#Why does she look Irish and French at the same time

[crimbatimeofficial]

hey folly fans

Also if you wouldn't mind pls check out my other stuff explodes

[sgiandubh]

You know nothing, Jon Snow

It's been a short night and a hot summer day in here. But I just received the last of the goods in my secondary inbox and am still unpacking, pondering and putting the data into context.

Work with me:

To begin somewhere, this is the exact content of the (in)famous Shamrock Anon submission to this blog, as delivered almost 23 hours ago:

Put yourselves in my shoes and read with me: "the Irish based drinks company (not the one accessible to fans) is solely owned by him and DF".

An Irish company? "Not accessible to fans?" Owned only by these two people and not her, on her turf? Now that could have been a nuke, because hello, where is the logic in all this, and who does that, and yes, why?

By the time I wrote my brief Shamrock Anon post, in the hope of luring this person to share more, the same message had already been delivered to at least two other shipper blogs. That would make three of us: the controversial newbie (I am not blind, but I am not cantankerous either), the respected veteran sleuth and Super Dispatch, with what I believe to be the intent of pushing an agenda of sorts. I chose not to publish Anon, because: 1) I needed more and yes, I needed to check and 2) I felt there was something bizarre with all this.

@luhafraser published it and I am truly relieved they did. I posted an update that apparently got even more people confused, and carried on with it. It did not take off the pressure (Anons begging, pleading and taunting went straight to the bin), but it gave me time to start looking.

It took me exactly two minutes and a half to find the Irish company's name and registration number, as visible and published on the FMN gin webpage (https://www.forgetmenot.com/ and always, always read the small print).

So long for "not accessible to fans", BS Anon:

Next stop, the Irish Company Registration Office's website (https://core.cro.ie/), where things went impeccably smooth. FMN Drinks is an Irish company, registered as "Limited", which would translate as Public Limited Company (plc) in the UK:

Getting more data required a paid search and I stopped to ponder. Really did. Price was a trifle, but that was not really my problem. So I sat on it during the night: it is something I always do when I find myself uneasy or unsure about something.

By noon today, local time, I mumbled "oh, what the hell", crossed myself and pushed send:

It took 15 minutes to get five of the documents and two more hours and 45 minutes to get the Letter of Status, certified by a living, breathing Irish public servant in that inbox:

So (in)famous Shamrock Anon, here is my answer to you:

If you think a company specialized in the distilling and rectifying of spirits, with 100 (one hundred) issued shares, worth 1 euro each and with a zero euro declared account balance since last December is proof of capitalist world domination, you are an idiot, Anon. You lured me down that rabbit hole with the preposterous idea that C was not a part of this PO box company - which she is, as one of its four appointed Directors - to try and prove shippers are stupid. Which we aren't.

At face value, this is nothing to write home about. But I said yesterday the devil is in the details and was not disappointed, because you clearly are sloppy (again?) Anon and boy, you do have an untrained eye. It's almost like me when prompted to read somebody's blood test results, you know?

I am now faced with a dilemma: I either buy a cork board, thread and pins and start a trip to Cuckooland, trying to navigate my way across trademarks and trails of companies, and such other niceties that are boring as death. Or, I look at this completely uncalled for embarrassment of riches and let the dots connect themselves, in time.

I always steered my course according to this French proverb: dans le doute, s'abstenir. When in doubt, do nothing. Making sense of a document posted on a real estate company website is one thing. Publishing such documents, which are readily available for the private use of anyone with a credit card, and prematurely discussing them is a personal red line I am not willing to cross.

It would be pushing an agenda and, especially right now (*promo*), writing the script. Circus might be in town, but I am not one of the clowns.

Oh, and Anon: a company is an evolving entity people get into, then get out of and even maybe get back to, at some point in time. A business project is by no means any sort of evidence of relationship/marital status.

[silly-inky]

Thought I'd go into detail about regular Boos and Alexander's wife, Rosemarie, this time

As I've said before Boos are born from residual energy that is left behind when a ghost finally moves on, and there is a pretty high chance that they will inherit the accent that that ghost had hence why Boo-Hoo has an Irish accent and why Rosemarie has a French accent (she also does know French but she had to learn that). Boos all also have a general shape-shifting ability but they can only change between looking like a Boo and a human form, it's only the kings that can shape-shift into anyone and anything.

Rosemarie is only a few years younger than Alex and is (obviously) queen consort. She doesn't share any of her husband's royal duties but she is well know for helping him dethrone monarchs and act as regent when King was unavailable due to him being captured. She did also find the fact that her husband and his brothers pretending to be the same person incredibly funny so she helped keep that going by not revealing she's queen consort to Bowser, he just thought she was an advisor acting as regent while King was gone. It was only after everybody found out there were 3 King Boos that she revealed she was Alex's wife and queen consort.

She also has a fondness for jewelry made from pearls as she is always seen wearing a pearl bracelet given to her by Alex, Rosemarie is also one of the very few Boos who prefer to look humanoid.

Her preferred dress is this but it'd be built for a chubbier build

And her preferred hairstyle is this

And being married to one of the kings gives her a lot of respect in her community and she also acts as a second advisor to the kings

Oh I love that, she sounds amazing, idk why but I feel like I may get slight morticia and Gomez Adams vibes from her and her husband.

I'm glad she helped play along with them lol

[murfpersonalblog]

LDPDL, Incarceration, and Oscar Wilde's De Profundis

I was writing this up as a tangent in another post, thinking about IRL gay men at the turn of the 20th century as another source of Gothic literature Anne Rice was inspired by when she wrote the VC, and most importantly, how IRL Victorian-Edwardian era homophobia might have affected AMC!Louis as he struggled with his own sexuality/vampirism. Particularly, a point I made awhile ago about homosexuals & the mentally ill being locked up in sanatoriums. It just got way too long and off topic, so I've decided to post this bit first.

@wordforworldisforest noted that for all the reading Louis does in Eps2-7, we NEVER see him reading in Ep1 while he's still human. Iolanta's the first time we see Louis enjoy stories (plays/opera/books), but after he marries Lestat, Louis' reading whole libraries about heterosexual & homoerotic love & marriage. So I'm wondering what bb!Louis might've read during his human lifetime, too, and why he was keeping it such a secret from everyone--what/why was he hiding? And I started thinking about Oscar Wilde.

Closeted: Oscar, Louis & Vampirism

Oscar Wilde was the MOST (in)famous gay man during the late 1880-90s while Louis was growing up. If Louis was born 1877 (as per his gravestone in Ep5), he would've been 13 when The Picture of Dorian Gray was published, and 18-20 when Oscar was arrested for sodomy from 1895-97. De Profundis is the letter Oscar wrote to his male lover (Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas) while he was in jail, which was published posthumously in 1905. Ain't no way Louis didn't read it, or at least hear about it. 👀

Like, Dorian Gray's a known homoerotic book that was brought in as evidence during Oscar Wilde's sodomy trials. But Louis was 13 when it came out--MAYBE it flew under the radar for him, fine. But Louis's super stylish--he followed fashion trends (even in Dubai he's STILL casket sharp). And Oscar Wilde was a fashion icon/maverick in his heyday; an international sensation. But there was ALL KINDS of sexist/homophobic crap printed about Oscar cuz of the way he looked & dressed & styled his hair & carried himself in public (newspapers, Punch magazine, etc), before his love affairs with men were even made common knowledge.

Oscar was a well-connected rich white man, and even HE caught flack from homophobes/xenophobes on both sides of the Pond for his effeminate behavior, and critiques against British and American aesthetics. While anti-Irish sentiments PALE in comparison to ACTUAL anti-black racism--(the Irish enslaved & lynched black folk same as any white racist colonizer, just look at Scarlet O'Hara--I've mentioned this before about racist Finn O'Shea, who burned the Azalea down in 1917)--Oscar being Irish definitely didn't help his reputation in British-American circles, as seen in anti-Irish caricatures from Victorian magazines like Punch.

Oscar, a world famous white man, served only TWO years of jailtime and it nearly KILLED him--so just IMAGINE what a gay black former pimp in Jim Crow South would've gone through.

Vampirism's linked to xenophobia, as seen in my Brides of Lestat Dracula post (and speaking of Dracula....). But xenophobia against a white man's different from racism against a black man. Homophobic cops threatening Lestat's one thing--if he was on his own he'd've hypnotized the cops, ate a few of them, and skipped town long ago. He felt ZERO affinity or allegiance to the human world, populated merely by "the meat." Lestat embraced his alien status--Frenchness & vampirism, delighting in unsettling people & flouting social mores & gender norms. Since Louis insisted that they live as regular mortals, Lestat was "caught up in human affairs, too." But the ONLY one in any real danger of suffering the consequences of societal pariahism was LOUIS himself.

(De Profundis, Wilde)

Louis enjoyed a high degree of protection living with Lestat--the magical Frenchman who gave Louis the impetus to live more or less "out" in an open-secret gay relationship. But before meeting Lestat, Louis would've had ZERO security. Louis would've been around 18 when the scandal broke & Oscar was arrested, 22 when De Profundis was partially published, and 23 when Oscar died. His downfall likely would've been a frightening reminder for teen-20s Louis to stay in the closet; validating the need to keep up his image & the lies; but also contributing to his alcoholism, avoiding going to Confession, and ultimately his resistance to Lestat.

Loustat: Gilded Cages & Hubris/Pride before the Fall

So, I wonder how much Louis (AR/AMC) was pulling from Oscar Wilde in his own interview. Louis' access to Gothic/Victorian literature likely contributed to his excuses for Lestat's obvious vampirism (on top of NOLA's overall occult subculture); and Louis' own affinity for things that went bump in the night ("days were for sleeping off the previous night's damage," etc). But Oscar's lifestyle leading to his ruination & depression might've struck a chord with Louis too, considering his own fears/struggles with his sexuality.

“[Louis] is so good at grieving! He wears woe as others wear velvet; sorrow flatters him like the light of candles; tears become him like jewels.” (TotBT).

Louis' life was dictated by fear--of being oppressed/disrespected, shamed, outed & ousted--publicly shunned. But vampirism proved to be the very embodiment of ostracism & imprisonment; with his Maker/"Massa" Lestat as the ultimate oppressor in their townhouse--the gilded cage/trap he built specifically for Louis. It's no coincidence that the Great Depression coincided with Loustat going "underground" to lay low after Claudia's murder sprees brought the cops to their door, and her running away from home led to Louis to stop taking care of the house or himself. (Accidia is the deadly sin Sloth.) Louis spent 14 years doing nothing but reading in the townhouse--7 while Claudia was gone, and 7ish while Lestat was gone. De Profundis was reprinted in 1912, and catholic!Bosie started openly repudiating Wilde & other homosexuals by 1918. So Louis definitely would have had time to read all of Oscar Wilde's works from 1923-37 (Claudia leaving & Lestat coming back).

Oscar painted a grim picture of what prison was like on the inside, and what public humiliation was like on the outside. For a prideful man like Louis, shame & humiliation was his worst nightmare--Icarus "flying too close to the sun," as the Alderman put it. (Louis was in his 60s the first (& last) time he openly kissed Lestat at the Mardi Gras ball--the night he was gonna leave America for good anyway.)

So I'm certain Oscar Wilde's scandal would've negatively colored Louis' developing outlook on his own homosexuality. And if Louis was (re)reading Wilde after Loustat's separation/divorce, it must have resonated, perhaps even moreso, as history repeated itself.

Lestat & Louis have been compared to Oscar & Bosie before. Their stories aren't perfect 1:1s ofc, but it's the overall Mess that most resembles Loustat. Oscar was an older, worldly, far better educated man; Bosie was a spoiled but broke little lordling whose hedonistic lifestyle of male prostitutes was bankrolled by Oscar. Bosie's homophobic father was determined to see Wilde ruined, and had him arrested for sodomy. Oscar was sentenced to 2 years of hard prison labor. Jailtime made Oscar reevaluate his life, his impending death, and his relationship with Bosie--"the love that dare not speak its name." Oscar was HELLA critical of Bosie in De Profundis, and after being released from jail they split up; Oscar fleeing to Paris where he soon died. Bosie converted to Roman Catholicism, and after Oscar's complete letters were published in 1912 he publicly repudiated Wilde, renouncing homosexuality and marrying an heiress, only to die penniless anyway. Ohhhhh, Louis would've eaten that news up, I know he did.

Just look at how Oscar talks to Bosie in his letter, and tell me it doesn't sound like Louis' talking/complaining about Lestat:

Plenty of scholars have pointed out Oscar's hypocritical criticism of Bosie, as he reams Bosie for filth for half the letter, then talks about not being bitter towards him & finding Jesus & forgiveness for the second half. Likewise, I've said before that Book!IWTV reads like a hit piece, Louis skulldragging Lestat while downplaying Louis' own culpability in his downfall. However, AMC!Louis takes more accountability than book!Louis, focusing on the ways HE in particular failed Claudia (and himself), rather than blaming so much of it all on Lestat. Louis' more forgiving of Lestat than Daniel/the show leans--perhaps cuz Claudia's older; able to act against Lestat the way Louis couldn't bring himself to, even for her.

But naturally, AMC!Louis has more on his plate than book!Louis ever did, as the racial/societal challenges of their time also played a much more significant part in Lestat's relationships with Louis and Claudia souring. Louis' far more ambitious, but doomed, so his fall from grace hits that much harder, as he blames himself more for the things he could and couldn't control.

Loumand: Wardens, Austerity & Suffering

My final point concerns Louis' time in Dubai with Armand. Here, the notion of imprisonment takes on a far more disturbing flavor, because Louis is mentally ill/traumatized. He's completely surrendered to Armand; who isn't pampering/spoiling him like a prince(ss), so much as nursing/babying him like a mental patient in a padded cell.

Loumand's cold & hollow penthouse is the polar opposite of Loustat's lush & vibrant townhouse. They're living like monks. Ofc that tracks with Catholic austerity (see this awesome post about Louis & Anchorites); but I also suspect Louis might've consulted New Age Buddhism as a form of therapy/meditation too--cuz what's with the tangzhuang outfit? 🤨

It's the most out-of-place piece in Louis' Dubai wardrobe of highwaisted slacks & tops. And for a show that's so dang particular about clothes & colors & cuts etc, this HAS to mean something. And considering Louis' penchant for monastic self-denial, I think De Profundis has interesting parallels with Catholicism and Buddhism.

Like, Louis has access to all the modern marvels of science, and as much blood as he can get--"AB- fresh from the Farm," Damek, Dr. Fareed, blood banks, exotic animals, etc. Yet he's also eating human food, even though it tastes like chalk/paste, just to humble/deny/punish himself. (It's as hypocritical as it is sincere, crazy enough.)

It's all sus, cuz we know Armand's a master hypnotist with the Mind Gift & Spell Gift. Louis' interview seems less like the confessions of a suicidal/grieving man, or the unburdening of an incarcerated/rehabilitated man's guilty conscience. Instead, Louis seems like he's speaking from the Sunken Place; like he's one trigger away from a complete and utter meltdown.

Which makes it veeeeery interesting that Louis keeps pushing/suffering through the interview, despite his pain; while Armand seems to be VERY against the entire endeavor--the one who keeps trying to get them to stop talking about the past at all.... 👀

So yeah, this was all swirling around, keeping me from getting any effing sleep. I hate this show.

[yano2519]

Different PR strategies to push a movie

There are a lots of comments in the past weeks about Cait's PR strategy for Belfast.

I have to admit that the number of interviews, TV appearances, online chats, etc. also got on my nerves over time. But I think that's simply because every article, etc. that appears is also posted here in this fandome.

I suspect, however, that anyone who buys an issue of the Guardian, Vogue, the Irish Tatler or Vanity Fair will not notice that the article style, the questions and statements in all articles are almost the same, if one disregards small deviations and nuances that come about due to the different journalists.

After a film has been shot and before it is released in theaters or on television, a PR strategy is defined to market the film, which should arouse the interest of viewers and thus guarantee the highest possible box-office takings. This strategy is then used for all interviews, appearances, practically a red thread to which one is oriented.

Or does anyone really believe that after a film has cost millions to produce, actors are left to their own devices in interviews and are allowed/capable of saying whatever they want? The same goes for the interviewers. They are given a list of questions in advance, which they can use as a guide.

If we now transfer this to Belfast, it is only understandable that Cait talks about family, children, Ireland etc. in her interviews. Belfast is a family film, it's about Ireland, it's about children, it's about family and the difficult decision to leave home. Anyone who reads the interviews will now think to themselves. Great the actress knows her stuff, she doesn't just play this role, she has experienced it all personally: Childhood in Ireland under difficult conditions, a child herself and a husband to protect from the crazy fans, leaving home early to work as a model. People get curious, interest in the film is aroused, sales increase, etc.

It's very similar with Jamie D., he also talks a lot about his family, his childhood in Ireland, etc. in his interviews. I don't think he talked much about his family in the promo events for 50 shades of Grey, that was simply not necessary and didn't really fit the film.

When we now come to Outlander's PR strategy, things look completely different.

From the beginning, a lot of interviews, magazines, etc., have focused everything on the sex scenes. It was often said that the producers expected them to be as realistic as possible. I always wondered why there was so much focus on the sex scenes and not on the incredible chemistry of the leads in general. The fact that in a simple kiss scene (Wedding kiss, Prestonpans, Eye of the Storm, etc.) in an embrace (Prestonpans, Blood of my blood) or in a dialogue, they both convey so much emotion like no other acting couple.

It is known that SC has a contract for 6 seasons. This also means that since then, they have to ride this strategy. Countless stupid questions about the sex scenes, which are always repeated in every promo of a new season.

Just thinking about what questions were asked during that time:

- Whether the two of them are now allowed to play their sex scenes completely free, without a script

- Or the question about Jamie's Tinder account. (Season 4)

- Whether the sex in their 20s was better than in the 40s (Season 3).

- Whether questions about the French kissing because OL is set in France in season 2. etc.

I don't remember Rik or Sophie being asked similar stupid questions.

Starz tolerated all of this, even pushed it, in order to increase interest in the series and sales the series.

But that's how PR works, with the difference that Belfast's PR did a more professional job to some extent.

Since Belfast has been running in the UK this week, I think the promo will be finished in the near future.

I'm curious to see how or if Starz will push the PR for OL and if the approach will be the same as before. It wouldn't surprise me if then question came how it was to shoot the sex scenes during Cait's pregnancy and with baby bump.

