groused. “He knew I was wanting to retire. This was his way of keeping me in the game.” His hardened gaze turned back on Mary Margaret and she caught her breath. “If your father hands that serum over to those maniacs, he’s a dead man. They’d never keep him alive. They like to call themselves terrorists, liberators, rebels. But what they really are is a bunch of disorganized fanatics headed by a very rich madwoman. They kill more people by accident than they do on purpose.” He frowned and rubbed at his chest. “They have enough money to keep them going, but they’re really nothing more than dedicated idiots. And there is nothing more dangerous than dedicated idiots.”

“I’m aware,” she agreed, “and I’m sure he is, too. But they took my mother, as well. To ensure his cooperation.”

David rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m not the man for this, Miss Blanchard. I just came off of nine months of deep cover. I’m tired. You need someone young and gung ho. The ISS would have the best agents in the world looking for your parents inside of twenty-four hours.”

“The ISS wants the serum as badly as Excalibur does,” she asserted. “Why should I trust my parents' lives to them?”

“Because they’re the good guys,” he said with a note of humor.

“Do you have a family, Mr. Nolan?”

He sighed again. “Yeah.”

“The ISS is an organization run by men. Some good, some not, but all with an idea of what is necessary to keep peace and order. If it was your family, would you trust their safety to an organization?” she asked. “An organization that may decide to sacrifice them for ‘the common good’?”

“No,” he mumbled, so low, she almost couldn’t hear him in the noise of the cantina.

“Nor would I,” she assured him. She had made up her mind. He didn’t look like a hero, but something about him told her he was. He may have just lost sight of it for a while, lost in the cynicism of the life he led. Lance had told her David was her man. That he would care more about the people involved than the serum. She discarded logic for instinct and cast her vote with him. “I can give you a quarter million dollars.”

David gulped hard, stunned.

“The money isn’t negotiable, because it’s all I have,” she continued. “It’s in a trust that came to me when I turned twenty-five. I haven’t needed it. You want to retire? You could do it on that.”

She was right. He’d never been able to hold on to more than a few thousand at a time. It just wasn’t in his nature. But money like that would make the difference between just talking about retirement and actually being able to do it. He scrubbed his hand down his face. He didn’t want to take this on. But he couldn’t turn down that kind of money.

“Alright, Doc,” he sighed. “You’ve got yourself a spy.”

~*~*~

They got back to the hotel and climbed the stairs to their rooms. Mary Margaret explained that she got the room next to his by bribing the desk clerk.

“I gave him a thousand pesos.”

David chuckled as she opened the door to her room. One glance inside and he spun Mary Margaret out of the doorway to the wall next to the door, covering her with his body. He could feel her alarm, but was too focused on her room to really enjoy being this close to her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelped before David shushed her with a single finger to her lips. Her eyes widened when he bent down and drew a large knife from an ankle holster and straightened back up.

He entered the room and Mary Margaret followed him. Even someone not well versed in the world of espionage could see the intruders had done a very thorough job. Nothing had been overlooked. Her suitcase had been cut open, her clothes scattered in the middle of the floor. The mattress and chair cushion had been slit, with white stuffing spilling out. The drawers of the dresser had been pulled out and overturned.

David walked further into the room to check the bath and window access. They must have come in the front, he concluded, and a search of a room this size wouldn’t have taken more than about fifteen minutes.

“Get some clothes and meet me next door.”

Mary Margaret nodded mutely and stooped to pick up some of her things. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of whoever did this going through her belongings, but she couldn’t very well leave everything here.

David opened his own door and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever was tailing Mary Margaret hadn’t made him. The tells that he left, even when off duty- the book with the corner hanging just a bit over the edge of the nightstand and the single hair from his beard left on the bedspread- were both intact.

Mary Margaret entered the room and shut the door behind her. He crossed over and double locked it behind her. Turning to her, he was taken aback by the lost and forlorn look on her face, not to mention, the clear exhaustion. This was all very new to her, completely outside her realm of experience and he was going to have to tread lightly going forward with her. He grasped her elbow and led her to the chair next to the bed. Sitting down on the bed facing her, he spoke.

“Who are they? And what do they want?”

Her chin trembled and he was shocked to see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, which were far away and unfocused.

“The men who killed Lance.”

It was the very last thing he expected to come out of her mouth. His jaw dropped and he was speechless for a moment. He shook his head and gathered his wits before he could speak.

“What did you say?”

The sharpness of his tone brought her back to the situation at hand and she inhaled sharply at the expression on his face. She’d seen anger, she’d seen rage, but she’d never seen anything like what swirled in David’s eyes right now.

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights and David struggled to compartmentalize her stunning statement to the back of his mind and focus on the information he needed at the moment. Holding tightly to his composure with both hands, he softened his tone and repeated his second question.

“They’re after me,” she said, voice wavering.

“Yes,” he replied, with the utmost calm, belying the fury within him. “I got that. But why?”

She swallowed hard before speaking. “A couple of months ago, I joined my father in his lab.”

“So you’re a scientist? Not a medical doctor?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m a physicist, ” she confirmed before continuing. “While I was there, we had a breakthrough. You see, in ionizing radiation injury, the main structure affected is the single cell. We believed we found a way to inoculate the cell against the damage inflicted. I took the notes with me back to the institute to work on it further.”

“So they’re after the notes you have?” he asked, incredulously. “You carry things like that around with you? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding you and yes, I have the notes with me.” Her eyes were closed and her voice was beginning to slur. “Excuse me.” And with that, she was asleep.

The sigh that left him was ragged and he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He rose and shook her shoulder in an effort to wake her, but she didn’t even twitch in response. He sighed again and knelt next to her, gathering her in his arms. Once he stood, she weighed practically nothing in his arms, he turned and placed her on the bed. Just in those few moments, she snuggled into him causing a hitch in his chest. He cuddled her close and inhaled her scent, apple blossoms with a hint of something else, something even fresher underneath. Whatever it was, it gave him visions of the green hills of Ireland under a spring rain.

She immediately turned on her side, away from him, pulling her knees slightly toward her chest and curling her hands under her chin. She was completely exhausted. Her skin was terribly pale, the comparison to snow couldn’t be avoided, with deep bruises under her eyes that made her look like she’d tried to take on Evander Holyfield, and lost.

He turned toward her bag she left on the chair and dumped the contents onto the seat. Her passport picture made him smile. Her skin was still pale, but there was a rosiness about her complexion and a hint of mischief in her green eyes that he couldn’t help responding to. He looked at the woman on the bed and felt a tightening in his midsection that he hadn’t felt in many a year. He’d never been able to resist the damsel in distress routine. It had nearly gotten him killed in Hong Kong and married in Stockholm. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

She was an objectively beautiful woman. Raven hair that he’d dearly love to run his fingers through, with a rosebud mouth and pert nose. He imagined her body underneath his and he felt a stirring in his pants at the thought. But he shut it down as quickly as it crossed his mind. She’d given him a job to do, and getting distracted by her would be a sure-fire way to make sure he wouldn’t make it to the finish line and his retirement ticket.

He turned back to the seat and picked through the rest of the items resting there. Her wallet- the checkbook register was balanced to the penny in an even, flowing script- an old traffic ticket, a Spanish phrase book, but no notes.

A few phone calls would fill in the blanks on Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard, and in the meantime, he’d try to get himself some sleep as well. The next couple of weeks were bound to be hell.

~*~*~

Mary Margaret opened her eyes and looked around. In a rush, the events of the day before came rushing back to her. The bumpy and nerve racking flight from Mexico City to Mérida, the frustrating search from hotel to hotel and finally finding David Nolan in the filthy cantina.

This was his room. This was his bed. She turned her head and saw him lying on his stomach next to her and had to catch her breath. He looked younger in sleep, the tension and danger that clung to him in his waking hours utterly nonexistent.

Her eyes glanced down and she gasped. His top half was bare, and the sheet was draped low over his shapely rear end. A flush creeped up her chest and heated her cheeks. He was probably as naked as the day he was born and Mary Margaret’s pulse raced at the thought of what that sheet might be hiding. Eyes coming back up, her brow furrowed as she took in two scars along his ribs. One was obviously from a bullet and the other was long and jagged- from a knife, she’d expect. Her mouth opened slightly as she reached out to tentatively touch the larger scar.

As soon as she did, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Startled, she looked up at him to see his sky blue eyes looking back at her. He looked completely alert, the danger back in full force.

“You sleep like the dead,” he commented dryly . He rolled over and Mary Margaret gasped in horror. She knew what he did; he was a dangerous man who lived a dangerous life, but she’d never seen anything like the very long, ugly scar just to the right of his heart. It looked like he’d been ripped apart and then put back together. Recently.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Nothing important,” he brushed her off. “Got a problem with scars, Snow?”

“Scarsnow?” Mary Margaret shook her head in confusion. “Wait- did you just call me Snow?”

His eyes softened and he reached out to brush his knuckles along her cheek. “You’re so pale, even after a full night’s sleep, your skin looks like snow.”

Mary Margaret couldn’t breathe. The soft touch along her skin was making her pulse thud, the tenderness in his eyes threatening to melt her from the inside out.

David seemed to realize what he was doing and jerked back from her, the sheet around his lower half shifting just enough to make her cheeks heat and her eyes to skitter away from it, only to collide with his amused gaze. He stood slowly, wearing only flesh colored boxer briefs that left little to the imagination, a cocky smirk lifting his lips.

