#harts pub

[wonderingwendy]

Well Sydney, you did not disappoint us today. Third (technically 4th) times the charm. We left our apartment hotel on foot and turned right down Kent Street towards the Rocks as we knew there’s an artist’s market on the weekends and maybe a lunch stop at our favourite pub “at the top of the stairs”(there are a lot of stairs as we found out).

Kent Street leads you right to the Sydney Harbour bridge so we took a left and stayed under the bridge on the city side. Epic sentry spot - they placed cannons and anti-aircraft guns here to protect the whole harbour because you certainly can see for miles who’s coming. Before the bridge foundations were built in 1930s, the house of Major General Finn and his wife stood here but now only the outline of the home remains. That would have been some expensive real estate by now. We also passed Dawes Point where an Englishman, William Dawes was thought to have met and “befriended” (their words not mine) an indigenous woman and recorded some of their language. This rumoured level of trust drew more Indigenous peoples to Sydney to avoid the devastation in their rural communities.

We passed by piers 2/3 and 4, finding new sites. We even had a glimpse of our Meriton hotel on the north side of the harbour which will be our home in 3 weeks time. The market in the Rocks was just as good as we remembered, lots of great stuff and Craig picked up some almond nougat. Then off to find the staircase leading to the pub. Always fun to climb lots of stairs in the heat of the day. Finally found Harts pub and downed a few glasses of water and then a Bertie’s organic apple cider (better than the other way around) while Craig enjoyed a Pickled Monkey lager. PS Ordering the vegan nachos was a bit of a mistake since we just wanted to avoid meat not real cheese etc.

Anyway recharged, we set off for the Royal Botanical Gardens and enjoyed the newly opened second building of the Art Gallery of NSW. Such a lovely way to escape the heat - beautiful building, beautiful art.

Our afternoon well spent, we set off to wander in the shade of Hyde Park. Oh yeah, and we knew the best espresso martini awaited us at the other end at Canopy cafe - arrived during happy hour, no mistake here.

Back to our room to cool off and then a Greek dinner. A refreshing evening breeze took us for a after dinner stroll home along Darling Harbour only to watch a surprise 9 pm harbour fireworks display. Amazing where 20k steps will take you in a day.

[starterheart]

woahhh it’s only 8pm… shooutout to being a lightweight. also man it’s soooo easier to drink or take another hit when you’re tipsy just like… will keep going no problem.

[babzyz]

[bahoreal]

sad truth of the "jackie tyler and ruby sunday drink at the same pub" joke is that there are more than 3000 pubs in london and not a single one has a unique name

[britishpubs]

Ons day she'll do this while she has a crimson mask, and it'll be the coolest thing ever.

[Julia Hart vs Kris Statlander (C) for the AEW TBS Title, AEW Wrestledream 2023]

[blackpoolhistory]

An incredible view of The Bowling Green Hotel at the junction of Waterloo Road and Bond Street, South Shore.

The building later became a Woolworths store and was more recently known as Hartes until it's demise around 2009 where it has sat derelict ever since.

The Bull pub and its chimneys can be seen in all photographs.

[virgo-dream]

The New Inn trough the ages ✨

circa 1901

during WWI

during WWII

circa 1960

october, 2022

After the wonderful @cuubism posted some photos of the New Inn (and pointed me in the direction of more) I ended up stumbling upon their instagram page, and they had these wonderful photos of the Inn through the ages! Other cool info:

The pub has existed since 1642 and it was originally called The White Hart! Here’s a transcript of the text on the plaque next to the entrance:

“In 1642 the original Inn was known as The White Hart, but when the present building was erected in 1756, it changed to The New Inn.

From 1780 to his death in 1822, it was called The Hobart Arms after the Hon. George Hobart who lived in Ham Common and was related to the Duke of Buckinghamshire.

It has remained The New Inn ever since, and was renowned as one of the best sites for both travellers and local traffic, always employing at least one ostler.

Today, our fine historical inn offers the warmest traditional hospitality.”

All photos were taken from their official instagram, which you can find at @thenewinn_hamcommon. Drop them a follow and visit if you can! ✨

[britishpubs]

It's so cool to see how far Julia has come- from a manager in a nothing cheerleading group to being intrusted with being in the debut of someone the calibre of Moné. And she's only 21! Definitely see bright things in her future.

Admittedly I'm like a year behind on stardom, so I haven't seen much of Moné's non-wwe work, but she looked good here! The fit was fitting, and she was the centre piece of the show. Enjoyed her debut, and hope this leads to more time for the woman's devision.

