myscus

[rosenacree]

I just watched the ballad of songbirds and snakes movie and I'm feeling very emotional y'all.... The book was the reason I got back on tumblr and started enjoying drawing again so it means a lot to me ;w;

[ironwingedhawk]

So will the characters in a potential S2 be able to talk to each other in English?

It would make sense given the setting. Like those who speak a common language can still talk only to each other with that language. But it would make sense if all of them spoke English.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter two

summary: you decided to meet luca, taking him up on his offer to return the favor, and it gives the both of you the opportunity to get to know each other better.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 2777

a/n: for an america's indepedence day, have a hot brit and a love story that takes place in denmark lmao. okay so now we're all caught up with what i wrote for the headcanon and boy do i have some surprises in store for you next. thank you so much for all of the reactions to chapter one and the headcanon. this story has weaseled its way into my heart and has taken over my brain. i'm writing it for me but it's nice to hear others are enjoying it too. anyways, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

chapter one | masterlist | chapter three

“You have to go!” Jesper insists with the kind of conviction of a damn good lawyer. 

“I don’t have to anything,” you reply, making sure to emphasize the word ‘have.’

“No, you have to go,” Mathilde chimes in, a little softer, a little kinder than her brother’s earlier encouragement. 

After your post-shift meeting, everyone had gone home, save for the three of you – the Mikkelson twins cornering you about Luca’s thank-you-card proposition.

“Well, since you both keep harping on it, why don’t you come with me?” you suggest, in an attempt to shift the focus off of you. 

Your eyes scan their faces, trying to get a read on the both of them as Jesper and Mathilde exchange a pointed look, having the kind of non-verbal exchange that only comes from having shared every moment of their lives together.

“What?” you ask, looking back and forth from Mathilde to Jesper again.

“It wasn’t addressed to us,” Mathilde points out with a shrug, a sly look on her face. “It was only addressed to you.”

“Looks like someone has a crush,” Jesper adds with a smirk. 

“He doesn’t have a crush!” you protest without hesitation, your heart seizing for a moment. 

“A talent crush,” Mathilde reasons, knowing that anything more than a talent-crush would talk you out of going entirely. 

“Would it be the worst thing in the world if he did?” Jesper continues, much to both you and Mathilde’s chagrin. “I mean, when was the last time you got-, ow!”

Sharply cut off by an elbow to the rib, Jesper glares at his sister before returning his attention to you. 

“I’m just saying! He’s sexy. He’s a chef at one of the best restaurants in the world. You could do worse for yourself,” Jesper clarifies, earning another glare from his sister. 

He has a point, but you ignore it, because you’re not really sure if you’re ready to go there just yet. You think it over, and after giving it another moment, you open your mouth to speak again. 

“Alright, I’ll go,” you sigh in resignation, earning a few celebratory comments and gasps from the twins. “Are you both happy now?”

And that’s how – after at least an hour of stressing out about what to wear to a place like this – you find yourself standing in front of a closed restaurant on a day where almost everything is closed in Denmark. You’d settled on a pair of wide leg denim pants, a square toed boot appropriate for navigating the Copenhagen cobblestone, and a white and black striped sweater, slightly tucked into the front of your jeans that hangs loosely from your frame. 

Classic. Put-together enough for a two-starred Michelin restaurant on closed day. Certainly not a date kind of outfit.

Luca proves once again to be punctual as ever as he greets you at the front door, right on time. He wears a blue t-shirt that seems to emphasize his already intense blue eyes with a navy-colored apron layered over top of it. 

“You came,” are the first words he says to you, a wide smile spreading across his lips as soon as he sees you.

“Yeah I uh-, thank you. For inviting me,” you stammer, nervously searching for the right words. 

“Thank you for coming. Well, c’mon then!” he encourages, nodding towards the inside as he holds the door open for you. 

“Did you find the place alright?” Luca asks you, as you follow him. 

He leads you into the vaulted basement – the space that makes up the Danish-style, fine dining restaurant that’s been a leader in innovation. You follow Luca through the closed dining room, back into the kitchen, and then into the pastry room as you answer his question, mentioning that it wasn’t too long of a walk and that you found the place just fine.

As soon as you see what he’s been working on, it renders you near-speechless. You can see that he’s been hard at work – on his day off, no less – almost as if he knew you would come. 

“Would you like to have a seat?” he offers, gesturing towards the pastry bench. 

“Uh.. yeah. That’d be great. I-, um… thank you… again, for inviting me,” you answer, watching as he brings a stool over to it, setting up a little space for you. 

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. It’s really the least I can do. Think after this we’re uh… what 5 to 1?” he replies casually, in reference to the fact that he’ll only have fed you once in comparison to the amount of times he’s come to the restaurant. 

You chuckle, returning with a playful, “Well, I don’t think anyone’s keeping score.”

He sends a crooked smile your way, one that you know you’ll be thinking about for the rest of the week, before exchanging a laugh with you. 

“Just think of it as a thank you. For the great meals. For the hospitality,” he continues, as you watch him plate his gelee-focused dish. First the chocolate, then yellow, white, and green. A carefully tweezed wafer on top. 

“This is a shiso gelee with a chocolate mint ganache, finished with a thin slice of marzipan, and a caramel cracker. It’s from our current menu,” Luca introduces, walking you through the dish like you walked him through your crispy rice and trumpet mushroom dish. 

He pushes the plate-that-looks-more-like-a-pedestal towards you for you to try, his eyes meeting yours. Luca studies you carefully as you pick up the fork he’s set out for you, cutting through the gelee for your first bite. He watches as you scoop up a little of the ganache, making sure to get a bit of the cracker as well. 

You’re creating a perfect bite – one with a little bit of everything – just like he’d done with the first dish of yours he had a month or so ago. 

As you raise the fork to your lips, taking your first bite, the vibrant flavors hit your tongue with surprise and brilliance that you weren’t expecting. It’s somehow new, innovative, yet nostalgic all at once. 

“Oh my god,” you say with a sigh of pure bliss. You savor each and every flavor, taking your time with your first bite before continuing with: “It’s almost like-.”

“A minty snickers bar?” he offers up with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

“That’s exactly it!” you cry out with joy. 

He smiles proudly, “Yeah, it’s a nice dish.”

“So how long have you been doing this? Cooking…? Or have you done Pastry the whole time?” you ask, digging into the rest of the gelee. 

“About fourteen years… give or take. Started when I was a kid… just washing dishes… was a bit of a rebel…. The kitchen gave me a place to land,” he shares with an ease and charm that makes you feel like you could tell him all of your secrets. 

“Yeah, no I-, I get that,” you agree, enjoying your second bite of Luca’s shiso dish. 

“Gave my mum a little peace of mind. That’s for sure. Don’t think I was an easy kid to raise,” he continues as you listen. 

“Didn’t start pastry till about three years ago or so. Went mostly the fine dining route… worked my way up to sous position at a really great place, but wasn’t interested in moving up the ranks in that regard. Decided it was time to try something different.”

You nod with respect for his decision for change. 

