#forging companies England

[cpfltvs]

Understanding Industrial Gear Forging: Strength and Precision in Motion

Industrial gear forging is a process that enhances the strength, durability, and precision of gears used in heavy machinery and industrial applications. By shaping metal under intense heat and pressure, forged gears boast superior performance compared to cast or machined alternatives.

Key benefits include:

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Looking for quality? Choose forging for gears that keep industries moving seamlessly! #GearForging #IndustrialInnovation #PrecisionEngineering

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Actor Matthew Settle, having personally auditioned with Tom Hanks for a number of leading roles, won the part by delivering steely performances of key scenes. During the casting process, Hanks branded Speirs “a dark character.” Settle unequivocally embraced this categorization as filming commenced in England.

[...]Ron conveyed to Dick. “This TV business is all smoke and mirrors anyway. They can put my nametag on some guy and pretend it is Sparky. They are faking the combat scenes with a stand-in playing Sparky, so why not finish it up that way? I am just not up to the hassle and pressure of an interview. This is not what you want to hear, but I want to be candid about my situation.” Few were more disappointed in Speirs’s decision than Matthew Settle. Many of his fellow actors forged enriching relationships with the veterans they portrayed. Settle was denied this luxury. “It seemed as though he wanted to shy away from the whole process of Band of Brothers,” Settle later noted of Speirs. “He wasn’t quite sure in what light it would leave him.” Because filmmakers lacked Speirs’s direct input regarding his more controversial traits, they “presented the idea to the audience and let them decide whether or not he had killed prisoners and perhaps his own men,” said Settle. “I think that was tastefully done. But perhaps that was why he wasn’t open to being spoken to.”

The absence of Settle’s mysterious character in episode one of Band of Brothers permitted the actor to discover his character in other ways. While the rest of the cast shot the series introduction in England, Settle retraced Speirs’s steps across Europe on an odyssey of his own. He visited France, toured museums, and sought out sites where Speirs had fought. Settle ventured into the Bois Jacques, discovered Easy Company’s foxholes, and was warned to watch out for live ordnance as he did so. At Foy—where Speirs embarked on his iconic run—the actor traversed the wide field and was amazed to see dwellings in town that still bore scars of battle. He ventured all the way to the Eagle’s Nest in Germany. “It made it really come to life for me,” Settle said of the journey. “I’m very happy that I was able to do that.”

Deprived of the ability to converse with Speirs, Settle searched for perspectives on leadership in battle. In addition to reading several Ambrose books, he leaned on Captain Dale Dye—the film’s technical advisor who himself was a decorated combat veteran. “You gotta help me find this guy,” Settle implored to Dye. “Who is he? What’s his tone?” The subsequent coaching greatly benefited his performance: “I had a natural finality that served his character well.” On film, Speirs was stern, direct, and honest. Settle relished interpreting the Speirs mystique—a colorful balance of bravery and secrets. He naturally considers the Speirs scene at Foy his favorite of the miniseries.

[...]A 1,000-person tent was erected on site for a gala and the screening of a ninety-minute compilation of Band of Brothers scenes. Amid all the activities, Matthew Settle finally conversed with his character in the flesh. “When I actually met Speirs, he seemed like he was stoic and quiet and passive,” Settle recalled. “He definitely seemed like a person that may have been hurt once or twice in his life.” The actor’s observations of Speirs during the debut itself were even more affecting. “I sat next to him and Winters as they watched the invasion on screen together,” said Settle. “I honestly just watched the two of them. I couldn’t help myself…. It was powerful. They were reliving it.”

Settle regretted that his interactions with Ron were so fleeting. “I never really got into any deep conversations because Speirs was always very hesitant to talk about anything deeper than just the weather. A lot of the vets would approach him and he would say, ‘Which war?’ I don’t know if he was pretending not to remember them or what.” Speirs’s question was likely an earnest effort to distinguish those who served under him at different stages of his career. Self-consciousness of his hearing loss further precluded him from active conversation.

~ Jared Frederick & Erik Dorr

[duckprintspress]

Let’s Get Spoopy! 6 Queer Gothic Books for Halloween!

Happy Halloween, everyone! We did a queer horror-themed rec list in August to celebrate Frankenstein Day, so we thought we’d try something a little different: queer gothic stories! Here are our six recommendations for queer gothic works. Five Duck Prints Press folks contributed recommendations to this list.

Carmilla by J. Sheridan Le Fanu

In a lonely castle deep in the Styrian forest, Laura leads a solitary life with only her elderly father for company – until a moonlit night brings an unexpected guest to the schloss. At first Laura is glad to finally have a female companion of her own age, but her new friend’s strange habits and eerie nocturnal wanderings quickly become unsettling, and soon a ghastly truth is revealed.

What Manner of Man by St. John Starling

This is What Manner of Man, a queer vampire romance novel about an innocent priest sent to a remote island to exorcise the demons that are allegedly tormenting the villagers — but what happens when the priest begins to suspect his host, the mysterious, nocturnal lord of the local manor, may have invited him another reason entirely? And what happens when the supposedly celibate priest finds he cannot resist his host’s powerful charms?

Unspeakable: A Queer Gothic Anthology

Unspeakable contains eighteen Gothic tales with uncanny twists and characters that creep under your skin. Its stories feature sapphic ghosts, terrifying creatures of the sea, and haunted houses concealing their own secrets. Whether you’re looking for your non-binary knight in shining armour or a poly family to murder with, Unspeakable showcases the best contemporary Gothic queer short fiction.

Even dark tales deserve their time in the sun.

A Dowry of Blood by S. T. Gibson

Saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, Constanta is transformed from a medieval peasant into a bride fit for an undying king. But when Dracula draws a cunning aristocrat and a starving artist into his web of passion and deceit, Constanta realizes that her beloved is capable of terrible things. Finding comfort in the arms of her rival consorts, she begins to unravel their husband’s dark secrets.

With the lives of everyone she loves on the line, Constanta will have to choose between her own freedom and her love for her husband. But bonds forged by blood can only be broken by death.

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh

There is a Wild Man who lives in the deep quiet of Greenhollow, and he listens to the wood. Tobias, tethered to the forest, does not dwell on his past life, but he lives a perfectly unremarkable existence with his cottage, his cat, and his dryads.

When Greenhollow Hall acquires a handsome, intensely curious new owner in Henry Silver, everything changes. Old secrets better left buried are dug up, and Tobias is forced to reckon with his troubled past, both the green magic of the woods and the dark things that rest in its heart.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

In this celebrated work Wilde forged a devastating portrait of the effects of evil and debauchery on a young aesthete in late-19th-century England. Combining elements of the Gothic horror novel and decadent French fiction, the book centers on a striking premise: As Dorian Gray sinks into a life of crime and gross sensuality, his body retains perfect youth and vigor while his recently painted portrait grows day by day into a hideous record of evil, which he must keep hidden from the world. For over a century, this mesmerizing tale of horror and suspense has enjoyed wide popularity. It ranks as one of Wilde’s most important creations and among the classic achievements of its kind.

TELL US MORE QUEER GOTHIC BOOKS!

These books have been added to our queer horror shelf on Goodreads and our affiliate recommendation list on Bookshop.org!

[whencyclopedia]

Nathanael Greene

Nathanael Greene (1742-1786) was a general of the Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783). One of George Washington's most trusted subordinates, Greene served capably as Quartermaster General before leading the southern American army during the final years of the war. He is often considered the second-best American Revolutionary general, behind only Washington himself.

Early Life

Greene was born on 7 August 1742 on Forge Farm, near Potowomut Creek in the township of Warwick, Rhode Island. He was the third of eight sons born to Nathanael Greene Sr., a prosperous farmer and ardent Quaker; indeed, the father's piety must have been generational, as Greene's ancestors had initially fled England in 1635 to escape religious persecution. Nathanael Greene Sr., lived with his children and second wife, Mary Mott Greene (mother to the younger Nathanael), on the family farm, which had turned into a lucrative enterprise; by the time the younger Nathanael was born, the farm included a farmhouse, a general store, a gristmill, a sawmill, and a forge. The forge, which produced anchors and chains, was by far the most profitable aspect of the family business, employing many workers and eventually becoming one of the foremost businesses in Rhode Island.

As a child, the younger Nathanael had a thirst for education that could not be quenched by his father's strict Quakerism. As Greene would later recall:

My father was a man had an excellent understanding and was governed in his conduct by humanity and kind benevolence. But his mind was overshadowed with prejudices against literary accomplishments.

(quoted in McCullough, 21)

As a result of his father's 'prejudices', Nathanael and his brothers were not sent to school but were instead put to work in the fields. This did not stop Greene from seeking out knowledge on his own; under the guidance of Ezra Stiles, future president of Yale College, Greene became a voracious reader. Anytime he was not required to work in the fields or at the forge, Greene had his nose buried in a book, reading classical literature as well as the more recent philosophical works that defined the Age of Enlightenment. He was also fond of studying mathematics, history, and law.

The autodidactic Greene grew into a handsome, robust man nearly six feet (183 cm) tall, with strong arms, a broad forehead, and "fine blue eyes" (McCullough, 22). A childhood accident left him with a slight limp in his right leg, his right eye was cloudy as an effect of smallpox inoculation, and he often suffered from asthma attacks and poor health. Yet he was nevertheless a charismatic and jolly young man who was often found in the company of women. By 1770, Greene had proved industrious enough for his father to put him in charge of a second family-owned foundry in the town of Coventry, Rhode Island. When Nathanael Greene Sr., died later that same year, Greene and his brothers inherited the entire family business. In 1774, Greene courted and married the pretty 19-year-old Catherine 'Caty' Littlefield, with whom he would have seven children between 1776 and 1786.