[tamquamalteradam]

Kevin Day x the Gangsey

self indulgent post in honor of being sucked into the aftg fandom... can we talk about how trc and aftg could totally be happening in the same world, early 2000s and all

Gansey

Gansey, standing in line in the cafeteria: hey, Kevin right? I really enjoyed your presentation in World Hist, would you happen to know anything about Welsh kings?

Kevin: you mean like, Owain Glyndŵr?

Gansey: *starry eyes*

They proceed to sit together and exchange history book recs

Kevin has never had anyone attentively listen to him talk about history before and actually care about what he’s saying, so he’s like *what is this feeling???* (the feeling was friendship, but neither of them had ever experienced anyth-)

Kevin helping Gansey in French

KEVIN AND GANSEY LATE NIGHT COMPANIONSHIP

They both can't sleep so Gansey does his ley line research while Kevin does his exy diagramming shit and all you can hear is amicable silence and the scratching of pencils and Gansey occasionally asking Kevin what he thinks about this or that theory

One night Gansey is in an anxious mood and Kevin's like *you know what helps me when I'm anxious? Exy.* so he takes Gansey to the court and teaches him some of the basics

Gansey has upper body strength from rowing but his balance and coordination are shit

So he kind of fails spectacularly but he's smiling by the end of it so Kevin's satisfied (although sorely disappointed in Gansey's lack of Exy potential and trying not to show it-- *one man can't have everything*)

KEVIN'S ONE FLAW, IN GANSEY'S EYES, IS HIS AVERSION TO THE CAMARO

Kevin: I am not looking at anything bright orange ever again.

Gansey: ☹️

Adam

ACADEMIC RIVALS TO FRIENDS. YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. THESE TWO PERFECTIONIST WORKAHOLIC CAPRICORN RISING BITCHES-

It all started when Kevin took Adam’s long held seat as top of the class in biology

Adam is like *who is this new kid* and also *why are he and Gansey thick as thieves*

Of course Gansey introduces them, and at first Adam doesn’t really think much of Kevin given his background and attitude

But slowly they earn each other’s grudging respect

Much like Adam and Declan, Adam and Kevin see right through each other's guises

Also thinking of when Adam recognized the fear in Opal and gave her his watch to comfort her. I think he would recognize the fear in Kevin and post-TRK Adam would try to help (except it's not a Crying Club situation, it would be a much more equal friendship)

Ronan

Kevin: this kid could outlast Andrew in a staring competition

*why does he always carry around a RAVEN, of all animals*

Chainsaw, being a very smart bird, notices Kevin’s discomfort and tries to be extra entertaining (of course, her version of entertaining is singing the murder squash song in her eerily human voice. it does not help.)

Kayleigh Day was Irish right? Imagine them at the Barns, Ronan leading them through the house and Kevin sees a dusty instrument in the corner

Kevin, turning to Gansey: I used to play that

Adam, deadpan: you and Ronan should start a band: "The Bald Bagpipers".

Ronan: *death glare*

Henry

They would be besties. I can feel it in my BONES

Them at Exites geeking out and debating the merits and shortcomings of various Exy racquets

Henry would pretend to know more about Exy than he does but somehow get away with it because he's Henry and his enthusiasm wins Kevin over

As a product of hanging out with Kevin, Henry is now a massive USC stan by proxy and they stream matches on the Litchfield house movie projector (if I had a nickel for every time I talk about the Litchfield house movie projector I'd have two nickels)

Eventually they would rope Gansey in too and they become the unofficial Jeremy Knox fanclub

Blue

Blue meeting Kevin would be Blue meeting Gansey at Nino's INTENSIFIED

Somehow I feel like she would judge him less because he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's rich? (don't forget about the time Kevin was canonically like "yeah i'm expensive, coach should've known when he signed me")

However the mutual wariness would go on for a long time before they warm up to each other

I don't really see them becoming super close but eventually they start judging people together and boy would you get !!!roasted!!! by Sargent/Day

Kevin never lets on that he actually thinks Blue is hella cool but she knows

She knits him some fingerless gloves in the Foxes colors and he wears them occasionally. one day the TV is on in the background while the Gangsey's chilling at Monmouth and they see Kevin talking to a reporter and he's wearing the gloves

No one says anything about it but they're like *ah. blue likes you, therefore you are one of us now*

Noah

Can relate to each other because they are #deadinside and got their bones smashed to bits with long rectangle-esque objects by people who were supposed to be their friends

Ouch

Kevin can't get over Noah being a ghost and how everyone treats it like a totally normal thing

"So he just? Exists? And can? Appear out of thin- Ok. okAY."

Noah pulls his trick of seeing people's thoughts and he's like holy moly there is more to this man than he lets on

Scares Kevin half to death by materializing in the stands during his midnight Exy practices

Bonus: Noah and Andrew LMAO I can imagine Noah messing with him

Andrew: *throws knife*

*knife goes right through Noah and hits the ground*

Andrew: *squints ever so slightly*

[clotpolesonly]

for @laurahale-appreciation’s day 6 prompt: Resurrection

season 2 AU: it’s Laura in Lydia’s head, not Peter

---

“Nice gloves.”

There was a girl on the bench beside her. Long brown hair, big green eyes. Pretty. Well dressed enough that Lydia should’ve remembered seeing her around school. But she didn’t look even vaguely familiar.

Lydia folded her hands primly in her lap. “Thank you.”

The girl shifted in her seat, eyes darting around the room like she was looking for an escape route. Or waiting for an attack. “So,” she said. “What’s your brand of psychosis?”

“What’s yours?” Lydia muttered back. Anyone acting that shifty, especially one clearly waiting for the guidance counselor the same way she was, had to have a number of neuroses.

(read on AO3)

The girl laughed sharply. The heels of her boots dragged across the linoleum, leaving skid marks in their wake, and her fingers dug into her thighs until it had to hurt.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said. “But you won’t believe anything else I have to say either, so here we go.”

“Actually,” Lydia cut in hastily, “I have an appointment. So, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to—”

The girl grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her down before she’d even finished getting up. Lydia stared at her, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“Get your hand off of me,” she hissed, “before I start screaming.”

“If you had any idea how much of a threat that truly is,” the girl said, “you might actually believe what I’m about to tell you.”

Lydia tried to yank her arm free, but the grip was viselike. She opened her mouth to yell for Ms. Morrell to come collect her nutjob, but the nutjob in question beat her to it.

“Listen,” she said, urgency in her voice. “I know it sounds crazy, but I need you to trust me. My name is Laura Hale and—”

“Why should I trust you when you give me a fake name?” Lydia asked. “I watch the news, you know. Next time you need to steal an identity, try picking a less high profile murder victim.”

The girl—Laura, supposedly—tightened her hold on Lydia’s arm. When Lydia hissed in pain, though, she let go in a hurry. Lydia cradled her sore wrist against her chest, pressing herself into the far corner of the bench, as far away as she could get. Maybe-Laura didn’t try to grab her again. She clutched at her knees instead, white-knuckled.

“Look,” she said with forced calm. “I did say it sounded crazy. I know it does, but that doesn’t make it less true. There are a lot of things that you don’t know, Lydia. Things about yourself, even. About your family, your lineage.”

“Mostly Irish,” Lydia told her dryly. “Some French, on my mother’s side. If you just want to talk genealogy, Ancestry.com may be a better bet.”

"There’s only one ancestor I care about,” Laura said. “Your paternal grandmother, Lorraine.”

A chill swept through Lydia. “How do you know—”

“She was a banshee. And so are you.”

Lydia shook her head. “You’re insane. And probably a stalker.”

Laura had the audacity to roll her eyes. “I’m not a stalker,” she said. “But I do need your help.”

“What could you possibly need my help for?” Lydia demanded. “I don’t know anything! Nobody will tell me anything!”

“I will.”

Laura took her hand. Not like before, all grabby and desperate, but gently. Her hand was hot even through the leather of Lydia’s gloves and there was an intensity in her eyes that Lydia couldn’t look away from. No one had looked at her like that in weeks. Lately, it felt like nobody had bothered to look at her at all, unless they were whispering behind their hands.

Lydia may have finally gone crazy herself, but she thought she might’ve seen a flicker of red in those green eyes. It should’ve scared her. It did. But a lot of things had scared her lately, and nobody else was offering her an explanation for it all. And, in spite of everything, there was something about this girl...

Through a dry mouth, she said, “What do you want from me?”

Laura let out a long, shaky breath and squeezed her hand.

"I want you to bring me back to life.”

[axwalker]

Bad Timing: Kismet

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Alexis O’Brien (MC) 

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is escaping a terrible past. After months of running  she settles  in Cordonia where she meets Drake at the bar where she works and they spend a passionate night together. 

What happens when a one-night-stand turns into unexpected parenthood? 

This chapter

MASTERLIST 

WORDS: 3,890 🙊

POV: Dual 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None for this chapter. In the future, mentions of domestic violence, and explicit sex scenes. 

ALL MY FICS ARE +18 

A/N: I apologize for any grammatical errors. 

I switch between Drake’s and Alexis’ POV several time in this chapter. I hope it’ll be clear enough!

PRESENT TIME Alexis

 After a one-hour bus ride and a 20-minutes walk, I finally find the correct address. When I reach the massive iron gates, I punch in the code Mr. Beaumont’s assistant gave me on the phone and gape as the extensive estate comes into view when I walk through. Acres and acres of super green grass littered with pines surround the massive house in the distance. The closer I get, the more I feel like a foreigner. This might have been my world once, but my new reality couldn’t be further apart from all this luxury. I have fifty dollars left in my wallet, an eviction notice back in my 200 square foot studio, and to top it all, the worst freaking headache I’ve had in my life. Talk about a bad streak. Ironically, I’m happier than I’ve been in years. My life belongs to me; I don’t have to live in constant fear and –most importantly, I’m free. Unattached. I want to do a lot of things with my life, and no one will stop me. That’s worth the worst headache in the world or a few money problems. 

I ring the bell, and a gorgeous woman opens the door. Her deep blue eyes scowl at me when I smile at her. 

“Who are you looking for?” She doesn’t ask as much as she barks the question. 

“Eh,” I haven’t been called shy a single day of my life, but her attitude it’s messing with the positive vibes I had coming up here. “I’m looking for Mr. Bertrand Beaumont from Beaumont Caterings.”

 “This door is for house guests only. The help,” she says the word as if it tastes bad in her mouth, “must go around the house and ring the bell back there.” She’s about to close the door right in my face when two hot guys come to the door. Seriously, what do people eat in this country? 

“Penelope, what are you doing answering the door like a simple maid? Where is Jessa?” 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “She had to leave early. She said she asked you for the afternoon off.”

The older man nods as, the younger one grins at me. “We can discuss Jessa’s schedule later, Bertie. Please, come in, Ms.?” He asks me, still smiling. 

“Ortiz. Alexis Ortiz.” I grin back, instantly liking the man with the kind blue eyes. “I’m here for the catering job.” 

“I’m Maxwell Beaumont. This is my brother Bertrand—the owner and Penelope Brim, one of our party planners.”

I follow them to a huge office and give Bertrand the resumé I printed at the internet place next to my building.  

“Is this all true?” He asks after a quick read.

I nod my head.

“Are you sure, Ms. Ortiz? It says here that you were working as a bartender, a barista, and a waitress in a very exclusive French restaurant, all at the same time.”

Penelope gives me a dismissive glare. “She’s obviously lying. That isn’t even possible. Unless she’s iniquitous.” 

I know better than to interrupt a potential employer, even worse if it’s to correct them, but this woman is grating on my nerves. Plus, I had a lifetime of keeping my head down with Matt, and I just don’t have the patience for this kind of crap anymore. And she called me a liar. Hell no.

“No, Ms. Brim, I’m not ubiquitous.” Maxwell snorts, and I swear the other guy, Bertrand, smiles behind my CV. I refrain from telling her what iniquitous actually means because I do need this job. “I worked as a barista in a Starbucks from 5 to 11 am. Then as a waitress at “Clair de Lune” from 12 to 6 pm. Finally, as a bartender in an Irish pub from 7 to midnight or 2 am, depending on the day. You can call any of those places and see I’m not lying.” Just please, God, don’t ask for my papers.

Maxwell reads the resumé when Bertrand gives it to him. “Do you speak French and Spanish as well?”

I shrug. “I love languages, and I grew up in a house where my mom and grandmother only spoke Spanish. I learned French in school. I had an amazing teacher.” 

Maxwell and Bertrand look at each other. The older brother, a younger, sterner version of Hugh Jackman, clears his throat. “I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Ortiz. Two of our waiters are absent, and tomorrow we’ll be catering to one of the most important events of the year. If everything in your resume is true, you can start training today --paid of course, and start working tomorrow.”

Paid training? Despite my throbbing head, I want to scream with happiness. “Everything is true.”

“That’s settled then. Penelope, please, darling, show Ms. Ortiz the kitchens and the ballroom. You can ask Naomi to train her for tonight. You know Regina, and she’ll want everything to go as smooth as possible.” 

“Right.” Penelope turned at me with an uptight smile. “Come with me.” 

I turn and beam at Maxwell, who’s giving me a thumbs up. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.” 

Bertrand shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet, Ms. Ortiz. Just do an impeccable job.” He glances at my Vans. “And for the love of God, only heels tomorrow.” 

I nod and follow Penelope down the hallway. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRAKE

 “This is why you ditch your friends who get hitched to a relationship,” I grumble, sitting in my chair. 

“He’s five minutes late,” Liam says. 

Leo shakes his head. “Well, I want a goddamn drink. How come I can’t order one until he gets here?” 

Liam pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two are acting like children. You can wait five minutes.” 

“Maybe, but I need something, and fast.” 

“Ah, there they are,” Max exclaims, hands clasped together, staring at us. “My boys.” Jesus Christ. Liam is scooped into a hug and then set back in his chair. 

From over Liam’s head, Max points at me and shakes his finger. “Come here; you handsome Walker bastard.” 

I hold up my hand. “I’m good.”

 “Nope.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get to pass up Max’s snuggles.” Before I can move, he swoops to his knees, pulls me into a hug. . . and nuzzles. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Beaumont?” I ask, my voice strong as I try to push him away. 

“You smell like heaven,” he says, chuckling. No one likes to fuck with me as much as Maxwell Beaumont does. Unfortunately for me, he’s one of my best friends, and the bastard is well aware of it. 

“Get out of here.” I palm his face and push him away. 

Leo laughs. “Come on, man, you know Walker is a sour bastard.” 

With another laugh, Maxwell retreats to his seat, unbuttons his jacket, and sits down. Hands-on the table, he looks between us and declares, “I’m in love.” 

Christ. “We know,” Liam and I say at the same time, irritation heavy in our voices. Leo just rolls his eyes as he looks for a waiter. 

Maxwell has only been dating Rashad for a few weeks, so it’s no surprise he’s like this—a hopeful idiot with a relentless smile. Hell, he’s been in love with the man for years. It took him a really, really long time to finally make a move. He adjusts his tie as he says, “You don’t have to be rude about it. I’m just sharing. Isn’t that what this is all about? Sharing?” 

“Sharing? I thought this was about drinking as much as possible and hooking up with a hot waitress,” Leo says, flagging down our waiter. 

When he arrives, I talk above the guys and quickly say, “Macallan, neat.” 

“Dalmore, on the rocks, please,” Liam says, and Leo orders the same. 

When the waiter turns to Max, he rubs his stomach and says, “You know, a hot cocoa would be perfect right now.”

 What the actual fuck? “No.” I step in. “He’ll have an Old Fashion. Thanks.” A little confused and probably slightly disturbed, he takes off as Max complains. 

“Hey, I really wanted a hot cocoa.” 

“Not happening. First, because they don’t serve hot cocoas here and second because we’re supposed to be out drinking, Beaumont. And you fucking love Old Fashions. You order one every damn time. Stop complaining.” 

“Sheesh.” Maxwell unfolds his napkin and sets it on his lap. “What’s up your ass?” 

“Nothing.” I push my hand through my hair. 

“It’s a girl.” Leo smirks, causing Liam and Max to practically jump out of their seats.

“A girl?” Liam cocks his eyebrow. “Surely not Drake --permanent bachelor, Walker. My fucking heart can’t take it.” 

Fucking Leo. “It’s not what Leo is making it out to be.” 

“He met her two months ago, and he’s been thinking about her ever since. Magical pussy right there.”

“I swear, Leo; I don’t care for how long we’ve been friends, next time you talk about her like that, I’ll personally break that shit-eat grin off your face”

The clown raises his arms. “I rest my case.”

 “What?” Max’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. “Drake Walker doesn’t get attached, and he doesn’t duel his friends for a girl.” 

Jesus. Thankfully the waiter brings our drinks at that moment, so I have a second to compose myself. 

“You slept with her?” Liam asks after a swig of Dalmore. He’s been in a stable relationship with Hanna Lee for a year now. Once the most popular guy on school, he now spends his Friday nights curled up with her watching Netflix. I can’t even remember the last time he went out with us. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. The only reason this fuckhead is bringing it up it’s because I went looking for her, and he saw it.” There I said it. Better me than Leo fucking Rys. 

Max and Liam exchange a look, but Max seems too stunned to talk, so Liam asks. “You did what?”

I chug my whiskey and ask for another one. “I don’t know why. I just …” Tired of this fucking conversation, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We had a great time. That’s all.”

 “How come Leo knows about this girl, and I don’t?” Liam complains. 

Max complains too. “Dude, you know I’m the romantic one. Leo over here has a brick for a heart, and Li is too busy. You need to discuss these things with me.” 

“I don’t have a brick for a heart,” Leo says, surprisingly offended. 

“No, you’re just still hung up on Maddie,” I say with a smirk. He shifts in his chair but doesn’t say anything. What does it feel, Rys? 

“So . . . who is the girl?” Maxwell asks. 

For fuck’s sake. I might as well get it over with. “I’m going to say one last time that I’m not interested in her anymore, so before your little hearts starts beating wildly for playing cupid, it’s not going to happen.” 

In a snarky tone, Leo replies, “Well, of course, it’s not. She left the country. Are you that bad, Walker? Because I can give you a tip or two.” He’s so fucking annoying. 

“Oh.” Max sighs, disappointed.  

Leo elbows his brother and says, “He hasn’t slept with anyone since.” 

And there it is. The real reason why Leo is worried about this. He lost his wingman. “I’m not an animal, Leo. It’s not the first time in my life that I go two months without fucking. I’m not you. Anyway, all this is pointless. She’s gone.” 