“Where’d you grow up?” you ask curiously, watching him wipe down the pastry bench with a clean towel as he begins to prepare for a second dish.

“London,” he answers. 

“Oh! I uh, lived there for a few years, actually,” you say, sharing a familiar smile with him. 

“What about you? Where’d you grow up? And how long have you been cooking for?” he asks, shifting the focus of the conversation to you. 

“Boston,” you reply. 

He hums in response, “I’ve never been. What was that like?”

“Boston is great. Good weather, great food, interesting people. ‘S actually where I learned how to cook. My mom’s a single parent so… I spent a lot of time at our neighbor’s house… and their restaurant. They still own this Italian restaurant that’s like… been in the family for a hundred or so years and I practically grew up there,” you explain, sharing parts of yourself – of your story – in return. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks, an amused look on his face. 

“Yeah, we hung out there a lot when we were kids – me and my best friend. Then when I was old enough to work, I marched in one day after school and pitched myself for a job, demanding that I cook and that I’d accept nothing less” you reminisce trying your best to recreate the bold confidence of your fifteen year old self.

Luca chuckles in response, “That’s incredible,”

“I was a rather precocious child,” you add, laughing with a fondness for that previous version of you.

He smiles, “Yeah, I know the feeling well.”

Luca clears his throat, pulling out a clean bowl and beginning to plate something new. He explains that this one is a savory dish, starting with a fermented sourdough cracker as he walks you through the flavor profiles of each component, mentioning that it’s got to be one of his favorites on the menu so far. 

“I’m up for sharing if you are,” you suggest, in response to his last comment. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

You watch as Luca picks up another fork, digging into the dish with you. There’s an intimacy that comes from sharing a meal with someone – eating off the same plate, enjoying the same sensory experience, quite literally breaking bread – that makes Luca feel less and less like a stranger to you with each bite. You still can’t believe that he’s done this for you – that you’re here – and while you’re not sure why, you lean into a softness, allowing yourself to enjoy it while it’s happening. 

“Did you go to culinary school?” you ask him, over your last few shared bites.

“No, what about you?” he replies quickly. 

“No, I actually majored in business,” you answer, earning a hum from him. 

“Huh…” he sounds, with a raise of both eyebrows in surprise. 

“I know…” you groan, with a playful eye roll more so directed at yourself. “My first career was in finance… account management. Then I did the whole investment thing for a while… it was uh… really sexy stuff, I know.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who would’ve been happy doing something like that,” Luca observes, only surprising you a little that he’d be able to pick up on something like that so quickly. 

“Oh no. I wasn’t. I was miserable,” you echo in agreement. You take a breath, and a beat, before explaining. “It was more of… a wish fulfillment thing, I think. For my mom. I mean, it wasn’t my dream, by any means. But having stability was important to me, to my mom…. To my partner at the time.”

“And now?”

You wait a beat before answering. 

“And now… I’m just… figuring it out as I go.”

Your eyes flicker over the ‘every second counts’ sign that hangs on the wall while Luca busses the table once again, sharing that he’s got one more dish he’d like for you to try. You settle into a quiet rhythm as you sit back and allow him to provide an experience unlike any other you’ve had. You watch him carefully as he moves around the kitchen prepping for his last dish, taking in each and every tattoo visible on his arms. 

“Every second counts,” you speak out loud, returning your attention to the sign. 

“Yeah,” he nods, turning his attention to where you’re looking. “It’s uh-, something an old head chef of mine used to say. Really stuck with me.”

You nod in agreement as he pulls out a final dessert plate. 

“‘S actually what brought me to you,” he continues, in reference to the sign. “An old friend of mine called me for a favor. He’s opening a new restaurant and wanted their patissier to come stage here for a bit.” 

Luca begins plating his final dish using a few pastry rings, a clean pair of tweezers, and berries left macerating in a deli container with a laser focus that you’d expect from a pastry chef at a two-starred Michelin restaurant.

“We got into… this whole conversation about inspiration. How to find it. Where to find it. I told him he’s gotta be open… to everything. To things out there. That that’s how you succeed in this industry – how you set yourself apart,” Luca adds, impressing you with his precision of plating while sharing something so personal. 

“It reminded me that… it’s been a while since I’ve opened myself up to… well… anything outside of this place.”

“No, yeah, I totally get it. It’s easy to get lost in it – it being the four walls of your restaurant. Running a restaurant is relentless. One minute you put your head down and the next…” you empathize with him. 

“It’s three weeks later.”

“Yeah.”

“Which leads me to why I asked you here,” Luca segways, as he finishes his final dish. “I ran into a little bit of writers’ block – or rather, chef’s block, if you will – working on our Summer menu.” 

He presents the dish towards you, earning a gasp from you as you take in the stunning creation.

“Knew I needed to get out of here for a beat. Get out of my head. Get some new perspectives.”

“Is this for your new menu?” you ask, your eyes devouring the cake-based dish first. 

“Maybe… just something I’ve been working on – something that’s been floating around in my head a while,” he shrugs, watching you carefully as he tries to search your face for any kind of reaction. 

You dig your fork into the spongey, tea-soaked, circular layered cake, raising it to your lips and immediately finding pure joy as you taste it. 

Yuzu. Earl Grey. The cake is almost like a lady finger – tiramisu-like in the way that it eats – filled with a yuzu curd in between each layer of cake, then finished with what you can only assume is a sort of black sesame dust that he’s sifted over top of the dish. 

“Woah,” is all that comes out of your mouth.

“Yeah?” Luca questions, unable to hide the smile that spreads across his lips. 

“Yeah uh… Why does this feel so familiar? It’s like… you’re reading my mind with this one,” you ask, your eyes wide savor each note. 

“Well, it should. Feel familiar, that is. It’s inspired by you,” Luca explains, treading carefully around the last few words. 

“What do you-?” you begin to ask, before the words leave you. 

You half expect him to tell you he’s joking, and you can’t tell whether or not it’s a blush running across his high cheekbones that you spot, as he turns his attention elsewhere. He begins moving around the kitchen, eager to begin cleaning up after himself to recover from the sheer vulnerability he feels from sharing this with you. 

Was this why he’d invited you here? 

“Luca,” you say, your words stopping him as he turns back to you. 

“What’s up?” he asks, so casually, as if he hadn’t just called you his muse. 

"All of this... you did all of this for me…. Why?" you muster up the courage to ask, the words falling out of your mouth with a weight you don’t expect. 

He takes a beat, afraid of coming on too strong, considering you’ve only just met, yet wanting nothing more than to tell you the truth.

Luca sighs, choosing the latter, before laying it all out on the table.

 "Your food is inspired and I don’t think I’ve had something this inspired in a long time,” he explains before pausing. “Your passion for Italian cuisine… weaving in the bits and pieces of yourself and approaching it from different culinary perspectives? You inspired me.” 

He takes another beat. 

“And as chefs, this is what we do. We feed each other." 

You’re speechless, but you can feel yourself nodding in agreement as you mumble out the most reverent ‘thank you’ that you can muster. You can feel it – that this is the beginning of, well, you're not quite sure what – but whatever it is, you're glad he walked into your restaurant however many weeks ago.