Continue reading...

[orphanheirs]

Official WIP Intro Post

General Stuff:

Working title: Lambswool

Genre: dark fantasy, gothic horror, folk horror, historical fiction

Quick run down: In regency England, a misfit half-demon child belonging to a species of beings who guard the doors between the world(s) of the living and the dead enters the mortal world. An amateur magician unleashes an entity determined to tear apart the delicate balance between realms. Shit hits the fan.

Vibes: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Over the Garden Wall, The Witch, Interview With the Vampire (movie), The Company of Wolves, The Secret Garden, Sleepy Hollow, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, Labyrinth, Return To Oz

POV: Multiple POVs, third person, interlaced with diary entries and letters--so partially an epistolary novel

Some themes: death, breaking the cycle of generational trauma, forging one's own identity, adolescence, being the black sheep, being the sacrificial lamb, found family, isolation, anti-capitalism/colonialism, queerness, oppression, the "other", inversion of normativity, the predator archetype, "the empowered child", control/power, grappling with fate and history, making the future, etc...

Features: character driven, nobody's really the "hero" or "good guy" (whole point is everyone's a person/being the world traditionally sees as "wicked" or "evil"), fairies, witchcraft, sorcery, Stonehenge, romanticism, castles, ruined monasteries, graveyards, magic lantern shows, hearth cooking, early industrial revolution, early science, ballrooms, candelabras, desolate moors, ghosts, demons, consumption, melancholia, friends who are each others' beloathed, souling/trick-or-treating, dandies, dying 19th century waifs taking control of their own destiny, time travel, pretty dresses, the taste of butter, deals with the devil AND MORE

Story:

Set-up: England, 1810. The nation has reached a strength and prosperity never before seen, and advancements in technology and science are rapidly pushing the 18th century into the dizzying 19th. Industrialization is changing the fabric of life in hardly conceivable ways, and amidst the rise of capitalistic modernity it seems the belief in a lively and ever-present spirit world --so ubiquitous in previous centuries-- is under serious threat. But with upsets like mass crop failures, the ongoing Napoleonic wars, and multiple uprisings in recent memory, anxieties in this rapidly changing world are high, with some turning to evangelicalism and reactionary moralizing. Many believe the end of the world must be near arrival. Meanwhile, the world continues to largely be lit by fire, and one must still use the moon to light their way on a country road at night. And in the country there are those who still believe in quaint things like the Fair Folk and practice primitive charms. And in these dark places, in these cracks between the veil, tucked in the corners of the tangible, there are ancient supernatural forces yet lying in wait to stake their claim on the land of the living once again.

Plot (will change/be added to as I develop more): A dying child summons a demon in his bedroom to help him run away from home and finds himself bound to serve the spirit. After spending his whole life within the walls of his family's mansion, he's simultaneously thrust into both the mortal world of his time and into that of the Other Side. After some time spent feverishly drinking from the cup of life to the point of excess with the encouragement of his new demon companion and plunging headfirst into delicious immoral behavior that flies in the face of the oppressive society of his time, he thinks he's made himself a pretty good deal. But soon he learns that the demon is interested in involving him in more than just juvenile delinquency, and in fact intends to usher in a new era where evil spirits, the dead, and Other Things will freely meddle with and torment the living. What's more, there's a species of guardian spirits who have previously prevented this from happening--ones who open and close the door between worlds in a controlled manner, ones who, particularly, steward the yearly lifting of the veil that occurs on Halloween/Samhain. And the demon intends to destroy them all, starting with a young member of their race who has foolishly entered the mortal realm, thus breaking an ancient covenant. The child is sent to search for and manipulate this being into the demon's clutches, which he finds more difficult than he anticipated when he accidentally makes the first friend he's ever had in the process. The two then journey around England, with the human child acting as the being's guide through messy mortal life. Together they survive off of the victuals they scare out of hapless cottagers they haunt along the way while the demon works to recruit more earthly and unearthly helpers to its scheme. It all leads up to a climax where the fate of the worlds, and of Halloween, is decided. There's also definitely going to be subplots and backstories.

Characters (so far) with example images:

Tristan:

A sickly, precocious 12 year old shut up in the gilded, but stifling halls of his family's country estate, Tristan is determined to do ANYTHING to liberate himself and live some life before he drops dead from his ailments. Even if it means summoning dark forces to help him escape into the outside world. Even if it means serving the infernal entity he conjured and helping it carry out its nefarious schemes. In fact this suits Tristan just fine. That is until he meets the demon's number one target.. [Tag: #tristan]

Crispin:

[combine image 1 and 2 in your head to get an idea of Crispin's unhuman appearance.]

A young member of a species of demon/human hybrids who strive to keep balance between the spirit and mortal realms. About 10 years old in mortal time. About ??? years old in nonmortal time. He escapes the horrors of his family's Hellish castle located in a limbo-like space, and enters our world. In 1810 his clothing and speech are about 200 years out of date. His nature differs from others of his species, so when he stumbles upon mortals, he yearns to join in with them..which is made a just a bit difficult owing to his monstrous appearance and the fact that doing so goes against every tenet of his kind. [Tag: #crispin]

Demon/Spirit (no name yet):

A Being of mysterious and extremely antique origin. Banished and chained beneath a neolithic ritual site for thousands of years due to its destructive intentions and dangerous power. Freed by the summoning of a little shit named Tristan. Takes the form of a comely young man. Immediately intends on being up to no good again; might fuck around and usher in the apocalypse. [Tag: #cult]

Witch (no name yet):

A seeress, cunning woman, and good old fashioned witch, she's a young woman living in an isolated cottage at the edge of a wood leading into Faerie. She finds herself the reluctant keeper of a half-demon charge who Shouldn't Be Here. She has to deal with all the challenges involved with rearing an inhuman child, on top of preventing him from wriggling out of her grasp and into the company of other humans. She instructs Crispin in mortal magic and gives him the first affection he's ever gotten. [Tag: #teacher]

Lamia:

Crispin's elder sister. A more typical example of their species, she is vicious, cruel, and perfectly at home in the house of horrors they grow up in. Nevertheless, she is fascinated by Crispin, and, dissatisfied/bored with the way their family operates, sets out after him for some fun. [Tag: #lamia]

Emrys:

A vagabonding sin eater of indeterminate age because he looks young, but is so ragged and worn down it's hard to tell. He performs an old and fading tradition as yet kept up in country places, which he believes has damned him to Hell. Meets the other characters on his/their wanderings and gets drawn into everything, resulting in a pretty intense identity crisis. [Tag: no tag yet]

Setting/tags:

Setting: Regency England/British Isles--a good chunk of the action takes place in the countryside of the southwestern English county of Wiltshire. Later the action moves to London. May also be other locations, such as Scotland or Ireland or maybe even America-- not sure of how big the scope is going to be yet. [Tags: #setting, #interior, #countryside, #woods, #england, #dailylife, #regency, #wiltshire, and more...] Will also be delving into different realms, such as faerie.

Other tags: #occult, #stonecircle, #cemetery, #fairies, #witchcraft, #halloween, #pagan, #mythology, #folklore, #ancient, #mementomori and so on...

"Soundtrack" playlist:

Wow, if you read this whole thing thank you so much!! I'm psyched to finally get this intro out and give you guys a more general overview of the story. Can't wait to share a whole lot more!!!

{All footage in the video above taken by me at my local cemetery/historic site. The song used is "May Song" by Martin Carthy. All the art used is historical.}

[scotianostra]

On 5th April 1820 government forces defeated Radical weavers at what became known as the Battle of Bonnymuir.

The ‘Radical Rising’ or ‘Radical War’ of 1820, also known as the Scottish Insurrection of 1820, was a week of strikes and unrest in Scotland that culminated in the trial of a number of ‘radicals’ for the crime of treason. It was the last armed uprising on Scottish soil, with the intent of establishing a radical republic.

Based in Central Scotland, artisan workers (such as weavers, shoemakers, blacksmiths), initiated a series of strikes and social unrest during the first week of April 1820. This pushed for government reform, in response to the economic depression. The Rising was quickly, and violently, quashed, and the subsequent trials took place in Scotland from July to August 1820.

The events of the Rising followed years of economic recession after the end of the Napoleonic Wars and considerable revolutionary instability on the European continent. As the economic situation worsened for many workers, societies sprung up across the country which espoused radical ideas for fundamental change.

In the early nineteenth century, Scottish politics offered power to very few people. Councillors on the Royal Burghs at this time were not elected to their position, rich landowners controlled county government and there were fewer than 3,000 parliamentary voters in the whole of Scotland, hardly a democracy.

It was recognised that the key to change was electoral reform, and the events of the American Revolution of 1776 and French Revolution of 1789 helped to promote these ideas. Radical reformers began to seek the universal franchise (for men), annual parliaments, and the repeal of the Act of Union of 1707.

Between 1st and 8th April 1820, across central Scotland, some works stopped, particularly in weaving communities, and radicals attempted to fulfil a call to rise. Several disturbances occurred across the country, perhaps the worst of which were the events at Bonnymuir, Stirlingshire, where a group of about 50 radicals clashed with a patrol of around 30 soldiers, while Bonnymuir is the most famous, or should I say infamous of the events during this period, it was by no means the only “uprising”

On Monday April 3rd a strike took force across a wide area of Scotland including Stirlingshire, Dunbartonshire, Renfrewshire, Lanarkshire and Ayrshire, with an estimated total of around 60,000 stopping work.

Reports were made of men carrying out military drill in Glasgow while foundries and forges had been raided, and iron files and dyer's poles taken to make pikes. In Kilbarchan soldiers found men making pikes, in Stewarton around 60 strikers was dispersed, in Balfron around 200 men had assembled for some sort of action. Pikes, gunpowder and weapons called "wasps" (a sort of javelin) and "clegs" (a barbed shuttlecock to throw at horses) were offered for sale.