[pricetagged]

lorica

Dark November nights aren't safe, especially not for women lingering outside pubs. A taxi should get you home, and it would have if you'd remembered to double-check the license plates.

Here is 2.2k drabbly nonsense since I feel bad about my month-long lack of posting. Ghost/Reader/Price (with implied 141/Reader at the end).

Content: Dark, MDNI, kidnapping, threat of violence, guns, body neutral, f-reader, unedited.

_____________________

White whisps danced and swirled in the air before you, your breath given substance in the chill of the night.

You shuffled from foot to foot, cold air and anxiety swirling in a discomforting soup that sunk down to your bones  A glance up and down the street confirmed that yes, your taxi still hadn't arrived. You unlocked your phone once more, foolish in the hope that staring at the screen would make the car appear sooner. The little black icon on the app mocked you. Your driver is 2.6km away!

A sudden cheer split the silence, flooding from the frosted windows of The White Hart. You and your friends had agreed to leave by 8 p.m., hoping to avoid the jeering and jostling of impassioned football fans. A quiet drink after work was one thing; you hadn't, however, planned on lingering to catch up with the Premier League. The noise of rowdy punters and drunk men spilled once more into the street behind you, making your heart race a little. They were just watching a match, just in their cups…

But standing solitary as you were in the dimly lit street it reminded you that you were alone.

A single streetlight buzzed and flickered its dim companionship.

You could see your breath puffing out in front of you, white on black as the night stretched on. Perhaps you should've agreed to the lift that your friends' offered, cursing your politeness. Don't want to inconvenience you! I'm headed in the opposite direction - let me just call a cab. Dark nights weren't often kind to lone women. Winter, too. It left you shivering, trussed up in fleecy fabrics as the wind bit at your numb nose and made your eyes stream. You looked like some soft, gentle thing huddled in a doorstep, hoping to pass the night safely. You panted a little, unease quickening your breath. The misty vapor furled upwards; you imagined it carrying off your hopes. Your desperation. Please, let this car arrive. Let me get home.

A nondescript black car slowed along the curbside, wheels slick and splashing in the stagnant water gathered by the gutters. You caught the tail end of the license plates, mud splattered yes, but you could see some numbers and letters shining through. Finally. You puffed out your relief, tucking your phone away as you reached for the door. Prayer answered, it seemed.

A wave of warm air kissed your cheeks as you slid in, dry and comfortable.

'Hi, how's it going? 2350, right?' You sent a half-glance at the driver, pulling your seatbelt on as you waited for confirmation.

The gears of the belt buckle clicked in the silence. Heavy, noticeable silence.

Turning back towards the front seat, your polite smile wavered slightly. The driver was a big man. Strange that you hadn’t noticed it before, but he was hulking in the seat, shoulders stretching beyond the limits of the side panels. You swallowed slightly as you noticed the headrest barely brushing the nape of his neck.

Two unwavering, dark eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror.

'Uh…' you faltered slightly, perched like bird in the backseat eager to take off, feathers ruffling and twitching. 'This is- you're the car I called? Confirmation number 2350?'

You could feel your face heating -from the chill outside, the AC inside, the mounting embarrassment - skin feeling itchy and tight. Still, you were reluctant to break his gaze. Your instincts sparked, flared to life illuminating only the thought to keep him in your sights. You felt altogether too cramped in the car, his presence spilling across the back seats.

'Yeah, 2350,' his voice rumbled over the hum of the engine. 'Tha's right.'

He made no move, didn't even blink as he stared you down. You could just about make out the arch of blond eyebrows, the craggy lines of a well-worn face but a black barrier mask halted any further consideration. You cracked first, glancing down to his thick, gloved hand resting on the gearstick. The entire dash was dark, no blue light or luminosity from his phone. No digital dials or screens anywhere.

'Aren't you gonna type it in the app? Confirm it from your end?' You hoped he didn’t notice the shake in your voice, unease plucking at your vocal chords weaving nerves into noise.

'Waitin' on yer rideshare, aren't I?'

'I didn't book a rideshare, this is just-' You cut yourself off as your numb, clumsy fingers groped for your phone. 'Let me check, I should've just booked a solo journey-'

'No need, 's'a busy night. Friday. Match on, lots of punters.' His voice was deep, tumbling like gravel from his chest. It was disjointing, actually, with his mouth covered and the lights off. His voice seemed to echo around, filling all the dark curves and corners of the car's interior. Coming from nowhere but this beast of a man with no mouth.