“Luca?”

��Yeah?”

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He nods, one corner of his mouth turning up into a smile. 

“Cheers.”

[charlotte-of-wales]

Grand Duke Henri and Grand Duchess Maria-Teresa of Luxembourg host the 20th annual informal meeting of the Heads of State of German-speaking countries in Luxembourg, attended by King Philippe and Queen Mathilde of Belgium, Hereditary Prince Alois and Hereditary Princess Sophie of Liechtenstein, the president of Switzerland, and the president and first-lady of Germany | September 16, 2024

[areyoudreaminof]

Next Gen Headcanons:

Nyx:

-very into architecture, loves buildings. The Prythian equivalent of a lego kid. Builds Feyre a studio and builds Oriana a little dollhouse.

-He carves little wooden animals, like his grandfather. His mother and aunts aren’t sure what to make of it at first, but they grow to love it.

-Nyx wears goggles when he flies high. When he’s older (like 100) he gets really into the idea of an aerial corps for the Illyrians.

-He loves all his cousins but is closest to Cricket. They’re called the “Terror Twins” in the family. 

-Not much of a “ladies man” in the traditional sense, but the ladies love him because he’s easy going, respectful, and doesn’t play games.

-he’s an okay artist, if he put in more effort he’d be better. 

-he’s embarrassed by Rhys’s over the top fashion sense. 

-he’s a daemati, but hates going into people’s minds unless absolutely necessary. 

-very close to Az and Nesta. He trusts them both implicitly. And his first word after "Mama" was "Nena!" for Nesta, of course.

-his best friend is the Winter Court Heir. They have a secret handshake.

Cricket:

-Helion’s shadow. She breeds horses and Pegasi with her grandfather and they’re very, very close. She’s a very talented equestrian and trains the Day Court horses on her own. 

-Her real name, Mathilde, comes from the Lady of Autumn's sister. Lucien gave her the nickname Cricket, when she was a baby. She babbled at night.

-she’s a Spell Cleaver and she got all the Day Court powers. No Autumn powers to be seen

-When she grows up, she becomes THE Emissary for all the courts and the human lands since she’s so well connected. She really doesn’t want to be the heir. She's ruthless at negotiation, thanks to Eris's training.

-Cricket is Lucien with a better upbringing. Snarky af.

-Rhys is her favorite Night Court uncle, but also her mortal enemy in their prank war.

-Very close to her parents. While she got Lucien’s hair and eyes, she got a lot of Elain’s features. 

-Extremely close to Eris. She is given Autumn citizenship, title of Grand Duchess of Autumn and a smokehound. She calls her hound Trajan, her favorite Day Court hero.

Froggy:

-she is a prodigy and teaches herself to read at some young ass age. Very quiet and proper, but isn’t afraid to get dirty. She speaks Scythian fluently and teaches herself old High Fae. 

-Her real name, Cyra, is an ancient Day Court name. Helion picked it out. Froggy comes from Cricket, who thought her baby sister looked like a frog when she was born.

-she looks the most like Helion, and has “Day Court looks” with Elain's golden heir. Which is funny because she got the Autumn flame and is more or less considered Eris’ heir by himself and the Autumn court. 

-her smokehound is named Brigid, the first fae in Autumn to wield fire, whom she idolizes.  

-She is super close to Nesta and Feyre. She adores Cassian. 

- she’s very empathetic. I toyed a lot with her getting the Seer gift, but she instead has a very good intuition. 

-She always wears a bow in her hair. She thinks it looks sophisticated. She picked it up from her human cousins in Scythia.

Orianna

-very funny and mischievous and caring. Spoiled rotten by her parents and the House.

-The House LOVES HER. The House gives her the best room, and a kitten. It just showed up when she wanted it. It's a real kitten she calls Pudding.

--she loves music and singing. When she’s older (a few hundred years old) she does a research project for the library and compiles old oral folk tales and songs from the women in Illyria. 

-Nesta’s velcro child. Orianna is ride or die for her mother. She does love her Daddy though. 

--her wings are from her grandmother. 

-She and Froggy are the closest, but she hero worships Cricket and Nyx. 

-Orianna was also raised and watched a lot by Clotho and the other priestess in the library. She is named Research Assistant when she's little and she takes it VERY seriously. She loves Clotho the most.

-She is the official representative of the Library at the House to the Day Court.

-Gwyn and Emerie are her aunts. Full stop.

-she loves her Aunt Feyre and loves to paint with her. 

-when she feels angry and upset, Uncle Az takes her for “quiet time” where they color together. It helps her calm down. He teachers her how to sing and old Illyrian songs.

-Cassian calls her his princess.

-she will become the first Valkyrie Librarian

[royal-confessions]

“Out of all the queen consorts, I like Queen Mathilde the most. She's such a down to earth person despite being of an aristocratic background. She looks like cinderella, is highly educated, fluent in 4-5 languages & has an angelic voice! Just look at her speak & interact with the public. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body. I remember how sweetly she supported syrian refugees a few years ago. Truly a kind person. I'm sure she'll be the greatest royal mother-in-law ever in the future.” - Submitted by Anonymous

[siriuslygay1981]

Lily yearned for a simple and lovely life, nothing but her lover, some books, a cup of tea and their seal point cat named Neptune and their other cat, a mainecoon, mademoiselle Mathilde clotilde.

To live in a small cottage near the woods, or in the woods if they could. Plants fill every room, bookcase after bookcase filled to the brim with books, some she's never touched, others falling apart in her hands because she can't get enough. The air smelling of faint perfume and incense, nail polish bottles knocked over next to mounds of jewelry. Crochet projects strewn across the couch that is more of a lumpy little thing. Lots of windows and crystals and sun catchers, the curtains only come down before bed. They have a porch with a swing and a blanket they worked on together,the blanket they kept switching back and forth whenever they got inspired.

She yearned for early morning where the sun would peek in from the window, the light spilling across the dark skin of her lover in bed next to her. Warming their bodies slowly, their limbs stretching and soft groans leaving both their mouths. They speak of everything and nothing, what they'll do today and what they hope to do soon.

Soft hands roaming up and down as she admired the way their eyelashes flutter and the small sleepy sighs that left their lips. Pouty lips and small complaints about who will make their tea this morning, as if Lily doesn't get up every time and do it for them. Chamomile, lemon and just a bit of peppermint for herself.

She craved the crazy rants and the sparkle in their eyes when they spoke of the things that kept them going, lily could not get enough.

She wanted to lay still as her makeup got done, she would wait with baited breath as flowers got woven into her hair and soft finger tips lifted her spaghetti strap back onto her shoulder after slipping off. Lily especially loved the morning where she helped Pandora take the hair wraps out of her hair, Pandora laying heavily against lily as she sat on the bathroom counter. Lily murmuring softly to Pandora as she deftly undid the colorful wraps.

She looked forward to getting her daily crystals and her soft kisses, her hair pushed out of her face and fingers tugging at her arm so she would move closer.