Watching her carefully, he was pleased when she met his eyes steadily. A blush still covered her cheeks, but whatever her thoughts were, she hid them behind her clear green gaze.

“You could use a shower, Mr. Nolan,” she deadpanned.

“Why don’t you order us up some breakfast while I do, Snow?” he asked. “And make it David. After all, we’ve slept together.” He winked at her and sauntered into the bathroom.

The water had been running for several minutes before the stranglehold on her chest loosened enough for her to breathe deeply again. She was surprised he still called her Snow after his apparent embarrassment with the soft intimacy of the moment while they were still in the bed. But she couldn’t be surprised at his behavior afterwards. It was natural for the male of a species to flaunt himself in front of a female. The peacock had his feathers, the lion, his mane. But who could have guessed the man would be built like that.

She didn’t care how he looked, as long as he helped her.

In the bathroom, David stepped fully under the spray and hung his head before starting to shave by feel. Excalibur. Why the hell did it have to be Excalibur?

He thought he was done with those half-baked morons. It had taken six months for him to infiltrate the organization at the base level. Keeping a low profile with a Slavic accent, his hair dyed black and a lot of facial hair to complete his disguise, he’d been working his way up nicely through the ranks. Ten miles outside of Cairo, he made the mistake of discovering the man he was working with had a little side venture of his own. Not his business, he’d tried to tell the man. Not that he had listened. In a panic, the terrified entrepreneur had blown a hole in David’s chest and left him for dead rather than risk being reported. It was quite well known that the madwoman who controlled Excalibur had little patience for private enterprise.

And now, here he was again, willingly walking into a lion’s den. For his retirement. That’s it. No other reason… no other reason to examine more closely, anyway.

He got out of the shower and dried off with the undersized towel before wrapping it around his waist.

“Shower’s yours, Snow,” he said, coming back into the room.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, not sure she liked the nickname. She wasn’t dishonest, so she couldn’t deny that it was more likely the circumstances surrounding his telling her about it that were causing her discomfort, rather than the nickname itself. It lent an intimacy to their interactions that she wasn’t sure she could handle. The time he had spent in the shower had done wonders for her composure, and while he was in there, she came to a decision. He was a tool, not a man. He would find her parents, take his money, and then she’d never see him again. Right?

“Fine,” she replied, standing from the bed, refusing to look at him. She grabbed some clothes and moved toward the bathroom, until she came face to face with his naked chest. A single drop of water ran down his torso and Mary Margaret felt her mouth go dry. “Eh- excuse me,” she stammered, still not looking at his face.

She could practically feel his smirk and she wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. Staring at the defined muscles on the man in front of her, arousal flooded her and she shook her head to try and regain some type of equilibrium with him this close.

“I… I don’t have a toothbrush,” she murmured, latching onto the first coherent thought to enter her mind.

“You can use mine,” he offered. “It’s on the side of the sink.”

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It’s unhygienic.” She finally looked up at his face and her cheeks flamed at the amusement she saw in his eyes.

He shrugged, his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. “Yeah, but then so’s kissing, if you do it right.” He moved to the side and Mary Margaret fled for the safety of the shower.

She felt almost human again when she emerged. David sat on the bed shoveling eggs into his mouth, the morning paper in his other hand.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” she murmured, sitting next to him on the bed and digging into her own breakfast.

“This is fine,” he assured her. His eyes left the paper and shot over to her.

He knew what it felt like to take a hard fist to the solar plexus. How the body contracted, the air left the lungs, how the room spun. But he didn’t know one could feel it when looking at a woman.

Her hair was black as midnight, still damp, and just touched her shoulders, green eyes that reminded him of the hills of Ireland looked at him from over the rim of her coffee cup. Her face was round with full cheeks; her skin was still as pale as freshly fallen snow although the rosiness he’d noticed in her passport picture was back after a good night’s sleep. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“Are you alright?” she asked, slightly alarmed. David had frozen, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. When he didn’t answer, she seriously considered calling for someone to help. The man looked like he’d been struck on the back of the neck. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. “David, are you ill?”

“Huh? What?” It was like he woke from a sleeping curse, thoroughly disoriented. He shook his head slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He took a bite before speaking again. “We need to clear a few things up. When did they take your parents?”

“The police contacted me Thursday,” she replied. “The recording was from Wednesday. They obviously didn’t know anything about a working lab and overlooked it. I listened to it over and over again, hoping to catch something, anything about where they were taking them, but there was nothing. Only who they were with and what he was expected to do.” She closed her eyes, remembering. The sounds of the struggle had come through clearly on the recording- breaking glass, crashing, the screams of her mother. “They must have had a knife. My father said he’d come quietly if they didn’t cut my mother.” She swallowed hard. “They said to bring all his notes on Horizon, that he worked for Excalibur now.” Her breath hitched as she continued. “He begged them to let my mother go, but they laughed and said it would be cruel to separate such a clearly devoted husband and wife.”

She raised her hand to her mouth and tried to swallow a sob. It was obvious what the recounting was doing to her, but for her sake and his, he offered her no comfort.

“And how did they find out about you?”

“They would have only had to read his notes.”

“The men on the tape, they spoke English? Any accent?”

“Yes, Mediterranean accent, I think. But the one who laughed had a British accent.”

“Ok.” He stood from the bed having finished his breakfast and loomed over her. “I think we can coax them out into the open. How are you for guts, Snow?”

She shrugged. “It’s not something I’ve ever had to test before, but if you’re wanting to use me as bait to lure them out, I’m certainly willing.”

“Where are the notes?” he asked. “They weren’t in your bag.”

“You went through my things?” She tried to swallow down her consternation, knowing that after mentioning them last night and then falling asleep on him, it was natural that he’d look for them. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she took a deep calming breath. “Lance destroyed them.”

“You said you had them with you.” He was shaken at the mention of Lance, but he’d have to ask her later about her revelation from last night.

“I do,” she assured him, pointing at her temple. “Right here. With a true photographic memory, one sees words. If and when it becomes necessary, I can duplicate the notes.”

“Then that’s what you’re going to do, with a few minor alterations.” He held his hand out to her. She placed her own in his and rose to her feet. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his blue eyes delving into her green.

“Yes,” she answered, unequivocally.

“Good,” he grinned. “You’ll have to if we’re gonna get out of this alive.”

~*~*~

Thank you all for reading! I’d love to know what you think! Sneak peek will be up on Friday with the next chapter posting Saturday. Until then, y’all!

[weshallc]

Happy Burns Night 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🥃🎻🪈🦔

I'm going to republish my 5 chapter Bern's Night story following this post that I started as an explainer, but it turned into something more.

I wrote this part of the Crown Jewels CtM AU series a few years ago, partly as a tribute to my dad who shared a birthday with Robbie Burns (Scotland's greatest poet). We celebrated every year to different degrees, sometimes as part of an official Burns society dinner in Scotland or the North East of England. Or at home (I can cook a mean Burns Supper).

For anyone who has lost someone close to them and feels stuck in the grieving process, just give it time. It's not a race or a competition or something you have to achieve, or a test you must pass or anyone else's business.

My wee glimmer of hope I wanted to share today is this; I've gone from on anniversaries remembering the last of everything, as in the last birthday, the last Christmas, last time I watched this show, last time Sunderland won... to remembering the best of everything. The best birthdays.... because often the last was far from the best.

Previously, that would bug me. I wanted the last to be the best, because in a perfect world, it should be. I think the media believes this too. We are often overwhelmed with stories about Bucket Lists and Making Memories when someone has a terminal diagnosis and although a lot of these stories are inspiring; they put a lot of pressure on loved ones. Not only to care for their beloved, but to make their last days as special and magical as possible.

A great aspiration, but the reality is caring for someone is probably the most difficult thing a person will ever be asked to do. End of life can be ugly, cruel and dehumanising, as well as something that can be managed well, beautiful and empowering.

Unfortunately, the balance of these differing experiences often comes down to how much money someone has and what they can afford to pay to access often scant services. Whether that's paying for private nursing care outside state provision or insurance cover or being placed on a waiting list, that is much longer than the days you have left to be applicable for it. (That's after managing to fit in all the form filling and constant phonecalls you really don't have time for to get on the pointless list)

You may not have been Flo Nightingale or even Phyllis Crane, but you did your best for your loved one. There is no question about that, whatever the circumstance, because you didn't create the circumstance.

You may have regrets or would have chosen to do a few things differently, but with the resources, knowledge and skills you had available to you at the time, you did your best, because we always do for those we love.

Disclaimer: The story has a lot more laughs than this post and not compulsory reading.

BTW: if you aren't familiar with the Crown Jewels CtM AU, no prior knowledge is required. It's very simple, like its author. He's a pub landlord, she's a barmaid/carer, the Noakeses are the police, Mount Busby is an alpaca farm, Cynthia and Angela are cars and everyone is the wrong age. See very straight forward. It’s also set in a village in the North-East of England, an oversight I think by both Jennifer Worth and Heidi Thomas when writing the original. But, no hard feelings.

[sailorspazz]

10 Dance - chapter 38 summary

The day after Angela's wedding, Suzuki cares for a hungover Norman, and goes to great lengths to console him. Also, Gabriel has a chat with Ernie to try to figure out the secret behind Suzuki's unusual sense of rhythm.

Full summary and highlight images under the cut.