In Glasgow John Craig led around 30 men to make for the Carron Company ironworks in Falkirk, telling them that weapons would be there for the taking, but the group were scattered when intercepted by a police patrol. Craig was caught, brought before a magistrate and fined, but the magistrate paid his fine for him.

Rumours spread that England was in arms for the cause of reform and that an army was mustering at Campsie commanded by Marshal MacDonald, a Marshal of France and son of a Jacobite refugee family, to join forces with 50,000 French soldiers at Cathkin Braes under Kinloch, the fugitive "Radical laird" from Dundee.

Government troops were ready in Glasgow, including the Rifle Brigade, the 83rd Regiment of Foot, the 7th and 10th Hussars and Samuel Hunter's Glasgow Sharpshooters. In the evening 300 radicals briefly skirmished with a party "of cavalry", but no one came to harm.

The next day, Tuesday April 4th, Duncan Turner assembled around 60 men to march to Carron, while he carried out organising work elsewhere. Half the group dropped out, however the remaining twenty five, persuaded that they would pick up support along the way, set out under the leadership of Andrew Hardie. They arrived in Condorrat, which was on the way to Carron, at 5am on April 5th. Waiting for them was John Baird who had expected a small army, not this bedraggled and soaking wet group. He was persuaded to continue the March to Carron by John King, who would himself go ahead and gather supporters. King would go to find supporters at Camelon while Baird and Hardie were to leave the road and wait at Bonnymuir.

What the leaders didn’t know is that the Government had placed spies and agitators among the crowds and they were lured to the confrontation with well-armed, trained soldiers on Bonnymuir,

The authorities at Kilsyth and Stirling Castle had however been alerted and Sixteen Hussars and sixteen Yeomanry troopers had been ordered on 4 April to leave Perth and go to protect Carron. They left the road at Bonnybridge early on April 5th and made straight for the slopes of Bonnymuir. As the newspapers subsequently reported:

"On observing this force the radicals cheered and advanced to a wall over which they commenced firing at the military. Some shots were then fired by the soldiers in return, and after some time the cavalry got through an opening in the wall and attacked the party who resisted till overpowered by the troops who succeeded in taking nineteen of them prisoners, who are lodged in Stirling Castle. Four of the radicals were wounded".

The Glasgow Herald mocked the small number of radicals encountered, but worried that "the conspiracy appears to be more extensive than almost anyone imagined... radical principles are too widely spread and too deeply rooted to vanish without some explosion and the sooner it takes place the better."

The end of the Rising

On the afternoon of April 5th, before news of the Bonnymuir fighting got out, Lees sent a message asking the radicals of Strathaven to meet up with the "Radical laird" Kinloch's large force at Cathkin. The next morning a small force of 25 men followed the instructions and left at 7 a.m. to march there. Among them was the experienced elderly Radical James Wilson who is claimed to have had a banner reading "Scotland Free or a Desart"

At East Kilbride they were warned of an army ambush, and Wilson, suspecting treachery, returned to Strathaven. The others bypassed the ambush and reached Cathkin, but as there was no sign of the promised army they dispersed. Ten of them were identified and caught, and by nightfall on April 7th; they were jailed at Hamilton.

I’ll leave things there for the moment, the aftermath will be told in further posts, one in a few days, and more as the ringleaders were made examples of as they were tried for their parts in the events.

The large memorial stone to mark the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Bonnymuir was unveiled in April 2021.

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for October 2023! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ Fly To You by @babyhoneyheslt [G, 1k, Louis/Harry]

On the way to their honeymoon, Harry and Louis find out the pilot is ill. With Louis being a pilot, he offers to fly the plane there, and it turns out to make the start of their honeymoon extra special.

＊ Forgotten Kingdom by @babyhoneyheslt [G, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Louis had always loved ruined cities and had always been obsessed with Glyswing Kingdom, a city that many believed to be a myth. Moving into his grandparents house for renovations, he never expected to find what could be the long forgotten kingdom. Part 1 of The Secret City

＊Castles Crumbling Down by @babyhoneyheslt [G, 1k, Louis/Harry]

With Harry freed, the kingdom crumbled down around them, prompting a quick escape. Part 2 of The Secret City

＊ The Tower by @babyhoneyheslt [G, 4k, Harry/Louis]

There's something strange going on in Heaven.

Bored Angel Harry can't help but investigate. Part 1 of Devil’s In The Detail

＊ The Fool by @babyhoneyheslt [G, 4k, Louis/Harry]

After making a deal with the devil, Harry has to forge a new life for himself alongside Louis on Earth. Part 2 of Devil’s In The Detail

＊ The Devil by @babyhoneyheslt [M, 3k, Harry/Louis]

Harry has grown to love being on earth, but his absence in heaven and the company he keeps, hasn't gone unnoticed. Part 3 of Devil’s In The Detail

＊ Cold Spring by @nouies [E, 8k, Louis/Pedro Pascal]

Life went on as normal at Cold Spring Café. Sam’s scribbles remained indiscernible, Jake persisted on his idea of getting more pots for the shop, and Pedro…Pedro continued coming to drink his moderately-caffeinated americano, to write furiously in that notebook of his, and to captivate Louis to no end.

or…Louis is a coffee shop owner and Pedro is his newest customer.

＊ Lips so good I forget my name by @enchantedlandcoffee [E, 828 words, Louis/Harry]

Harry hummed in contemplation as he moved to palm himself through his briefs, "Do you think you've deserved it, Lou? Hmm?" At Louis' sound of protest, Harry swiftly moved the microphone back to the older man's mouth causing him to moan as he wrapped his lips around it again. "Because I don't think you have. I think you love your microphone too much to suck on anything else." Harry's words elicited a moan from Louis as his hips bucked up instinctively.

Or Louis needs to give up control in the bedroom sometimes, until he doesn't.

＊ Tied Up Like Two Ships by @enchantedlandcoffee [T, 2k, Harry/Louis]

"His crew boarded our ship and took a few of us hostage. Um, myself, Liam, Louis, Tabby, and a few others. Then they- uh- they, um…"

"They started stealing our most valuable possessions on board: heirlooms, jewels, weapons. And then," Zayn continued on from Liam, "then the cannons started. The first shot hit the side closest to the berth, where most of the crew were sleeping, and the second was aimed directly at the Captain’s Quarters. We- uh, we lost fifteen of the crew then, and then, uh, then ten shortly after."

OR Captain Styles wakes up to find his rival and old friend, Captain Tomlinson, aboard his ship. Part 1 of You Make Me Strong

＊ two languages, one love by @nouies [NR, 3k, Louis/Cillian Murphy]

The three times Louis speaks to Cillian in Spanish, and the one time he finally gets a response.

＊ a cycle of recycled revenge by brokenbeaks / @broken-beaks [E, 103k, Harry/Louis]

Foxburgh, England, 1983.

In the heat of summer, wreathed by pastures, rolling knolls, and thatched-roof cottages, Louis takes on a new job: caretaking for a recently blinded man named Harry. As it begins, what seems like a simple task turns into a quest that costs him every last bit of his pride and tolerance. Harry is, in practice, a two-legged curse. And Louis is just gonna have to put up with it.

Or: The one where Harry likes to infuriate Louis almost as much as he enjoys straddling his lap.

＊ the blue never-ending sky by @justanothershadeofblue [T, 3k, Louis/Harry]

“What do you suppose it’s like?”

Harry’s voice was dreamy, barely audible from where Louis lay on his back on the off-white carpet of Harry’s bedroom.

“Arizona?” Louis asked, and Harry made an affirmative noise from his position on top of his twin bed. “Wouldn’t know, would I?” Louis jerked his head at the window, dripping with mid-February rain. It was a useless gesture - Harry was busy staring at the ceiling. “On account of being British and all.”

“I bet it’s beautiful,” Harry said, and his voice sounded like he was already gone.

＊ all of my demons are wallflowers watching us by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [E, 3k, Harry/Louis]

Harry slides his hands into his pockets, feeling the comforting padding of the thick diaper he’s wearing under his jeans. He’s avoided haunted houses for years; his weak bladder and nervous disposition meaning that they often resulted in mortification. But since he started dating Louis – and since they discovered that Louis actually quite enjoys his weak bladder – well. Some of the calculus has changed.

＊ The Freak called ‘Jezebel’ by sweetkalachuchi / @neverforpickles [M, 8k, Louis/Harry]

“Zayn!” Harry said the moment he got inside the room, his voice loud and clear as it touched the four walls of the room. His voice bellowing and ricocheting on their own without Harry raising his voice.

Without hesitation, from where he’s sat in the sole incredibly detailed piece of architecture in the whole room, Harry calmly said, “I am going for a vacation.”

Or, the Devil decided to go for a vacation and met his soulmate instead.

＊ could start a cult by @nouies [E, 8k, Harry/Louis]

He lowers down the top that Louis is wearing, successfully unclasping his nursing bra as well, letting Louis’ tits bounce at the sudden movement. Harry massages both breasts to stimulate the milk flow, and he can feel his cock hardening inside his pants.

or...Harry can’t get enough of Louis’ breast milk.

＊ I Want Adventure In The Great Wide Somewhere by @rockstarlwt28 [G, Louis/Harry]

Harry surprises Louis with a little Age Regression gift in support of his gender fluidity.

＊ Wearing You Like Clothes by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 [E, 5k, Harry/Louis]

Louis rushes over to his door and hopes against hope that maybe he got lucky and it didn’t lock this time. He jiggles the handle, but no dice.