She could stay like that forever, liquid in Pandora's hands. Chest to chest their hands roaming softly as they listened to the birds tweeting. She loved the lazy mornings, pushing herself out of bed and making tea, smiling and melting into Pandora's hands when she hugged her from behind

Pandora's soft humming and sleepy eyes as she slowly got on the counter to sit and watch lily make some eggs and toast. Her socked feet hitting the cabinets under her, her hair a mess, her big shirt slipping off one shoulder.

She loved when Pandora left soft kisses on her freckles skin, how she played connect the dots with them and how she often whispered the different shapes she could see.

Lily loved when Pandora looked at her as if she created everything beautiful and strange, sometimes staring at her for hours without a word. Admiring her with those cloudy eyes, only ever interrupting whatever she's doing to touch her. She never was too far, wanting to be touching some part of lily no matter what they were doing. It was never annoying , lily never felt crowded with Pandora. Pandora , she never messed with Lily's flow. Lily would be cooking and Pandora would put Lily's hair up, sit on the counter and pass her whatever she needed. Always a few steps ahead with lily not too far behind.

So lily was happy, she had her soft mornings and her little cottage in the woods. Her two cats and her lover who she was so endured by, she would never get sick of it.

@sleepinginmygrave for being awesome and helping me name pandalilys cats (and determine what type of cat) <3 love ya MWHA MWHA (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)

[nesiacha]

When politics gets involved in history (French Revolution part)

As a general rule, when politicians meddle in history, it often creates confusion. Today I will talk about how they handle the French Revolution.

Of course, Jean Jaures did a good job on this period, although there are naturally points to criticize. But generally speaking, our politicians allow themselves to make crude or inappropriate remarks.

There are even serious historians who fall into the trap by making political amalgamations. A few days ago, while doing research, I came across an excerpt from an article by Thierry Lentz, a respected historian, made comments in Le Figaro comparing the left-wing opposition party, France Insoumise, to the Hébertists, labeling them as vulgar. My intention on this page is not to promote France Insoumise, but to qualify the Hébertists as vulgar (I imagine he also includes the Cordeliers and the Exagérés) is not good for me (the only thing that can be qualified as vulgar is the newspaper Le Père Duchesne and Hébert's style). Moreover, what does he mean by the left's reinterpretation of the Terror? He talks about Marxist-Leninist dogma in his terms, but Lenin preferred Danton, who was not a Hébertist. Plus the Bolshevik revolution was not based on the same principles as the French Revolution. The French Revolution has democratic aspects that the Bolsheviks did not apply (I'm not saying this to denigrate gratuitously the USSR, which became Russia, let's be clear). A country that has undergone a revolution compared to another country doesn’t necessarily adopt the same principles (often because there are different contexts, different paths, etc.). And reducing the Hébertists, Cordeliers, or Exagérés to the Terror is quite reductive (I have already expressed my thoughts on the Cordeliers in one of my posts).

Moreover, in left-wing parties, from what I have observed, it is rather the character of Babeuf that is taken up, considered as the father of communism (I once met a communist who saw Momoro as a reference and another who prefer Marat), while France Insoumise is something else (we can rather place Robespierre in the radical left, but I don't think he would have been a socialist, and we can be sure he was not a communist). So why once again Thierry Lentz associates France Insoumise with Trotskyism and Marxist-Leninism for taking up Robespierre? I mean, okay, there were communists who admired Robespierre like Stellio Lorenzi, but clearly not as many as one would think.

While Lentz's expertise in French history is widely respected, such political analogies raise questions about the neutrality of historical interpretation.

Moreover, it is interesting that the fact that "La Caméra explore le temps" rehabilitated the Montagnards led to the end of the program because of the Gaullist government. Once again, politics gets involved in history and leads to very bad results.

Now it's President Macron's turn. With Stéphane Bern, the president started to explain that an edict signed in 1539 by François I imposed French as the sole language in France. However, historian Mathilde Larrère says it was the French Revolution that imposed French as the sole language on the French. Once again, politics in history can lead to bad results.

I won't even talk about certain elements of the far right who claim to be followers of Robespierre because that would be giving them publicity, and it's not my vocation.

Now let's move on to Mélenchon from the France Insoumise party, who also made significant historical errors during this period. First, in one of Robespierre's videos, he calls Marie Antoinette a "spoiled brat." Accusing the former queen of treason I understand, she gave all the information she could to the enemy, but when you hear "spoiled brat," you're passing a value judgment that has nothing to do with it. Finally, he invents a marriage of Pauline Léon, saying that she ended her life in bourgeois fashion with a Girondin.

Moreover, Melenchon explain that the extreme left of the time was manipulated by the corrupt who arrested Robespierre. Okay, there were Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois in the mix, but you can't tell me that the Plaine was part of the extreme left. Moreover, most of the elements of what was called the extreme left were either in prison, like Claire Lacombe, Pauline Léon, Jean-François Varlet, or eliminated, like Chaumette, Momoro, Ronsin, and Hébert at the time of 9 Thermidor.

Moreover, contrary to what Mélenchon suggested, Chaumette and Hébert were not part of the Enragés movement.

In the end, this is the problem when our politicians try to shape history to fit their agendas. It leads to significant inconsistencies and inaccuracies.

[crimsonkat59]

Campaign two end spoilers!!!

I just had a thought on how the party would just have to stare at their reflections for a while. It’s kind of fucked up in a way, suddenly seeing a completely different face.

Like, Mathilde knows they’re an aarakocra and knows the features well. Black feathers, beak, wings, talons. They know their accent as well. How crazy would it be to suddenly see a human face and suddenly your accent doesn’t even sound right because it’s not yours. They’re not technically French anymore.

Chip knows he has a tail, horns, and purple skin. He can adjust easier since they’re more minor changes. Different accent, different skin tone, different physical structure; sure, but it’s less of lot a derailment.

Barney is possibly glad to be young again. Though, he has officially lost his family. In two senses (the family left in Grotethe and the fact that Ellga is not the same person (?) and has a completely different family (?)). Maybe he thinks he looks similar to how he did in his prime, with a change in hair color (unless Barney wasn’t ever blonde and was brunette?).

Ellga is fifty-fifty. No more fangs, but canines can be sharp. And she’s finally all grown up! Different accent, however. Like Mathilde, that’s a fairly big change, the entire way you speak out the window.

Oh, and they’re names. Imagine waking up and one guy (who is definitely a woman you were just with like an hour ago and was, emotionally, one of your party member’s mom) and some other guy say: “Oh yeah, your eternal souls have different names than the ones you have now. Oh. And please save the multiverse.”

Like WHAT. This is insane i love it

(Also like what if they get to go back to grotethe, hell, even faeza, and gus is like ‘cool! Here are your old character sheets!’ And in that case, would they even be able to do anything? Like, could they save anyone? Or are they all gone? Is it futile, or do they get to say one final goodbye?)

[beneluxroyalty]

11th September 2023: King Philippe and Queen Mathilde host the 19th informal summit of German-speaking heads of state at Laeken Castle. Heads of state from Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Liechtenstein, Austria and Switzerland are present.