Chapter 38: Mr. Lonely

Published online on December 31st, 2021, available to purchase on Comic Days or rent for 10 days on Yanmaga Web

Norman wakes up and sees Suzuki in his kitchen. He asks what time it is, and Suzuki tells him it’s 4:30pm. He says that he took a bath and borrowed some of Norman’s clothes, and Norman says that he’s going to take a bath too, and asks Suzuki to bring a towel for him. Suzuki asks if he wants something to drink when he’s done with his bath, and Norman, his head pounding, requests anything but alcohol.

Norman comes out from the bath clad in nothing but his underwear, and Suzuki hands him a mug. Norman observes that he made a hot drink, and Suzuki says he thought it might help him feel more settled. Norman comments that Suzuki did a good job looking after him, and says that he should become his lover. He doesn’t think anyone would willingly console an old man like him, and that he’d probably have to sell himself to find someone. Suzuki wonders how much he’d be asking for, and Norman says that unfortunately old guys like himself have no market value. Suzuki thinks to himself about what Norman said the night before about wanting to be with anyone but Angela, and he gently strokes his hair. Suzuki asks how much he’d pay him to do it, and Norman laughs and says that's negotiable. Suzuki replies that he’d better be ready to pay a high price and moves in closer, as the following page cuts to an outside view of the house.

Norman wakes up on his futon wearing only an unbuttoned shirt, with used tissues scattered around the floor. Suzuki walks in and comments on Norman being awake, then sits down on the floor next to him. Norman says he feels like he used Suzuki, but Suzuki says he was also using him as an escape. Norman comments that he doesn’t know who he’s trying to escape from, and if that’s the case he should’ve put his hips into it more. Suzuki says to give him a break, as this was the first time he’s ever been with a man. Norman thinks to himself about how Suzuki showed him such kindness and compassion, and how it might become hard to let go of him. Aloud, he comments on how different Suzuki was compared to how he dances, to which Suzuki defensively asks if he’s saying he wasn’t any good. Norman says that’s not what he means; his dancing is wild and energetic, using a seemingly demonic pull to draw in his surroundings in a way that’s almost dangerously alluring. Suzuki says he’s exaggerating, and Al’s the one who does that, not him. Norman says he’s looking forward to seeing Suzuki dance like that at the upcoming Japan Inter. Norman notices that the moon looks especially high, and thinks about how it often appears higher near competition dates. Suzuki walks to the porch and notes that the wind is picking up, and Norman says it looks like a storm is coming. Norman tells Suzuki to come over again tomorrow, as Suzuki holds his hand up toward the full moon. Norman says that this competition will be the first time Suzuki will get to see Sugiki in quite some time, and electricity appears to crackle around him as he hears Sugiki's name. Norman looks startled and wonders what just happened.

Gabriel is having a video chat with his boyfriend Noah, who asks how he’s adjusting to living in his place in Japan, to which he responds that the ceiling is too low. Noah asks what his plans are for the day, and he says that he just has a nighttime lesson with Sugiki and Fusako. Noah recalls that Gabriel brought up the issue of Suzuki’s rhythm when he was strategizing with them before, and Gabriel had felt his own understanding of the subject matter was a bit lacking, so Noah asks if he’d like to talk to a musician about it. He says there’s a guy named Bernstein who’s in charge of music for the production he’s currently working on. This man’s uncle is a dance instructor, and he’s well versed in ballroom music, so Noah thought he might be a good source of information. Plus, he says that this man already knows both Gabe and Sugiki. Gabriel can’t recall knowing anyone by that name, but does think he’d like to ask him some questions, so he agrees to talk to him. Just then, the man in question enters, and it’s none other than Ernie, whose last name happens to be Bernstein. He’d wanted to ask Gabe about how his insect (Sugiki) is doing, but after seeing Mr. Sexy (Suzuki) dance at the Japan Open, he’s more curious about him.

Gabriel wants to figure out the truth behind Suzuki’s dancing. He says that dancers typically keep a “beat value” in their minds, which unlike a music score that shows all of the notes being played is instead a version that only includes the timing and length of the steps they’re dancing. Altering the timing can make for endless variations, and a lot of the quality of one’s dance sense is seen through how they make those adjustments.

But he feels like what he senses from Suzuki is something different; it seems more intuitive, like some kind of primordial rhythm, and there’s a multitude of those rhythms flowing through his body simultaneously. Ernie surmises that what he’s sensing is polyrhythm, which he goes on to explain as involving multiple rhythms playing all at once and intertwining, noting that there are moments where those beats sync up. As for the question of why Suzuki would have all of those different rhythms in his body, Ernie thinks it has to do with the way he was raised, absorbing the rhythms he learned from the many dancers that influenced him as he grew up. Cuba is a melting pot of many different people and their rhythms, so it’s like there’s a deluge of all the rhythms of the world coursing through his body.

Gabriel doesn’t think that’s the only amazing thing about him: he’s also able to subtly diverge from the synchro points in his polyrhythmic dancing, plus it feels like he can shift rapidly between different rhythms. Ernie is impressed that Gabe could sense all that. As he explained previously, Suzuki has an incomparable number of rhythms flowing through him, and his ability to draw people in may surpass even Alberto’s. In fact, a dancer with such complex and powerful rhythms has probably never existed before, and he has an impeccable flair on top of all that. However, it’s that impeccable flair that also concerns Ernie. Normally, such a complex way of keeping the rhythm would come across as unpleasant to watch. Gabriel thinks that it does somehow feel pleasant, but also frightening, and it makes him not want to battle against him on the same field. Ernie asks if it makes him want to stop dancing and become a mere spectator, which Gabe feels is true. Ernie says there are albums he’s listened to that give him that same feeling, but in Suzuki’s case, it’s not a good thing.

Previous chapter: #37.5

Next chapter: #38 part 2

[four-loose-screws]

FE7 Novelization Translation - Chapter 13 Section 3

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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———————————

Chapter 13: Light (Section 3)

The next morning, at Ostia Castle…

In front of the throne room with no lord, Hector… and his retainer Oswin… stood frozen in silence. Hector's eyes were fixed on the throne with no one to sit upon it, and behind him, Oswin was looking down at the floor.

For a long while, all that could be heard within the room was the chirping of the early morning birds.

Finally, Oswin broke the silence. "Lord Hector… about Lord Uther…"

"If you're going to say what I think you're going to say, you don't have to. No matter how upset I get now, it won't bring him back…  All I can do now is act normal so I don't worry Eliwood and everyone else."

"...You're right."

The official word was that Uther was away visiting Etruria, but in actuality, he had already left this world. His cause of death was a fatal illness… Hector's worries were right on the mark back when they were moving from the Black Fang's base to Bern's royal manse.

He'd had a gut feeling then that his brother might be ill.

Upon their return to Ostia Castle from the Dragon's Gate, Uther's face had not been pale just because of the news of Nergal's terrifying plans, but also because his illness had already progressed to a dire state.

Oswin told Hector of Uther's death the night before.

Hector said, eyes still on the throne, "Oswin. I… cannot forgive you right now. And not just you. Brother either. Why… Why did you hide everything? Am I… that untrustworthy?"

"...Lord Hector, you can hate me and insult me all you want. But… the only thing I do not want is for you to question Lord Uther's heart."

Oswin looked up at Hector's back and continued, "It was my final order from Lord Uther… Not to tell you about his death until a while after it had happened, under any circumstances."

"But why…?!"

"This is what Lord Uther wrote in his letter…" Oswin began to read Uther's letter, 'Hector follows his own feelings. If he has to choose between the world or his older brother, without hesitation… he will choose me. Though the words he says to me may be rough, we have no other siblings. There is no doubting how deeply he cares about me. But what do you imagine will happen if he has to choose between his friends and his brother? No matter which he chooses and which he abandons… He will blame himself… I can't bring myself to force him to make that decision.'

As Hector listened to Oswin, he bit his lip harder and harder.

"...Lord Uther was as worried as he could be about you. You and… Lord Eliwood as well, as he had just lost his own father. …Nothing else weighed so heavily on his heart…" Oswin stopped there, and left the room.

Even now that he was alone, Hector continued to stare at the throne. As if his late brother was still there…

"He really had the nerve to worry about me until his death… He was like that since we were kids… Even though I never relied on him for anything, he was always worried about me… Just like Father… he had this face, that looked like it knew everything…"

Hector rubbed his eye, but did not wet his finger with a single tear. 'Dammit…! Everything's the same as when Father died. Even though it's Brother this time…'

☆

Limstella was fully aware that they were not human, but one of Nergal's creations. 

Nergal created puppets that would follow his will with utter loyalty - they were the morphs.

Sonia had believed she was human until her death, and was filled with a full range of emotions, from vanity to envy to jealousy. 

But Limstella was different. Limstella simply acted. And every action they took was for their creator Nergal.

Limstella's body, heart, and emotions all moved only for Nergal. For that reason, Nergal called them his greatest creation. They did not overthink, nor were they swayed by their emotions. In everything, they followed his will exactly as he communicated it. That was his ultimate ideal.

And so, Limstella saw the encroaching Eliwood and his army as nothing more than quintessence to give to their lord.

They did not even consider them a nuisance to their lord.

They first cast a Fimbulvetr spell.

Eliwood's march was gaining momentum after having defeated their morph soldiers, but the ice magic they shot out from their sickly white hand was enough to slow him down.

Limstella had been made even more powerful by Nergal's magic. Though the spell granted them significantly more magical and physical strength, their body would be unable to withstand that extra power, and they would perish at dawn. That was what their lord and creator had told them.