My friends grew up with me, so they know when it’s time to stop pushing. Max interrupts the silence that follows because nothing makes little Beaumont more uncomfortable than a gap in the conversation. “Everything is ready for the party tomorrow night. The thirtieth anniversary of Rys Corporation will be a success.” 

Liam nods. “Regina talked with Hana this morning. It’s the first anniversary since I took over as CEO. I need everything to be perfect.” 

“What about the staff, Max?” Leo asks, smiling. Having sex at every anniversary party is a personal challenge of his. 

“We actually hired someone today. She’s gorgeous.” He turns his head at Leo. “But she’s off-limits.” Leo smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I mean it, dude. Bertrand said he’s tired of looking for new waitresses. Two quit yesterday morning when they found out that the event was for Rys corporation.”  

“Hey, I never lie. It’s not my fault if they think I’ll call them anyway.” 

“Whatever, just don’t mess with her. Plus, I got to talk to her after her training today. She’s super nice. She’s Am--. Wait.” He says when his phone chimes up. “Sorry, boys. It was a text from Penelope. Apparently, the Chablis hasn’t been delivered yet. I have to call Joelle before I lose my big brother over a wine crisis. See you all tomorrow.” He finishes his cocktail and stands up. 

Liam stands up too. “I should go home too. Han arrived today from Hong Kong.” 

Leo checks his phone. “Wait, Li. I’ll go with you. I have a date with this girl I met last night at Kismet. Do you want to come, man?” He asks me. “I’m sure she has a friend she can introduce you.”

I shake my head. “I’ll finish my whiskey and head home. See you all tomorrow.”

It was only one fucking night. Why can’t I get her out of my head? 

It’s maddening. Or maybe it is a blessing. If I’m still thinking about her after one night, imagine how bad I’d have it after several. It’s best that she stays far the fuck away from me. I’m not interested in long-term attachments of any kind.  I don’t want to think about Lexie Ortiz, but she’s infected my brain. The sound of her teasing laugh haunts me.

And I can’t deny it; it was one hell of a night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ALEXIS 

 “This is a single girl’s paradise.” 

“No,” I grimace, trying to clean the spilled tomato sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical beach with a hot cabana boy giving us free massages... and an endless supply of piñas Coladas.” Naomi laughs, the sound almost lost in the chaos of the kitchen. Chefs shouting orders, Penelope and Bertrand panicking, plates being dropped—the world of catering is a noisy business. 

“Cabana boys may have hot smoking bodies and virility, Lex, but they lack two essential qualities: prestige and money.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that you’d prefer an old limp dick over a young hard one? Interesting,” I answer, teasing her. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, smart ass. I’m saying I’d take a solid bank account over a solid dick. Think about it—with all that money, he could never fuck me at all, and I couldn’t care less. And I’d be treated properly. Rich guys know how to treat a lady.” 

“Trust me on this, Naomi. Money has absolutely nothing to do with how a man treats a woman.” I should know. “In any case,” I retort, grabbing another tray of drinks, “if you’re looking for old rich guys, there are tons of opportunities out there.” I laugh at the dreamy look on her face, partly because it’s hilarious and partly because I know she’s kidding. After my training last night, she invited me to her house, where I met Theo, her little boy. He’s eight years old and the absolute love of her life. 

“Speaking of fucking,” she says, her eyes sparkling, “did you see the Rys brothers? One of them is taken, but the other two are single and oh so yummy. Especially the tall and brooding one. I’ll kill for those smoldering brown eyes looking right at my soul” 

I snort. “You really should stop reading romance novels, Nao. And yes. I served one of them and his girlfriend champagne earlier, but he was blond and didn’t have smoldering, brooding eyes. I thought they were only two brothers, though.”

“Well, technically, yes. But Constantine Rys --the super-rich owner of Rys Corporation-- adopted two other kids. A boy and a girl. They all grew up together.” She uncorks several champagne bottles as she speaks.

Now that my uniform is clean, I grab one of the Veuve Clicquot bottles and help her pouring the cold liquid into the glasses on our trays. “How do you know all of that?”

“I’m Cordonian, girl. The Rys siblings are almost royalty in this country. The one that is not an actual Rys is the one with the smoldering eyes. He doesn’t work for the company, though. He’s a … a vet, I think.”  

A veterinarian like Drake. My stupid heart flutters when I think about him. 

“Do we pay you to work or to gossip, ladies?” Penelope screams from the kitchen door. 

Naomi and I roll our eyes and grab our refilled trays. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRAKE

“This is a huge night for Liam,” Regina says behind her champagne glass. Constantine has been telling everyone, especially her, that he’s ready and happy to retire, but she knows him better than anyone. Leaving Rys Corporation and pass the torch to Liam is much more difficult for Constantine than he cares to admit.  

“It’ll be all right, Regina. Don’t worry. Liam is more than ready to handle the responsibility.”

She throws a glance at Liam, who’s standing a few feet behind me next to his dad. “I just hope he doesn’t forget that his personal life is equally important. He and Hana work too hard.” 

I’m about to answer when one of the waitresses distracts me. Her back is turned to me, so I can’t see her face, but there is something incredibly familiar about the way she moves. She’s passing drinks amongst Regina’s friends. I want to go and see who she is, but Liam catches my eyes across the room.  We exchange a look, one that we’ve exchanged several times over our lives. It was Liam and me when we were younger, walking into his father’s office after getting into a fight at school. It was the two of us when we came home late, and his parents were waiting in the living room as we walked in, drunk. It was the two of us when we wrecked Leo’s new Porsche when we were sixteen, and right now, I know he needs me. Constantine is a great father, but he has too many expectations for his younger son. Liam needs a break. 

Regina sees the exchange and smiles. “Liam’s very lucky to have you, Drake.” She is not our biological mother, but she loves all of us as if she was. And she’s more my mother than Bianca Walker will never be.  

A couple of men look at me, and I try to remember if I should know them from somewhere. I think they’re both on the board of directors at RC. As much as I love the Rys, I will never get used to this shit. Socializing and pretending to like a bunch of people that annoy the fuck out of me. Ignoring them, I make my way to my best friend. Liam is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking serious and put together like the CEO of the largest company in Cordonia should. 

“I think it’s going well,” he says as I approach. “Father was driving me crazy with all his advice.” 

“It’s not only the anniversary of the company, Li. It’s also his first one as the former CEO. It’s normal he feels out of place.” 

Liam nods. “I know. I just wish he’ll trust me more.”

“He does, Liam. He’s just nervous.”

 I’m cut short by Liam’s grin. His gaze slides right behind me and lights up. 

“Would either of you like a glass of champagne?” a female, very familiar voice nearly whispers behind me. 

“I’m good,” Liam answers, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “How about you, Drake?”

 I turn around, and my heart skips a beat. Soft curves, tanned skin, and a few freckles across the bridge of her nose. The brightest, most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. Alexis Ortiz tucks a strand of her rich brown hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath. Her eyes widen, and I see she recognizes me but doesn’t mention it. Instead, a faint smile ghosts her luscious lips, and she lifts her chin like she has a secret she won’t tell. A secret we share. Her gaze remains on Liam, almost like she’s afraid to look my way. Finally, she turns to me, and when she does, an adorable blush color her cheeks. 

“Would you, uh, sir?” she asks, taking half a step backward. 

“Would I what?” I press, enjoying too much the way her cheeks turn even pinker. 

“Would you like a drink?” The words leave her lips fast like she wants to pronounce them and run away. I take a step towards her, remembering the night she spent in my arms and how damn perfect she felt. I know I make her nervous because I see little goosebumps erupting on her soft skin.  I smirk at her. “That depends on what you’re offering.”

 I shouldn’t be toying with her, but I can’t help it. I want to keep her talking, to watch her reactions, to see that sweet smile again.  

“I don’t have much to offer,” she says, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Unless you like champagne, sir.” She emphasizes the last word.

“I like all sorts of things.” I keep my gaze heavy against hers, not allowing her to look away. She fidgets with her tray and swallows hard but never takes her eyes off mine, too rebellious to look away. The longer our eyes match, the hotter my body becomes. She bits her delicious bottom lip slowly, her dark gaze boring into mine. 

“Is that so?” Liam laughs beside me, and I watch her jump like she forgot he was there. Alexis clears her throat and glances around the room. She turns back to us again, this time a practiced smile on her face. The easy grin and soft laugh are both gone. She wants to get away from me, I can feel it, and I understand. She’s working; it wouldn’t be professional. This is not the time or the place to reconnect. Unfortunately for her, I have other plans.

“Gentlemen ...” With a nod, Alexis walks away as fast as possible. She doesn’t look back, but I watch her until she’s out of sight. 

“What was that?” Liam snickers, loosening his gray silk tie. “I thought you were going to jump on her.” 

I rub my thumb over my lip, still surprised as hell.

“That was Alexis, the girl I met a couple of months ago. Now, if you excuse me, Li, I need to go talk to Bertrand.”  

@mskaneko @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @kat-tia801 @no-one-u-know @thegreentwin @twinkle-320 @forallthatitsworth @kingliam2019 @marshmallowsandfire @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @princessleac1 @twinkleallnight @tinkie1973 @drakexwillow @moneyfordiamonds 

@yukinagato2012​ @alyssalauren​

[lu-undy]

Happy birthday, Solitude But Two!

Here is a bonus Chapter!

"You guys will be alright, yeah?" 

"Of course, Micky, it's not the first time you leave the kitties with us." 

"But it's gonna be more than an evenin' this time. Also, before I forget, I put one of Lu's shirts in the bag, they need it to sleep, don't forget it or they'll harass you until you give it to them."

Perle was gladly following Caroline around while Soot lay on Mike's lap, purring as the old man gently massaged the black cat. 

"Bah, we raised you and we used to have cats as well as dogs."

"Your Mum's right." Mike answered from the sofa. "We'll be fine. You go and have fun with Lucien. Did you tell him by the way?" 

"Nah, not yet. I'm keepin' it a surprise for him. Speaking of, I really gotta go or we’ll be late. He’s waitin’ to have lunch with me before I take him." 

"You arranged everythin'?" Caroline asked.

"Yeah, almost. Right, you guys take care, alright?"

"We will, Micky, you go and have your fun with your Lu'." Caroline answered as Mundy opened the front door.

"Meow!" Perle came trotting to her father and Soot jumped out of Mike's lap to join her. 

"Oh, sure, baby, c'mere you guys…" Mundy squatted down and dealt headbutts and scratches left and right to both the felines. "You behave with Grandma and Grandpa, yeah?" 

"Meow." 

"Good babies." He left a kiss on their heads and pushed himself back to stand up. "See ya!"

"See you in a few weeks, Micky!" 

A few moments later, the Aussie was on his motorcycle, racing through the streets and in his own mind. He had been preparing this for a while now. 

It had been one year. 

One year since he had put a ring on Lucien's finger and vice versa. Well, it would be one year exactly in a few days and this was what it was all about, celebrating the first anniversary of Lucien and him being… well… husbands? 

Of course, their legal status remained single but in their hearts and their heads, they were very much taken and faithful to each other. Mundy never did attract a lot of attention from ladies and gents, but Lucien… 

Every time the couple was having dinner outside, or enjoying a party with the few friends they had made, one person would walk to Lucien and hit on him. The first time it happened, it was a woman but Mundy nonetheless felt the itch to show her the rings, Lucien's and his. As he came close to his lover, he heard Lucien chuckle at the poor woman's attempt to pull her into her bed. He remembered it with a smile now…

“Oh, here you are, Mundy.”

“Hey, Lu.”

The woman had raised her eyes to the Aussie. 

“This your friend?” She asked. 

“More than that…” Lucien put a hand on Mundy’s chest and leaned on him. “Please meet my everything, Mundy. Mundy, this is the charming Amanda.”

“Hey there.” Mundy had stuck to being cold but polite, a defensive hand went to grab his Lucien and pull him to himself, almost defensively. 

“What d’you mean, ‘your everything’?” She chuckled with a raised eyebrow, confused and slightly mocking. 

“I mean this.” Lucien answered and pulled Mudy’s neck down for the Aussie to be at his lips height. He pushed a loving kiss on his lips and released him. Mund opened his eyes again, his mind still on the kiss even though Lucien’s lips had parted from his. 

Amanda’s jaw hung low and wide. 

“He is my husband, look!” Lucien went on, uphased. “This is the ring. It has only been a few months, mind you, time flies, but we love each other as if we were half our ages… Oh? Amanda?”

The woman had spun on her heels and left, leaving Lucien to chuckle and turn back to Mundy. 

“So, mon loup, are you enjoying your evening?” 

[My wolf]

“Uh… Y-yeah… Wasn’t she hittin’ on you?” Mundy nodded in the direction of the woman. 

“She was, very much.” Lucien answered. “But for some reason she left now. I cannot think why… Women shall remain a mystery!”

“Maybe that’s cause you snogged me like there’s no tomorrow in front of her?” Mundy answered.

“Oh, that? Maybe.” Lucien answered and leaned against Mundy’s shoulder again. He stared at the woman refilling her glass with whatever strong alcohol she could find before he raised his light blue eyes to his lover. 

They exchanged a smile. 

“You’re a devil, you know that?” Mundy said. 

“Maybe, but I am having great fun.”

“Why did you do that to her? You could have just said that you were already with someone.”

“And miss this laughter we shared? For nothing in the world. This ring that she chose to ignore,” Lucien raised his hand to Mundy. “It means that I vowed to make you happy. You did laugh, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. “

“Then I am upholding my vows. Très bien.”

[Very well] 

 “You’re mean, Lu’. Look at her now…”

“I am not mean. If anything, she was.”

“What?!” Mundys eyebrows jumped in surprise.

“I am wearing my engagement ring and she still chooses to approach me. She knew she was taking a risk and she liked the thrill of it. Well, let this be a lesson for her: not all the risks are worth taking, Madame Amanda.”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Mundy agreed. 

And Mundy reached his destination, which pulled him out of his daydream. He parked the motorcycle safely and entered his house. 

“Mon loup, c’est toi?”

[My wolf, is that you?]

“Oui, mon amour.”

[Yes, my love.]

Lucien rose from his armchair and met his love at the front door. 

"Your accent when you speak French is delicious…" He said before pushing himself to the tip of his toes and kissing Mundy. 

"I'm makin' progress, aren't I?" Mundy laced his arms around Lucien's waist.

"Oui, but please, never lose your accent." 

"If it goes like it does with you, I'll still have my accent in a hundred years."

"Are you saying I am old?" Lucien frowned in an exaggeratedly sad way. 

"I'm not the one spendin' my time sayin' 'You'll see when you get to my age', eh!"

"Pfff…" 

They chuckled together.

"You ready?" Mundy asked. 

"Where are you taking me for lunch?"

"Where d'you think?"

"Hm…" The couple exited the house and Mundy locked the door as Lucien thought out loud. "Maybe the new Lebanese place that opened in town? I am told it is exquisite and very reasonable in price." 

"Since when d'you care about the price of things?" Mundy smiled. "Oh, no, no, Lu', we're not goin' with the bike. I called a taxi." 

"Oh? This means that you intend to get drunk, so maybe the Irish pub? But isn't it early to get drunk?"

"Never too early to be with you, baby." Mundy raised his arm for the taxi to stop while Lucien's blush took a moment to fade. 

They both embarked in the taxi. 

"Where to, Sir?" The driver asked. 

"Where I told you on the phone, please." Mundy answered. 

"Alright." The driver let his foot press on the gas pedal and off they all went. 

"Tu me caches des secrets?"

[You are holding secrets from me?]

"Oui." Mundy answered. 

"Dis-moi où tu m'emmènes." Lucien asked.

[Tell me where you are taking me.]

Mundy shook his head and took a glance in the inside rear view mirror. The driver was busy. Good. The Aussie slid his hand to take his lover’s. 

“C’est une surprise, doll.” He answered with his accent. 

[It’s a surprise.]

“D’accord.” Lucien smiled and nodded.

[Very well.]

And the ride took them away from where the usual restaurants the couple frequented used to go. Lucien straightened his back and looked through the window. He started frowning when he saw the control tower of the airport, the same one he had landed in, a few years ago now. And it got him thinking. What if he could go back and see the Lucien that disembarked on the plane that day. Would the slightly younger Lucien believe him if he had told him what he would become? What would he even tell him? 

Tu rencontreras l’homme de ta vie et ta vie basculera. Tu ne demanderas plus comment ni pourquoi. Tu vivras l’instant, tout simplement, comme quand tu avais vingt ans. Tu vivras et aimeras, comme quand tu avais vingt ans. Tu seras heureux comme jamais tu ne l’as été. 

[You will meet the man of your life and your life will flip upside down. You will not wonder how or why anymore. You will live the instant, simply, as you did when you were twenty. You will live and you will love, as you did when you were twenty. You will be happy as you never were before.]

Would the younger Lucien believe him or would he laugh at him, scornful and disdainful, before he would realise that perhaps, the older him was senile, old, and out of his mind? 

Pff, in the end, Lucien did not even care. He smiled at that version of himself. The bitter, cynical and lonely old man. He was now even older, but so much happier…! 

"Lu'?" 

Mundy's voice broke the Frenchman's train of thought. 

"Oui?" 

"Je t'aime." 

[I love you.] 

Mundy said those words with such honesty in his eyes that Lucien's cheeks turned pink on their own. 

"Moi aussi."

[Me too.]

He smiled back at him and clenched his fingers a bit harder between Mundy's. 

"Alright, we're gettin' there, Sir. Which door should I drop you at?" The driver asked. 

"Departures, please." Mundy answered, his eyes sealed on Lucien's and the Frenchman's eyebrows jumped. 

"Departures?" He repeated.

"Yeah."

"Are we… travelling?"

"Yeah." 

"But Mundy, we haven't taken any luggage with us?" 

"Don't be silly." Mundy gently chuckled as the driver parked. 

Both men exited the car and Mundy winked at Lucien. 

"C'mon, Lu', keep up! We don't wanna miss the flight…!"

"W-wait!" Lucien caught up with his lover. 

The airport was as busy as an anthill. People coming, going, running, pushing carts, holding their hats on their heads as they ran. 

"Mundy, were you serious?" 

"Course I am! We're goin', c'mon!" Mundy glanced up at a screen and quickly spun on his heels to change direction. Lucien followed, sometimes even trotting after his lover. 

"But where are we going?" 

"Told you, and in French at that, it's a surprise." 

"You cannot keep the surprise going forever, I will soon know." Lucien answered. 