[jimmyjims]

Day 1: Yearning

Zelink Week 2023 ~ @zelinkcommunity

Despite his inability to speak, Leon still found it a bit difficult to translate words onto paper. He sat at his desk and tapped the pen on his chin methodically. He was writing about how his day went, but so much had happened that he was not sure how to limit how much he wrote in order to focus on the good parts of his day. Today, too many good things happened. How could he fit it all on this small sheet of paper? Should he just draw instead? He usually added small sketches under his journal entries but Leon decided that there were truly no words to describe how his day went. So, he began to sketch whatever came to mind first.

A small line here, a curved line there. Was that a smile? Maybe. Keep going. Round eyes full of wonder and light. He wonders who they belong to. Curls that caressed round cheeks. Everything about this was round, he realized. What else should he make round? Maybe he should extend the drawing a bit to explore more of this character he was unconsciously creating. Taking a moment to take it in before he continued, Leon gasped in realization. He dropped his pen and covered his mouth with his hand. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was a few more moments before he finally looked down again.

There she was. The Princess looked up at him sweetly, her round eyes sparkling at him. Her gorgeous head was floating on the paper, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish. Leon’s cheeks flushed as he tried shaking away the feeling that gnawed at his heart, but he only gained a stronger will to finish the drawing. He decided to give her a flower to hold, the flower whose seeds they had planted this morning. Each stroke was gentle as he finalized the details he had memorized of the Princess: her freckles that scattered across the sky of her face, the dress she wore today that gently hugged the curvature of her body, and the beautiful gold jewelry that highlighted her ears, fingers and wrist.

Once he was satisfied, Leon tapped his pen on his desk and smiled tenderly. He had ignored her beauty since he met her, but now, he embraced her perfect appearance. But…there was something he could not ignore. Leon sighed as he glanced at the folded letters that sat at the top right corner of his desk. He took a peek inside of one of them and felt a guilty stab in his heart. Leaning back, he tilted his face towards the ceiling. He knew it was wrong to yearn for the Princess; his heart belonged to someone else, despite being so far away from home. He knew this and yet, he couldn’t shake away the tingling sensation from his hands as he remembered the accidental touch he shared with her this morning.

Leon forced himself to try to imagine Mathilde, to remember her. She felt too far away to be palpable, making it a bit more difficult to capture her true magnificence. What was her touch like? Leon ran his thumb across the tips of his fingers. Like a shock, perhaps? Her eccentric nature might have energized her touch. What had she looked like? Leon tried to draw her in his mind, only for him to realize that it took too long for him to distinguish the details he had memorized in his time with her. The day he left. Her somber expression. Her last touch. It had left him feeling lonely after they let each other go. Their last embrace was bittersweet and felt like little more than a brief convergence. A convergence that left a sharp and painful feeling in his chest. If he touched her again, would she feel like a knife?

His little fairy companion was amused by Leon’s inspection of his hand, noticing that his face showed pain. She had noted the lack of a journal entry, which was rather odd considering he was having a grand time with the Princess the entire morning. Why was the young hero rubbing his fingers all of a sudden?

“Did gardening make your hands numb?” Tradi asked, pulling Leon away from his thoughts. He jumped at her tiny voice and turned to find her resting on his left shoulder. With a furrowed brow, Leon shook his head and looked back at his hand. Knowing she wouldn’t get a real answer, Tradi flew in front of him to annoy him. Leon grimaced and joined her in her game, only for him to give up after multiple turns of his head. He finally pointed at the drawing he had made and crossed his arms. Tradi laughed in her triumph and hovered over the paper. Leon glared at the teasing fairy while she analyzed the drawing that caused so much guilt within him.

“Wow! Lovely work, Leon!” Tradi giggled. Leon stuck out his lower lip and let out a huff.

“Aw, come on! I’m being honest!” she insisted. “I think you should show this to her!”

Leon quickly shook his head and criss-crossed his arms across his chest. He was already angry with himself for drawing her for today’s journal entry; showing it to Zelda would only make matters worse. Tradi sighed and rested on his shoulder once again.

“Has Mathilde sent you another letter?” she asked, her tone sharing his concern all of a sudden. Leon lowered his eyes and nodded, gesturing at the pile of letters he was collecting. Tradi wavered around the papers and lifted a corner of the paper at the top of the stack.

“Something feels wrong,” she noted as she read a bit of what was written. A twitch from Leon’s lower lip only worsened Tradi’s fears. Knowing that feeding Leon’s concern would not end too well, Tradi knew she had to give him at least a sliver of hope. “Don’t worry too much about it, Leon. Maybe she’s getting busy, like you are!”

Leon’s eyebrows creased his forehead with worry. Is that all this was? Maybe he had been overthinking it. He wanted to believe Tradi, but he still couldn’t ignore the feelings that had surged within him. He started to suspect that this was a test of his love for Mathilde— and he was failing. Leon stood from his chair and went out to pace around the balcony adjoining the room. Tradi watched as he thought to himself, his face contorting at each new one that emerged. She felt helpless watching him become more and more unsure of himself.

They both turned quickly at the sound of the window doors opening. Princess Zelda walked out and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. Too startled to move, Leon found himself staring at the Princess with wide eyes. It took a few more moments before she finally met his eyes, her own widening in response.

“L-Leon! What are you doing out here?” she chuckled nervously. He glanced away and shrugged, still too taken aback to properly react. The Princess gave him a sweet laugh and walked towards him until a few steps of distance were between them. She hid her hands behind her back and shifted a bit shyly.

“I never thanked you properly for helping me this morning,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Leon bit his lip,  staring at his feet. A smile from the Princess was attempted, but she still couldn’t get anything out of him. She started to give up before Tradi reappeared and laughed.

“Sorry, Princess! He’s a bit tired from today. I think he will be able to chat after his nap,” she suggested. Princess Zelda laughed and nodded.

“Yes, he probably is tired after hearing me talk to him all morning,” she teased. Leon finally looked at her and shook his head.

“Oh?” Princess Zelda questioned. She watched as Leon’s hands possibly moved a bit too rapidly for her to interpret. Thankfully, the little fairy was an expert interpreter.

“I had a nice time with you today, Princess. I was just thinking about what Mathilde has told me recently,” Tradi said. Zelda frowned slightly and held her hands in front of her chest.

“But you look a bit upset,” she noted, tilting her head. “Is everything alright with her?”

Leon thought for a moment while he started to rebuild the wall between them. His feelings for Mathilde had to prevail; he had loved her for so long. So why did he feel like he was making a mistake?

“Leon,” the Princess whispered, her hand resting on his arm. The shock he felt was unlike what he remembered Mathilde’s to be. It was a more soft and comforting feeling that only made him long for more. A more roundness to her touch made his heart ache with desire. His breath got caught in his throat, and he started to feel uneasy by her magical touch. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. He loved Mathilde, he did. He had to return to her or else the Princess would replace her in his heart. He did not want that. Or did he?