Louis groans. Great, so he’s locked out and it’s after hours so his landlord will be difficult to reach. He does have a spare key, but it’s with his best mate Niall, who is conveniently out of town this weekend.

And it’s not like Louis can go anywhere to ask for help.

Not when he’s only wearing knickers.

(Or the one where Omega Louis accidentally locks himself out of his flat in only his underwear. Embarrassingly help comes in the form of Harry, the beautiful Alpha that lives down the hall. It turns out alright in the end).

[spacecasewriter13]

When the Lights Go On Again by @spacecasewriter13

Summary: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.

Chapter 34: Sisters, Wives, and Sweethearts: Maggie heads to New England for a brief visit with Dick and Catherine Ames. Preparing to spend their first Christmas as a family of three, Catherine and Dick both give Maggie some insight into their wartime losses while also giving her hope for the chance of a happy future.

Excerpt:

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know… we’ll have snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree,” Maggie hummed to herself as she watched out the window at the snow flurries that swirled around the train cars as they moved through the city toward Norwalk.

The pane of glass was cool against her forehead, though it did little to ease the headache pounding behind her eyes or soothe the churning of her stomach. The warmth of the train car, mixed with the rocking and the wheels going over the tracks, made her want to hurl. So, she pressed her face against the glass and tried not to think about what the rest of the day would hold.

It was going to be a short jaunt to Norwalk, and they planned to spend the afternoon with the Ameses in a brief Christmas celebration before she and Daniel continued to Taunton the following day. She knew she should be excited about all of this. Meeting Dick and Catherine Ames was going to be a wonderful opportunity to get to know Annie’s family. After everything she had heard about them from Daniel and Annie, she looked forward to putting a face to the names. Tomorrow, she’d be back in Taunton by midafternoon and preparing for Christmas with her family.

Yet, all she could feel was dread, an uneasiness in her stomach, twisting the whole world into anxious uncertainty.

There was so much she wanted to know. Had Dick known Tony? Had they been friends? They’d served together, yes, but what was the level of their connection? It felt a strange question to broach when her brother had been killed in the same battle he’d been wounded in. It was a delicate and difficult topic. As was the question of Dick and Catherine Ames’s love story. How had they forged such a beautiful family from so much pain and heartache?

Neither were things that a recent acquaintance could or should broach. Yet, Maggie needed to know or rather wanted to know desperately. She was hungry for information about her brother and was so out of her depth with James that she was prepared to beg total strangers for any scrap they were willing to spare.

Only she knew these weren’t total strangers; these were Daniel’s friends and Annie’s brother and sister-in-law. She needed to tread lightly or at least not do or say anything that would embarrass Daniel or Annie.

Then there was Christmas and being at home with family. She’d barely survived the holiday last year. Only now, with Nettie here and there was another year between Tony's death and the present, it would be less acceptable for her to be sullen and weepy than it has been the year before. Never mind that she knew Pai, and her sisters were going to interrogate her about James, and that she’d have to withstand whatever her aunts had planned to unleash upon her during her visit.

“Did you have a good time at the party last night?”

Maggie blinked. Sitting up and turning, she found Daniel watching her with a curious expression. “Huh?” she stammered.

“You are in rough shape, aren’t you,” he chuckled.

To Continue Reading, Please Visit Ao3

[richincolor]

K. Imani's 2023 Favorite Books

This was such a great year for books! My TBR pile never once came close to empty and I always had a plethora of choices to choose from. I had a hard choice trying to decide what my top favs would be but ultimately decided on books that I know I would love to read again and again. All of these books were stories I couldn't put down and sacrificed sleep over - all extremely well worth it!

That Self-Same Metal (Forge & Fracture Sage #1) by Brittany N. Williams

Sixteen-year-old Joan Sands is a gifted craftswoman who creates and upkeeps the stage blades for William Shakespeare’s acting company, The King’s Men. Joan’s skill with her blades comes from a magical ability to control metal—an ability gifted by her Head Orisha, Ogun. Because her whole family is Orisha-blessed, the Sands family have always kept tabs on the Fae presence in London. Usually that doesn’t involve much except noting the faint glow around a Fae’s body as they try to blend in with London society, but lately, there has been an uptick in brutal Fae attacks. After Joan wounds a powerful Fae and saves the son of a cruel Lord, she is drawn into political intrigue in the human and Fae worlds.

Queen Bee by Amalie Howard

Lady Ela Dalvi knows the exact moment her life was forever changed—when her best friend, Poppy, betrayed her without qualm over a boy, the son of a duke. She was sent away in disgrace, her reputation ruined. Nearly three years later, eighteen-year-old Ela is consumed with bitterness and a desire for . . . revenge. Her enemy is quickly joining the crème de la crème of high society while she withers away in the English countryside. With an audacious plan to get even, Ela disguises herself as a mysterious heiress and infiltrates London’s elite. But when Ela reunites with the only boy she’s ever loved, she begins to question whether vengeance is still her greatest desire.

Their Vicious Games by Joelle Wellington A Black teen desperate to regain her Ivy League acceptance enters an elite competition only to discover the stakes aren’t just high, they’re deadly, in this searing thriller that’s Ace of Spades meets Squid Game with a sprinkling of The Bachelor. You must work twice as hard to get half as much. Adina Walker has known this the entire time she’s been on scholarship at the prestigious Edgewater Academy—a school for the rich (and mostly white) upper class of New England. It’s why she works so hard to be perfect and above reproach, no matter what she must force beneath the surface. Even one slip can cost you everything. And it does. One fight, one moment of lost control, leaves Adina blacklisted from her top choice Ivy League college and any other. Her only chance to regain the future she’s sacrificed everything for is the Finish, a high-stakes contest sponsored by Edgewater’s founding family in which twelve young, ambitious women with exceptional promise are selected to compete in three mysterious events: the Ride, the Raid, and the Royale. The winner will be granted entry into the fold of the Remington family, whose wealth and power can open any door. But when she arrives at the Finish, Adina quickly gets the feeling that something isn’t quite right with both the Remingtons and her competition, and soon it becomes clear that this larger-than-life prize can only come at an even greater cost. Because the Finish’s stakes aren’t just make or break… they’re life and death. Adina knows the deck is stacked against her—it always has been—so maybe the only way to survive their vicious games is for her to change the rules.

The Song of Wrath (Bones of Ruin #2) by Sarah Raughley

Iris Marlow can’t die. For years, she was tormented by her missing memories and desperate to learn her real identity. So when the mysterious Adam Temple offered to reveal the truth of who she was in exchange for her joining his team in the Tournament of Freaks, a gruesome magical competition, it was an offer she couldn’t refuse. But the truth would have been better left buried. Because Adam is a member of the Enlightenment Committee, an elite secret society built upon one fundamental idea: that the apocalypse known as Hiva had destroyed the world before and would do it again, and soon. But what the Committee—and Iris—never guessed is that Hiva is not an event. Hiva is a person—Iris. Now, no matter how hard Iris fights for a normal life, the newly awakened power inside her keeps drawing her toward the path of global annihilation. Adam, perversely obsessed with Iris, will stop at nothing to force her to unlock her true potential, while a terrifying newcomer with ties to Hiva’s past is on the hunt for Iris. All Iris wants is the freedom to choose her own future, but the cost might be everything Iris holds dear—including the world itself.

[coco-bean-1218]

claireeeeeeeeee hi love! could i request "heartbeat" for claire/grant? <3

BLU!!!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!! GET COMFY, THIS IS A LONG ONE!!!

Here is 'lucky' for you per your request! Thank you for being flexible!

May, 1944

Upottery, England

The bar was a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses, a hazy smoke swirling around the yellowed lightbulbs that dangled from the ceiling. The men of Easy Company were scattered throughout the room, savoring the freedom of a weekend pass before jumping into Normandy. The air was thick with the scent of beer and sweat, a tangy reminder that outside these walls, the world was at war. Claire sat at a corner table, illuminated by the soft glow of a hanging lamp. The smoky haze of the bar couldn't obscure her radiant presence.

"Would you look at that hair, Doc?" Eugene's voice was soft, tinged with his Cajun drawl, as he nudged Claire gently with his elbow. Her dark brown locks were pinned up in victory rolls, a style befitting her striking presence.

Claire blushed, a faint color rising on her cheeks, which were otherwise perfectly contoured. "Oh, stop it, Eugene," she replied, her tone playful yet sincere. "You know I can't do anything fancy with these hands unless it's stitching a wound." 

"Which you do exceptionally well," James "Moe" Alley chimed in, his admiration poorly veiled behind a thin veneer of joviality. "But tonight, Claire, you're outdoing yourself."

"Indeed," Shifty added, his gentle demeanor shining through his soft-spoken words. "It's not every day we get to see our combat medic turned into a dame straight out of those Hollywood pictures."

"You'd think the war was already won with how you're lookin' tonight," Eugene said, his dark blue eyes twinkling with the same mirth that always seemed to dance at the edges of their conversations.

"Oh, stop it, you three. You flatter me too much," Claire replied, her voice a melodious blend of gratitude and modesty.

Eugene leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Claire's face. "I wouldn't dare to flatter you, Claire," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "You deserve nothing less than the truth."

She took a sip of her cocktail, the fruity sweetness offsetting the bitter taste of war that lingered in the air. Her arm linked comfortably around Eugene's shoulders. They were almost mirror images—both in uniform, both combat medics, both fiercely protective of each other.

"I bet a lot of hearts are breaking across the bar seeing you all dolled up with your arm around Doc Roe," Alley interjected, raising an eyebrow in a playful gesture.