"Yeah, but meanwhile, I'm likin' this whole 'Lu' doesn't know what's happenin'' business." Mundy smirked and looked down at Lucien, which he knew the Frenchman had a weakness for. 

"I shall find out myself!"

"Alright, good luck, Sherlock." Mundy winked and Lucien smiled. 

They walked through halls and corridors. 

"Uh, uh, uh! Gimme what you took from my pocket back!" Mundy stopped walking and turned to Lucien

"How could you possibly know?!" Lucien stopped. "I made every effort for you not to feel it!"

"You stole somethin' from my back pocket." Mundy said and opened his palm flat. "Give it back…" 

"How did you know?" Lucien frowned. 

Mundy sighed with a smile. He took the step that separated him from his lover and bent slightly such that his lips were next to the Frenchman's ear.

"I felt you touched my butt, and I liked it."

"Ah…" Lucien lowered his head and raised the plane tickets that he had taken from Mundy's back pocket. 

"Thank you, now stop bein' a spook and follow me."

They went on following sign after sign and looking at all the screens they met. 

"Here, that's the search thingy. I hope you don't have your blade with you." Mundy said as they queued. 

"What do you take me for?"

Both men started undoing their belts. Mundy removed his glasses and his hat. When the Aussie finished, he walked through the metal detector and soon after, his lover followed him. 

BEEP! 

"Ah, oui, I must explain myself." Lucien calmly said and Mundy observed the scene. "This is my passport. If you run a check on me, you will understand." 

The security employee took the passport and disappeared for a while. He came back and his colleague stopped him. 

"Hey, don't let him go, he had a knife in his belongings!"

"No, we have to let him go." The man handed Lucien his passport back. "With the knife and all. Have a good day, Sir, and sorry for the inconvenience." 

"No problem, you are but doing your job, Monsieur." Lucien took his belongings back and left the area. "Mundy? Are you coming? I do not know which gate we should head to."

Mundy had been standing there, his belt half put on, half still dangling down. His jaw had dropped as he watched. 

"Uh, y-yeah."

"Mundy." Lucien stopped him. 

"Yeah?" 

"Maybe you should finish putting your belt first?" Lucien tilted his head on the side and Mundy looked down at his waist. 

"Ah, uh, yeah…" 

A few moments later, both of them were standing in front of a screen. 

"Well, this is the moment where you'll see where I'm takin' you, doll." 

"Oui, it is. So? Which gate shall we go to?" 

"Forty-five." 

Lucien's eyes scanned the screen. 

"Oh… Mundy, but… Why Paris?" 

"Because I love you, and I wanna see what it's like over there."

"I…"

"C'mon, let's go." 

When they sat on the metallic, back-breaking bench at the gate, they chose a corner where they could be alone and in peace.

"Mundy, why go to Paris, honestly?" Lucien looked up at his lover. 

"Told you. I wanna see what your life was like when you were there. I mean… I know you told me you're not from there. But still… Besides, you've been livin' with me in Oz for a while, you've seen me and my life, I wanna see yours."

"I have indeed seen the Bushman in his natural habitat." Both exchanged a chuckle. 

"Look, if you don't want it, we can go back home. I don't wanna force you, baby." Mundy cast his eye around and dropped his hat on his thigh. He then slid his hand and pulled Lucien's underneath it. The Frenchman felt Mundy's thumb brush against the back of his hand.

"So, what d'you say?" Mundy asked.

"I say we go and I will show you the city where I grew up." Lucien answered. 

"You sure?" 

"We are about to board, Mundy, it is rather late to turn and go back home, non?" 

"No, not at all. If you feel awkward or anythin', we can go back home. I wanted to make it a surprise for you but the point's not for you to feel weird about it." 

"Non, Mundy, you are right. I should show you." Lucien clenched his grip on Mundy's hand. 

"You sure? I mean, are you happy to do it?"

"Delighted."

And Mundy took a second to stare in his lover’s eyes. Was he lying just to please him? To not make him feel awkward? The Aussie slightly squinted. He looked through the crystal clear irises to see the soul beyond them. Were Lucien’s lips deceiving the Aussie? Bah, it wouldn’t be the first time but… When was the last time that Lucien had lied?

Hm. 

Oh! Yeah, Mundy remembered it, it was… 

At the lake, almost exactly one year before, the wig. Lucien had worn a wig because he thought his lover could only look at him with the eyes of love when he made himself more feminine. It was obviously wrong and Mundy had tossed the long-haired lie away. That was Lucie’s last one.

Mundy blinked and his eyebrow relaxed. Lucien was not lying. He was looking up at the Aussie with eyes that screamed his limitless love for him. 

“Alright then, doll. Glad you’re happy to show me around.”

“Of course.” Lucien answered. “I am surprised by this trip but welcome it warmly. I think we should probably have done that before but I suppose we did not stop to think about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Got any ideas on what we should see?”

“Apart from the classics like the Tour Eiffel, the Arc de triomphe, and other tourist attractions? Hm, I shall think about it.”

“Can I ask you to show me some stuff in particular?”

“But of course. What do you have in mind?”

“Where you lived, where you worked, places you liked to eat at, that kind of thing.” 

"I will."

They exchanged a conniving smile and the call to board the plane interrupted them. 

"Ready, baby?" 

"Oui." 

"Right, let's go and queue." 

A few minutes later, both found their seats in the plane and Mundy looked through the window. The sky was blue despite the relative cold of winter. Well, once in Paris, it will be summer… The plane took off and when the couple was higher in the sky than the clouds themselves, Lucien looked up at Mundy on his left. 

“I am surprised.”

“You’d better. Been hidin’ evidence of everything.”

“How did you do it?”

“Gave the tickets and everything to my Mum.” Mundy smiled. “I even tried to not think about it. I never know with you; could turn out that you can read my thoughts or somethin’.”

Lucien chuckled. 

“I could indeed.” He confirmed with a lingering smirk on his lips. “However, I choose not to.”

“Why?”

“The Lucien of the previous life used to read minds because he needed it.”

“And now it’s just a hobby?” Mundy chuckled. 

“Almost.” Lucien answered. “Non, I value my relationship too much with you to not give you the same privacy that you give me. It is a question of respect. However, it is cute to see you try to read me to see if I lie sometimes.”

“Ah, uh, well…” Mundy scratched the back of his head. “Sorry...  I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you…”

“Not at all. It gives me the impression that you really want to know what is going on in my head, which I appreciate.”

“Really?”

“Oui, I like this side of you, the side that wants to read all my fears in my eyes before I am fully aware of them.”

Mundy blushed. 

“Yeah, well… Sorry, can’t help it.”

“It is a gift and a blessing, thank you for being so.”

“You’re welcome, baby. But uh, Lu’?”

“Oui?”

“Why did you say you were surprised?”

“Ah…” Lucien chuckled before he even gave the answer. “I did not take you for the business class ticket kind of a man.”

“I was gonna go for the economy thing, but then Mum said that in business we’d get a booth and we wouldn’t be bothered by people givin’ us looks. So I can do this…” Mundy reached for Lucien’s hand and took it. “And no one’ll look weird at us.”

“Cutely thoughtful of you, mon loup.”

“You can thank my Mum for that.”

Both chuckled and Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder. 

“I will, but in the meantime, thank you, mon amour.”

Minutes passed that turned into hours and the sky naturally darkened. After the dinner they were handed in, the couple closed their eyes. 

“Mornin’, luv’.”

“Bonjour, mon amour.”

[Good morning, my love.]

Both yawned, woken up by the bright morning sun above the clouds. 

“Slept well?”

“I think my neck will hate me for a few hours only. What about you?”

“My legs…”

“How long do we have left until we land?”

“Uh…” Mundy checked his watch. “A few hours…?”

“Mundy.”

“Some number of hours…?”

“Mon loup.”

“Alright, ok, we got three hours left.”

“That isn’t that bad, actually.” Lucien answered, surprised.

“Yup. Oh, Lu’, I just thought about something.”

“Oui?”

“Uhm… Y’know how I told you I wanted to visit your workplace?”

“Oui, I remember.”

“How’re you gonna do it? I mean you're supposed to be dead for the Ministry back there, aren’t you?”

“Indeed, I am. You will have to call me by my second name when we get there so as not to raise suspicions.”

“But you still look like yourself. People will recognise you, won’t they?”

“Non, they will not. I was once a spy: entering places I shouldn't be while being someone I am not was my occupation for decades and not a trade easily forgotten.” Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy. “Do not worry, I will show you the Ministry.” He smiled tenderly.

“Alright, I trust you. But if you think we can’t make it or somethin’, there’s no shame in sayin’ it.”

“Non, absolutely not, you are right. But this will be easy.”

A few hours and a nap later, the pilot announced the imminent landing. Mundy looked at the city below the plane. He could see a river flowing, zigzagging through the capital. 

“C’est la Seine.”

[It is the Seine.]

“Oh…”

“Ca, c’est l’île Saint-Louis… Et ça ? tu peux me dire ce que c’est ?”

[This is the Saint-Louis Island… And this? Can you tell me what it is?]

Lucien pointed and Mundy squinted to see better. 

“It’s… Oh! C’est la Tour Eiffel, non?”

[It’s the Eiffel Tower, isn’t it?]

Mundy answered in French and Lucien looked at him as he always did, yet each time, the Aussie couldn’t help but fall slightly deeper for his lover. 

“Oui, c’est la tour Eiffel.”

[Yes, it is the Eiffel Tower.]

Lucien confirmed. 

“It’s the real thing? It’s tiny…”

Lucien’s smile vanished. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s tiny! I thought it was supposed to be very tall!”

“Well, you will climb it using the stairs and I swear to God your thighs will make you regret these words!” Lucien answered and Lundy burst into laughter. 

“I’m jokin’, you sensitive, patriotic old baby…”

“Hm, joking now, aren’t you…? I will still make you climb to the top of it on the stairs.”

“How many steps is it to the top, d’you know?”

“One thousand six hundred and sixty-five. It takes between half an hour and forty-five minutes to climb it to the second floor which is not even the top.”

“You're pulling that out of your arse, aren’t you?”

“You shall see….!” Lucien leaned back on his seat with a smug smile on his lips. 

“Hm… Hold on, we aren’t gettin’ closer to the ground, the Eiffel Tower’s still tiny…”

“It is because it is forbidden to fly over Paris.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oui, I am, it has been so since the Second World War, if I remember correctly.”

“Woah… You guys know no Germans are gonna come and bully you again, don’t you?”

“We know. But we would rather keep our sky blue and free of planes.” Lucien answered. 

“Fair enough. Makes it more calm I guess."

When the plane landed and both made it through, Mundy held Lucien back in front of the airport's closed doors. 

"Hold on, before we step into actual Paris…"

"Oui?"

"I love you, Lu'." 

Lucien smiled. 

"I love you too."

"Alright, now, we can go." 

They took a step more and the doors slid open. The first rays on the Parisian summer sun hit their skin warmly and the lightest of breezes grazed their cheeks before rolling up to the sky. 

“Here we are then, eh? Paris.” Mundy said looking around him.

“We are outside of the city itself but I guess you booked a hotel inside?” Lucien asked.

“Actually, I didn’t.”

“Oh?” Lucien raised surprised eyebrows. 

“I was kind of counting on you to know where to go…?” Mundy admitted with a half ashamed smile.

“Oh, of course. I have recommendations.”

“You choose then, Lu’. I looked up the hotels and stuff but there were too many of them and I didn’t know which one to pick.”

“It is fine, let us call a taxi, I know where we should go.” Lucien smiled.

“Thanks, Lu’.”

“My pleasure.”

After half an hour inside a taxi, both stepped out in front of a hotel and Lucien waited for the car to disappear behind him. 

“Welcome to the Ritz.” Lucien said and Mundy looked up to take the large three-floor building in. The architecture was nothing like he had seen so far. At the end of a flight of stairs hidden by a red carpet, the doors stood wide and tall between spiral-trimmed slim plants and equally fancy dressed porters. A French flag was flying above the double door that put a slight proud smile on Lucien’s lips. The walls were all made out of light beige stone and on each floor, rectangular windows were neatly and equally spaced. On the first floor were slim balconies adorned with a golden plated logo of the hotel. As Mundy’s eyes followed the column of clean stones, jumping from one window to the one above, he noticed that high up, the roof was covered in dark slate with windows surrounded by smoothly moulded, light beige stone.

“Gosh…”

“Come on, we both need a shower at least.” Lucien smiled at how absorbed Mundy was by the looks of the building. 

The couple decided to take a few days of rest and let the jet-lag fade away slowly. They had their clothes bought and delivered to them at the hotel and enjoyed their meals either in their suite or in the restaurant downstairs. 

“What did you say the room we’re in was called?”

Lucien chuckled. 

“It is not a room, but a suite, mon amour, and it is called the Coco Chanel suite.”

“Funny name…”

“It is the name of a prestigious designer. She designed the room herself.”

“She was French?”

“Oui, she was.”

“Ah, guess it makes sense… How much is it per night?”

“A price that pales next to that of your company.” Lucien poetically answered. 

“Thanks, Lu, but I meant in Francs?”

“About a hundred…”

“Oh that’s quite cheap for a suite.”

“... Thousand Francs per night.”

“WHAT?!” Mundy almost spat his coffee out.

Lucien burst out laughing, catching his breath in the short little snorts that Mundy fell in love with. 

The next couple of days were spent visiting all the tourist-heavy places: the Eiffel Tower, the cathedral of Notre-Dame, the Palace of Versailles… Mundy saw more paintings and sculptures in those few days than he did in his entire life.

“Stop.” 

Lucien’s voice was firm, too firm and cold to be addressing Mundy. The Aussie turned and saw Lucien with his hand on a young man's wrist. 

“Hold on, that’s my wallet in your hand…!” Mundy snatched it back from the stranger's hand. 

“La prochaine fois que tu pick-pocket quelqu’un, choisis mieux ta cible et ne regarde pas autant que ça à droite et à gauche, on te voit venir à des kilomètres.”

[Next time you pickpocket someone, choose your target more carefully and don’t look so much left and right, you are telegraphing all your moves.] 

The young man opened wide eyes and as soon as Lucien released his wrist, he darted off. 

“Attends.”

He stopped and turned to Lucien, a few metres away from him. 

“Tiens. Et tu n’es pas mauvais, tu devrais en faire quelque chose.”

[Here. And you are not bad, you should do something out of it.]

Lucien handed him a note. The young man took it and left. 

“You gave him money?” Mundy asked. 

“Oui.” Lucien resumed his walk and Mundy followed him. 

“Why?”

“Because stealing is rarely a hobby. If one does it, it is out of necessity. Throwing  this young man in a cell will not help him at all. On the other hand, helping him such should.”

Mundy fell silent for a moment. 

“Besides,” Lucien started speaking again. “I was once this young man, only I never got caught.”

The next day, the couple woke up normally. Good, the jet-lag had finally passed. 

“Mundy?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to visit the ministry today?”

The half woken up Australian opened wide eyes in a flash. 

“Sure. Uhm, how are we gonna do this?”

“I have an idea. But I need to call Maurice first. You go and take a shower, I will telephone him and will let you know.”

“Alright.”

A couple of hours later, both men stood in front of an elegant building in the heart of the fifth district of Paris, or as Mundy liked to call it ‘the fancy one”. 

“Shall we?” Lucien asked. 

“I’d follow you but ho ‘re we gonna go through these soldiers?”

Two military looking people were guarding the entry and checking everyones credentials. 

“As easy as just follow me.” Lucien answered with a smile before he took the flight of stairs up and met with the soldiers. 

“Bonjour, Messieurs. Nous venons de la part de Maurice de Ronzières, en Australie.”

[Good morning gentlemen. We come on behalf of Maurice de Ronzières, in Australia.]

“Je dois vérifier.”

[I must check.]

“Faites donc.”

[Pray do.]

Both men waited at the door and when the guard came back to them, he let them in. 

“Gosh, Lu’ - I mean, Louis… We’re in…”

“Oui, welcome to a place that they redecorated and I barely recognise…” Lucien shook his head disappointedly as he held his hips.

“That means we can’t visit it cause you don’t know where stuff is anymore?”

“Non, non.”

“Then why d’you look uh… not happy with it?”

“Because they redecorated and made it is ugly!” Lucien raised his arms in the air before letting them drop again. “Had I been still alive, I would have given the Minister of Defense a piece of my mind…!”

“Hold on…!” Mundy caught up with his lover and walked through the corridors. 

They abruptly stopped walking in front of a small door hidden under the stairs, on which Lucien gave a few knocks. 

“Qui est-ce?”  A muffled, old man’s voice asked.

[Who is it?]

“C’est moi.” Lucien answered and the door opened.

[It’s me.]

“Grand Dieu, Maurice a dit vrai…!”

[Good Lord, Maurice spoke the truth…!]

A short, skinny, old man emerged from what Mundy understood was the broom closet. He had lost most of his hair on his head and wore round, thick glasses.

“Comment allez vous, Georges?” Lucien opened his arms and the old man took a step forward and hugged him.

[How are you, Georges?]

"Ça doit faire une éternité! Les cheveux gris vous changent, Louis, mais je vous reconnais bien.”

[It must have been an eternity since last time. Grey hair makes you look so different, Louis, but I still recognise you.]

“Parlez-vous un peu d’anglais?”

[Do you happen to speak a bit of English?]

“Oh, j’ai les rudiments, à force d’entendre tout ce qui se passe…!”

[Oh, I learnt the basics on the fly here, as I’m forced to hear bits here and there…!]

“Then,” Lucien naturally switched to English. “Please meet my husband, Mundy.”

Mundy blushed beyond his ears. It was so uncommon for Lucien to introduce him as his husband straight away. 

“And Mundy, please meet Georges, the ultimate spy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mundy extended his hand and the old man shook it with a smile. 

“Does he understand French?” Georges asked, his accent so thick that next to him, Lucien sounded like a native…!

“Bits, oui, I have been teaching him.” Lucien answered. 

“Then, mes félicitations, mon garçon!”

[Congratulations, my boy!]

“Oh, uh, thanks… But how are you the ultimate spy?” Mundy asked. 

“We can chat as we walk, boys, come on, follow me!” The old man pulled a trolley of rags, dusters and all kinds of cleaning products out of the closet before he started pushing it. Lucien and Mundy followed him. 

“Georges here is responsible for the cleanliness of everything you see. He also happens to have the keys to every room in this building apart from a very select few of them. And all of that makes Georges the best guide to this place." Lucien explained as the trio walked through the corridor. 