“Let’s get you inside,” the Princess insisted. Leon clenched his trembling fists and nodded, following her inside. Maybe he really did need a nap. Yes, he was too tired to discern his feelings, much less the longing he felt for the Princess to touch him again. His thoughts lingered on how the roundness of her fingertips sent him into a quiet frenzy with the touch they had shared in the morning. No, he could not let that happen again. He decided her touch was to be avoided at all costs— maybe he should avoid her as much as he could. His duty as her knight would make it difficult, but he had to do it. For Mathilde. For his own sake.

[theroyalsandi]

Happy 50th Birthday Queen Mathilde! (b. 20th January 1973)

“(Speaking about how she can relax) By doing little things. Enjoying a coffee with family and friends in a bar, walking with the dogs or going to a bookstore. And not looking at my watch.”

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down: the director's cut, or rather, fun facts about this story now that it's over

luca's last name in my fic is davies, and formally davies-bernardi. bernardi in italian means 'strong as a bear' which, was truly a perfect coincidence that i originally thought it sounded good hyphenated with davies. it felt like the perfect little nugget to drop in here.

this one kind of took on a life of its own. I thought maybe a headcanon or a few chapters, then 46.5k words later... before writing a fic, i always like to map out where i'm going, because it helps me zero in on what story i want to tell. as someone (and who hasn't, truly) who has plenty of abandoned fics, i like to get clear on what story it is i want to tell before beginning to write so that i know it's a fic worth writing for me. no, i don't think finishing a fic should be a marker of success, but where i'm at right now, it feels like the best way for me to see if i have a story to tell or not.

speaking of stories to tell, the reason i wanted to have our main character divorced was because i wanted to try something different. i wondered how i could differentiate this mc (while keeping the reader neutral so you could picture yourselves in it if you wanted to) from others that i have written / will write in the future. the divorce and growing apart is actually kind of inspired by my previous upstairs neighbor who i met a year after his divorce. i wanted to imagine what the inner world of someone who had experienced a divorce that wasn't messy, but its relationship had just run its course and i the end, left two people who weren't sure who they were and how to talk to each other anymore would be like.

music and playlisting really helps me envision and feel into the world that I’m building. I ask myself questions like: what does their love sound like? what does this relationship shound like? how do i want the world i'm building feel, and how do i convey that in sound? and then of course, what songs could underscore certain moments of this chapter? listening to the playlist i create as i go really helps me get into character aka enter the world of the story when i'm sitting down the write.

so many of my fics and interactions are based on my own real life experiences, which is why they often feel so human and so real. i weave in little details like conversations i've had, a person i reminded of. i often write dialogue after i've imagined the scene in my head down to the cadence of how characters speak to one another to make sure it feels grounded.

speaking of, we've got to talk about the food in this fic, something that you all complimented me on at the very beginning! it was important for me to have the food feel deeply personal to reader, and be an expression of her identity through the years. yes, i wrote it with an mc with asian heritage in mind. however, i wanted to make space, again, for you to picture yourself in this fic, which is why mc's ex and family were written with japanese heritage.

a lot of the dishes were inspired by dishes i've had that were similar to what i think her culinary pov would be, and a lot of it is the way that i cook as well. i am not a chef by any means, but i am AM a home cook who occasionally does pop ups who very recently discovered my own culinary pov. food for me is something that not only helps me express myself, but has helped me connect to parts of my own identity. in so many ways, as someone who describes themselves as a cultural melting pot, food helps me feel closer to myself; it helps me find and define, and express who i am.

the culture of food and the role it plays in allowing us to connect was really important for me to weave into this story as well.

for the mikkelson twins, i pictured timothee and pauline chalamet as jesper and mathilde.

for the kimuras: rina sawayama would play astrid, darren barnet would play joe, and gia kim would play lina.

let's talk about luca's character development: so many things were so will poulter-coded/borrowed for will poulter, which felt right to do considering he wove his own life into the luca's tattoos. examples? the nike book, the kendrick lamar on the playlist, how much internal work the man has done on himself.

in the end, I initially had mc have a way bigger freak out than she did -- that it would be her final: holy shit am i ready to be loved moment, but as i wrote it, it ended up being luca who brought up the main conflict. it just ended up going in a different direction and didn't feel right to go with my original plan, because she felt so in their relationship already that i pivoted.

i watched a lot of travel and lifestyle copenhagen vlogs because i'm obsessed with youtube.

after season 2 of the bear, i wanted to explore what positive relationships with mothers could look like in these characters. that's why mothers (and single mothers) are the superheroes of this fic.

i knew i wanted this fic to be about these things: second love, loss, trusting the beginning that comes after the end, inspiration, following your heart, and mothers. these are the guiding principles that i used when writing, knowing that these were the pillars i wanted this story to be about.

looking forward: i am working on two oneshots that will live in this world, one about marcus visiting again -- an eat, pray, love for him of sorts -- that's about mothers and loss and life. the other one is a fun, sexy little smutshot that will hardlaunch their (she and luca's) restaurant so keep an eye out for those. truthfully, i've only just started workshopping the marcus one and am prioritizing finishing my carmy fic first.

opening myself up for q&a! feel free to ask any questions about this fic or my writing process in the comments.

[sl-newsie]

Query: Q x 00 Agent- Ch. 22: Comes With The Job

Thank God no one’s noticed our boat parked in the sub pen. Another relief is that Mathilde's kept quiet and is surprisingly cooperative considering the tense atmosphere. Maybe now we can get our signal back.

“Q?” Bond asks blindly. I hope this works.

“Yes?” The Quartermaster’s voice answers crystal-clear. He sounds pleased to hear from us.

“We’re going to need an immediate strike on this entire island. It’s a manufacturing plant.”

A few seconds go by before Q answers again. “Bond, there’s something else you should know. Multiple unidentified planes are heading toward you.”

We all exchange glances and I can tell we’re all thinking it. 

“They’re coming for Heracles,” Bond speaks for all of us. “How far out?”

“20 minutes,” Q answers. 

He must have notified M as well because now I hear his voice in my ear piece. “Bond.”

007 comes to attention. “M?”

“Our interference is attracting global attention. We’re seeing what we can do.”

Perfect. Another inconvenience. Of course the rest of the world wants in on the gossip. Can’t we all talk about this after we’ve ended this crisis?

“What do we do now?” I ask blindly. “For all we know whoever’s on their way here might use Heracles for the same reason Saffron is.”

Bond catches my eye and seems to think of a plan. He grabs D. Swann’s hand and it doesn’t take a genius to see he’s trying to figure out how to say a thousand things at once. Thankfully Dr. Swann gets the point and offers a knowing smile.

“I have to finish this,” Bond explains. “For us.”

She nods. “I know.”

They lean in for a kiss and Nomi and I look away to pretend this is not awkward. If it weren’t for the deadly situation this would be a touching moment. It tugs at my heart and sends guilt seeping into my thoughts because I can’t see my fiancée. The thought of even having a fiancée seems like a fairytale all in itself, but it does give comfort to know I’m not in this alone. And if we don’t destroy Heracles then there won’t be a world worth living in.