His words rang through their head. "Is this truly what you wish for? Because it means you will die for me."

That was exactly what Limstella wanted.

Even though their inevitable death would be awaiting them after this battle, Limstella's heart did not change. If they still had time left to move, then they had time with which to give Nergal the quintessence of Eliwood and his allies.

Limstella used all of the power in their strengthened body, casting powerful spells in rapid succession and putting great pressure on Eliwood.

But the end came all too quickly.

Limstella gasped.

After casting yet another Fimbulvetr spell, they lost all control of their right arm. Having overexerted themself, their body that was supposed to make it to dawn already began to break down.

'I am… no longer of use to Lord Nergal…'

Eliwood was rushing directly towards them, having seen the opportunity to attack.

'Am I going to die, having not fulfilled my duty?' The thought that they would no longer be able to serve Nergal made Limstella feel an overwhelming sadness.

But they calmly said to themself, 'This sadness is also another of my lord's creations….'

ー

"...That was a harsh battle." Eliwood muttered as he wiped the sweat off his face.

They were now on the Dread Isle, in front of the Dragon's Gate. In this place where rocky mountains and an expansive forest stretched as far as the eye can see, their intense battle had unfolded against Limstella and their morph army. 

Upon delivering the final blow to Limstella, they immediately turned to sand, and vanished into the wind without a trace.

Eliwood and his army had faced countless morphs. Even Hector, with all of his confidence in his physical strength, also looked tired as he said with a sigh, "I never thought we'd see the end of this.”

But they were not at the end just yet. Nergal was waiting at the Dragon's Gate.

Nils' sadness over the loss of his sister had now turned into anger, and he chose to fight together with Eliwood. 

He glared at the Dragon's Gate and shouted, ”...I will never forgive you, Nergal!"

He was trying to fight against fate. Though the feelings Eliwood had in response were complex, Nils also reassured him.

Directly after Ninian passed, Nils was grieving so deeply that no one could even look at him, and he wouldn't eat a single bite of food. 

When he was drowning in that despair and locked away inside his shell, Eliwood said, "You may never forgive me no matter how much I apologize, but please just listen to me now. At our current strength, we are no match for Nergal. …Still, we cannot give up, no matter what. So I want you to face our reality too. Even if you can't right now, that's okay… Just overcome your grief someday, and return to your old self… I'm sure that's what Ninian would want as well."

His words were what started to lift Nils out of the abyss of his sadness.

Eliwood now looked down at the recovered Nils, and, realizing that he did not know any details about dragons, blurted out, "Before we head to the Dragon's Gate… Nils, would you mind telling us about you and Ninian?"

"...Huh?'

"If you don't want to talk, then I have no intention of forcing you to…"

"...No, it's fine. I want all of you to know about Ninian and me…" Nils said, then began to tell their story. "One thousand long years ago… us dragons lost the war against the humans, and were chased out of this land."

With no place left to go and fully prepared to die, they used the Dragon's Gate to flee to another world.

As they passed through the hole in space and time, many of their friends died, but Ninian, Nils, and everyone else remaining managed to make it to another continent.

There were humans there as well, but their numbers were small, and so they did not declare an all-out war for hegemony like the humans of Elibe did. Though they did sometimes fight the humans in small conflicts, the dragons had found a place where they could live.

"Our lives there stabilized, but we started to become homesick for the land we came from… that was when we heard 'the voice.' In the other world, Ninian was a medium at the Dragon's Shrine, and someone who possessed great power. We were praying at the shrine together, just as we always did, when it happened… We heard a voice call out to us. It was the voice of a friend we'd known long ago… We knew we should not, but we opened the gate and came to this world anyway. We didn't realize that the voice was actually Nergal's…"

Nils' face twisted with the regret he still felt over the mistake he had made in the past.

"But something that contradicted Nergal's calculations happened. When we opened the gate… and came here, we lost nearly all of our powers. …We lost so much that now our quintessence is little more than that of the average human's. To lengthen our lifespans and be able to breathe the air of this world… we took on human forms, and converted our remaining power into a dragonstone."

But Nergal took that dragonstone, and attempted to use the siblings as tools to do with as he wished and summon the dragons.

They were not going to allow their friends to be put in danger because of their mistake. They desperately ran from Nergal not for their own sakes, but for their companions’.

They disguised themselves as a dancer and a bard as they fled across each country of Elibe. That was when they met Lyn, but right after the battles over Caelin's succession ended, they left her side. Lyn was so kind that they did not want her to concern herself with them any longer, and risk putting her in danger as well.

But when they parted ways with Lyn, they once again fell into Nergal's hands.

Just as they began to fall to despair, thinking that suicide would be their only way to truly escape… they met Marquess Elbert of Pherae.

"Lord Elbert was such a strong and good person… Even though he knew of our true forms and our full circumstances, he never blamed us. Rather, he tried to comfort us however much he could by telling us stories of his family back home. Both Ninian and I… came to love his wife and son as we listened to his stories.

"We had less than even a sliver of hope… but we had a feeling that his son… might be the one who would save us." Nils stopped his story there and looked up at Eliwood. "So please… please, Lord Eliwood! I believe in you! I will continue to protect you, even though Ninian is gone! That is what Ninian wished for. It is our wish as siblings. …Let's defeat Nergal! You are the only one who can do it!!"

"...Nils!" Nils' words touched the very depths of Eliwood's heart.

Though Eliwood had unknowingly killed his sister, Nils did not spite nor hate him, but believed in him. 

Eliwood felt that he had to do whatever it took to live up to those expectations.

☆

[fic-al]

BERNS NIGHT.

This has been a Poplar-on-Tweaven production brought to you by the Crown Inn and sponsored by Mount Busby Farm based on original characters from Call the Midwife.

CHAPTER FIVE: Ae Fond Kiss.

“Who Shall Say That Fortune Grieves Him. While The Star of Hope She Leaves Him?” Ae Fond Kiss, Robert Burns 1791

“I Pictured A Rainbow, You Held It In Your Hands.” The Whole of the Moon, The Waterboys 1985

Bernie grabbed Val’s arm to steady herself. Paddy stood in front of her fidgeting with the cobalt blue fabric with a wide green check overlayed with a thinner gold and black one. His fiddling pulled at the kilt pin, weighing the piece of cloth down at the knee. The tiny silver dagger bearing his clan crest caught the light from the hall where Bernie remained, stood stock still in the doorway.

Paddy then reached for the frilly white lace jabot fastened around his neck, pulling at the lace with one hand, as if it was choking him. The other hand straightened the black waistcoat with the three silver buttons, matching the three on the sleeves of the Montrose jacket. They, in turn, matched those perfectly polished down the front of both sides of the centre of that waist length black jacket.

Bernie’s dropped jaw started to quiver as a chuckle threatened to emerge. Paddy shot a look of accusation at Val, who intern nipped Bernie’s arm. Her friend regained her composure.

“I told you she would think I look ridiculous,” Paddy spat at Val as if Bernie wasn’t in the room. It was however, Bernie who responded as Val’s confidence appeared to waver.

“No, you don’t. It’s just a bit of a shock. I am not quite sure what’s going on.”

“We..well, some people thought it might be nice to put on a Burns Supper. Like we used to…before-” Paddy started to falter as he noticed Bernie’s eyes mist over.

“For your birthday.” Piped in Val, trying to help Paddy out and regaining her confidence. “I will leave you to it. I’ve left Jack behind the bar, and well, he is still pretty green. If anyone asks for a cocktail, we may be in danger of losing our licence.”

On Val’s departure, Bernie moved towards Paddy. The forgotten scarf Trixie had placed around her friend’s shoulders fell to the floor. Paddy bent down to pick it up.

“Oops, be careful, good job there is no-one stood behind you.”

Paddy straightened up swiftly and stroked down the back of his kilt. Bernie allowed a relief filled giggle as she saw Paddy’s frown soften. Taking the scarf from Paddy, she sighed. The pattern matched the tablecloths downstairs. “My mother’s tartan. They haven’t missed a trick, have they?”

“Trixie was most put out when her attempts to discover the Mannion tartan drew a blank.”

“Mannion is an Irish name, sorry.” Bernie wasn’t quite sure why she was apologising for her name, but it felt appropriate.

“We all know that now,” laughed Paddy.

“How did you find the Home clan tartan?”

“Violet and Evie poured over hundreds of samples and narrowed it down to a few, which they matched to old photos of Wilf’s kilt. They figured that was how the wily old bugger had got round it, using your mam’s tartan.”

“Everyone has gone to so much trouble, I feel like such a fraud. I just wanted an evening alone with you in Appleby Thornton.” Bernie blushed, feeling even more guilty.

Sensing her confusion, Paddy cupped her cheeks in his hands. “We can go out any night.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow at Paddy’s optimism. Even though Jack had turned eighteen and could now serve behind the bar, Paddy still found it difficult to let go. Most of their evenings were spent working or propping up the bar.

Any further discussion of their work-play balance would have to wait. The sound of familiar footsteps running up the stairs alerted them their presence was required in the bar. Paddy and Bernie followed Tim into a cacophony of noise, the sound of fiddle, banjo, and accordion mixed with laughter and the pounding of feet on the wooden floor.

Tim grinned and nodded as Bernie asked, “Isn’t that the Bridges that come in on a Thursday night?”

“Apparently, before they were married, they used to go to Scottish dancing on Thursday nights.”