The old man pushed his trolley through the corridors, making sure to take all the stair cases that nobody usually takes. 

"And I forgot to say," Lucien added through Georges' explanation of the rooms and corridors. "This man here is invisible to everyone meaning that if we stick to him, we become invisible too." 

"And so you don't break your cover… Ah, I get it…" Mundy nodded to himself. 

"Georges, could you take us to the portrait room, please?" 

"Yes, I can. They didn't move it cause they say history can't be changed." The old man answered, the keys jiggling from his belt loop.

"Ah, perfect." 

Georges took a second to unlock the door and push it open. 

"You have ten minutes, fifteen tops, before my colleague comes here to dust everything off. I'll try and buy you some time but he's young and finds I talk too much so he usually just leaves me alone to do his job. Counting on you, boys, be careful with the time!"

"We will be. Merci infiniment, Georges." 

[Thank you infinitely, Georges.]

"Avec plaisir." 

[My pleasure.]

Both men entered and Lucien shut the large, wooden double doors after them.

“Wow, what’s this place? Who’re these people?” Mundy said as he found himself in a room surrounded by painted or printed portraits. The oldest were black and white engravings while the most recent ones were coloured.

“This is the portrait room. It contains the photograph, painting or engraving of every man who made a decisive contribution to the establishment or security of this country.” Lucien explained. “Please, do have a look.”

Mundy started walking in what felt more like an art gallery than a room. He admired the faces, sometimes commenting on the military attire or the old style moustaches and beards. Lucien tried his best to recall the bits of history he knew about those important figures of the country, mentioning a few anecdotes when his memory allowed him to. 

“Golden frames for everyone, eh? That’s fancy as all hell…” Mundy said. 

“Indeed it is.” Lucien answered. “I am told that nowadays, when young spies finish their training, they are brought here and come out of this room with the hope that one day, their face will be on thiese walls.”

“Yeah, I can get the enthusiasm.” Mundy said. “Oh, Lu’... Hold on… Is that…?” Munddy squinted in front of a photograph and took a step forward. His eyes zigzagged on that of the man with light eyes and coal black hair. “Bloody hell, isn’t that you?!”

Lucien chuckled. 

“Guilty as charged.” The Frenchman said. 

“How old were you on this? You look half the age of the others!”

“I started my career early and abruptly. Some would say I even started without knowing it myself. But to answer your question, I was in my early twenties in this picture.”

“Bloody hell… You look like an angel back then already.”

Lucien smiled. 

“Merci.”

“What did you do to get your face up there?”

“I helped in the Résistance to free France from the Germans. I started as a courier boy, delivering messages until I grew up and understood that my, ahem, ease to approach women could be an asset for the country. Countless Nazi were caught through their wives and their mysterious lover.”

“You…?”

“Mh-hm, me. I broke a lot of German hearts back then, even before France’s liberation.” Lucien chuckled.

“Wow… Id love to take a picture of it.”

“We could take it back, if you want.”

“What?! You wanna steal it?!”

“It is my face and I am dead. I can claim it back.” Lucien shrugged.

“Hm.” Mundy fell deep in thought. “You know what?”

“Mh?”

“Leave it there.”

“You have changed your mind?”

“Yeah, leave it there for folks to look up at you and remember you. You changed my life, yeah, but you also changed an entire country before that. Let them have a souvenir.”

Lucien smiled. 

“Very well, mon loup.”

The next day, the couple woke up with the first rays of light, wrapped in the satin sheet of the Coco Chanel suite at the Ritz.

“Lu’?”

“Oui?”

“Uhm, there’s somewhere I wanna take you today.”

“Oh?” Lucien’s surprise was obvious. Mundy wanted to take him somewhere? Where? Why? And above all, how? The Aussie had spent the past week or so following his lover blindly and complaining that he did not know how Lucien could know where he was going. “Sure, when do you want to go?”

“This evenin’, if that’s fine with you too. We can go have dinner somewhere and then we’ll go?”

“Perfect for me, Mundy.”

And for the entire day, Lucien kept on thinking about it. Where would Mundy take him…? Until of course it was time to go. He followed his tall lover through the streets. The Aussie stopped only a few times to check his map and make sure they were heading in the right direction. 

“Alright, should be after this street.”

They stopped when they reached beautiful dark blue, wrought-iron gates. 

“A park? You wanted to take me to a park?”

“I uh… I don't think it’s any odd park.” Mundy answered and Lucien frowned. They both entered and wandered inside, following the yellow narrow roads. 

“Why did you want to bring me here, Mundy?”

“I think you guessed why.” Mundy answered. “You know we’re not in any park.”

“Indeed, I do, so why here?”

“Because it’s part of you and it’s important.” Mundy answered before he stopped walking. “Now, you gotta guide me.”

Lucien took a deep breath and let it all out in a long sigh. 

“Très bien.” He started walking and it took a few minutes of silence before they reached their destination, under a tree. 

“Is it here?” Mundy asked. 

“Oui, it should be.”

“Gimme your blade.”

Lucien took it from his inner pocket and passed it to Mundy who went down to sit on his knees and started digging. The Frenchman waited, his arms wrapped around himself. He felt slightly cold even though the day had been scorching hot and he evening was still warm. 

“Here we go...!” Mundy unearthed a small tin box. “Let’s go back to the hotel.” He stood up and dusted his knees off before both him and Lucien headed back. 

When they were in their suite and alone, Mundy headed for the bathroom. He cleaned the box of all the soil on it and brought it back to the living-room on a towel. Lucien had been sitting on the sofa, his stare blank. 

“You alright?”

“Oui,” He shook his head as if to land back into reality. “I was just lost in thought.”

“C’mon, ask me.” Mundy said and Lucien sighed. 

“Why did you do this?”

“Because you told me that everythin’ that was you before was in a box, that you had buried it in a park in Paris as the rain was pouring down in the middle of the night. You told me that it has all sorts of things like pictures of you, maybe even of your family and everythin’.” 

Mundy took a deep breath and took Lucien’s hand in his. 

“It’s been one year of you and me bein’ a solid thing and it’s been even longer of us just spendin’ all our time together, and even longer of me lovin’ you to bits.” Lucien blushed at the last part and smiled shyly. “And today, it’s been exactly one year of us being a thing. I put a ring on your finger and you put one on mine one year ago exactly. I just… I don’t wanna make you feel bad at all, I love you, I just wanna see your life from before and beyond that, I want you to be at peace with what you were before.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t care what you were, I just want you to accept whatever's in that box as a part of you. It doesn’t need to be buried down in the ground, it shouldn’t be there. It should be with us, with our pictures and memories.”

Lucien had sat silently through his lover’s speech. 

“You understand, baby doll?”

Lucien raised his eyes to his lover. 

“You are right, Mundy.” He took the box and put it on his lap before gently opening it. “This is the only photo album I have ever bought in my life, before we got ours. The oldest pictures are of my parents, then me as a baby and a young boy. The next picture is when I was officially made a spy, after the end of the Second World War, during which I served in the Résistance.”

He flipped the pages and pointed for Mundy to follow.

“Wow, you were already gorgeous back then.”

“Thank you.” 

The Aussie wrapped an arm around his lover to pull him close and Lucien leaned on him.

“Mundy?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know which hpark it was?” Lucien asked. “I don’t think I mentioned the name of it.”

“I asked Maurice for the park where we could spend some quality time that would mean something for you.”

“Ah, I see.” Lucien turned the page. “This is the few pictures of Marie and Jérémy that I have.”

“She was real pretty.”

“Oui, she was.” Lucien smiled at the pictures. 

“And Jeremy kind of looked like you a bit, I mean, his hair’s lighter than yours but…”

“He was born blond like the sun.” Lucien said. “His hair darkened as he grew up and was dirty blond before he passed.”

“Oh, I see.”

“This is us, all together.”

“Look at you bein’ a dad… You look so comfy handlin’ the baby. I’m always scared when I’m handed a kid. Always scared to drop them or hurt them or somethin.”

Lucien smiled with nostalgia.

“You should not. They are indeed very fragile but you are very strong.” He turned his head and pushed his lips on Mundy’s. 

“Thanks, luv’.”

“Thank you.” Lucien put the photo album aside. 

“There’s more stuff in the box?”

“Oui. Here, this was my first ever blade.”

“Oh, you kept it?”

“Oui, as a souvenir. When I was in the Résistance, I never thought that doing what I was doing would turn me into a spy, get me a job and a life that is reasonably put together. I just did it because I could and I was told I had a gift for it.”

“And you went on to become the best spook ever.” Mundy said, recalling the portrait at the Ministry.

“Something like that.” Lucien smiled. “Here, this is all black and old, but it used to be silver and shining bright.” He handed a thin, yet very old string of metal to Mundy. 

“It’s a bracelet?”

“It bears my name on it. It is a common gift that young children are offered here. I kept mine because it reminded me of my mother, whom I loved beyond everything else. Oh and this is a very old and worn out thing now, but I used to wear it to cover my mouth and nose, for people to not recognise me when I worked to liberate France.”

“It’s a black bandana?”

“It used to be Burgundy red.”

“We could give a polish to your bracelet and a good wash to your bandana. I’m not good with clothes but I’m sure there’s ways to bring it back to life.”

“I think so, oui. Ah, there it is… Although it is broken, this used to be the bracelet that I offered to Marie, when we first started to meet each other regularly.”

“It’s a pearl bracelet?”

“Oui, I have always liked pearls on women, I think it might be because my mother used to have a pearl necklace that she treasured more than anything else. It was a gift from my father. I remember as a child, I one day found it as I was prying into whatever I could lay my hands on in the house and she told me off for touching it.”

“Oh, wow…”

“Wow indeed.” 

Mundy took a second to look at the way Lucien was looking at his belongings from another life. His eyes were almost dreamy and his gaze, very soft, filled with nostalgia and bittersweetness. And soon, the smile widened and it was not an awkward listing of antics but objects that threw the Frenchman’s mind back when pictures were only black and white, when uniforms were compulsory at school, when with a Franc, you could buy a mountain…

“Oh, I am enjoying this actually, Mundy.” Lucien raised his eyes to his lover. “Thank you so much, mon chéri.”

[My darling.]

“You're welcome. See? It’s better to acknowledge everythin’ and even if it's bad things or mistakes that you can only blame yourself for, so be it. The only way to repent I guess, is to not make those mistakes again.”

“You speak truth and wisdom. May God keep you by my side for as long as we want.”

“Amen, baby.”

“Thank you for… Well… Half-forcing me to do this. I realise that I should have done it long ago.”

“How d’you feel?” Mundy asked. 

“Better, lighter in a way.” Lucien wiped a silent tear. 

“Hey, you sure you good?”

“Oui, it is not tears of sadness. It is… The intensity of all this. Finding myself in the Ritz again, but this time, not on duty, not for business, just for our enjoyment, the breakfasts, lunches and dinners here now taste so much more flavourful, I never realised that their food was exquisite. I knew it but I never felt it as much as I have in these past few days. And the outings with you, seeing the sights, guiding you through Paris, telling you her story. It is better than a dream come true.”

Mundy smiled compassionately.

“Lu’?”

“Oui.”

“Happy first anniversary.”

“Oh…” The Frenchman dived head first into his lover’s chest and let the tears run down his face. 

“It’s ok, Lu’, I’m here.”

“This is why you wanted to take me to Paris?” Lucien pulled himself out of his lover's embrace.

“Yeah, for our anniversary.”

“Je t’aime, Mundy.”

[I love you, Mundy.]

Lucien took his handkerchief out and wiped his face. 

“Je t’aime aussi, mon Lucien.”

[I love you too, my Lucien.]

[sweetsubharry]

hey ! sorry to bother you but could you reccomend me some fics of footballer louis?? thank you !! love your acc

Hiya!!  💖you can never bother me!! ^-^ ohmgosh I’m so glad you like my blog! I love footballer louis djskasdhjag tysm(sorry it took soooo long!)

please make sure you read the tags and stay safe everyone!💖

Also these are not in any particular order, however I will say the first two are probably my favourites ;) I have to read them again right after this!

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Definition of Beauty by zanni_scaramouche

“Your book is upside down.” Harry nods at Louis’ book, his history text now that he sees it too.

“I’d rather study you.”

They both blink, startled by the slip.

“With you. Study with you,” Louis rushes to say. “Liam says I’m shite at history, can you help?”

Louis’ caught off guard by an omega he nearly takes out with an errant footie ball. It’s not that Louis’ never seen Harry before, it’s that he can’t stop looking, and he’s desperate to figure him out.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

Way in the World by flowsque

When Louis Tomlinson enters the waiting room, Harry can distinctly feel his heart sinking to his stomach. The man's hair is ruffled and dishevelled and his red jersey, damp with sweat from training, clings to his perfect and chiseled body. He stands there, almost unreal, against the glass door, peering inside the office. Harry knew this would’ve happened, sooner or later. That he would have bumped into him. They play for the same club after all, even if they’re in different leagues. It’s not weird. It is not. Except it totally is. - Or, the one where Harry has a knee injury and an embarrassing crush on Manchester United's pretty number ten.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

ease the quiet and talk me down by cabinbythesea

Harry's a model and Louis' a footie player.

(Louis teaches Harry some football and Harry is insanely good at giving a lapdance).

Baby, It's You by Bearandleonardwrite

"Oh, yeah. Um..” Harry lets his hands fall to his sides. His brows furrow, face full of concern, and he asks, “You’re not, like, stalking me, are you?”

Louis can’t help the loud cackle that escapes his lips and immediately slaps one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my god, Harry, no!” Louis tells him, a little breathlessly, giggles still bubbling out of his chest. “Lottie’s one of the makeup artists here today and she somehow got me to agree to come. I had no idea you modeled for, uh.. this brand until I saw you walk.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, eyebrows still pinched. He lets what Louis just said sink in before a bright grin takes over his face and he goes back to doing up the buttons on his shirt. “Well, that’s alright, then. I’m glad you could make it.

(Basically, Louis' a footie player for Man U and Harry's a YSL model. They meet at a masquerade.)

Touch by kotabear24

Harry's shy and virginal with a past, new on the football team; Louis' the (experienced) popular star of the team and Harry's new mentor.

Come In and Change My Life by lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes)

He’d had the same neighbours since he’d moved into the building, a lovely, wealthy couple in their late sixties who had always invited him around for tea on Sundays. Martha had dropped off homemade biscuits the day he’d moved in, so Harry figured he may as well repeat the sentiment. He could hear someone getting closer to the door just as a flush ran through his body; oh fuck. His heat was close, too close to be knocking on a potentially unknown alpha’s door, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Harry’s mouth dropped. He’d never been overly interested in football, couldn’t find the fascination in watching men run around after a ball for hours aside from their uniforms, but he knew who this was. Louis Tomlinson, alpha, captain of Manchester United, star in a number of Harry’s heat addled fantasies, was his new next-door neighbour.

Or, Harry and Louis become friends when Harry looks after Louis' cat during away games, until one night at a party changes everything between them. It's just a shame Louis' going to be away for the FIFA World Cup for three months.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

Stop The World (I Wanna Get Off With You) by ilikepianos

"You like this, don't you?", he asks breathlessly.

What? Sucking cock? Being dominated? Yes, all of that. A big fat yes.

Harry nods, lips still wrapped around Louis' throbbing dick.

Louis' lips curl into a smirk. "Keep going then. You're doing amazing, love."

OR: The uni-football AU where Harry may or may not have a minor crush on the captain of the team and suddenly discovers that the feeling is very much mutual.

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

I just think about my baby; I'm so full of love I could barely eat by mercutionotromeo

Harry and Louis are six hundred miles apart, but they have the same solutions to the same problem.

Or: a masturbation drabble featuring pillow humping, locker rooms, and copious amounts of dirty talk.

into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry wants this year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life.

Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.

Or: Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

note: it says it in the tag but this is the edited version written in 2019, rather than the 2017 original- so there’s two put I put the link for the newest one :)

need a little sweetness in my life by mercutionotromeo

Harry's always liked feeling desperate and small when Louis touches him, but when he sucks Harry off...it’s fucking otherworldly. Desperate’s not really the word at that point - it’s helpless. Like… like the fucking world could stop spinning and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until Louis finished him off with his lips and his tongue.

Or, Harry and Louis go to university together. Harry really likes it when Louis sucks him off, and Louis really likes it when Harry calls him Daddy.

(Sequel to "into another serotonin overflow")

I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou

Harry does not have a crush on Louis Tomlinson. Yes, Louis is very pretty and funny, and Harry may have had more than a few inappropriate thoughts about him, but he certainly doesn’t like him. (Except for the fact that he totally does.) or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

Kiss Me on the Mouth and Set Me Free by ls2k14   

Louis has his head thrown back in a laugh, his wet fringe hanging in front of his eyes, and a beautiful flush to his cheeks. From this angle, the sun hits his face just right to where the beams of light are shining in between the spaces of each individual clump of watered down eyelashes. His chest is showing through the soaked material of his white jersey and it seems that his biceps are attempting to break free from the sleeves that are clinging to his skin.

And Harry can do nothing except take it all in. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing at this point. He is literally stuck in place, admiring the true beauty of Louis Tomlinson, while being surrounded by fit footballers and generally attractive people. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before, but if Louis let him, he’s pretty damn sure he could change that in the matter of a few nanoseconds.

[coralsgrimes]

Thank you! I’m so glad someone said something about how people talk about Calahan’s gf who has done absolutely nothing. Calling her Lehoe just makes the anon seem bitter and misogynistic. I followed her before all this because she was everyone’s favorite pinterest girl for a long time and she seems to just do her influencer stuff and mind her business.

I’ve seen a few of the Danielle and Cal shippers call Taylor fat old and ugly too. Probably not the same people as the ones calling her Lehoe here but it’s weird how people start with such hostility towards any woman these guys are connected

I mean like I've seen her before but never knew her name lol she the cute french bob and beret lady x.x never seen her making a essential oils infused stance on long term diseases. People just are anti influencer's in general. And when ye look at the bigger picture it's obvious why.

And she does mind her business which (compared to another fairy) seems to be going great? Like she has deals with brands, brands actually acknowledge her? Yep just doing her thing.

Idk about the rest. All I seen was that peeps were sad for Taylor when the first part of the break-up happened and the cheating stuff. And that cuz they liked their relationship in the first place. Would not be surprised tho, Bessie besties are meaner to twin flame that I am, and that's something. What I do remember tho is people saying that the Irish lady was baaad, followed by hate. What they forgot to mention is probably the only valid bad thing about Danielle. She a Trinity babe. No, I will not elaborate.