“0011, are you there?” Q’s voice rings out.

“I’m here,” I answer quickly. “Bond and I are going to destroy the factory once Dr. Swann and her daughter have left. Before you say anything, no I’m not backing out. He needs my help and I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do everything I can to stop this.”

On the other end I hear Q let out a deep sign. “I knew you’d say something like that. I don’t doubt you’ll do brilliant as always but… Please be careful.”

“You do know we can hear you?” Nomi speaks up from behind.

A quick blush flashes across my cheeks but I make haste to hide it. “You know I can’t promise everything, Q. My job always comes first.”

By now Bond and Dr. Swann have finished up their goodbye. “I’ll just be a minute. 0011, Nomi, please escort them to shore.” He starts walking back down the dock. 

I turn to tell Nomi I’m going with him but she already seems to know. “You’re his partner. Make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble. Good luck, 0011.”

I nod and sprint off to where Bond just disappeared. He’s climbing back up the stairs back towards the lab. When I catch up with him his only response is a frown.

“You’re staying behind?”

“Like you, I’m not fond of following orders. Even from you. I’m with you ‘till the end, Bond.”

“You could die,” Bond pants as we scurry up a narrow ladder.

Yes. Yes I could. “Comes with the job.”

Bond doesn’t respond to that. We both understand that this mission is far more important than personal safety. When we get to the top level Bond checks the hall for any guards and declares it safe to continue.

“Talk to me, Q.”

“Our uninvited guests are 15 minutes away,” he answers dryly.

Now another voice joins the conversation. “Bond, M here. This business has going beyond our jurisdiction-”

“We don’t have a choice,” Bond interrupts. “Fire on my mark.”

Just our luck. Too bad the threat of Heracles is such an inconvenience to national peace. To be frank, can’t we all stop acting like children for five minutes and agree to destroy this thing?

“It disrupts agreements with Russia and the Japanese,” M argues. “The Americans will also want answers.”

“Well don’t give them any,” Bond states firmly. “Mallory, if we don’t do this, there will be nothing left to save. Fire on my mark.”

We pass through another room. Unfortunately this one is guarded. Bond does quick work to shoot the first two. My instincts snap my attention to the approaching guard with a knife, whom I give a quick kick to the crotch and punch his neck. He’s out in seconds. One other thing I notice is how the room is designed. Giant, heavy metal doors.

“Let’s go!” Bond waves me over to the exit.

“007, there’s another problem.” Q must be thinking the same thing. “That room you were just in-”

“Yes yes, I know! I need to open the blast doors.”

“Otherwise the missiles will bounce off of it-”

“I know.”

Honestly, Q, this is not the time for over-explaining! Bond and I are tightly wound as it is and lecturing is not helping. We make our way out in silence, both trying not to think of the foreign planes headed our way.

“Find the control room,” Q tells us. “Think you can do it?”

Bond nonchalantly waves it off. “Plenty of time, plenty of time.”

Yes. Let’s pretend ten minutes is loads of time.

“Is 0011 still with you?”

“Don’t worry, Q. I’ll make sure your fiancé gets out in one piece.”

Oh.

My jogging staggers. “You know?”

The older agent checks the next hallway before answering. “It doesn’t take a genius to spot the ring around your neck. Plus the fact that he can’t stop worrying about you says enough.”

His tone doesn’t give me much to assume what he thinks of this… and I’m sort of nervous to ask.

“Are you mad?”

“I did disagree with it. I told you before that this job never allows for a normal life.”

I bite my lip and avoid his gaze to hide my embarrassment. I thought I had passed the point of fishing for Bond’s praise. He’s not my real family and he shouldn’t have any control over my life. Yet the sting of his disappointment still leaves its mark.

“But,” he continues. “I’m really proud of how you’ve handled it.”

What?

“You understand that the job comes first but also remember to show communication and empathy. Something…” Bond lets out a deep sigh. “Something I seem to struggle with. What I’m trying to say is, you deserve to have love in your life, Levie.”

A happy smile tugs onto my face. “Thank you, Bond. That means a lot. Maybe after all this we can all go out for drinks to celebrate?”

Boom!

Suddenly a nearby explosion rocks the building. There goes the lab.

“Celebration will have to wait.” Bond and I sprint down the rest of the hall. “Up the stairs. I’ll go first.”

It’s a spiral staircase. With any luck this one leads to the control room and we can get out of this wretched place. 

“Hault!”

Crumbs. More guards. With the cramped space it’s much harder to fight. I think there’s something that just might help-

“Bond! Get down!”

He drops to the floor and I snap the clasp on my bracelet before hurling it at the oncoming guards. Shrapnel rains out across the stairs and causes them to drop like flies. This leaves Bond with a bewildered look.

“Where did that come from?”

“A small gift from Q. A shrapnel bracelet. But I can only use it once-” The sound of clinking metal draws my attention towards a small object being dropped in. “Grenade!”

I dive behind one of the dead guards just as a hot explosion bursts forth and knocks me against the wall. I try to get up but another guard from above notices us and starts shooting.

“Ah!”

A stinging pain rips through my arm. From the hole in my uniform fabric the explosion burned I can see a bullet wedged into my pale skin.

“You alright?” Bond demands once he shoots my attacker down.

“Just my left arm. Only nicked it, nothing major. Keep going!”

Boom! Another grenade goes off and I can tell both Bond and I have static ringing in our ears because neither one of us can hear each other’s questions. After a while the ringing wears out and I can focus on shooting more guards below us. Bond has the last guard in his grip and flicks on his watch to overwhelm the guard’s eyepiece and literally blow his brains.

“Smart. Good use of an expensive watch.”

“Remind me to thank Q for his brilliance,” Bond comments and wipes the bloke’s blood off his hands.

“Bond, do you read me?” Speak of the devil.

“Yeah. I just showed someone your watch,” Bond pants as we continue up. “Really blew their mind.”

“Good. Did you find the control room?”

We both spot a sign marked on a door. “My Russian is a little rusty but I think so.”

Thank God there are no guards in the room. Saffron must have focused on the lab more than this section. The entire room reminds me of Q’s lab because it’s one big computer. Only this tech looks way more dated than what I’m accustomed to.

“The infrastructure must go back to the 1990s. That’s going to be an intricate switching system,” Q explains as we start looking for an off switch. “Now the order in which you engage in must be extremely precise. There might be a counterweight clutch. First you-”

Suddenly Bond pulls a random lever and I hear the equipment groan. And he calls me reckless.

“Got it! There it is, get ready for launch.”

"But-”

“Launch the missile, now!” Bond orders.

A few seconds go by and then another siren comes on.

“Why are the hatches shutting?”

Bond slams a fist on the dashboard and looks out the window. “No. No. No!”

“I’m on it!”

I grab a nearby cable and latch it to the outside wall. There’s no time to go back down the long way so I’m winging it. I sprint back to where the blast doors are still locked tight. How am I supposed to-?