You shook off the thought like waterdrops from your hair. He was just a working man. Big, yes, gruff, but no need to tar him with the sticky, resinous pitch of your paranoia.

'Yer lucky to get a ride,' he continued. 'Car pool's better than standin' out in the street by y'rself. S'not safe.'

You relaxed a little into the seat, tension trickling away. Slightly. It lingered still at the base of your spine, on the back of your neck.

'Right,' you puffed out a breath as you slid your hand from your pocket. 'Do you know how long they'll be? It's just that I've been out since work this morning and I'm looking to get home sharpish.'

He snorted at that, loud and curt, "'e'll be out when he's out. Someone waitin' for ya to get home, or wot?'

'No,' you hesitated, awkwardness cutting you short, 'sorry. Just tired.'

He hummed at that, flicking his eyes around the silent street outside. Murky, orange light cut through the condensation of the pub windows, casting a faint haze on the shutters and bars of the nearby shops. All closed for the night. All empty.

'Wot you doin' out by y'rself anyway?'

Odd. He didn't seem the type for small talk.

'I wasn't out by myself,' you cringed at how pandering it seemed. How you felt you had to justify yourself. 'Was out for drinks with some colleagues and friends.'

He huffed at that, muttering something too low for you to hear. It made you prickle, for sure that it was at your expense. Maybe you should stick in your earphones, stop talking and just treat this like the transaction that it was. You drummed your fingers against the door panel, breath fogging up the window as you stared out aimlessly.

A few beats passed like that, quiet settling uncomfortably in the car like an itchy blanket. You could feel it, wanted to shift away or throw it off or something, but a glance outside at the damp, litter-strewn street kept you still. Better just to endure the discomfort if it got you home.

The snick of the locks disengaging made you jolt, drowsiness dispersing at the sudden shock of cool air from in front.

A man, almost as tall and broad as your driver, settled into the front passenger seat. His eyes, flinty under his stern brow, mapped the length and breadth of your bundled form. His lips twitched under his mustache, amusement or disbelief carved into the burgeoning smile.

'What's this, then? Picked up a stray?'

You bristled a little, scintilla of apprehension raising the hairs on your arms. They shared a look, something warm and familiar passing between them as the idling engine hummed back to life. They sat in front, black-clad and broad shoulder to broad shoulder nearly blocking your entire view of the dash.

'It's your rideshare, in't it?' the driver grunted as he pulled away from the curb.

'Booked a cab, did you sweetheart?' the stranger turned to you, strong face in profile. You could make out fragments - high nose bridge, dark hair, mutton chops obscuring most of his face. The darkness veiled the details, like staring at a painting through gauze. He was the image, the impression of a man, yes, but distant. Unsettling.

'Clearly,' tiredness and nerves made you sharp. Brittle. You sunk further into the seat, clutching your bag on your lap. As if it could act as a barrier. A shield.

A string of tension hummed, taut and quavering. You tried to ignore, watching streetlamps blur together outside, it but it whirred high and distracting. They noticed it too, you thought, shoulders squaring up as muscles tensed and flexed. The stranger huffed through his nose, proud and steady as an ox. You swore that you heard the driver chuckle under his breath, a low hehehe as he indicated right and turned off from the M60.

'Testy one, I see,' he hummed, disapproving. 'Gonna have to fix that attitude.'

The string snapped, you snapped, 'Look, Sir, I'm not trying to be rude, but I don't fancy a chat. I'm just trying to get home.'

You fumbled in your bag for your earphones, hoping to drown out any awkward silences or terse comments.

'Alright, that's enough of that. Simon, pull over.'

You looked up, half in alarm and half at the authoritative tone of his voice. The driver, Simon apparently, swerved into the hard shoulder with a 'roger that'.

The tattoo beat of your heart drowned out your thoughts, heavy thumps rushing past your ears and thrumming down to your fingertips. You scrambled for the doorhandle, scratching clumsily like a mouse.

'What are you doing? Is this some kind of Chuckle Brothers double act because if so, it's not funny,' your words fell like fragile little shards, hoping to cut but shattering in the air. Your pitch rose, 'You want the bag, my things? I'll report you, you shouldn't be fucking working this job.'

Your phone felt heavy in your hand, shaking fingers missing the keypad as you tried to type the password.

The stranger sighed heavily, patronising. Like you were inconveniencing him in some way. You licked you lips and glanced up, ready to run your mouth again as the app loaded.