Kevin and the Tweaven Folk band sounded like a group of musicians who were enjoying a successful long awaited reunion, rather than strangers that had only met a few days ago. Apparently, Kevin didn’t just play the Bagpipes but was going to town on the harmonica. Mac had found refuge in Reggie and they had settled on a bench seat with the dog’s head resting on the lad’s lap.

Alan Bridges and his wife Yvonne broke from each other and flew off in different directions to persuade, grab and drag the people sitting at the tables onto the makeshift dance floor. Fred was up first, taking hold of Vi, who had pushed her nose out of the kitchen to sneak a peek at the fun. She protested, explaining she couldn’t leave her post, but Evie chased her onto the dance floor with a tea towel.

Bernie smiled at Patsy and Delia. She had never seen anyone quick step to the Gay Gordons before. Phyllis’ face was flushed as she tried to stay in time, partnered by a very light on her feet, Lucille. Bernie grinned as Paddy dug his son in the ribs and Tim scowled, shaking his head in protest. Her smugness was short-lived when Alan Bridges took hold of her hand and dragged her onto the floor. She groaned to herself, realising she should have seen it coming. But she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been distracted and let their guard down. As Alan swung her around, she glimpsed a determined Yvonne pulling a very reluctant Paddy to the centre of the room. A massive cheer went up, and it wasn’t for his dancing prowess, but the first view of the crowd of Paddy in his Highland Dress.

Bernie couldn’t deny she felt a tingle as the lights dimmed and Paddy stood behind the tressel table. She could see how nervous he was, his thumb working against the forefinger of his left hand, the right hand turning over his phone on the table. Voices were hushed, sensing a level of anticipation in the air. She hoped he could see her reassuring smile. When he returned her wink, she knew he understood.

Everyone instinctively got to their feet as the sound of the pipes flooded the room. Kevin slowly marched into the bar from the kitchen playing, Mac following at his feet, ears pricked. A few steps behind walked Violet, beaming proudly, carrying a silver tray with her pride and joy in prime position. She placed the dish in front of a very pale but focused landlord. Bernie noticed Vi gently touch Paddy’s hand after she had laid down her burden.

Paddy cleared his throat, and everyone sat. Bernie held her breath. She was relieved when he started reading from his phone in his own soft Northern English twang and didn’t attempt a Scottish accent. He did struggle a little with more than the odd word and she noticed it was in parts an English translation of Burns’s Address to a Haggis. She thought her dad would be shaking his head and laughing if he were watching these antics held in his memory. As a shiver left her, she wondered if Marianne was also looking down with pride and amusement.

Bernie bit her lip. This was the difficult bit, if trying to read an 18th century Scottish poem out loud wasn’t hard enough. She knew from years of experience Paddy had to keep reciting while removing the Sgian-dubh from his woolly knee-length socks. He then had to pull the small dagger out of its black leather holder and plunge the blade into the Haggis at just the right moment in the text. She went to hold on to her chair but was surprised when a long, thin hand grabbed hers. Tim’s hand was cold, but sweaty at the same time, and she squeezed it back.

The verbal response of the audience to Paddy whipping the blade out of its sheath made Bernie giggle, and she heard a snort from her neighbour. The following stab and slash into the unsuspecting pudding received equal responses of gasps and murmurs. She felt the boy’s hand slacken in her own and his breath released from his chest at the same time she let her lungs relax. Bernie felt Paddy was doing the same, pausing as the crowd regained its collective composure. He dared to give her a quick glance, and she beamed in approval. She wished she could go over to him and push back the wayward kink of hair that had fallen over his face during the dramatics.

Paddy finished the poem with ease, following the tricky bit. He didn’t seem to mind stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words. It wasn’t like anyone was going to correct him. There was much relief all around when he finally toasted the Haggis, and everyone could raise the complimentary whisky they had been nursing since the beginning of the festivities. Not everyone had been patient, and some found they were toasting with an empty glass, supping air. A nervous Bernie would have been included in this number, but Trixie had passed on her dram so she could at least properly take part in the toast. Paddy received a standing ovation. He didn't appear to be deceived it was for his faultless performance, but more for effort or maybe they were just hungry and glad it was finally over.

The assembled guests ate their fill of Scottish Fayre. The whisky sauce may have proved more popular than the spicy offal and oatmeal pudding. Although Violet did remark that Poplar’s vegan population had seemed to increase dramatically overnight. Buckle’s Breweries Burns Bernie Beers proved very popular. Ale Fond Kiss, Red Red Rose Ruby Ale and Auld Lang Stout all sold out.

The dancing recommenced to the Tweaven Folk band and its newest member. The Bridges and the lead singer tried to engineer a ceilidh of sorts. This resulted in a room full of mostly English people flinging themselves and each other about in an attempt at the longest communal twizzy world record. The highlight being every time Paddy spun around in his kilt, a large cheer went up as it splayed out.

Eventually he refused to dance and Bernie gave up, too. She found him outside smoking one of her roll-ups. She just grinned, knowing he deserved one. Bernie hugged Trixie’s scarf around her.

“Aren’t you cold in…erm that?”

Paddy smoothed the kilt under him, between his bare legs and the cool wood of Peggy and Frank’s memorial bench. Bernie grinned and went back indoors.

She returned with two Abhainn Dearg malt whiskies and one of the tartan tablecloths. She wrapped it around Paddy’s shoulders before perching herself on his chilly knees, flipping his sporran up out of the way. Paddy took over the blanket duties and wrapped the cover round her.

Cold fingers fumbled over sharing the dying cigarette and they sipped from the same whisky tumbler. From where she had placed them, Bernie could only reach one glass without leaving the warmth of the tablecloth and Paddy’s arms. Paddy had long since dispensed with the faffy lace ruff and wore a cream open neck Jacobite shirt, again courtesy of connections of Patsy. As Bernie playfully twisted the string ties around the fingers of one hand. She slowly ran the fingers of her other hand along the hem of the kilt.

“Is this Turner tartan, then?”

“No, the Turners are from Liverpool, probably some Irish in there somewhere too, but my mother’s family hailed from Fife.” Paddy softly answered.

Bernie wriggled on his knee, trying to gain a bunch of the fabric of the kilt in her hand, as the band broke into Deacon Blue’s Dignity.

“So which clan…ayyyyyeah!” She quickly jumped up, vigorously rubbing the flesh between her boot and the hem of her dress on her right thigh. Paddy stared at her in confusion and concern.

“Something bit me.”

“It’s January.”

“Am I bleeding? Is there a bump?” Bernie turned her back to Paddy and lifted up her skirt. Paddy started to wonder whose birthday it was. He used his phone as a torch and took his time giving a thorough examination of her right thigh. The eventual diagnosis was no injury to her person, but there was a nasty snag in her new-on tights.

Paddy also identified the culprit, pointing to the clan dagger attached to the front of his kilt. “I think you sat on this?”

“You stabbed me.”

“You stabbed you.”

She leant down and carefully unfastened the pin from the front apron of the kilt. She recovered her position now free from hazards. Scrutinising the tiny weapon in her hands under the light of Paddy’s phone,

“Aww, the crest is the world below a rainbow between two clouds. What does the motto say?”

“At Spes Infracta.”

“Oooh, you’re getting the hang of these ancient tongues, aren’t you?” Bernie giggled, “what does it mean in boring old English?”

Paddy, who had been laughing with her, fell serious.

“It means, Yet My Hope is Unbroken.” He gently tipped her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger and kissed her.

“That’s beautiful.” Bernie caught her breath. “What was your mam’s maiden name?”

“Hope.”

“Home and Hope,” smiled Bernie, partly to herself.

Paddy reached inside his sporran and handed Bernie a small tartan box with a gold bow on top.

“But, this was my present.” She smiled, pulling on his shirt strings.

Paddy shone his phone torch on the box as Bernie opened it and carefully took out a silver brooch. She got hold of Paddy’s hand and shone it on a silver V bending inwards to make the shape of a heart with an emerald at the base just below the Home clan crest.

“That is a very fierce-looking lion. Why am I not surprised.” Bernie didn’t need the torch to see the glint in Paddy’s eye as he spoke. “I nearly got you the Hope rainbow one instead….but I wasn’t sure.”

Bernie smiled, “Maybe next year?”

“You are still very presumptuous after all these years. This was a one night only kinda thing,” Paddy choked, then swiftly changing the subject, “I liked the motto on the Hume crest, anyway.”

Bernie was impressed with his correct Scottish pronunciation of Home. She read aloud the words around the lion’s head A Home, A Home, A Home, that is the slogan, but the motto is actually True To The End .”

“Well, I think the matriarchy has it tonight.”

“Do you know Robbie Burns was a great supporter of women’s rights as well as being a romantic? He wrote a poem about it.”

“From what I’ve heard, he was very fond of women indeed. Counting the number of children he fathered.”

“Yes, that as well,” muttered Bernie, “but just for tonight I am going to be Shelagh Bernadette Mannion-Home and you can be Patrick Turner-Hope.

The traditional music of the Corries was now interspersed with more recent Scottish poetry, as the band played tunes by the likes of Travis and Franz Ferdinand. The Proclaimers, I’m Gonna Be 500 miles, filtered through the door leading to the beer garden. The accompanying laughter, the sound of leather and man-made sole stomping on polished oak convinced the two in the beer garden they weren’t being missed.

“One thing I can’t get my head around is how Val convinced you to do this?”

“She just reminded me of every time you have stepped out of your comfort zone for me. How many times you have had to embrace a part of yourself that you didn’t know existed or had thought you had left behind.”