[marvel-and-mischief]

Safe Haven Part I

Title: Safe Haven. 

Words: 3200

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Pero x Reader. You are the owner of a tavern in England when a mysterious stranger asks to stay in your lodgings whilst he works for the Lord of the town you live in. Soft, awkward, grumpy Pero! Post TGW (no William). 

When you thought about the past eleven months, you couldn’t believe you had gotten this far. You had three wonderful, hard working women under your care. Gwen kept to herself in the kitchens, baking meat pies for your customers and keeping the tavern clean and tidy. Darcy could talk the back legs off a donkey if given the chance, but her charm kept the customers coming back and those passing through remembered to come back the next time they were near town. And Adelaide, or Addy as she was known, helped you with the business; counting money, keeping on top of the food and drink that was needed, finding new ways to attract guests to the lodgings out back. 

When your father had suddenly come down with a fever, you were certain it would pass. The cold, damp nights had started to settle in, so it wasn’t unusual to hear of the townspeople getting ill. You sat by his bedside in the day, feeding him soup and reassuring him that the tavern would be just as he left it when he returned to work. And at night you opened up as usual, serving the locals who had come in for the warm fire and mead. You only had Gwen back then, so you were rushed off your feet without your father as well. When not even a week later your father had taken a turn for the worse, you couldn’t deny that maybe this new way of running the tavern would be a more permanent way of life. 

The fever took your father five days after he fell ill. You worked harder than you ever thought you would have to. You not only had to quickly learn how to be a business owner, but being a woman you had to earn the respect of the townspeople. They all knew you, having grown up in the tavern as your father’s only child. The town healer helped your mother give birth to you, as a small child you brought bread from the baker, you courted the blacksmiths son as a teenager. But as a businesswoman, they were a little more concerned. The regulars that came into the tavern most nights had your back, but some of the older members of the town thought you couldn’t handle it. Some even suggested they would only support you if you found yourself a husband. 

After two months, you had found your newest employee. Darcy stumbled into the tavern just as you were closing up one night, mud caking her hands and most of her dress. You brought her inside, sitting her in front of the large fire on one side of the tavern. You asked Gwen to make up a tankard of warm milk and honey and handed it to this stranger. You convinced her that if she just trusted you, allowed you to keep her safe in the tavern, you would never ask where she came from or who she was running from, and she would always have a home here. She had nowhere else to go and she had had no better offers than yours and doubted anyone else would be so kind. She agreed to work for you. 

After a few weeks Darcy opened up a little more. She had travelled from Armagh in Ireland, looking for a new life away from a family that wished to marry her off to a brute of a man. She would rather have died journeying out of Ireland than be made to live the rest of her life with him. Her sweet Irish accent hypnotised anyone who heard her speak, so custom quickly picked up and so did her confidence. 

Soon after that was your last employee. Addy was mild tempered, still is, when you found her covered in blankets and huddled against a stone wall in the marketplace. Her large brown eyes were flitting back and forth, her hands shaking where they clung to her only bag of belongings. The first time you tried to walk up to her she hid under the blankets and started crying. You left her an apple and a chunk of bread, not wanting to spook her any more than you already had. 

The next day you went back to where you had last seen her but she was gone. She had moved to the opposite side of the marketplace and was trying to hold onto her bag which was being torn away from her by a boy no older than twelve. You had rushed over to her, yanking the bag from the boy and pulling yourself up to your full height to tower over him. With a gasp the boy ran off and you turned to see Addy with her eyes down, biting her bottom lip. After assuring her you only wanted to help, you handed her the bag and brought her back to the tavern. 

Once she was comfortable with you, you realised she was literate and could help with the day-to-day running of the tavern. She was born in France but spoke very good English. She has never told you why she ended up in England but it didn’t matter. She was kind and thoughtful and worked harder than any man you’d ever met. 

Once you had your team set up everything felt like it once had. People respected your position, they supported the tavern and your guest rooms were never empty. 

Your day dreaming was disturbed by Darcy slamming a tankard on the counter in front of you. You raised an eyebrow in her direction, silently asking why she did that.

“There’s a new man in town,” she stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t unusual for travellers to pass through. The river that ran through the town lead a few miles east to the sea that separated England and France. Anyone travelling from Europe would most likely have to come through your town to reach the rest of the country. So why was Darcy making such a big deal about this one man?

“Does he practice sorcery or something just as interesting?” You asked with a smirk. Darcy came from a country steeped in superstition so you knew that would hit a particular spot.

Darcy made the sign of the cross against her chest and gave you a warning look. “Do not jest. Of course not. But everyone’s talking about him. He barely says a word to anyone. Has an accent apparently-“

“How do they know he has an accent if he doesn’t speak?”

Darcy seems to think this over. The difference between Darcy and Addy is, where Addy is educated, Darcy is smart when is comes to the realities of life. She knows to keep to the clear roads and not walk through the woods when travelling to market, but she doesn’t always understand irony. 

“Well… I’m not sure. He must have spoken at some point. You can’t just not speak!” She was getting flustered which made you giggle. Darcy realised what you were doing and grabbed the towel that had been hanging over her shoulder and whipped it in your direction, catching you on the elbow where your arms were folded. 

“Alright alright! I’m sorry. What is it they are saying about him?”

“Just that he’s a little strange. And he has a large scar over his eye.” She shrugged and began to use the towel to wipe dust off the counter. 

“A mercenary perhaps?” You had met mercenaries before. They weren’t common but they were all the same. Kept themselves to themselves and never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends. 

“Do you think he will cause trouble?” Darcy was purposefully not looking in your direction. She was worried. Trouble meant fighting and none of the girls were comfortable with dealing with that. 

“No,” you said sternly. You glanced down to the thick sharpened branch you hid behind the counter. You would nip it in the bud before any fighting started. You wouldn’t have the girls frightened to live here. This was supposed to be their safe space. “If I think he’s going to cause a problem I will kick him out. He may not even come in here Darcy.” You spoke softly, not wanting to spook her. 

She seemed satisfied with that answer when she walked away to clean the table tops. You watched as she began to hum a tune as though the previous conversation had never happened.

“I’m going to check that Gwen is ready to open up for the night,” and with that you left in the direction of the kitchen, putting this stranger to the back of your mind. 

-

You had opened up in the early evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. The night had been busy but not chaotic. Gwen managed to sell all but one of her pies so the three women were sat around the kitchen table tucking in. The last of the drinkers were stumbling out of the front door. You bid them a safe journey home when you noticed a man walking towards you. The lights from the tavern weren’t strong enough to catch any details until he was right in front of you.

He wore a black cape, hood up against the bitter air, and the unmistakable line of a sheathed sword could be seen poking through the material. He carried a bag over his shoulder and nothing else. You looked up as he took a step closer and candlelight showed you the scar of the man Darcy had been talking about earlier that evening. 

You stood up straighter, head held high. You were not going to be intimidated by this man and the permanent scowl that seemed to be etched onto his features. His facial expression didn’t change even as he spoke.

“Do you have rooms?” Darcy was right, there was an accent. But it didn’t sound like Addy’s French accent. You had had men pass through from further afield, but some didn’t speak English at all so you couldn’t ask where they came from. 

“My rooms are full.” You didn’t mean to be blunt but that’s how it came out. You weren’t lying, your earliest vacancy was in two days time but you still felt bad. This man must have walked all the way from where his ship had docked, and he hadn’t brought a horse with him. He was about to turn away when you shouted out to him. 

“I have a stable.” It was the only solution you could think of. He didn’t turn to look at you but you heard him grumble something in his native tongue. You didn’t think you wanted to know what it translated to. “It’s enclosed. With the door shut it’s quite warm. Only one horse in there at the moment too.” 

He finally turned to look at you. He raised one eyebrow rather high, and you thought if he just stopped scowling he may be handsome. So you gave him a small smile. He hadn’t done anything to offend you, yet, so the least you could do was be polite. 

“Where can I find more rooms, camarera?” His voice was deep and his accent was strong, and you don’t know what he had called you but he sounded tired. And maybe you were too kind for your own good but you didn’t want him travelling longer than he had to when there were perfectly fine stacks of hay he could sleep on for a few hours.

“You would have to travel north into town. On foot, you could reach it by sunrise.” He seemed to be mulling it over. Was he serious? He’ll drop down in exhaustion before he’d even travelled halfway. “Come into the stable. I won’t charge you anything.” 

That seemed to make up his mind because he was walking back towards you. You stepped inside to let him in before locking the door. You took him through a side door, down the side of the building and into the stables. 

It wasn’t large. Could fit three horses in at a squeeze, but the current resident was lying against the large doors and on the other side against the stone wall of the guest rooms were stacks of hay. 

The horse raised his head and let out a huff of disapproval when you both walked past him, but soon became disinterested when neither of you paid him no attention. 

The stranger sat on a stack of hay, moving about to test how comfortable it was. He looked up and nodded when he was satisfied. There was an awkward silence for a moment before you remembered that this was your tavern and you shouldn’t be feeling nervous.

“Did you want a blanket?”

“No thank you.”

“Something to eat or drink?”

“No.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Thank you.”

You nodded and turned away to leave him alone. When you got to the door you had entered through you saw he was still sat exactly where he was. He hadn’t moved in the slightest. Was he not used to anyone being nice to him? Or was he just an awkward, angry man? 

Closing the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You began to walk along the corridor, taking a turn to arrive in the kitchen.

The women had devoured the pie that had been left. Gwen was nearly falling asleep at the table whilst Addy had taken over the washing up duties. Darcy was nowhere to be found. 

Addy saw you first, holding up a finger to the ceiling when she noticed you were looking around the kitchen.

“Darcy went to bed. Are you going up?”

For the first time that night you realised just how tired you were. You didn’t know whether to tell them about the man in the stables. Maybe it was for best that Darcy was already in bed. She would be none the wiser. 

“I just need to stub the candles out in the front. I’ve let a traveller stay in the stables. Don’t disturb him. I imagine he will be gone by morning.”

Addy frowned. It wasn’t unusual to let the odd person stay in the stables. Usually poor travellers looking for work, or like tonight when you were feeling especially kind. But maybe your tone inflicted that it was unusual with this man because she looked like she was waiting for you to explain.

You refused. You grabbed some pie crumbs off the plate and shoved them into your mouth.

“Alright. I’ll stub the candles out if you wanted to go on up? I’ve nearly finished here.” She grabbed the empty plate you had just eaten off of and dumped it in the bowl of water. 

You made your way towards your room, hopefully to get some sleep and forget about the man in the stables. You don’t know why he was bothering you so much. You were acting like he was a dirty little secret. He’ll be gone in the morning and you will never see him again.

You sort of hoped you were wrong.

-

The morning started as it always did. The birds singing and the Winter sun shone through my window. 

Your room was modest. The bigger of the three bedrooms upstairs (it was formerly your fathers room). You had it all to yourself, whereas Addy and Darcy shared a room and Gwen had the smallest room furthest from yours. You had a small wooden table next to your bed which sat a candle and a ribbon for your long hair. 

Across from your bed, underneath the window, was a box to store your clothes in and along the wall on the left of the room was a tin bath, the only one upstairs. 

You were lucky, you knew that. Working in a tavern brought in more money than the average business in town. But with four mouths to feed you didn’t have a lot of money for long.

You were rubbing the sleep from your eyes when the memories of the previous night came rushing back to you. you remembered the strange man with the scar that intrigued you. The deep, husky voice, the grumpy look on his face, his curt responses. 

You should be hoping that he’s long gone but as you jumped out of bed, quickly throwing your outer dress over your underdress and slipping on your boots you realised you were hoping for the exact opposite. You ran down the stairs, rushed through the hallway and arrived at the kitchen to see Gwen at the stove.

You couldn’t help but notice the smell of warm milk and honey in the air. You grabbed a tankard off the side and dipped it into the pan that Gwen was mixing. 

“Sorry Gwen,” you muttered. You knew she’d be annoyed for the rest of the day but you’d find a way to make it up to her. You always did. 

The short walk to the stables had your heart pumping. You suddenly felt stupid. He probably wasn’t in there anymore. And what if he didn’t like honey? And why did you care so much? 

When you opened the door you almost bumped into him. You gasped as he jumped back, hand immediately reaching the hilt of his sword. 

The hood of his cape wasn’t up so you could see his face much more clearly this morning. He had a peculiarly large nose which you found yourself wanting to run your finger along, and an unusual moustache that you never saw on Englishmen. He was staring at you, mouth slightly parted when you realised you had also been staring at him for longer than was acceptable. 

You caught your breath and decided to show him the contents of the tankard.

“Warm milk with honey. Thought you might want something before you left?” You said hopefully. He was inspecting the contents as though he had never been presented with something before. It was as though he didn’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to. Just thought after a cold night, something warm would be welcome,” you shrugged and started to take it back. But he stopped you with a gloved hand over yours.

He took the drink off of you and began to sip at it. He didn’t make a face of disgust so you assumed he liked it. You were desperate to know where he was going but you didn’t want to intrude. Luckily you didn’t have to.

“Thank you, that is nice. I have to go. Work in town.” His words were to the point. Not like yours were when you rambled like a mad woman. You nodded and took back the drink he was handing back to you. 

“Good luck. I hope everything goes well for you.” You smiled, and it looked like he was going to smile back but he nodded instead.

“Thank you. For the bed.” And with that he brushed past you. You knew Addy would be at the front of the tavern to let him out so you didn’t follow. You also didn’t want to make more of a fool of yourself than you already had. 

You sighed and trudged back towards the kitchen. You had some making up to do.

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday!! Moodboard a little special today as it's Sophie and Osferth centred instead of the story this time 😉

Warnings : fluff ;) and mention of death!

Chapter 10 : This is not what you wanted

Vicky is getting used to how her dreams work. The first night, she dreams of the person's death, waking up abruptly with an erratic breath after having felt the coldness of death running through her veins. Then the following nights it’s a mess of memories from a huge variety of periods of time. She sees so much during this phase that she rarely remembers everything, but she wakes up at the same emotion that the person felt. 

That’s how one early morning, when the sunlight shyly starts to fight the darkness, she wakes up with tears in her eyes and a deep sadness tearing her heart apart. Finan’s hand is on her cheek, his thumb wiping her tears as she breathes slowly to make the emotion fade.

 “Are ya alright?” He asks when she finally meets his eyes in the dark.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for waking you up.” She apologizes, turning on her side to face him, his hand leaving her face to rest on her waist.

Over a week has passed since the night they first kissed and even if they haven’t yet made it official to their hosts, Finan keeps sleeping with her. He also steals her kisses when they are just the two of them which amuses her a lot, making her feel like they are teenagers. However, she knows that the bond, no matter how confused it still is, that ties them together is far more than an infatuation.

“It's alright.” He smiles briefly before he starts to look more concerned. “Ya've been tossin' around for awhile now.”

She bites her lower lips as memories of her dreams emerge and she moves to settle against him. She closes her eyes, his fingers playing with her hair kindly, easing the tension in her body. Slowly, she remembers the story. It was cold, very cold and Sihtric was walking in the snow, his clothes wet and sticking to his skin. By his side there was Osferth, in a pretty much similar state, holding his rifle tightly against his chest. The two warriors looked miserable as they were shouting a name that she can't remember. They walked for hours in the forest until they suddenly stopped in front of a body. The man was laying in the white snow, a puddle of blood freezing around him, his chest perforated multiple times and his blue eyes opened wide to the sky. It was Uhtred.

Now she remembers what Osferth told them the day they arrived. Sihtric fell to his knees next to his Lord, shaking his body vigorously, wanting him to come back. The Dane furiously shouted at him to wake up, slapping him. Tears warmed his cold cheeks as they trickled down his face. Osferth kept questioning him in panic on why Uhtred didn't come back yet and Sihtric only yelled at him angrily that he didn't know. And so they waited hours in the cold winter, shivering under the heavy rain that started to fall. But Uhtred never moved, his skin turning blue and his eyes still contemplating Valhalla.

Finan's hand that grazes on her arm brings her back to reality. “I dreamt of Uhtred's death.” She finally tells him and she feels him freeze underneath her.

He doesn't ask any questions and she doesn't talk more of it, both of them knowing the wound is still too recent for the Irishman.

The days are pretty much like usual, starting every of Victoria's mornings with her training. She is getting better with the rifle, and even if she misses the feel of Finan behind her to guide her, she is proud to be able to succeed on her own. She also improves in close combat, now knowing where to hit to force her opponent to bend double. Sometimes, when she's making another task she whispers the combination of movements he taught her earlier. However, her practice has a tendency to raise a tension between them when they fight that hasn't yet been resolved.

“I win.” Finan whispers in her ear, out of breath after making her fall, keeping her firmly on her stomach against the floor and folding her arm behind her back.

She tries to hit him with her free hand to free herself, groaning when he easily grabs her wrist and presses it in the mud. He chuckles at her attempt and leans until his chest grazes over her back. She gasps a breath at his closeness, a warmth growing low in her belly as his lips hover over the shell of her ear.

“Do ya give up?”

“I never admit defeat.”

He laughs again despite the determination in her tone and frees both of her wrists. He holds himself above her as she rolls onto her back and she shivers when she notices the heat in his eyes. Her tongue snakes between her lips, the sight of it making a smirk grow on Finan's face. She grabs his shoulders to pull him down to her and he closes his eyes in anticipation of meeting her lips. But instead it's her knee that meets his stomach, hitting him right in the liver. Finan growls in pain, falling back beside her in the dirt, his arms wrapped around his waist. She can't help but giggle as she straddles him proudly.

“I told you I'm never admitting defeat.” She tells him when his features twisted by the ache start to ease.

They quickly separate when they hear Sophie's car approaching, both of them sitting in the mud when she gets out of it. She stares at them with wide eyes when she closes the vehicle's door. “Eh bah, have you seen yourselves?”

They frown before looking at each other and noticing the dirt on their faces but also clothes. “Collateral damages.” Finan grins as he stands back to his feet and stretches a hand out for Vicky to grab.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “You two should wash before we eat.”

It's only when they are cleaned that the French woman allows them to sit at the table for lunch, much to Vicky's joy whose belly is aching.

“How's your dreams going?” Osferth asks her when he puts salad on his plate before handing her the bowl.

She hesitates a moment, remembering her last dream. “It's still confused, old memories. But it will soon be more recent ones and I'll be able to have real clues on where he is.” She explains.

Osferth nods and stares down to his plate. “It's really strange, once I met you, I stopped dreaming of you.”