“Get down!” I hear Bond shout from behind. I look up and-

Saffron’s back. And he’s holding a pistol straight at Bond’s head. Before I can react Bond rushes up to push me to the side and I slide off into a ravine. No! I can’t get stuck down here! Bond can’t expect me to just hide while he faces that monster alone!

Once I crawl back up I peek up just in time to see Saffron’s lifeless body sink into the pool he and Bond are fighting in. Bond’s been shot. There’s something else floating in the water. A used vial. It can’t be…

“Bond!” 

I call from the dirt and sprint over to go help him out of the water. But before I can reach him he holds a hand up for me to stop.

“Go. Go, now!”

“What did he do to you?” I gesture to Saffron.

Bond takes a deep breath. “Heracles.”

The word sinks in and my mind pieces together just how intricate that bastard’s plan was.

“It’ll kill them, won’t it? Dr. Swann and her daughter?”

He takes a moment to wipe the water off his gun, avoiding the answer. “Yes. And you too.”

“Oh God. I’m so sorry-”

“Nothing I can do about it. Q? Are you there?”

“Yes,” Q’s calm 

“Are they safe, Q?” Bond asks urgently.

“Yes, they’re safe. Bond, have you left the island?”

Bond looks over at me and I point to the still-stuck doors. One way or another this whole place is going up in flames.

“There’s a slight problem with the blast doors.”

“Bond, the missile’s already launched. Just get out of there.”

007 looks down at his hands as if trying to decide something. “There’s no way to get this stuff off me?”

Even I know the answer before Q confirms it.

“You know as well as I do it’s permanent, it’s eternal. Which is why we need to destroy it. Just get off the island! It’s harmless unless it’s programmed for a target.”

Bond shakes his head. “That’s not going to work.”

Now Q gets the message. “Oh God. It’s for Madeline.”

Bond gets a soft smile, being surprisingly calm. “It’s alright, Q. It’s alright. Could you put Madaline on, please?”

He goes on to talk to Madaline while my mind races trying out all possibilities of how to avoid this. With all of today’s technology there must be something to counteract it! There has to be another way… 

“Eleanor.” Bond interrupts my thoughts. He used my name. “You need to get out of here. I’m staying behind to open the silos.”

“No.” I frantically shake my head. “No! I’m not leaving you here!”

“You attach a rope and scale down this building right now, or else I will toss you out myself. I will not have you kill yourself because of me. You need to go back to Q.”

Tears are starting to form, making my vision blurry. “B- But Bond… This can’t be the end.”

The older agent chuckles. “I always said I’d go out with something dramatic.” 

His attempt at a light joke does little to steady my racing heart. “You’re the only one who’s been like family to me. I don’t want to lose you…”

I can tell Bond wants to give me a hug to provide any amount of comfort but can’t because of the despicable nanobots. 00 agents are supposed to be unattached to people. But like Bond I’m not always one to play by the rules. All at once I’m supposed to deal with seeing my father figure of a mentor one last time before his fiery death.

“I’ve watched you grow from a skittery rookie to a stubborn and fearless leader. You have no idea how proud I am of you, Levie. I know you and Q will be very happy together.”

I take a shaky breath and want to say so many things. How am I supposed to summarize just how much he’s influenced my life?

“I know.” He can read my thoughts. “I wish there was an alternative. But this is the way it’s got to be. It comes with the job.”

I stifle a sob and look up with watery eyes. “God be with you, Bond. Are you sure I can’t help?”

The man’s smile widens with something I hardly see in Bond: pride. “You’ve done beautifully, Levie. Let me take it from here.”

We give each other a formal farewell salute and I sprint back towards the tower before my heart can override my head’s common sense. I need to get out of here before this whole place gets obliterated. I attach another cable to the side and begin descending down towards the rocks. The adrenaline almost makes me forget my arm is shot.

“Eleanor? Are- are you still there?” Q’s skittery voice comes out in a worried tone.

“Yes,” I try to find my own voice through the pit of swirling emotions in my stomach. “I’m headed down the side of the building. I’ll break the water before the missiles hit.”

“Please. Please don’t leave me again, Eleanor. I already thought I’d lost you once.”

“Stay focused, Geoffry.”

I’m already losing one loved one today. I don’t need my fiancé getting shot down by enemy planes. I near the ocean’s edge and drop down into the cold, churning water. Its icy sting does little to distract from the guilt and sorrow pooling in my head. How did I let this happen? Could I have been faster? Anything to prevent this?

The fear of being underwater completely (and literally) washes over me and all I can do is wait to float to the surface. When I reach the top to breathe I look up to see multiple approaching missiles. It always ends in violence. 

I also spot a lone figure standing atop the tower. Bond. He sees me and gives a small wave goodbye as the missiles begin landing in scattered patterns. I can’t even make out if his body is directly hit through all the explosions. We can’t even give him a proper burial.

“0011, are you there?” M’s voice asks.

I swallow hard. “Yes, sir. Agent down. 007 has been… killed in action.”

[charlotte-of-wales]

Grand Duke Henri and Grand Duchess Maria-Teresa of Luxembourg host the 20th annual informal meeting of the Heads of State of German-speaking countries in Luxembourg, attended by King Philippe and Queen Mathilde of Belgium, Hereditary Prince Alois and Hereditary Princess Sophie of Liechtenstein, the president of Switzerland, and the president and first-lady of Germany | September 16, 2024

[areyoudreaminof]

with my fingers burned, I start anew: A Lady of Autumn One Shot.

“Come on!” she heard a giggle on the wind. She turned her head, the movement slow as she took in the deep green and bronze of the trees surrounding her. These oaks and junipers meant they were still in Autumn, but the borders of Summer. 

She had not been to these woods since she was a girl. She was dreaming, then. 

She searched ahead for the voice when she heard it again. “You’re being too slow! We must get going!” 

She knew that voice, and she knew the deep auburn hair and the golden bow. Mathilde waited for her under a juniper tree. Fearless and wild Mathilde, her older sister. She gasped as a ruddy cheeked young girl, with bright copper hair, approached her and grabbed her hand. Her younger sister, Delphine met her eyes, more golden than her own. They were women when they died, she thought absently, and now they came to her as younglings again. 

“Thérèse, hurry!” 

Her heart skipped a beat, threatening to wake her. She had not heard her name in centuries.

Where are we going? She tried to ask, but she could not speak. So instead she ran with her sisters. Mathilde led the way as she used to, her hair a deep red sheet behind her. Delphine never let go of her hand as they ran ahead. The trees thinning, green threading through oranges and brown. She was moving, but she could not feel her feet touch the ground. If she had any doubts she was dreaming, they ended there as she seemed to leap across the forest floor. Mathilde slowed to a stop, approaching a path carved between rows of aspen trees, sunlight filtered through their golden leaves, their white trunks stretching high. 

“Thérèse, you’re too far behind. We’ll never make it.” Mathilde scolded, Deplhine tugged her hand, as she whispered, “It’s time to go Thérèse.”

She was Wife, she was Lady, she was Mother. But she had not been Thérèse in a very, very long time. 

Continue on ao3

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