Bernie rubbed her thumb over the slogan on her new brooch as Paddy continued.

“Basically how many times you have put me, us, our hope of a life, a home together before the person who you thought you were and believed yourself to be.”

“Val said that?”

“Sort of, maybe a bit more colourful, and there was some violence involved, but I did agree with the sentiment.”

“I think our mams would have approved of Val.”

“Are you true to the end, Shelagh Bernadette?”

“Well, you just better hope this isn’t the end, Patrick.”

The sounds of Auld Lang Syne filled the night and Paddy leaned forward for another kiss, suddenly aware Bernie had very cold hands had chosen not to replace the kilt pin.

[adenei]

Next Steps - Ch. 6

Welp, here it is! The engagement chapter. To the anon who requested a romantic proposal - I hope this fits the bill. Enjoy! There will be one more chapter with the party back at the Burrow :)

****************************

Will you?

The whole week had been perfect. It seemed to move quickly, but also incredibly slow at the same time. The ring was really starting to burn a whole in Ron’s pocket, but today was the day. After another leisurely afternoon by the pool, they were all going to get cleaned up and dress nice for a dinner reservation at a restaurant not far from the Spanish Steps.

Hermione had made mention once of how romantic she thought they were, and how after seeing them during the day, she’d love to see them illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights and stars at night. So that’s what Ron had planned for. He’d made sure that Harry and Ginny had made a habit of bringing the camera wherever they went, taking pictures at their tourists' destinations to document the trip. 

Ron walked out of the bathroom after taking a shower and noticed Hermione standing on the balcony in the baby blue dress she’d chosen to pack. It was knee length and had a V cut in both the front and the back. She’d somehow managed to tame her hair in a soft plait that lay to the side. Ron stood there watching her in awe. I’m going to ask her to marry me tonight. My beautiful, smart, amazing girlfriend. He hoped she had no idea it was coming. It wasn’t often when he’d gotten to surprise her, but so far this vacation was full of surprises. 

Hermione turned around and smiled shyly when she noticed he was watching her. He smiled back and then continued getting dressed. It wasn’t long before Harry and Ginny were knocking on their door and they apparated to the point closest to the restaurant.

“Ron, this place is incredible!” Hermione said when they were seated. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to want to go back to English cuisine after all this for a week,” Ginny joked.

“We’ll just have to find all the good Italian places in London, then,” Harry resolved.

“Or learn how to cook some of these dishes at home,” Ron offered.

“All wonderful ideas. I can’t believe we leave tomorrow. It feels like we just got here,” Hermione lamented.

Everyone agreed as Ginny asked when they’re portkey was departing.

“Well, we leave Rome at 10:00,” Ron said. Our connection at Bern will be a little longer than last time though. They have a 10:30 we’ll catch to Paris.”

“What time do we depart from Paris?” Harry asked, playing along.

Ginny and Hermione both looked at him. “We thought you knew?” Ginny asked.

“I do, but there’s one more surprise Ron has up his sleeve,” Harry said as he grinned. The girls both turned their attention to Ron.

“We’ve made arrangements to stay in Paris for the night, so we’ll be able to explore a bit of the city before catching our 11:00 portkey to London on Sunday morning.”

“I’m most looking forward to French breakfast,” Harry said.

“Ron, that’s amazing! Which sites are we going to see, oh please tell us!” Hermione said excitedly.

“Well, actually, I was hoping you could help by picking out your favorites, since you’ve been there before.” Ron said.

Their dinner came and Hermione was eagerly chattering through all of the places she thought they should see and trying to prioritize them because they only had the day, and she didn’t want to thoroughly exhaust them.

Harry and Ron shared an unspoken glance, where Harry was impressed at Ron’s ability to throw her off the trail of what was to come, and Ginny noticed. She gave them both a questioning look, but they pretended not to notice her. 

They decided to get gelato from a nearby shop after dinner, and enjoyed it as they walked towards the steps.

“I’m so excited we get to see them at night!” Hermione gushed. “I hope it’s not as crowded as it normally is during the day.” She leaned over and kissed Ron on the cheek. “Thank you so much for the best vacation ever. I can’t believe I even entertained the thought of choosing work over this.”

“Well, as long as you do well to remember this the next time we’re planning a holiday and try to argue that work is too busy, I think I can forgive you,” Ron said playfully. He held her hand in his as they approached the steps.

Hermione led him up the first few steps as she looked around in amazement at the sight in front of her covered in the soft glow of the night sky. “This is beautiful, Ron. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy you’ve made me! This whole trip has been a dream come true!” she said as she turned back to him.

“Well, hopefully I can make you even happier now,” he said softly.

“What do you mean?” she asked him. Her puzzlement turned to shock as she watched him reach into his pocket. He pulled something out that was small, but he covered it in his hand as he spoke.

“Hermione, I’ve been holding onto this for about a month now, trying to plan the perfect moment, but it’s been really hard. It’s been torture to hold onto this all week, knowing that there was something really important that I wanted to ask you, hoping you wouldn’t find it on accident, and that I could keep it a surprise.”

It was then that he bent down on one knee, while he kept Hermione’s hand in his. Her other hand shot up to her mouth as she realized what he was about to do, and she was trying really hard to prevent the tears from welling up in her eyes, not letting the emotion overcome her. “I love you, Hermione. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, even when I was too young and stupid to even wrap my head around what it meant. Sometimes I still can’t believe we made it out of the war alive, and as well as we can be with everything we went through. 

“I’m secretly glad you’ve dragged me along to all of those therapy sessions to work through everything we’ve been through, and that you’re always there to listen, even when I don’t want to talk. You haven’t given up on me when there’ve been times where I deserved it. We got through a whole year apart, after we just barely got together, and I’m so happy that part of our lives is behind us now.

“I’m still amazed that I get to wake up next to you every morning when I’m not off on a mission, and I know without a doubt that I don’t want to live this life without you by my side. You’re it for me, Hermione. Will you marry me?” He let go of her hand for the briefest of moments to open the ring box, revealing the most gorgeous ring she’d ever seen in her life. It was perfectly suited for her, proving just how well he knew her.

Hermione hadn’t realized that both of her hands had moved to cover her mouth, tears were streaming down her face despite the fact that she’d tried to control them and she was nodding fiercely. She finally found her voice and heard herself say, “Yes, yes, of course!” It was almost like an out of body experience. They could have been surrounded by a million people and Ron would have been the only one there with her.

There wasn’t a thing in the world that could take the grin off of Ron’s face as he stood up and took the ring out of the box to slide onto Hermione’s ring finger. The ring box clattered on the ground as he took her face in his hands and kissed her with a great deal of passion.

“I love you so much,” he heard her say against his lips.

“I love you, too,” he said as his lips met hers again. 

Distantly Hermione thought she heard clapping and cheering, and it was then that she finally remembered that they were in public. In Rome, standing on the Spanish Steps. She remembered Harry and Ginny were probably there, too, and had witnessed the whole thing. Hermione looked around to find them, and saw them a few steps below, the camera in Harry’s hand and Ginny jumping up and down. 

“You’re engaged!” Ginny shouted as she ran up the steps and tackled Hermione in a hug. “Let me see, let me see!” Ginny grabbed Hermione’s left hand and inspected the ring. “Merlin, it’s beautiful! I didn’t know Ron had it in him.”

“Hey! I’m right here, y’know,” Ron said as Harry came up and hugged them both.

“Congratulations!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did you both know?” Hermione asked them.

Ginny shook her head. “I had no idea. Harry had to hold me back when I tried to follow you up the steps.” She looked at him. “You knew, didn’t you?” she eyed him.

Harry nodded guiltily. “What do you say we get out of here and go have a celebratory drink back at the hotel?” he suggested. 

“That sounds perfect,” Hermione said as she looked at Ron. “You’re amazing,” she said as she leaned in for another kiss.

“So are you,” he said smiling down at her.

“We’re engaged,” she looked down, admiring her ring.

“That we are. Thanks for saying yes, by the way. It would have made for an awkward night if you hadn’t,” Ron joked.

“You’re mental if you really thought I’d say no,” Hermione teased.

“One can never be too sure,” Ron laughed.

With that, they headed to the apparition point to go back and celebrate on their last night in Italy.

[histoireettralala]

Excerpts from L’Aiglon (2/2)

L’Aiglon, by Edmond Rostand, 1900.