Across the room, Grant stood like a Californian Apollo, his golden complexion catching the dim light as he threw darts with his friends. His light blue eyes occasionally flickered towards Claire, a mixture of admiration and something deeper etching his features into a portrait of bashful longing. He grappled with the courage to cross the bar and step into the orbit of the woman who unknowingly held his heart.

"Go on, Chuck. Show us that California aim!" Skinny rallied, pulling Grant back from his reverie.

"Sure thing," he replied, but his voice lacked conviction. He threw the dart, landing dead center, yet Grant barely noticed, his gaze drifting once more to Claire.

Eugene laughed at something she said, his head thrown back in genuine amusement. It was clear to anyone watching that they shared a bond, a connection forged in the fires of shared experience and trust. Yet, as Claire tossed her head back, her eyes sparkling beneath the bar's muted lights, Grant felt an undeniable pull, a desire to be part of that inner circle, to be the one who could make her laugh like that.

The flickering candlelight danced across the polished mahogany, casting an amber glow over the crowded bar. Laughter and the clink of glass punctuated the smoky air as Claire leaned in closer to Eugene. Her fingers, tipped with nails painted like tiny cherries, brushed against his sleeve, a silent testament to their camaraderie.

Liebgott's eyes gleamed mischievously as he scanned the room and spotted Claire. A subtle smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, O'Connor!" he called out, his voice slicing through the din of the bar. "Why don't you come over and show us how it's done? You've got the steady hands, after all!"

Claire looked up, brown eyes meeting his challenge with a playful spark. "I've never played," she called back, her red lips curving into a half-smile and her fingers tightening involuntarily around Eugene's shoulders. 

"No worries, gorgeous." Talbert chimed in, exchanging a sly glance with Liebgott. "Grant here will teach you. Won't you, Chuck?"

Grant nearly choked on his beer, at the sound of his name coupled with Claire's. He coughed into his sleeve, as he stammered out a protest, "Now, Tab, I'm not sure—"

Liebgott walked up behind Grant and smacked him on the back of his neck. "Ow! What was that for?" Grant winced, rubbing the spot where Liebgott's hand had landed. "—I mean, sure, if—if Claire wants to..."

"See? It's your lucky day," Talbert teased, nudging Grant with an elbow while eyeing Claire with an expression that suggested he knew exactly what he was stirring up.

Eugene's eyes met Grant's, dark blue and impenetrable; a silent message passed between them. The unspoken words hung heavily in the air: 'Be careful with her. If you hurt her, I'll hurt you.'

Claire leaned closer to Eugene, putting her hand over her mouth as she whispered something that only he could hear. He laughed with a mischievous grin on his face. "Go ahead, chérie. Let's see what you've got." he gave Claire's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her. 

"Alright, then," Claire said, stepping forward with more bravery than she felt. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. "Let's see if I'm any good at this."

As she crossed the room, she felt Eugene’s gaze on her like a silent plea, asking her to stay or perhaps to tread carefully. "Alright, Claire," she thought to herself, "This is your reputation on the line. It took you a long time for them to take you seriously."

Claire took a deep breath as she picked up a dart, steadying her nerves as she stood next to Grant at the dartboard. She looked over at Eugene, giving him a playful wink. "I mean, it can't be that hard, right? All you do is throw it like this-" Claire said as she lazily threw the dart in one swift motion, not looking at the board. 

The dart sailed through the air, spinning aimlessly. Thunk. Bullseye. Dead center.

The room fell into stunned silence as everyone turned their attention to the dartboard. Even Claire couldn't believe her eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a mixture of egotism and disbelief, "Nice one, O'Connor. That'll show them." she thought. 

The hush of the bar seemed to stretch for an eternity, the only sound being the soft scratch of vinyl from the jukebox in the corner. Then, slicing through the quiet like a bayonet through fabric, came Liebgott's incredulous exclamation. "Oh, shit," he wheezed, his brown eyes wide with astonishment as he leaned back against the worn wooden paneling of the bar.

Claire could barely process the absurdity of what had just happened; her dart nestled in the bullseye as if it had been guided by unseen hands. The room remained frozen, patrons' conversations cut off mid-sentence, heads turned in disbelief toward the impossible shot.

Grant, standing a few paces away, was a statue carved in shock. His eyes were fixed on the dartboard and his mouth hung open, the beginnings of a stuttered word dying on his lips. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, nor could she.

She glanced at Grant, watching as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to reset his perception of reality. The clamor swelled like a wave, crashing against the walls of the bar and washing over Claire in a dizzying rush. The cacophony was strangely harmonious, a symphony of disbelief and admiration that reverberated within her. Her hand trembled slightly, the dart an unlikely extension of her own surprise.

Amid the commotion, Grant finally found his footing. "I...uh...wow," he stammered, clearly struggling to string together a coherent sentence. His gentle nature battled against his awe, wanting to say more but not knowing how.

"Doc, I think you just broke Grant," Liebgott quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as he nudged his friend whose gaze hadn't left the board.

"Chuck, close your mouth before you catch flies," Talbert called out, snapping him out of his stupor.

"Wow," Grant managed, finally tearing his eyes away to meet Claire's gaze. "That was... incredible." His voice was a soft echo amid the raucous cheers, yet it reached her clearly, wrapping around her with the warmth of an unexpected embrace. "I've never seen anyone throw a dart that way and get a bullseye."

"Thanks, Grant," she murmured, the words spilling out before a shy laugh could follow. She felt the blush rise in her cheeks, a delicate heat that mirrored the buzz of the crowd. Reaching out, she wrapped an arm around him, her fingers grazing the fabric of his uniform as she pulled him into a fleeting side hug. She caught the scent of his cologne, a mix of clean linen and something uniquely him—calming yet exhilarating. "I guess I surprised myself, too."

He seemed to lean into her embrace, if only for a second, but it was enough—a tacit agreement of shared wonderment. Their connection, usually so fraught with tension and unspoken words, felt natural and uncontrived in that instance.

The applause around them began to ebb, but the ringing in Claire's ears persisted, a reminder of what had just transpired. She let her arm fall away from Grant, stepping back into her own space. The sudden clatter of palms against fabric jolted Grant from his reverie, his smile still lingering as Talbert and Liebgott crashed into the moment like a pair of exuberant tornadoes. 

"Chuck, you sly dog!" Talbert bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the bar walls as he slapped Grant's back with a force that made the latter stagger forward. "Look at you, bringing out the hidden talent in our little O'Connor!"

Liebgott chimed in with a grin so wide it threatened to split his face in two. "I didn't think she had it in her," he admitted, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I guess there's more to Doc than meets the eye, huh?"

"Beginner's luck, I suppose," she said, her voice light as air, betraying none of the whirlwind tumbling inside her. Her words were a well-practiced shrug, a way to deflect from the fact that her heart was performing an erratic tap dance against her ribs. Her coy smile remained plastered on her lips as she pivoted gracefully. Each step back toward her friends felt like walking through honey, thick with the buzz of her victory and Grant's lingering gaze.

The clamor of the crowd dwindled to a gentle murmur as Claire navigated through the throng of soldiers and locals, their faces a blur of smiles and astonishment. As she approached her own little nook of the world within the bustling bar, she spotted him—Eugene, his fair skin a stark canvas for the soft glow of pride that seemed to radiate from his dark blue eyes.

His strong hands reached out, ensnaring her in a warm embrace that lifted her from the ground as if she weighed nothing. Her feet dangled for a brief moment in a childlike suspension, a thrill akin to soaring over the hedges of childhood memories. "You did it!" he exclaimed, "You showed them all what you're capable of!"

"Did you see that, Gene? I can't believe I actually did that?" Claire's voice was a mix of giddy disbelief and pride. She could feel her own heart pounding against her chest, a wild drumbeat that matched the rhythm of the evening's excitement.

As Eugene carefully set her down, her heels clicked against the wooden floor, grounding her once more. "Of course, I saw," he replied, his grip on her shoulders loosening but not letting go entirely. "Couldn't miss it."

Alley, then, also picked up Claire and spun her around, her laughter rising above the din, her glasses slightly askew from the force of the twirl. "Unbelievable, Claire! You never cease to amaze me," he exclaimed.

As she regained her footing, the room settled back into its familiar rhythm, the jukebox playing a tune that had everyone tapping their feet. Thanks, guys," she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose,

'What does this mean?' she wondered. 'For Eugene, for Grant, for me?'

Tonight, she was no longer just the awkward girl with a penchant for solitude; tonight, she was Claire "Doc" O'Connor, the woman who'd thrown a dart straight into the heart of possibility.

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

Thank you so much for writing that, I really enjoyed reading it. I love ivarr so much 💙would it be okay if I could request an imagine with Sigurd where him and the reader (a shieldmaiden for the clan) are dating but they have to break up because he is forced to marry Randvi. Sigurd asks eivor (male) to watch over her and always be there for her which results in eivor falling for her. (This is before they all go to England)

At your request 😌

Pairing: m!Eivor x f!reader

Word count: ~ 3000

Genre: angst, tiny fluff

Notes: Okay but I dig the "I cannot be with you, so I make sure someone else will keep you safe/company for that other person to fall in love with another so it's kinda a forbidden-love, love triangle I-live-for-drama story. Yesyes good soup :3 tempted to write about this more picturing Sigurd's reaction maybe??? Oh and I'm writing on sutdy break moments so the writing gonna be super slow but I try yall I swear I try 💀

„ No, this can’t go on anymore and you know this.” You sighed sitting up in the bed, the sheet's whisked a gentle breeze that stirred the bright flames of the candles around you. A groan left Sigurd's chest as he joined you, straightening up, his large palms came to rest on your middle, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. He did not respond right away, just sat there beside you, looking ahead as he came to rest his chin on your shoulder- tangled beard and ginger hair tickling your skin. 