“I did too. Once I'll have met Sihtric, I should be rid of it.” She shrugs and rests the bowl in the middle of the table.

“Really strange.” The monk repeats, a long silence taking his words away.

Though, to everyone's surprise, Finan breaks the silence. “Maybe it's because we are meant to meet each other.”

Victoria looks up from her plate to find that Finan is staring at her from across the table, his gaze intense but nonetheless soft. She tries not to blush, knowing she had the same thought a few days ago, that everything may be written.

His words stay in her mind until night time, when she watches him poke the fire before heading to bed. He removes his hoodie and lets it drop to the floor, doing the same with his t-shirt. Even if she has seen him a few times shirtless since they met, right now seeing the flames' light dance on his scarred skin really does something to her. For a week they've been teasing each other but never a step further but now she has enough of it. She stands up and grabs his wrist before he can take his sweater for the night. He raises a surprised and confused eyebrow at her, opening his mouth to speak but he doesn't even have the time to say a word before she captures his lips. He growls in their kiss when her palms graze over his chest to curve around his neck or to let her fingers curl in his hair.

The feel of his warm skin under her hands makes her crave to feel it against hers. She chuckles when he grips her hips to guide her to the bed. She drops on it, bringing him in with her fall. She hums when he kisses down her jaw and neck, closing her eyes to relish the sensation. Their breathing gets heavier and their hands grow more adventurous, eager to discover each other.

But when Vicky grabs the end of her pullover to get rid of it, Finan suddenly covers her hands to stop her movement. She frowns at him as he looks in the direction of the front door intently, looking alert.

“What is it?” She asks him, her breath still heavy.

“I've heard a noise.” He whispers and when she opens her mouth to demand more information about it, he prevents her with his hand. “Hush.” He orders her and she reluctantly obeys.

He removes his hand and leaves the bed, grabbing his sweater to put it back on, which makes Victoria roll her eyes in an annoyed. He takes the Colt resting on a furniture and carefully walks to a window, his back against the wall to not make himself visible from outside. Vicky stares at him intently, still waiting impatiently for more explanation. But the sudden sound of a vehicle arriving in the clearing startles her and Finan growls a bunch of Irish insults when a white light starts to alight the room from outside.

“What’s that?” She asks him in panic as she stands up but he doesn’t answer.

Finan moves to knock at Osferth’s door, but it opens before, revealing the confused monk. The two men exchange a nervous gaze before taking Finan’s previous position against the wall. Sophie joins Vicky near the bed, her teeth biting nervously into her lips. They can hear the agitation outside, men shouting orders to encircle the house while the blinding car’s light keeps alighting the area.

“Are they the men that attacked you in London?” Osferth asks after glancing outside.

“I don’t know, but I doubt they want us any better.” Finan grumbles, his fingers scratching his beard nervously.

Victoria makes a step further to catch the men’s attention. “We need to get out of here.” She declares, even if it’s a pretty obvious fact to all of them.

“The house is encircled, Vicky.” Finan replies, his finger making a loop. “It’s too risky.”

“But we don’t die!” She frowns, ready to run away at any moment, not fearing the bullets that could reach her if the men are armed, which they undoubtedly are.

Finan’s jaw twitches at her sudden rise of confidence but he doesn’t have the time to contradict her when Osferth replies: “But Sophie does.”

The three immortals turn their eyes to the French who just looked at them alternatively. “Don’t look at me like that!” She orders them, hating to be their weak point.

Finan shakes his head and stares back at Vicky. “It would be too risky anyway. If they are good shooters, the time we’ll need to come back will be enough to get caught. We need a bet-”

A voice rising in the sudden calm outside stops Finan in his sentence.

“We don’t want you any harm!” A man shouts with what Vicky guesses is a light german accent. A simple look at the two warriors is enough to tell her that they already disbelieve him. Though, they don’t reply and listen as he continues to speak. “All we want is Victoria Davis. We know she’s here.”

Vicky’s breath runs short at the mention of her name, her heart beating faster in fear as memories of London come back to her, a shiver running down her spine when she remembers the cold edge of the gun against her temple. Finan mumbles a bunch of insults, trying to have a better look on the outside.

“Do you think it’s them again?” Osferth asks the Irishman again and this time his answer is more certain.

“It must be.”

Finan glances at Vicky, with a worry she didn’t expect but it clearly increases hers. She can’t understand what they want from her, and why when they are encircling Osferth’s house they aren’t even asking for him. Questions without answers multiply in her mind and she feels her lungs starting to have difficulties filling with air. The man outside speaks more urgently and Finan looks back to Osferth.

“They can hide in the basement and we just try to convince them that she’s not here.” Finan proposes, which sounds like a lopsided plan but also their only one.

“What if they take you instead?” Sophie questions them, her hand resting on Vicky’s shoulder to try to ease her.

“They don’t want us, maybe don't even know us, the worst they can do is to kill us which isn’t that much of a problem.” He wryly answers before turning to Osferth to have his opinion.

The monk agrees, seeing no better way and they head to the hatch leading to the basement. While Osferth opens it quickly, Vicky grabs Finan’s arm nervously. She is the reason for this whole situation, of the risk they are taking and she is hating that. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to one of them. Maybe she should just obey the man to keep them safe. But she has no idea of what they want from her, why she is so precious to them that they have to engage the great means. She thinks of it, balancing the pros and cons, her fingers tightening around Finan’s arm.

“Vicky?” His voice makes her blink, coming back to reality. Sophie is already climbing down the ladder, Osferth handing her the oil lamp. “It’s goin’ to be alright.” Finan takes her chin between his fingers to force her to look at him and he smiles confidently.

She wishes she has the time to tell him how unsure she is about this plan but he kisses her forehead softly before pushing her to the basement opening. She joins Sophie downstairs, the room illuminated by the only weak flame of the lamp. It’s cold and she wraps her arms around her chest while Osferth closes the hatch. They can hear them push what Vicky supposes is the bed over the opening and she can’t help but bite her inner jaw, if they don’t come back, they are both stuck here.

In the basement, the time seems to stretch. Victoria knows it’s been only a few minutes since they are here but she feels like she’s been staring at Sophie pacing the length of the room for an hour. Vicky would like to find the words to reassure her, but she’s tormented by her own worry. So she sits on the floor, her back against the wall and tries to listen to what's happening outside. But it’s barely possible, the stones muffling any voice. Though, they perfectly hear the shot resounding in the whole forest. Sophie stops suddenly, her hands covering her mouth while Vicky looks up to the ceiling as footsteps create a real cacophony. Her heart beats terribly hard in her chest. Is it one of the men who’s been shot? She doubts it, so it must be Finan or Osferth. She knows they’ll be both fine in the end, they must be, so she just tries to slow her breath, as if the men upstairs could hear her if she dares to breathe too loudly.

After too much time to both women’s opinion, the footsteps fade and engines sound arise before a complete silence finally settles. It lasts for long other minutes during which Vicky can even hear her heartbeats in her ears. Sophie still hasn’t moved from her spot, her teeth sinking into her index to calm her anxiety. When they finally hear the bed being pulled away from the hatch, they both let out a heavy sigh of relief and walk to the ladder.

“They are gone.” They hear Osferth say as he opens the door.

“Osferth!” Sophie climbs up first and Vicky is outside as well, the French is hugging the monk tightly, his arms around her waist. “Are you fine?” She asks him, her voice breaking after sobbing. She takes a step back to check herself if he is indeed healthy, and her face falls when she notices the blood on his clothes. “Mon Dieu, you’re bleeding!”

She tries to take a better look at his wound but he catches her hands. She glares at him and before she can protest he cuts her off with a soft kiss. It releases her shoulder from a part of the tension she’s been carrying and when he moves away she is smiling shyly. Though, Osferth's expression doesn’t ease, his brows slightly furrowed and jaw strongly clenched. Vicky notices it before Sophie and starts to look around, though she already knows the answer. Finan isn’t here and Osferth is the one having been shot. Her throat tightens and her eyes start to sting as she feels the tears filling them at each of her blinks.

“Where’s Finan?” She finally asks Osferth, her breath stopping until he dares to answer.

“I… I don’t know.” He says, looking down shamefully. “They killed me and when I came back, they were gone and Finan too.”

Vicky doesn’t even give him the time to finish his sentence when she starts to walk to the front door, stepping outside and ignoring the breeze that is wrapped into her clothes as she starts to call Finan. She shouts his name while walking around the house and in the forest until there’s too many tears in her eyes and sobs prevent her to breathe correctly. Her heart is aching, torn apart between despair and guilt, and she has to lean against a tree to not fall over. She stays there for a while, sitting in the mud until Sophie comes to fetch her to hide from the starting rain.

A/N : Every peace comes to an end :((

Thanks for the comments! It's such a pleasure to read them and to answer them!! You are the bests 🥺💕 If you have any theory or even vague idea of what could happen next, I'm very curious to read them 👀👀

Tag :​ @for-bebbanburg @osferth @maggiescarborough ​ @finansarms ​ @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby @solinarimoon

[hhoriginalworks]

invisible string | g.w

The concept of soulmates and true love had always perplexed you, especially as someone whose parents talked about love like it was the loch ness monster. Your parents were two lit matches when you were growing up and the leaking gas surrounding them was their marriage. Even at seven, you weren't surprised when your mother disappeared in the night, leaving you brokenhearted and determined to not return to your daydreams about a prince sweeping you off your feet. You were truly the world's youngest pessimist, turning your nose up at the girls chasing boys for a kiss and keeping away from the rowdy boys kicking a football around the park.

Many would think such a bitter young child, kicking rocks into lakes and getting nauseous from fairytales, would want someone realistic to hang around. You agreed, thinking that you'd want someone just as angry at the world to stand in the kilometer-wide fields of wildflowers and scream with you. Then faith played a cruel, unusual card that tossed you into the path of George Weasley.

George Weasley had just turned ten when the two of you crossed paths, his legs were carrying as far away from his mum, who was yelling at him and Fred from turning Ron's teddy into a spider... again. He supposed it was his fault when he absolutely plowed into you, a nine-year-old reading on the dry ground, but, you weren't exactly nice enough for him to admit that.

"You absolute idiot, dear God, you nearly knock my damn teeth out," you shouted, brushing off the kicked-up dirt from your clothes.

George stared at you, his eyes wide as the words left your mouth- he rarely heard his parents curse, much less a little girl. In his defense, the only little girl he was around much was Ginny, and while she had a foul temper it rarely involved cursing.

"Well? Aren't you going to apologize?" You looked at him impatiently, maintaining contact with his brown eyes. He was an odd-looking boy, tall and lanky, while also drowned in ragged clothes that looked more like a cloak. "Well? Dear Lord, I don't have time for this."

It didn't take long for George to find his words, somewhat less stunned and, perhaps at that moment, purely intrigued. "Oi, wait up," George shouted, taking the few strides it took to end up beside you.

"Oh, how marvelous- you talk," you deadpanned, mimicking a tone that your father frequently used with you when you said something unintelligible. "Quit following me, Red."

"Red?"

"Well, I have to call you something, don't I?" You were halfway home at this point, and you weren't particularly fond of being home so soon or letting the boy know where you lived. You dug your heels in the dry ground, stopping so abruptly George was nearly two steps past you when he noticed.

"It's George- George Weasley," the redhead greeted, sticking out this pale freckled hand as he'd seen many adults do. You reminded him of an adult, and he frankly, couldn't help but want to make a good impression (well, good second impression). "I live at The Burrow- the slightly leaning building with the large garden."

You stared at the boy, dirt smudged on his nose and an odd shine in his eye. You knew the exact building he was talking about- your father frequently talked about how much of a monstrosity it was and how it brought down market value. Secretly, you thought it looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland, but you never mentioned it.

"Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N, but you hardly need to know my name," you replied cooly, an involuntary shiver running down as you realized you sounded just like your dad. "I should get home, and so should you to the, er, Burrow."

"Why? It is a Thursday, and it is hardly nine."

"School- my dad doesn't let me stay out this late on a school day," you shrugged, pushing through the knee-high foliage and towards your modest home. "Goodbye, Goerge."

"Goodbye, y/n/n," George shouted back, turning back to his own house deciding that he couldn't keep following you all night. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

His question was left unanswered, but the next evening, he found you sitting in the same spot as the night before with a different book and what looked to be a small smile.

Life seemed to get easier from that moment on- a sort of routine springing from the odd encounter. At a certain point, you almost forgot that he didn't seem to be quite normal, and at a certain point, he almost forgot that you were quite normal.

"You have to let me meet your mum and dad," George pleaded, following faithfully behind you as you collected flowers you planned on pressing and drying out. "I'll let you meet my mum and dad, but I'd have to warn you that dad gets a bit mad when muggles visit."

You stopped in your tracks, turning towards the redhead, who frequently let odd vocabulary slip around you. "Is that some sort of code? What in the world is a muggle?"

"Nothing, but now that I think about it, we should just go to your house," George quickly corrected, handing you the bunches of flowers he was holding for you. "Now would be nice- I have to use the loo."

You picked the petals off one of the wildflowers, silently deciding he could come into your house just to use the loo. "My mum isn't home," you began slowly, watching the redhead light up. "Hey! Don't get all grinning- you are only going in to use the loo. Come on, Red, we haven't got all day."

The two of you hiked in silence, the heat of summer beating down on the two of you. It didn't take long to arrive at your house, a small building that was considerably less eccentric than The Burrow. "Take off your shoes before you enter the house," you whispered to the redhead, slowly opening the creaky front door and guiding George inside.

George didn't have any expectations, except maybe someone homely and vibrant like his own home. Your home, however, was alien compared to The Burrow. The walls were painted white as if they were to remain completely sterile, and the furniture looks as though it were incased in some invisible plastic. "Where's your room?" George asked, unable to help himself from wondering if the entire house was this way.

"Nice try, Red," you hummed, tossing the flowers in a small box near what you considered to be your side of the couch. "Loo is to the right with the white door."

George walked down the halls, his eyes focusing on all the small details of the house. Frankly, there weren't many- a few family pictures of a man and your familiar face, but never a mum. George kept quiet, questions piling up before reaching for the doorknob of one of the many white doors. By the time he had slipped in, he realized it most certainly wasn't the loo.

"Did you find- oh, you went to the left," you spoke softly, your words fading as you joined the redhead in your room.

"It's nice," George commented earnestly, running his pale fingers along the edge of your posters. George meant it, enjoyed the seemingly human-ness of your room compared to the rest of your house.

Your bed was pushed to the end of the room just under the window, and your walls were painted in a bright yellow. It looked completely normal and youthful, but George still felt something was off. "I thought you said your mum just wasn't mum- she doesn't even look like she exists."

You messed with the end of your shirt before silently walking over to your mirror, pulling out a few small polaroids from the small space where the wall and mirror didn't touch. "She isn't home- she's in London with her boss and his kids. She's a researcher for a pharmaceutical company," you handed the prized possession to George, who was as quiet as when you first met him.

"She looks like you," George said simply, setting them back behind the mirror.

"Yeah, she does," you replied, a sense of solidarity forming between the two of you. "Here, we can play some board games."

There was something untouchable about your friendship with George, even as the boy seemed to mysteriously leave you without much warning and no communication. You didn't blame him though, knowing that older boys rarely wanted to hang out with childish girls- something your father reminded you when you told him about your friendship with George. George certainly didn't blame you because frankly there was bound to be the distance between you when a whole world you didn't know about sat between the two of you.

By the time, George left for Hogwarts the second time, you no longer felt like something was keeping you in England. Your protests about your father taking a promotion in France slowly stopped until you were clearing out boxes and moving on with your life. The two of you rarely talked at this point, yet, when you got a letter inviting you to some school for witches and wizards in France, he was the first person you thought of.

You didn't write to him though- not because you weren't sure how a letter addressed to The Burrow would arrive at its intended destination, but because you've seen what secrets can do to a relationship. You kept to yourself about it, letting go of George and attempting to embrace the world that now kept the two of you apart.

"Delphine, you honestly believed that Bulgaria would win? Ha- I laugh at you," you giggled, wrapping an arm loosely around your Ombrelune housemate at Beauxbaton. "Very poor judgment, my love."

The blonde shook her head at you, nudging your shoulder gently and pointing towards a group of celebrating Irish. "Why don't you go over there, you Brit," Delphine teased. "Honestly, y/n, in France your accent is hardly noticeable, but the minute we take a portkey over here you're incomprehensible."

"It's the Devon accent, m'love," you grinned, jumping as the sound of an explosion boomed behind you. "Delphine, something is happening- look over there."

Something was happening- the cheerful noise of celebration quickly turned to screams of terror. Delphine held you closely, mumbling senseless French into your ear as the two of you attempted to navigate the crowd.

"Targeting muggleborns and muggles," a nearby voice shouted, eliciting more panic from the crowd and you.

"Delphine, you need to head somewhere else- to the forest," you shouted, pushing away the blonde. "You can't be near me if they somehow find out that I'm-I'm-"

"No- I don't leave your side," you blonde interrupted, holding tighter onto your arm as her petite frame pushed against the crowd.

You nodded your head, the two of your holding onto each other as the sea of fear and chaos stirred around you. Your feet were nearly brushing the edge of the forest when you saw it, a familiar grouping mop of red hair and brown eyes. You felt yourself slip away from the fear and reality of the nightmare you were living as you ran towards the slowly disappearing boy.

"Y/N? Where are you?" Delphine screeched, quickly finding your arms again and pulling you back toward the wooded coverage. "You can't just run off- come on, let's find my Papa."

You nodded your head, your eyes still pinned on where you swore you saw the boy that spent hours with you in the Devon fields of wildflowers. Delphine repeated your name tugging on your arm relentlessly until you were finally compliant and focused back on the present.

The horrors of that night quickly reminded you of your place in the wizarding world, sparking anger that reminded you of how you felt as a child. Anger for finding a place that finally made you let go of your bitterness towards the world, only to find a new bitterness. A bitterness that revolved around the two worlds that you were equally torn between, both filled with people that mattered to you. It drove you partially to madness, but mostly to the notion that you wanted peace in at least one of your worlds.

That night sparked more than anger, and it showed in the work you began to put out at Beauxbaton. You refused the trip to Hogwarts for a Triwizard Tournament, instead choosing to spend hours studying for your exams. You spent nights hunched over a desk, learning how to get where you wanted to make the changes that you wanted to see in the Wizarding World. You sacrificed going back to your childhood home with your dad, and in the end, your chooses landed you a spot in the French Ministry.