Translation: Louis N. Parker, 2009 (and me for the notes)

Acte II, Sc. IX

                                       What about us? The Duke and Marmont, turning around and seeing him standing in the background, his arms crossed . Eh? The Lackey, going down little by little toward Marmont.               Us, the men, the mean, the rank and file? Us, tramping broken, wounded, muddy, dying, Having no hope of duchies or endowments, Marching along and never getting further, Too simple and too ignorant to covet The famous marshal's baton in our knapsacks? What about us, who marched through every weather, Sweating but fearless, shivering without trembling, Kept on our feel by trumpet-calls, by fever, And by the songs we sang through conquered countries? Us upon whom for seventeen years—just think!— The knapsack, sabre, turn-screw, flint, and gun, Beside the burden of an empty belly, Made the sweet weight of five and fifty pounds? Us, who wore bearskins in the burning tropics And marched bareheaded through the snows of Russia, Who trotted casually from Spain to Austria? Us who, to free our travel-weary legs, Like carrots from the slough of miry roads, Often with both hands had to lug them out? Us, who, not having jujubes for our coughs, Took day-long foot-baths in the freezing Danube? Who just had leisure when some officer Came riding up, and gayly cried "To arms! The enemy is on us! Drive him back!" To eat a slice of rook—and raw at that, Or quickly mix a delicate ice-cream With melted snow and a dead horse's blood? Us, who— The Duke, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair, bent forwards, his eyes burning .                   At last! The Lackey.                             At night had little fear Of bullets, but a holy dread of waking Cannibals; us— The Duke, bending forward more and more, devouring the man with his eyes.                           At last—! The Lackey.                                    Who marched and fought Fasting, and only stopped— The Duke, transfigured with joy.                                            At last I see one! The Lackey. To fight—and then stopped fighting, four to one, Only to march; and stopped again to fight! Marching and fighting, naked, starved, but merry— Don't you suppose we, too, were sick of it? Marmont, dumbfounded. But— The Lackey.        Though we owed him precious little thanks, Nevertheless 'twas we whose hearts were true, While you were ambling at the King's right hand. In short, your Highness, in the great canteen, Where souls are fed on glory, he may find [Pointing to Marmont.] His laurels are not worth our small potatoes. Marmont. Who is this Lackey with the veteran's growl? The Lackey, taking up a military posture Jean Pierre Séraphin Flambeau, called Flambart— "The glowing coal"—ex-sergeant grenadier. Mamma from Picardy; Papa a Breton. Joined at fourteen, two Germinal, year Three. Baptised, Marengo; got my corporal's stripes The fifteenth Fructidor, year Twelve. Silk hose And sergeant's cane, steeped in my tears of joy. July fourteenth, year Eighteen hundred and nine, At Schönbrunn, for the Guards were here to serve The sacred person of your Majesty. Sixteen years' service, seen sixteen campaigns, Fought Austerlitz, fought Eylau, Somo-Siera, Eckmühl, Essling, Wagram, Smolensk, and so forth. Thirty-two feats of arms, a lot of wounds, And only fought for glory and dry bread.* Marmont, to the Duke. Surely you will not listen to him thus? The Duke. No, sir, I will not listen thus, but standing!

(He rises)

Marmont. My Lord! The Duke. For in the volume whose sublime Chapters are headed with proud capitals You are the titles and you catch the eye; But these—these are the thousand little letters— You're nought, without the black and humble army That goes to make a page of history.

[...]

*****************

* In French: se battre pour des prunes: fight for no reward, for nothing.

Here is, in French, the beginning of Flambeau’s tirade

Et nous, les petits, les obscurs, les sans-grades, Nous qui marchions fourbus, blessés, crottés, malades, Sans espoir de duchés ni de dotations, Nous qui marchions toujours et jamais n’avancions ; Trop simples et trop gueux pour que l’espoir nous berne De ce fameux bâton qu’on a dans sa giberne ; Nous qui par tous les temps n’avons cessé d’aller, Suant sans avoir peur, grelottant sans trembler

[...]

“Nous, les petits, les obscurs, les sans-grades” - a tribute to all the unknown, unthanked, unrewarded, men who fought and marched in the Grande Armée, might be the most famous part of the play - and it keeps speaking to people. And it’s only fair after all.

[tinycoffeebiggun]

⍟⎊   Super  Family    ⎊⍟

⍟⎊ chapter one ⎊⍟

ʏᴏ ʟɪsᴛᴇɴ ᴜᴘ ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ :  ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɢᴜʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟɪᴠᴇs ɪɴ ᴀ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ

❝ you know what my old man used to say to me? one of his favourite of many sayings, ❛ the early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.❜ ❞  ― Aldrich Killian

ʜᴇʀᴇ’s ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ , at skyfall

sɴɪᴘᴘᴇᴛ

❝ It started in Bern, Switzerland. 1999. The old days. I never thought they'd come back to bite me. Why would they? ❞

A smokescreen over the distorted image of himself nearing the end of his twenties. Dawning the end of the midst of his numbing himself with stimulates of that of spirits, no pleasure was there like there once was in his more youthful days. At this point and time it was a desperate attempt to escape from the torturous memories, loneliest in the sea of people all wanting him it was life's cruellest irony and the sleepless nights of the deaths on his hands from the mass destruction of his own creation. The unpolished version that only those who were there in those days know the truth and understand why Tony polishes over them when sharing stories, precaution to not open old wounds for Tony to fall back on. A casted shadow that trailed behind him of those he had wronged, never to bat an eyelash at a second thought of how his un-promised words or unspoken sentiments as he was too plastered to remember what he had for breakfast that day. Yet, remembered every project or theorem he was working on during those days, funny what the mind leaves out. Tony happened to be well-aware he wasn't a good person but who was back in the nineties? No, he can't blame time or anyone but himself for this certain demon.

[bluestmoons]

a shame

   Long before the sun even made it to the tip of the horizon -- long before the rest of her family were even considering stirring -- Leonie awakened. The world was still dark, and cold, and her footfalls creaked against the wood of the floor as she tried to make her way out the door. Any attempts to muffle them were not enough to protect her from her eldest son hearing, and shifting awake. He’d always been a light sleeper, even as an infant, and he sat up groggily as she pulled on her boots. To her great fortune, it only took a tuck-in and a kiss on his forehead to send him back to sleep. 

   She’d be back in a few hours, with their breakfasts from the market. 

   Her mare was tied outside, and was anxious with the anticipation of a good, early ride, and the soft grass right outside the marketplace. She tapped her hooves in place as Leonie dragged the saddle on -- hardly waited for the bit to start chomping at it. By the time Leonie was on her back, she was long ready for the promise of movement offered to her. 

   The wind was nice over the top of her head, against her braid -- the crisp air stung, but it smarted less with the knowledge of where she was going, and why. 

   To get their breakfasts, of course. But that wasn’t quite the only reason. 

   A few minutes shy of an hour later, she was wandering through a marketplace only half-staffed in a town only groggily pulling their bones from bed. The sky was still gray and tumultuous -- just like the stones beneath it. Everything was overlaid with fog, and it felt dreamy -- sticky -- in a way the rest of the world never had, to her. She was hesitating over some vegetables that’d been clearly left out over the night, wondering if anything was still fresh enough to take home, when a figure hesitated next to her.  

   “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” 

   She grinned, only enough to bite her lip. She had to try to swallow the snort that bubbled forward. 

   Oh, Alexei.

   If they were still teenagers -- still back home -- still where there was sun, and warmth, and pressing futures and endless days -- she would’ve taken him by the shirt and kissed him right there. 

   But they weren’t. They were in cold Bern, standing near each other like two strangers. She was married, with a family to tend to. And he was... 

   He was standing next to the stall in a puffy white shirt, shimmery and soft like satin. The kind of clothing she’d worn all the time as a child, and her children had probably never even felt. They hadn’t the money for that sort of thing. He had small gold frames on his face -- again, the luxury of a noble -- and well-fitted boots, and a cape. Leonie’s own was gray from years of use, and worn with holes in it. 

   They were no longer childhood best friends. They were no longer lovers. 

   He was a nobleman. 

   And she was just a poor mercenary.  

   “Is that the best you can do for an opener?” 

   He gasped, agape in horror. “I thought it was rather funny!” 

   She smiled even as she picked up a fruit. “The weather in Bern is never humorous. Only bitterly serious.” 

   “Yet only one of us have chosen to move here.” 

   Her grin and hand fell at the same time. The fruit was released back to its place. “I have chosen for the same reason as you.” 

   It was silent. She ambled a few feet away, started gathering some of Lloyd’s favorite vegetables, which were luckily in season -- if anything could be truly in season here -- but Alexei stumbled towards her, following with hands uncomfortably clasped behind his cape. 

   Always following.

   “So, ah, did -- did Linus finish his chapter?” 

   Leonie sighed, squeezing a few of the vegetables on the table. “No. But he has certainly made progress, which is what I will tell Brendan when he corners me about Linus’ schooling. Should he ever spend enough time within our walls again to remember such details, that is.” Some of these were on the turn, but if they ate them today… She added it to her basket.  

   Alexei grimaced out a smile, somewhat good-naturedly. “He’s… still taking jobs? Even after Isadora?” 

   Everything on Leonie was flat. “Even after.” 

   “How are you dealing with it?” 

   “As I always do.” She’d reached the front of the stall, and had enough fruit for at least this morning. “I’ll have these, thank you.” Leonie offered coin to the grateful salesman, moved on to another stall for her fruit. 

   Alexei was wise enough to wait until they’d wandered from earshot to pester her further. “How can you be so calm about it?” 

   “I have no choice.” Wow, the color on that berry… She examined it coolly. “It is his work.” 

   Alexei’s back came against the stall, and his focus was solely on her, even as she attempted to ignore him. “Being a father is his work, too.” 

   So early in the morning to sigh so often. “The boys love him, Alexei.” 

   “They’re children. They love everything.” 

   “Ha!” Now that was funny. “You are sorely mistaken if you believe my boys could love everything. I can hardly get them to mildly enjoy the same somethings.” 

   “What I’m saying is -- boys always love their fathers. Don’t they?” 

   “You tell me.” 

   It did seem to be true, though. No matter what Brendan did, he could do no wrong in the eyes of her boys. And it seemed like everything she did was wrong to the youngest. Even on days she allowed him to shirk his duties and play -- something her parents never would’ve tolerated of her -- he found something she’d done that was distasteful. It was near impossible to stay in Linus’ graces for long. As if her absence right after his birth had sealed them from being separate, forever. 