A steely glint by the central console strangled the words in your throat.

'Didn't want to have to do this sweetheart,' the stranger's lips quirked up in a sad, half-smile. You scanned his face, seeing no note of hesitation. Just cool, steady eyes and that stupid, fake smile. 'Hand that over, nice and easy.'

Neurons fired, trying to make connections or plans. Trying to assess. Here you were, alone in a car with two strange men. You shouldn't hand your phone to them, you could barely feel your fingers anymore, never mind unfurl them from the edges of the case. If you handed over your phone - your lifeline- then what?

If you didn't hand it over, you had the answer to that question from the barrel of the gun pointed your way.

You stared at it, dull silver in the dark. Like a cynosure, it pulled your gaze towards it. A sick facsimile of the North Star, leading you away from safety and further into the den of the wolves ahead.

Your animal instincts screamed, struggled, but lost as you passed your phone into his large, calloused grasp.

'Good girl,' he smiled fully then, round cheeks and bright eyes masking the coldness beneath. 'Don't get fussy now - Simon, the locks - just sit tight and you'll be home in no time.'

You tugged futilely at the handle, useless now that Simon had engaged the child-safety lock.

'I don't live down this way, I- this is not the right way,' you licked your lips again, mouth dry and bitter with the taste of rising bile. You could see, now, that you wouldn't be going home that night. Your next words tasted acrid, tinged with defeat.  'Why are you doing this?'

'Thought ya wanted to come wiv us,' Simon's gravelly voice cut in, amusement warming the pitch into something mocking. 'Why else jump into a strange car?'

'You said you were my taxi, you confirmed-'

'Did I?' you saw his eyebrow quirk, dead predator eyes meeting yours once more through the rear-view mirror. 'Not very good at lookin' after y'rself, are ya?'

Your quick little breaths fogged up the window beside you. It was hard to see, hard to think. But clearly, not thinking had brought you this far. You didn’t think to accept your friends' offer, didn’t think to properly check the license plates, didn't think open the app and check the journey status.

There must have been something of surrender in the tremble of your lips. In the flickering of your wide, glossy eyes. It scented the air, whetting the appetite of the beasts in front of you, swirling around their chops.

'S'alright, love. We'll get ya home. Get ya taken care of.'

Lacrima painted your lash line, salty and hot as it brimmed over and down your cheeks.

You heard a rustle, felt a rough thumb brushing at your tears. The stranger had reached back, large hand nudging your face back up to look at him.

'No more tears, now, c'mon,' he dug his into the corner of your mouth, tugging your lips into a coy, marionette simper. 'Smile, sweetheart. The rest of the boys are dying to meet you.'

________________________________

Bit rushed, but hey 🤷‍♀️. This has probs been done before but here's my spin. Apologies for the lack of fics lately! Feel like I'm getting my groove back so should have some actual content out soon.

[buckysegan]

how silly of me, to fall in love with you.

Summary: when one of the new pilots around base get's an idea in his head about a certain nurse john egan, is having none of it. john x she. Word Count: 1.1k A/N: i saw a prompt in the tags about john not being willing to give up his jacket. but i think our little possessive bucky would willingly hand it over to lay his claim....i also wrote this in 30 minutes with no edits forgive me. a little prequel look to this pairing.

there was two things about john egan that any one that had been around base for more than five minutes were sure of, the man couldn't sing, and he didn't share her or buck. it was unfair of him and irrational really, to the point that just for just a moment bucky wondered if all of this was moderately cruel of him. despite all the thoughts in his head though, he couldn't help himself.

they weren't at the pub today which meant for a change he didn't have to watch the usual british majors hit on his girl, that was where his usual source of anguish came from because the boys knew that despite the fact bucky liked to advise that the pretty nurse was too good for any of them, especially him, the way his eyes lingered on her was enough of a claim. especially after lil and dye. and john knew, he knew that he was around her just enough that he managed to keep the rest of the boys at bay. that was what was so cruel off him, he wouldn't take her. honestly he didn't think he could because a man like him couldn't taint something so pure.

he just didn't want anyone else having her either.

it seemed that the message that she was his though, hadn't reached a number of the boys that had piled in over the last week and john was pretty sure he was one wrongly placed hand away from loosing it all together.