"Fleur, I'm doing what I can to get you some people from the French Ministry to help, but frankly, most don't see this as their fight," you argued back, resting your head against your arms. "I know that you're keeping safe in that cottage until you're needed, but it would help if you could reach out to some alumni. The minister doesn't want government workers getting involved and they're hesitant to go against his indirect orders."

"We need you to win, love. Delphine died for this cause, and I know that many know many others. I have to go, but please, help us," Fleur whispered back, using the muggle cellphone you gave her. Perhaps it put you at risk, but with your very public stances for better muggle-magical relations, you were hardly concerned about that. "Goodbye, and I'll let you know when things worsen."

You hung up the phone, the familiar aching of your head returning and you drafted your speech to help get the British ministry back where they needed. "How did it get this far?" You asked yourself, holding the quill to the tan parchment. Your eyes were weighted down with dark bags, and your hand was heavy from hundreds of writings that were turned down the moment you mentioned war.

You set down the parchment, your eyes scanning your messy desk until they landed on two small polaroids- one with your mum and one with George. The two of you were so young, and now at nineteen with blood on your choices and ministry desk, you craved innocence. You craved the way that George made you forget the worst parts of life- you craved your youth.

You remember Fleur's call like a nightmare, her voice high and desperate for you. You always wanted to go back to England, to your home, but not like this. Not with your hands shaking as you attempted to tell your dad goodbye, and not you sending a letter saying 'I love you' to your mum. You arrived at Hogwarts with tears in your eyes as you walked into the battlefield that had children already lying dead before you. You arrived at Hogwarts with a wild, unkept fury that you'd been holding deep within as a kid.

"Stupefy." The words left your mouth just as easy as any bout of laughter. The world came crashing down with each cut, curse, and scream from yourself and the children that fought around you.

Then, it ended. The fight was over, and the blanket of grief replaced the anger. The loss of innocence settled in between you, a nineteen-year-old cradling the fourth-year who fell at the last minute, and the others around you. There, at that moment, everything you felt dissipated leaving you with nothing but loneliness.

"You were so good," Fleur mumbled, holding your face as someone lifted the child out of your lap. "So good. You did so great, m'love."

Fleur continued to whisper French nothings into your ear as you sob over some child you didn't know. As you sob over the lives lost, and the feeling that you could've done so much more. "I can't go back to the ministry," you sniffled, rubbing the tears off your cheeks. "I begged for their best duelers, and they said they couldn't provide it because they could die. How- how can I go back to a government like that."

"Shush, come back here with Bill and me. Bill's father works in the ministry, and we can find you someplace," Fleur cooed, lifting you off the ground. "Let's go find Bill."

The two of you trudged through the ruins, past the families that were mourning, and into the great hall where everyone was together. Delphine talked about how everyone at Hogwarts was separated from each other, but you would've never known. People were all together crying, hugging, and what you assumed to be contemplating.

You sat down at the nearest table, your knees crying for rest and your body begging to sleep. "Thank you," you mumbled to no one in particular- perhaps, even the fate that once brought you and George together. You never really believe in luck or fate, but here, in the moment, it felt fitting.

"Y/N?" You turned around slowly, your mind working faster than your body. "It's you- you're here."

George Weasley. In all of his glory and grief, the redhead stood before you, radiating the feeling of home. He looked nearly the same, minus his one ear slightly uneven with the other, and a weak look of disbelief on his face.

"Quit following me, Red," you breathed, jumping from the bench and wrapping your arms around him.

"What-what are you doing here," George mumbled into your head, his arms squeezing you as if he didn't believe you were entirely real.

"You didn't think you could be all magical without your best friend- I got my letter to Beauxbaton a day after I moved to France," you explained, pulling away from the lanky redhead. "I wanted to tell you, but I-I thought you were a pas de magie. A-a, what's the word you used to call me?"

"A muggle? You thought that I was a muggle? I used to make you show me how to use a can opener for entertainment," George chuckled in disbelief.

You looked down at your shoes, slightly embarrassed you never connected the dots. "I just thought you were the homeschooled type," you replied half-heartedly. You looked around quicking sobering up from the high of seeing George. "Did-did you lose anyone?"

George looked at you, a tight smile on his lips. "No- Fred, you remember my twin, right? He, um, is getting taken to St. Mungo's, and they are talking amputation of his right leg. He'll-he'll be okay."

You nodded your head, wiping away a tear that fell down George's cheek. "We'll be okay, George."

The aftermath of the war resonated with the wizarding world- you saw it first-hand in England after you moved back home. You supposed that it was a process of healing, knowing that you had to go through it yourself. Your heart aches for the families, for the Weasleys, who watched Fred have to go through relearning how to live his life.

The war brought so much darkness that stained the lives of many, creating nightmares that still crept into everyday life. The war also brought you back home- back to George, who suddenly found himself ten years old again and madly in love.

"You can stay here longer," George protested, grabbing the Daily Prophet from you. You had been searching for a place that wasn't George and Fred's flat for much longer than you cared to admit. It should've been an easy task, but there always seemed to be something missing.

"I can't mooch off of you two forever," you hummed in response, grabbing a piece of toast from the table. "It's bad enough that I haven't decided whether or not to take that position in the ministry."

"Boring," Fred sang from the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Just work for us- you're doing a brilliant job helping us with keeping the books. We'll hire you on full time."

You shook your head at the redheads, who looked at you with identical begging looks. "I want to do something I love, and while I love you guys, I don't love your business half as much as you do. I was thinking I would get a better offer from the ministry than basically a glorified paper-pusher. No matter- I guess I could open up a magical firm, and practice some magical law."

"Boring," George teased, knocking knees with you under the table.

"What what do you find fun?" You questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Having you live with me," George answered immediately, his face turning red as Fred not-so-subtly coughed out, 'whipped.'

"I like living with you, too, George," you whispered, placing a hand on top of his. "I mean it- coming back here to be with you makes me feel like I'm nine years old again."

Fred shook his head at the two of you, an obvious smile painted on his lips and he left to open the shop. Fred had put up with a lot since the Battle of Hogwarts, but the worst thing was seeing his brother so helplessly in love with someone who felt the same way.

"I meant what I said about you staying longer, or even forever. Think about it, y/n," George said, turning towards you. "You think everything is wrong with those flats you've looked at. Don't you think that deep down you just want to stay here- stay with me, and, er, Fred."

You shook her head, the familiar warm feeling you got from George settling in your chest. "I-I don't know," you admitted, wringing your hands. "I just don't want to-to get attached."

"What's so wrong with getting attached," George mumbled, grabbing your hands and gently holding them. "Y/N, I am so attached to you, and I have been since the moment I ran into you. Just stay, and- and, we'll figure out a way to make this work."

"You can't make two people work out," you chuckled, sliding your hands out of George's and getting up. George mirrored your actions and stepped closer to you, reminding you of the way he used to follow you around as a kid. "My mum and dad tried-"

"No, they didn't and you know that."

"George, they-"

"We're not them," George stated adamantly. "We're not them because somehow through all of this confusion, all of this fighting, all of this hate and anger- we found each other again. There's an invisible string tying us together, and that's how I know we're not them."

"I don't believe in soulmates," you mumbled, suddenly aware of how close George was.

"You used to not believe in magic," George replied nonchalantly, using his index finger to raise your chin. "You used to not believe in dragons, in flying, in teleportation. Most of all, you used to not believe in having a best friend, but I changed your mind about that. Y/N, let me change your mind about soulmates."

You closed your eyes as George pressed his lips against yours, evoking a feeling that couldn't be put into worlds. It felt like collecting flowers with him, dancing with Delphine, and winning the war. It felt like coming home after years of running, but it mostly, felt like George Weasley loving you infinitely.

"Not soulmates," you corrected, pulling away slowly and out of breath. "An invisible string."

[onereallygoodlambonastick]

allison & kevin general headcanons

allison is probably the only fox that calls kevin names beyond “fucker”, “asshole” or “exy freak”. diversified stuff like himbo, boy wonder, le crétin, french kid, nerd but in irish,

kevin and allison are the cattiest ppl around. boy oh boy once they hit the court as a double-team, you bet they’re gonna mouth your dignity off

not before they beat it out of u in a wicked combo move tho. score a goal, knock racquets, and then send u a smug ass look at the same time thru their helmets like. HA

neil might be like whiplash but kevin and allison? they’ll gut u and leave u hanging over a smoking hot tar pit

they’re just really good at shit-talking. occasionally neil is even impressed. ultimately andrew is the one who makes offended players back off if they try to physically one-up kevin

eventually kevin has him extend this courtesy to allison as well

but she usually holds her own fine without any intervention

she’s got renee too

they both love going clubbing. allison’s the one who convinces kevin to start dancing again. u can often find them jamming it out on the floor

if neil and andrew tag along, well. u can find them at a good vantage point

allison & kevin hold their drink reaaaaaally well. they become drinking buddies (with renee as chaperone and supervisor) aside from kevin’s usual (aaron and nicky). 

kevin plays stupid alcohol games with allison. like really dumb shit

arm-wrestling (devolves into them duking it out), dare and dare, watch neil spar with matt and take a shot everytime he says “i’m fine”, drunkenly recite the treaty of Versailles (kevin in french, allison in english, it does not occur to either of them that they can’t fact check each other if they don’t do it in a language the other person understands)

cosmetics! allison introduces kevin to her make-up hoard. every so often (every week.) kevin drops by her dorm room to get his nails painted whatever he’s feeling

kevin starts using his nails as a passive aggressive way to notify his boyfriends’ of his ~emotions~ w/o having Serious Conversations at 3AM

skirts

kevin does not like wearing neon colors, so allison gets him pastel-colored stuff

earrings! ear piercings!

allison, along with renee, while empathetic, Take No Bullshit with his clear alcoholism. does not enable him to drink every single time he breaks down like andrew or wymack might. either puts him to bed with melatonin, tea, hot cocoa, or whatever. but not vodka or rum

he cooperates, mostly. working on this with Bee too at some point in post-canon. Bee gets him to a specialist

this policy loosens if they go clubbing but still. that’s why renee is there to keep them in check

it started as a joke but they routinely send each other ridiculously expensive gifts and try to one-up each other. like kevin might send her one (1) dress shoe that costs $1100 and she send him one that’s made from gold. 

(or she’ll just send him a rental. lol)

in the same vein they take each other shopping and help each other pick out gifts for their loved ones. it’s cute ok

[cartoonfangirl1218]

If Bombshells ever returned, maybe to explore the aftereffects of the war. Here are some superheroines and supervillainesses that could join the fight into the new era. The Cold War.

Jesse Quick; Jesse would totally join the families providing their homes to the displaced Jews of Europe while at the same time protecting her city from all sorts of crime. But her storyline might come with learning that in her need to help everyone and solving everyone's problems since she has the technology and the privlege, well... kinda appears as a white savior. At least to Lisa Snart which brings me to... 

Golden Glider: Well I think we can all guess that Lisa has a Jewish-like last name and while her big bro, Captain Cold, Leonard was working with the Nazis, I am so arguing that he was just conveinately converting in order to save his skin and his sister's. Anyway with her brother in jail and Europe in shambles after the war, Lisa can travel to America with other displaced Jews. Some families were kind enough to "foster" these peoples which is where Jesse comes in. Well Lisa isn't the type to accept the "pity" and dislikes how priviliged a life, Jesse leads. Then comes a whole new yet classic Flash vs the Rogues rivalry.  

Nyssa ah Gul: How can we forget another misplaced Jew. Well not Jew but Ra ah Gul's other daughter, Nyssa, whose entire adopted family died in the concentration camps while Ra was off whatevering with the Lazerus Pit. But since Ra's long gone from the picture, I suppose Nyssa will have to seek answers from Talia about why she didn't try to help her or contact her after finding out they were sisters. 

Mya: Meanwhile after WWII, India is revving up for a revolution after being used and abused by the British Empire in a war they didn't even want to be in. And after being in the war, STILL treated like second class citizens. That's why Myra, prodigy of Shiva is up to lead a revolution for her people.

Gypsy: Let’s not forget about all the other groups that Nazis were prejudiced against. Cynthia Reynolds or "Gypsy" as the SS slurred against her and her Romanian family. But with Europe's landscape in disarray, Cynthia can use her earth-bending powers to help and educate people that she is more than the fortune telling, pick pocketing stereotype that the world believes.

Volcana: Now I know we didn't really get into Italy's part in WWII, but someone with volcano powers would totally be working in Italy, specifically Pompeii. The one issue is that, like in her origin story, she was working for Mussolini against her will and the Italian still wants their "super weapon" under lock and key in case of WWIII. 

Thorn: Meanwhile the late 40s-early 50s is totally not a time to be woman with a mental illness. Especially when the "understanding" doctors try to lobtomize you. So Roselyn Forrest's double personality disorder is a big problem in her life. Especially since her second personality is a scythe weilding maniac and her uncle wants to put her in an institution. Added to the fact that she is still suffering under Irish discrimination. Hopefully the Batgirls can help, not only change child labor laws, but views on mental illness too.  Giganta: A gorilla turned into a girl. Why shouldn't that be an experiment by the crazy Americans or Russians in a way to beat each other as the world superpower. Well technically the Russians wanted to send a gorilla into space and beat the Americans, but they thought a woman astronaut (or as they called cosmonaut) would make them look better. (All true look up Valentina , first woman in space). But besides being part of the space race, Giganta can bring spotlight to Africa where she was born, and which is being divided by the major world powers for exploitation. 

Crimson Fox: Constance D' Amis, French heiress would be part of the small army of woman workers during the YALTA conferance trying to get their say into how to rebuild Europe for the benefit of all. Who knows, maybe she even talked to Selina Delgatti. Hey French heiresses and Italian heiresses must know each other. Plus she expels hormones that can make anyone under her thrall which leads me to...

Queen Bee: Another pheromone expelling woman. A villainess though. Africa wasn't the only one being exploited and colonized. The former Ottoman Empire was being exploited for its oil and Lebenon is taken over by the French (Basically ample reason for Constance to go to Lebenon and fight Queen Bee). And the former queen is certainly not above going to the Russians to fight the US/Europe to get her country back. Or just team up with Lex Luthor to take down Supergirl and get her country back. I just imagine Lex and --- to be like an evil Mr.Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet okay. All suave, witty banter. It makes sense in my head.

Catherine Colbert: A bit like Lois Lane, Catherine is an everygirl. Well if the everygirl was a daughter of an dimplomat and had her sights on making a name for herself in NASA and trying to avoid the pressures of mysgonistic men that woman aren't fit for government. Being told that she is too emotional and should stay in the kicthen, Catherine rebelled by becoming a stone faced, cutting ice queen in the diplomacy track and also a horrible cook. Artemis and Cheshire: I'm taking a bit from the YJ story in that Artemis and Cheshire are half-french, half-Vietnamese. Since their abusive father was loyal to the Nazis, he disowned them and cast off their Vietnamese mother in Japanese concentration camps. While Artemis made it to America and tried to stay on the good ol American democratic way (while fighting petty looters in the streets of Gotham as one does), Cheshire went to Vietnam where she works as an assasin, for the communists and the non-communists. It doesn't matter to her as long as she gets paid. But times are changing in Vietnam as the fights about communism between the North Vietnamese and South escalate. 

Lady Blackhawk: Zinda Blake, hero of WWII and the Blackhawk brigade comes home to nothing. No money. No pension. No respect. Life as a veteran has no perks since no one has money to pay in Europe. Plus she'd still be trying to adjust to civilian life after nonstop combat and the inevitable PTSD while the Germany she loved is split into two. Hopefully Rudi and Helen will help to keep her in a safe place until she can get back on her feet.  Miss Martian: While I don't know whose in Harley, Ivy and Viktoria's circus, I feel like Miss Martian would find a safe haven there. While she did not experience the WWII, she did experience a similar prejudice and genocide on Mars being a white martian so I bet she can help with reprations. Or just join Starfire on the fire squad...wait nevermind. Fire is Martian weakness. Well at least have her and Starfire being alien girlfriends exploring the strange Earth world together.

Rocket: Again, haven't had the joy of reading the final vol of Bombshells United so I don't know exactly what Bumblebee has been up to nor the racism she had probably experienced. But Raquel would be in a similar boat. An African American teen in an unjust pre-Civil Rights movement society with the added difficulties of teen mom hood. I really want some spotlight on her whether she joins the Batgirls or strike out on her own or helps Icon just like in the comics.

Mercy Graves: Alongside Lex wherever he is, I want a similar debut to what Mercy did in JL. Mercy takes over LexCorps during Luthor's absence, absolutely crushes it and makes it more of a success than Luthor ever did because she is not obsessed with the Kryptonian heroes. Maybe she even teams up with Waller? Who knows? Or even have two heads, Mercy Graves and Lena Luthor, making millions and making plans, evil or no, always ending on top.

Silver Banshee: A woman whose screams causes people to age. How they could NOT use her in a war, I do not know. But I picture Siobhan's arc going something like after her family dies in battle or something or other, she taps into her genetic banshee powers. Fueled with grief/cynicsm/vengeance she travels around the Iron Curtain, causing death since death is a mercy compared to living in destitute misery.

Plastique and Roxy Rocket: One is a Canadian explosives expert, another just really, really loves rockets. Both would be very useful on either side of the Cold War. They're traditionally illanesses so I could see them as double agents like Cheshire, working for whoever pays the most for their time.

Roulette: Roulette’s big thing is gambling on illegal cage fighting activities. Well lets up the ante by having her big gamble being stoking US/Russian tensions. After all the longer the war goes on, the more she gets paid for her information on the other side, her contacts for weapons, her spies etc. She'd be rolling in dough, and loving it even when under threat of nuclear destruction.

Fire and Ice: No idea how the heck they would fit in to a post WWII world. But let's suppose they want to escape Brazil and Antartica respectively to be able to help out in the aftermath after doing nothing during the war. Jessica Cruz and Aresia vs Star Sapphire Meanwhile with Hal Jordan out of the picture, let's have the infamous Green Lantern vs Star Sapphire rivalry again.

Lady Shiva: Street fighter, assassin, mother of the future Batwoman, Cassandra Cain. Lady Shiva must be part of the Cold War. She is bit of a anti-hero so I doubt anyone would know where her loyalties truly lie, but she'd be on the side of whoever her daughter wishes to protect.

Cassandra Cain: The new Black Bat, continue Katy Kane's work, and the Batgirl's work, and all the work that needs to be done after WWII. She's the new heroine.