   She thought of Lloyd’s serious face -- his refusal to relax or cry -- and she unintentionally dug a nail into fruit she was holding. Lips quirked downwards at her own burst of anger, and she added it to her basket, and a few more to hide the real reason for her being.

   Behind her, Alexei released a puff of air that went steamy in the foggy morning, stared up at the buildings around them. “I don’t know. I liked mine well enough, I suppose.” 

   “Well, mine love him. More than they love me.” 

   When he spoke, it was too serious -- tone far darker than normal. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know. I would know.” 

   “Too early for a guilt trip.” 

   Luckily, his attention seemed not long enough to dwell on that -- he was already reaching for something, eyes alight with energy. “Leonie, look.” And there in his hands was a green, misshapen fruit, with green bumps at the top and bottom, that slightly resembled… “Doesn’t it look like...?” 

   “Oh, Saints.” Leonie smiled in the dusty memories. A warm cool, night. All the stars above them. A frog in his hand, his knee on the ground. “It does.” 

   He looked down at it rather wistfully. “I miss that amphibian.” 

   “I miss the weather back home.” 

   “Again with the weather.” 

   “Mm.” 

   She was moving down the stall, already. She’d added a few more fruit -- decided this was enough for her family, and offered coin to the tender, who held out wrinkled hands tiredly. 

   “You know…” His voice was but a whisper. She almost didn’t hear it. “If you married me, you could go back home.” 

   It struck her -- the suddenness of his question. The seriousness of it. She let her smile take the weight away from it. “Perhaps you are right. Weather can be humorous.” 

   “In fact...” 

   And with no further discussion, he was down. On one knee, holding up the melon. 

   Everything was hot. Her neck. Her cheeks. Wasn’t the morning just cold, moments ago? “Alexei!” The old tender was looking at her. Sleepy-eyed townspeople were looking at her. Even the horses seemed to be transfixed. “What are you doing? Get up, you’ll stain your pants.” 

   He pulled a face. “Who are you?” 

   “Someone who does washing for four.” 

   “If only your mother knew all she had to do was get you to do laundry to humble you.” 

   “She’d faint, I’m sure.” 

   “Marry me.” He pushed the melon closer to her. 

   Now it wasn’t just the town. Now it was everyone in the entire world. All eyes, transfixed on her, and the love of her life. 

   “Alexei...” she breathed. 

   “I’m serious. Marry me.” 

   Nothing was moving. Even the fog seemed still. 

   Still, like Lloyd was. So much more withdrawn, and faraway, and what would his eyes look like, if he saw his mother with someone that wasn’t his father? Would they even change at all, anymore?

   A flash of heat. A finger tapped on his offering. “Did you put a ring in here?” 

   “No.” 

   She took the melon from his hands, placed it back on the stall he’s gotten it from. “Excuse us.” And with that, she was grabbing him by the silk of his dumb shirt, dragging him away from the prying eyes of the market place, pinning him against a wall down a side alley. “... Alexei, you cannot do things like that. People know me here.” 

   He panted -- either from the surprise or their proximity, she didn’t know and wasn’t keen to find out -- and stared at her with wide eyes beneath a red face. “And they should know we are together! Leo, it’s been years since Linus was born.” 

   Her grip slackened, if only a little. “I know.” 

   “So?” 

   “So I -- I...” 

   So she’d promised. She’d promised when he found her shortly after Linus’ birth that she’d run away with him. She’d been speaking through the lips of trauma -- of pain. And held her and smoothed her hair, and told her not to make any rash decisions. She had wanted to never go back home, but he encouraged her. He told her later he knew she’d regret it had she left then.

   But what about now? Would she not still regret it? Why was it different now that both boys could walk and feed themselves? 

   “Be like you again, Leo.” His eyes were on fire. “Run away with me.”  

   Anger grit into the sides of her mouth. “It is not that simple! I have children now!” 

   “Then take them with you!” 

   “I cannot do that to Brendan.”

   “Leo!” His voice had excitement she couldn’t feel. Excitement she was doubting she’d ever felt. “One of you will have to have them. It can’t be both ways!” 

   “I know, but I…” 

   “You and Brendan agree on nothing. He is not around anymore. You’re not happy.” 

   Leonie could feel herself get emotional -- but couldn’t quite find the will to tamper down on it, even as her voice rose. “Stop! Stop trying to break my family apart. You do not know how difficult this is for me.” 

   To her utter shock, his rose in turn. The happiness in his voice rose to frustration, his eyes swam behind his spectacles, both suddenly and somehow not suddenly at all. “And you do not know how difficult it is for me! I have been waiting my whole life for you! I have nothing except for you!”

   His voice seemed to ring, echo around them. If this cold world felt like a dream, him yelling felt like waking up.  

   They’d had nothing but each other their whole lives. The only thing they could trust and rely on had been the other. 

   And then Leonie had left him.

   And then Leonie had left everyone.

   She realized, with a sudden shiver, that this was the first time in their lives Alexei had ever asked anything of her. 

   “Alexei... Alexei...” 

   She realized, with a hoarse voice, that this was the first time in her life that she could not give him what he wanted. 

   He knew it, too. He was staring down at his shoes, points pressed together like he was still a schoolboy, sagged into his shoulders with a sorrow she knew all too intimately. His voice was a wisp, as if he’d spent it all yelling. “I’m sorry.” 

   “As am I.” 

   He still spoke, though. “Feeling like you have no choice in your life... in your marriage... that was your mother. Do you want that for you?” 

   “No.” 

   “Do you want that example for your boys?” 

   Leonie stared at her feet, too. Why was the ground so much safer than their faces? “No.” 

   “I trust any decision you make. I just love you. We promised ourselves to each other.” 

   “I know, Alexei.” How did one breathe? Did they always have this weight in their throats? Was everything always so hard? “But then you died.” 

   “That wasn’t my fault!” Just enough energy to sound indignant, it seemed.  

   “I know. But then I promised myself to another.” It hadn’t been a glorious ceremony, and it wasn’t a beautiful marriage, but it was real to her, all the same.

   What sort of honorable woman would tuck tail and leave when it was hard -- impossible -- beyond it -- anyway? 

   “I have to make it work with Brendan. They are my family.” Whether or not they wanted it.  

   “But you’re my family.” 

   So strange. To think that anyone still wanted her to be family. 

   So disgusting -- how desperately she wanted to accept his offer. 

   “I know,” she breathed. Then, “I do not think we should see each other anymore.” 

   “Please…” Desperation broke his voice, and when she looked up, she saw tear streaks running over his face. “Please, Leo, don’t do this.” 

   She held his face in her hands, like she did when one of her boys were crying from a nightmare that she knew she could never fully soothe, and whispered, “This is what is best for us.” 

   “No, it isn’t.” He wrapped her hands around hers, closed his eyes. It was only a moment or two before he’d relented. “I’ll leave. But I’m coming back. Perhaps in a few months… we can be friends, truly. Without needing to be lovers.”

   They’d been trying it for years with no success, but she still said, “Perhaps.” 

   “And if not… I can always leave and come back again.” 

   Leonie opened her mouth to suggest he leave forever -- but could not wrap her tongue around the first word. How could she? She’d sobbed for years that he’d come back to her. How could she ever wish to be rid of him?

   “We’ll make a friendship work,” she said, instead. 

   “Yes.” He rested his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes -- allowed him. “We will.”  

   It was just less than half a year later that Lloyd and Linus were traversing that same marketplace, alone. It was midday, so there was enough sun to see, but fog was still a formidable enemy, as it always was in Bern. Lloyd was holding Linus’ hand and the bag of money -- Linus had the joy of carrying around the basket. 

   “Stay near to me,” Lloyd said, firmly, in a voice he could remember his mama using. In a voice his father still used. Linus pouted, but padded along after him. 

   They reached a stall full of assorted fruit. Lloyd was just tall enough to see the display, and Linus was trying to balance his chin on the bottom. 

   “It’s a shame about their mother, isn’t it?” 

   It was a voice from some of the townswomen, milling by. Lloyd’s fingers froze against the fruit. 

   “I heard she agreed to a marriage proposal with a fruit! You think a noble would go further out of his way to win her graces.” 

   “Well, she was never pleasing to the eye, you know,” mumbled another one back. “Besides, if that’s all it took...” 

   “Disgraceful whore. What kind of woman does that to her children?” 

   Lloyd was meant to be moving. He had food to get. But he couldn’t. His hand was on the fruit. He couldn’t breathe, let alone move. e couldn’t will his body into action. 

   “She was never a good woman, anyway. She was a killer, you know. Would rather be out bloodying her hands than rocking her children.” 

   “No kidding? I heard she did unspeakable things to the noble in that very alleyway, while she was still married!” 

   “Poor Brendan. Who would leave a man like that?” 

   “Lloyd, look!” 

   Lloyd jolted, turned to see Linus holding a melon above his head. It was strangely shaped -- weird bumps all over it. Like a small green animal. 

   “This one looks stupid! I want it!” 

   Lloyd could move again, so he took the fruit away, put it back, and pressed their palms together again. “Let’s go, Linus.” 

   “But I wanted that one!” 

   “No, we’re going.” 

   “You’re not the boss of me! Let me buy it! Hey! Stop! Lloyd! Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd--” 

   Linus was screaming at the top of his lungs, tugging on their hands, but for some strange reason, Lloyd couldn’t hear him.