"You're to marry her." You continued, tone balked and weak. "How can you expect me to keep my heart this way, as it is right now? How can you expect me to–"

"I do not, my love." He cuts you off with a timid hum, his words resonating throughout your back. "I don't expect you to love me the way we loved each other when this happens… I don't want to– I would never disrespect your honor and trust." 

You felt warmth on your cheeks, as tears broke off from the corner of your eyes, slowly making their way to drop down to your lap. It was no easy task, for neither of you. Sigurd was the clan's prince, the next in line, the only one who's right to lead the Raven clan. And therefore, King Styrbjörn made the decision to strengthen his position, the clan's safety and Sigurd's place by joining clans with a rival of his. Sigurd will marry the Jarl's eldest daughter, thereby forging an alliance with them. 

The duty of a son. The demise of your love with the Raven Prince. 

For weeks you have been consumed by the news, at first you did not believe that your love must soon end. Sigurd offered to go with him that very evening, desperate and hopeless. He will take you to a faraway land, where no one will know you, rank and duty will not matter, only you to each other.

But you both knew it would be an impossible undertaking; would the heir to the throne, who dreamed of following in his father's footsteps since he was a boy, run away from his birthright for the love of a simple blacksmith's daughter?

A girl, whose aging parents are waiting for her at home who loves her, who needs her help and protection. Who would remain among the voices, eyes and mouths in the storm left behind by their child's shame?

No, you were both more mature than that. You will take the responsibility that your ancestors have given to you, so that the white canvas of the lineage does not fail.

“I know, love. I know that.” You calmed Sigurd falling back, leaning your neck on his chest gazing up at him. Sigurd's arms crawled around your torso, reassuringly pulling your body closer to his as he gently rested his chin on the top of your head.

Your lips trembled as a new idea passed through your sweeping mind - a mindless, desperate, shameless idea, but you felt you might be able to survive the hardships that came with it. Your voice was thinning, almost whispering when you uttered the words.

"What if we don’t need to stop our love after all?" You proposed, waiting a few moments to gather the courage to continue. "We do it so that no one knows. They don't know it even now, anyway. It's just that...there would be another person there. During the day, her husband; at night, mine...?"

"Are you saying let's continue all this in the midst of even greater secrecy?" Sigurd's voice rang doubtfully. In addition to deep pain and sadness, bitterness seeped into his words. Are you saying you want me to pretend you're just a side issue? Like I just want to be with you in secret when my wife can't see it?” He moved quickly, you hardly had time to react to him as he crawled back and pulled your body into his lap, hugging you tightly, looking down at you with a worried look. It was then that you saw your dear prince's eyes were glistening with tears.

You couldn't give an answer, just to swallow against the huge lump that was squeezing your throat. You saw no other option but to…

“I will never put you in a situation where you think you're just an affair to me. I love you, my dear, with all my heart, and if it were up to me, I would have made you my wedded wife long winters ago.” He said, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your temple."I want you to be my wife, my partner who stands by my side. You deserve that, nothing less. I wouldn't dishonor you not even for all the treasures of Midgard. But I can't do that."

“So then? Will it all end? What we have? What we share, what we feel? How could I forget this…leave this behind..?” Your vision blurred as tears pooled in your eyes, the man's tall figure looking down at you from behind a wall of water. You waited and hoped for so long, after so many doubts and struggles, when you finally realized that there was more to you than simple friendship. After you were finally brave enough to cross that invisible line. Finally you could be together, and those moments were worth more than any treasure; you finally felt like you found that lost piece of your soul that you've always longed for. Finally, your heart was filled with him, you were happy with him, you were happy with each other. And now it's over? You will be banished once again to a harsh and dark barrenness without Sigurd's care and touch.

"Duty comes first. It doesn't just bind me, it binds you too, and you know that well."Sigurd slowly leaned forward, the warmth emanating from his skin comfortably covering your body, and fearing that he would soon pull away from you, you crossed your arms over his back.

"Whatever fate brings, my heart will be yours forever." 

"I belong to you and you to me as long as we live." His lips whispered, softly caressing your face, one last time.

___

The wind bit hard against his skin as Eivor walked across the creaking wooden planks of the dock, around him- the lights of twilight flickered back from the icy sea. The flames of the torches bent with each gust of wind, dutifully standing at the edge of the pier.

His brother waited for him — arms folded behind his back, standing at the edge of the dock, watching the icy, slow-rolling sea as the blues and greens of the night lights cast upon Mindgard. 

Sigurd took him aside for a word during the day, when Eivor had just returned from his dawn hunt- the stag not yet cooled out on his horse's back when he arrived. A single glance was enough for the young man to realize that something was wrong with his brother, Sigurd's usual serene expression, his eyes shining with peace, now dull and weak.

“Is there a problem, brother?" He raised his hand worriedly on Sigurd's shoulder, growing somber himself. Eivor usually cared for his own business, he didn't like to interfere in others' debates and troubles, but when it came to his brother's burdens, Eivor did everything to see Sigurd happy again.

As his piercing gray-blue eyes focused on Eivor, the young man thought he could feel the pressure of heavy burdens on his brother. Waiting for an answer, he scanned Sigurd's face, trying to figure out what was pressing on his heart.

Sigurd's eyes closed for a moment, a deep frown appeared between his eyebrows, and then they smoothed out just as quickly when he looked back at his little brother. 

"Meet me on the beach after dinner. I have something to discuss with you, Eivor." He announced and after a strong handshake he left, leaving Eivor with the prey he had killed.

The elder brother's gaze was lost in the distance, the unison ripple of the water moved the pieces of the ice armor broken by the ships. Fornburg was quiet at this late hour, only the lapping of the water and the whistling of the wind could be heard. Eivor walked over to his brother silently; standing next to the tall man, he folded his arms across his chest and looked around the bay.

He knew that his brother was not usually this solemn, something really important could be weighing on his soul. Like everything since childhood, the two brothers shared their troubles with each other, looking for advice and sympathy in the other. Eivor decided to wait for Sigurd, let him share his problems with him at his own pace, he would not force this out of his brother.

For a while they stood motionless , silently appreciating the company and the discretion, as the two brothers had done many times before. After a long sigh, Sigurd looked up at the sky, blowing white mist into the air. Waves of colors seemed to follow the sea, the threads and shapes did their eternal dance in silence. 

I presume you heard the news from our father.” The taller brother spoke, hoarse. Eivor glanced at his brother who kept his eyes on the sky- as he nodded. Oh, now he understood what it's all about. Oh, he now understood what it was all about.

"I follow our father in the leadership of the Clan, my duty is to keep my people safe; to give them a good life." He continued, raising his gray iris to Eivor.

The blond lad straightened his posture, his brother's look suggested that his help would be needed now more than ever.

"You will be a good leader." Eivor tried to reassure Sigurd,with  conviction in his voice. Sigurd weakly acknowledged the words with a half-smile, but his eyes only exuded sadness. "No matter what happens brother, you’ll always have me by your side. I'll help you no matter what."

Sigurd wrinkled his nose wryly, as if a white-hot knife had been thrust into his side, as if it caused him immense pain to even talk about it.

"I entrust you with a serious task, brother, because you are the only one in the world in whose hands I would place my life."

An anxious, tight lump grew in Eivor's stomach, waiting for the question he had suspected since their father had told him of Sigurd's betrothal.

"You have to take care of her." Sigurd finally breathed, his voice breaking in the evening frost. "Be there for her and make sure she lives the life she deserves. The one we both know she deserves." Sigurd made him promise. .

___

Stretching your legs, you jumped off the rock, splashing the sparkling water onto the sand in the shallows.

"The fish must have heard that the dreaded Wolfsmal was stomping this way and ran up to the trees in fright." Chuckling, you strode over to Eivor's side, hands clasped behind your back, chin lifted to examine him as he stood in the stream with his breeches pulled up to his knees, fishing line in hand.

The man huffed one with pretended rage, lifting one leg in the stream, he kicked towards you, soaking your thin linen apron. You squealed and jumped back- a grimace of surprise and astonishment plastered on your face.

"Evor!" You shouted insulted, immediately bending down to return the “kind” gesture to the man by dipping your arm into the ice-cold spring. Laughing, you rushed at him, splashing the water back at him, that made Eivor dart backwards, his deep laughter echoing in the roaring water. 

“If you keep doing this, there won't be fish for dinner and then you can try to explain to Tekla what we were up to instead of doing the chores.”

"Oh, I'm not the one who stands in the stream for half a day without a catch!" You cut back, spraying a veil of water over Eivor's head again. Having enough of your duel wrapped the line around his hand, starting to move towards you, his strong legs carrying him with easy through the heavy upstream. Turning back to the shore, you stumbled out onto the dry just in time, when you felt the touch of his wet, cold hand on your upper arm, closing around your torso from both sides, erasing even the thought of escape from your mind. 

Your legs rose from the ground as you tried to kick free as one of Eivor's arms crawled under your knees, scooping you up in his arms like you weighed nothing.

"Put me  down, Eivor!" You rolled your eyes at him, but his huge smile just betrayed the mischief, hiding across his face. "Do you hear that? Don't you dare throw me in the—" You ordered, trying to sound menacing and angry, but just like Eivor's face, your own was beaming with childish glee.

The man firmly grabbed your legs and arms and spun around on the shore, slapping you in the face with his untangled, wet curls. Apart from the roar of the river and the birds' whistles in the green forest, only the laughter and shouts of the two of you could be heard far along the river. 

Sometimes, in moments like this, you forgot that what you call home now, was a foreign land a long time ago. A foreign country, with foreign people - but also a new beginning, a clean start. Leaving the past behind, you and your family came to this island in search of a new life.  At first, it was searing, almost unbearable pain that you constantly felt when you saw Sigurd beside another;  when you were no longer able to touch his scarred skin or press soft kisses onto his lips– all slowly drifted away in your mind and heart, leaving a throbbing wound, now only a memory for you.

Eivor was always there to distract you from them. As in battle, so in everyday life you sought his presence; your friendship - initially bonded by Sigurd- grew stronger, growing into faithful companions who were always there for each other at arm's length.

You knew that, and you felt it on Eivor as well; this bond was important to both of you. The two lonely souls, often separated from the clan, could have a kindred soul by their side. And you also knew very well that this arm's length was slowly shrinking. Pulling the thread of the bond on you ever tighter...

After finishing the game, you both started collecting your fishing gear and your own belongings, moving quickly and smoothly around each other. You glanced to the side from the horses, catching Eivor tossing his water-dripping mane back in frustration, leaving dark blue stains on his blue tunic. Sighing in amusement, you turned back to him, hands on your hips.

"Shall I help you?" You called out to him, but before Eivor could answer, you quickly stepped behind him.

You ran your fingers through his blonde curls, the thick strands gently tickling your fingertips. Eivor's shoulders relaxed with a sigh, instantly bending his knees so you could reach his head.

Not a single word was spoken between you, as your nimble fingers braided his long hair into a loose line, careful not to pull on his lush curls.

Finishing your work, you wiped your wet hands on your skirt, Eivor turned, towering over you as he  faced you. The man must have been two heads taller than you, so close to him you had to bend your neck back a little to be able to look into his shining sky blue eyes.

His eyes always seemed to you they were in a different color each time you locked eyes with him. Ice blue, light blue, greenish blue- it seemed that Eivor's penetrating gaze was the night light itself. It was as if Eivor carried a part of your past within himself. The water was still dripping from his beard and forehead, small drops falling onto your face. An arm's length away, you were always just an arm's length away from each other.

"Eivor…" You breathed softly, raising your palm to your cheek. You didn't even notice that your thumb brushed away a drop of water from under his eyes. He knew everything about you, and you knew everything about him, the days when you were alone in his absence passed so bitterly slowly.

His searching gaze betrayed his thoughts when it fell from your eyes to your slightly open lips for a few moments. And you caught the moment. Whether it was you or the man who broke the still moment, you didn't know. You only realized it, when his lips were on yours, soft flesh melting over yours as a hand crept across your middle, pulling your body towards his form. Eyelids closed, you eagerly answered the movement, capturing his tender bottom lips between your teeth. At this action, Eivor groaned into the kiss, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he slightly skimmed across your lips with his tongue. The touch burnt your skin all across your body, tingling and pinching you, as your mind buzzed in excitement. 

The warmth left your lips too soon, cold air sweeping across your flushed face as Eivor leant back. His gaze felt so tender across your form, adoring warmth glimmered in his eyes, a hand rubbing your side up and down. 

The distance has now dissipated, a thread has grown stronger and tighter, as it connected your hearts, opening a new path for you.

[enchi-elm]

I've been writing some smut for two of my OCs in the Turn fanfic You've Caught Me Between Wind and Water, Lt. Jameson Mullcock and Lt. Frederico Ridgewell. It's going really well, so well in fact that I might end up submitting it to an erotica magazine in the future--which would prevent me from posting it on AO3.

To that end, to cover my own disappointment, here's some bits of lore for these two, gratis:

Background

Frederico

Full name is Frederico “Dico” Miguel Carvalho dos Reis Ridgewell

He is a Portuguese-American (mother is Portuguese) and stands in for the many Portuguese-American contributions to the Continental Army (go look up Pedro "Peter" Francisco)

Father split when Frederico was young, he grew up with his mother in New York in a Portuguese neighbourhood

Speaks fluent Portuguese

James

Jameson Mullcock is just Jameson Mullcock, but he goes by James

He is Irish-American and stands in for the many Irish-American contributions to the Continental Army (I explicitly wanted to include an Irish-American character because there were shitty stereotypes in the army against the Irish from other nationalities; like, we have primary sources for this)

James does not disclose he is half-Irish when he enlists and just lists his birthplace as Philadelphia

His mother is Abaigeal Noiréis (Abigail Norris), born in Galway, Ireland (thank you @mercurygray for naming her and helping me with her backstory!)

She is Catholic and married a Protestant British soldier she met during the occupation of Ireland, then followed him to England and then Pennsylvania and had to keep her faith secret

James is raised Protestant and only knows a little of the Catholic faith, which he keeps secret (because there was a considerable anti-Catholic sentiment in parts of the colonies)

Knows a little bit of Irish and wishes he knew more but doesn't think he'd be welcome (or feel comfortable) among the Irish soldiers and officers

Personality and looks

Frederico

olive skin, dark eyes, tousled dark hair

enough weight on him to look conspicuously healthy at Valley Forge in 1777

exactly as athletic as he looks but not quite as intelligent

drop dead gorgeous and doesn't care

cinnamon roll, too pure for this world, is the only one unaware that people believe this of him

a dark horse so dark you can't even see him coming

James

pale enough to look anemic, eyes and hair too light for people's comfort

tall, gangly; gaunt, even by Valley Forge standards

more athletic than he looks and more intelligent too

sarcastic slacker who's too smart to let people know how much more responsibility he's capable of taking on

has maybe two vices (tea and tobacco) that he'll hold onto, everything else he's already resigned himself to losing

would rather light his arm on fire than go after something he wants in a direct, open, and honest manner (and be Seen? Are you mad?)

Occupation

and the whole reason I put this post together, which is to remind future Apfel that they are 2nd LIEUTENANTS in LAMB'S CONTINENTAL ARTILLERY which was reorganized in 1777 from LAMB'S INDEPENDENT COMPANY NEW YORK ARTILLERY which drew from artillery companies in NEW YORK, CONNECTICUT AND PENNSYLVANIA. OKAY??

AND ARTHUR GARRICK IS A 1ST LIEUTENANT AND CAPTAIN ARMISTEAD FOLK IS THEIR CAPTAIN. AND PERKINS IS THEIR ENSIGN. IT'S ALL ONE GROUP. REMEMBER THIS!

CALEB WAS PART OF THIS GROUP. THEY WERE ALSO IN PEEKSKILL AND AT THE WHITEMARSH ENCAMPMENT.

YOU ALREADY WROTE LAMB INTO THE STORY IN CHAPTER 8.

YOU ALREADY FIGURED THIS OUT.

YOU DON'T NEED TO RESEARCH IT AGAIN.

...

@georgios-kyriacos, I believe you expressed interest in these two :)

[ajastor]

Name: Atlas Jay Astor ( Known as 'AJ' ) Occupation: Executive @ Astorgold Enterprise Ltd. Age: 32 Sexuality: Bi. Species: Witch Coven: Astor Hometown: London, England. Relationship Status: Undisclosed. Personality Traits: Vain, Selfish, Antagonistic, Chaotic, Cunning, Impulsive.

[ drug use tw, death tw, nihilism tw ]

BIOGRAPHY

Silver spooned is not a term any Astor knows. It's gold, gilded — lining the furnishings of a manor sprawling with the extravagance befitting royalty. An Astor is as close as it gets without a title.

AJ didn't understand the term poverty until he reached double digits. Whilst ruthlessness played a part in the uprising of the Astor Enterprise, their success strings back to the rumours of Gods and deities of ancient times. A king with greed taught a lesson most humbling for a monarch. AJ's been told a dozen stories at night about the Astor's gift for metals and alchemy; the Midas Touch, they said.

Everything beholden them eventually turns golden. Theirs. There's nothing humble, or charitable about it. No God or Greek to call them out on the magical abuse. If one is clever enough, it's simply just a goldmine.

When the pillars of the entry hall grew boring, AJ would use the Astor gift to make it something else; something duller, more brittle — sometimes, too rough with the magic and the ceiling fell in on itself. A china dinner set easily replaced, everything has a price; life even, has a cost.

Practice, they said. His parents, masterful at the craft, CEO and CFO of Astorgold; the family business, shrouding the terrible but alluring gift of alchemy. From the Thames, a grandmother tells him — when he asks about the terrible price it must have, to turn stone to gold with just a will — to be taught the craft from an ornate alchemy lab. She merely says it's a gift for only those worthy.

The first time AJ loses grip on it — he's merely bickering with his best friend about the waiting list for the latest Audemars release. 'You're a billionaire, AJ, let the rest of us have something.' AJ remembers laughing when he threw a hand — then, the shiny, polished scream of a golden face staring back at him; a statue so crassly carved, so heavy in weight he could not move it as precious metal stares back at him.

He hadn't mastered the art of reversing the touch, either.

Astor can only melt it, to be the next shipment for the company. Astors have nothing to cry over, his father tells him. It sticks; it's as heavy as gold is.

When his younger brother had been born, the Astor world shifts. AJ moves into the Astor apartment, overlooking Thameside; a 1920s, Grade II listed building, in its neoclassical charm. It's hardly the slums at forty-million but it feels like the equivalent of dismissal. He's too careless, too disinterested in the business. A god without a cause, a reason. He'd argue it's blow and charm; vices alongside a warm bed surrounded by his family's precious metals.

AJ focuses on his alchemy; the craft, and his family's — the Astor Coven's talent for the sciences, and the magical. But he doesn't do it for them.

So his brother is named heir of Astorgold at the age of eighteen.

AJ is made a formal executive, spending too much time in lavish parties in the absence of his family's watchful eye. He falls into the easy lifestyle of money gets you everywhere; for a man who can create it at the edge of his fingertips, it's never a sweat.

But the gloves help, on the worst days. When he's pouring new formulas and spelling matter to forge something else entirely; cure-alls, diseases — testing the waters of immortality, on a particularly off day. He skips all that in favour of snow on the days when the world is tedious.

When his little star-eyed brother goes missing; he is dispatched as a loyal coven member to his last known whereabouts. It's an unasked for adventure — and whilst he wishes his brother well, AJ thinks Port Leiry is a dive of a city; in need of a little Astor touch.

CONNECTIONS

Camilla Astor (nee.Wainwright), Mother Levinon Joseph Astor, Father Titan Jerome Astor (TJ), Brother

HEADCANONS

AJ is greedy, vain and nihilistic. He's been told the Astors descended from Gods and Kings, he acts like that's written in stone.

Alchemist, through and through. If he can answer his issue with magic, or money. He will. Goodwill plays little part in it.

Wears gloves most days, for an underlying fear that he may lose grip on his magic when he least wants to.

Don't insult him with silver, it's practically a slur.

Whilst he plays it off, the death of his childhood best friend still bothers him — not for the killing, but for the lapse in his innate family alchemy magic.

Unlike his coven's clear-cut path, AJ has little consideration or animosity for the other creatures and covens. Providing they don't interfere with his habits.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO FOLLOW ME ; Someone from England, a friend or Astor coven member that came with him on his search for his brother. This could be an antagonistic, romantic, platonic connection depending on the character. Could get on one another nerves, or distract from the objective — or maybe they want to see the other fail.

THE RIVAL HEIR ; AJ's little brother TJ — both aptly named by too-rich parents thinking they won't need a common name. They're ten years apart in age, TJ being twenty-two. He's reckless and unsuited to the aristocracies of the Astor world. An alchemist too, of a lower degree. Far more people facing, and less buried in the underworld of the rich. Reasoning for running off, was to explore something other than the golden bubble they've been living in all their lives; to see the world. His happenstance or reasoning for Port Leiry could vary. AJ and TJ are civil as brothers but ultimately deal with their magic differently. ( @tjxastor )

A CHARITABLE CAUSE ; Someone AJ's met in Port Leiry that he's either sugar daddying to, as a method of entertainment, or taunting with his magic and expensive lifestyle. Can be romantic, platonic or discussed.

YOU'RE NOT WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD ; someone AJ's denying having any interest in, whether as an associate, something romantic, platonic — something in his history that he wants to forget, or someone that's got some real, terrible dirt on him; AJ has some skeletons in his closet he doesn't need making the papers. Astor; the coven, would reprimand him severely for such smears. This person may be a friend, foe or something else. AJ however, doesn't (denies) wanting anything to do with them.

VICE & ADDITIONS ; FWB's and those he may have relations with, whether paid or unpaid; he throws money at everything, like he's a God himself, or at least God's gift. A supplier in PL for his drug misuse and possibly some neighbourhood witches to get him local alchemist tools that are taking too long to be shipped over.

[ariadnebyanyothername]

Ariadne loved her classes. More so, she loved the people in them. Her Classics minor didn't attract many people, the class was small, selective (she could practically hear Kian rolling his eyes, claiming selective was another word for elitist or prententious, except his words would be much more cutting and in a rather lovely Irish accent) and therefore, her study partners were whittled down to five other lovers of The Iliad and Medea. Her first day of class, her professor had made them go round one by one and introduce themselves, asked why they wanted to study the Classics. Ariadne had pressed her rouged lips together and resisted the urge to mention The Secret History, instead mumbling something about how she loved Emily Wilson's translation of The Odyssey.

She would be lying if she said The Secret History wasn't the reason she adored her small group of six. She hung on every word of her clever classmates, hoping she could forge some kind of fucked up, co-dependent friendship group she could fuck her way through, and maybe even put on her own Bacchanalia deep in the woods for. It had become apparent rather quickly that they were definitely more of a, "Shall we have a pint and discuss Homer?" type of class rather than anything else, but Ariadne still felt very fond of them. Mason, an angelic looking redhead whose hair fell past her butt, had even squealed when she'd learned the name of Ariadne's beloved Italian Greyhound.

She'd agreed to meet her classmates at their local, a quaint little rip-off of an English pub that Ariadne wasn't sure really resembled England at all - not that she'd ever been. Their professor had set them an assignment they were to work on together, one where individual grades would not be given out, so the six of them had sat for the past few hours, glasses of red wine and pints of beer dampening paperbacks and sheet upon sheet of notes as they mind melded. Eventually, as the pub began to empty out around them, each one of her new friends had said their goodbyes, made their excuses and left, until it was just her and Smith, a boy with dark hair and awkward glasses who blushed whenever anyone addressed him directly.

"Sorry, Halliday." he proffered his apology, shoving his books into his bag. "My boyfriend just got off shift and I promised I'd be home before him."

Offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that she tried to make feel genuine and a wave of her hand, Ariadne said, "No problem. See you tomorrow?"

Once her table had emptied, Ariadne stifled a yawn, wondering if she ought to give up too and wander home for the night to Richard Papen. It did seem a waste of a perfectly good night, though. Ariadne had yet to meet her roommate, but she often heard her shuffling around behind closed doors, and had come home some nights after long classes to find Richard's kibble bowl refilled, so whoever she was, she wasn't a complete monster. She was certain Richard would be perfectly fine in her care.

Picking up her paperback and her half-empty glass of wine, Ariadne relocated to the bar. It seemed less sad to be drinking alone when you had the company of a book, and maybe even at the bar, she might find someone to talk to. The actress wasn't the kind of woman who did well with long silences, and long stretches of time without anyone to talk to.

Depositing herself on the bar stool, Ariadne crossed her ankles and immediately did away with her sweater, draping it over the back of her chair and tugging at her top, the fabric exposing the lace at the top of her bra and pushing her breasts up, as she cast an eye around for a target.

The only human being in her sights, however, appeared to have no interest in her whatsoever. He was sitting with his body directed away from her, so that the only thing she could make out about him was a messy shock of hair and a - dear God, was that a tweed jacket? She could practically hear Colin laughing as she sat up straight in her chair, unsure how she was restraining herself at that particular moment in time. Most women and men of a particular disposition might roll their eyes at a man wearing tweed in a bar, but it was catnip to women like Ariadne.

Clearing her throat, Ariadne leaned over a little, tapping the man on the shoulder.

"Hello, sorry to interrupt." she started, voice low as she flashed him her sweetest smile, "But could I buy you a drink?"

[snoweylily]

it's never too late to reinvent yourself

Too often, I think, we are sucked into this "ideal" view of life where everyone has a solitary identity and that identity allows all to make very easy and very quick decisions about that person - but look around you. History is brimming with tales of those who shattered their old moulds and built themselves anew - henry ford was 40 before he got his own company, the founder of KFC was in his 60s, morgan freeman was 53 before he "made it", vincent van gogh didn't even start painting until he was 27, vera wang didn't design her first dress until she was 39, and even dracula was 412 before he was brave enough to move to england

So why are you letting the arbitrary number of years lived dictate your potential for achieving incredible things? Every breath is an opportunity to rewrite your narrative, to forge a fresh path through the wilderness of possibilities. Each sunrise gifts you the chance to redefine your purpose, to sculpt your aspirations, to completely and utterly transform yourself

The confines of your comfort zone are shackles in disguise. Don't imprison yourself in the outdated labels that other people have branded you with. Embrace discomfort and uncertainty and change. Yes, the world may scoff and scoff it will, for humans are creatures of habit, quick to pigeonhole and slow to applaud transformation. But remember, the sceptics who raise their eyebrows are the same who once doubted the aeroplane's flight, the smartphone's worth, and the internet's influence

The phoenix doesn't rise from the ashes to remind us of its fall; it soars to illuminate the skies with its triumphant rebirth. Likewise, you too can paint your skies anew, with the hues of your dreams and the strokes of your courage. Embrace reinvention, for it's a timeless journey with no final destination – only endless horizons of possibility and happiness

[scotianostra]

n the 8th February 1429 a contingent of a thousand Scots, commanded by the brothers John and William Stuart, headed to the relief of the beleaguered French garrison at Orleans.

The friendship between France and Scotland was well known; indeed there had long been an alliance between them more popularly known as the Auld Alliance (Vieille Alliance). This friendship was forged because the two countries were at war with England though for different reasons.

Charles V was the first king to employ Scotsmen in his bodyguard, but it is principally with Charles VII that the alliance was properly employed by the creation of the first elements of Scot Guards (Garde Écossaise) who were maintained by tradition in the King’s Household until the 18th century and again under the Restoration.

In 1420, a contingent of 6,000 Scotsmen had disembarked at La Rochelle to assist the Dauphin. John Stewart, Earl of Buchan, the son of the Duke of Albany, regent of Scotland, commanded this contingent. John Stewart was made Constable of France in 1423, after his victory at Baugé. He was killed at Verneuil in 1424. He should not be confused with todays John Stuart of Darnley.

At the beginning of the siege, in October 1428, Orleans sheltered a strong Scottish contingent appointed by the king, since the accounts of the Treasurer for War, master Raguier, noted the presence of companies commanded by three Scottish knights: William Hamilton, Thomas Houston, John Wischard – alias Oulchard –, and five squires: Thomas Blair, Henry Galoys (Galloway), Edward Lennox, David Melvill and Alexander Norwill.

On 8th February 1429 important reinforcements led by William d'Albret arrived, with a strong contingent of 1,000 Scots commanded by the brothers John Stewart of Darnley and William Stewart of Castelmilk. Alas, a few days later there occurred the disaster of Rouvray-Saint-Denis, at the Battle of the Herrings

I shall pick up the rest of this story on the 12th of February.