not even the hand on his thigh and gentle mumblings of his best friend was enough to calm the frazzling of nerves that were building in him. bucky was pretty sure he hadn't smiled in at least an hour, that had to be a record and someone needed to be careful. "she's not looking at them bucky, you don't have a damn thing to worry about." brady offered from across the table where they were all propped, as if each of the men were waiting for their major to blow and ready to pull him back given they'd heard plenty of stories of just how many of them it would take should he decide to loose his temper.

the scraping of bucky's chair had everyone's eyes pulled in his direction, even hers though she had been trying to ignore the way the pilots baby blues had burned into the back of her skull all night whenever she had been asked to dance with one of the boys. she had simply been a welcoming host, every one that knew her knew she was blind to any of the attention that she had received throughout the evening. now she along with the rest of the party was left watching as john stormed in the direction of the door muttering something about being back soon.

barely ten minutes had passed when she felt the heavy fabric droop over her shoulders, the hands on her waist with such boldness confirming just who had appeared despite the fact she had been talking to lieutenant hart. "john..." she trailed, spinning in his grasp as she moved to look up at him, only to realise slowly just how quiet the room had gone. john himself, couldn't bring himself to care at the audience, he had never been shy of a performance and this might have been his best one.

"hi baby." he hummed, fingers cupping at her chin for a second as he looked down at his handy work, the light sheep skin now crowding over her favorite person. "it seemed a little chilly in here, figured that you should be taking care of yourself." he mused quietly and he made no attempts to wipe the smirk that had replaced the glare he had been wearing as he had stormed out of here.

she could feel her cheeks turn an unfortunate shade of red that no amount of powder was going to be able to help her with. this over grown, infuriating man the very cause. at some point in time, when now she couldn't remember, she had fallen immovably in love with john egan. not that he seemed to notice, or if he had, not that he seemed willing to do anything about. she had never questioned why either. she had looked at him plenty, looked at the other nurses following him around base, she knew the options he had which only furthered her confusion at the jacket now slunk around her shoulders.

"no one else is wearing a jacket bucky." she was quick to huff though she had made no move to rid herself of the damn thing, marvelled still at how small this man managed to make her feel. "mhumm, that's the point baby, i'll see you at work tomorrow?" he asked, a side glance at hart telling him that the majors message had been received loud and clear and he knew the message would have been accepted on a wider level too. not everyone had met her, the damn light of his life that wondered around base like his very own sunshine, but everyone knew the distinct jacket that bucky flew in, and now everyone had seen her in it.

backing away to his table john already knew the taunts he would be greeted with but fishing for his glass as he sunk back to his seat, he didn't even bother to hide how proud of himself he was. "jesus john." gale was the first to groan at him, the others soon joining in. "why don't you just piss on her next time, that would be less obvious." brady again, was quick to jab. bucky himself could only offer another shrug of his shoulders as he let his gaze fall to the bar, where he knew she was now watching him from where she was propped. john egan didn't deserve her, he knew that, and neither did anyone else here, he was protecting her, that's all it was.

one day, when her husband came along and she had someone else to love her how she deserved, someone that wasn't a changed man. he would let her go, he'd move on and someone else could keep her safe. just for now the jacket would have to do, it was better than his alternative plan, to grab her, kiss her in the middle of the room and tumble out some sort of confession - how silly of me, to fall in love with you.

[scotianostra]

September 2nd 1724 Maggie Dickson climbed the gallows in Edinburgh's Grassmarket, ready to take “The last drop”

Her downfall came when she got pregnant and tried to conceal the fact. Maggie’s husband had deserted her to work in the Fisheries in Newcastle in Northern England.

Consequently she had to leave Edinburgh and moved to Kelso in the south of Scotland. Whilst there she had an affair with an innkeepers son.

As the Innkeeper was her employer she felt compelled to keep the pregnancy quiet as she would lose her job. Tragically the baby died after being born prematurely and she decided to dispose of the body. She intended to cast it into the River Tweed but instead left it on the riverbank. It was soon found and the authorities quickly determined that Maggie was the mother. At that time such an action in Scotland contravened the 'Concealment of Pregnancy Act' of 1690 which made it tantamount to murder.

"Her reason for concealing the birth of the child was for fear of being made a public example in the church, and a laughing-stock to all her neighbours The legal and religious institutions were severe on women concerning matters of their pregnancy. Even the natural occurrences of miscarriage or still-born infants could incur the wrath of the law.

And so it was, Maggie was tried, convicted and sentenced to hang. The execution took place on the 2nd September 1724 in the Grassmarket area of Edinburgh. This was the favoured location for hangings at that time and normally took place on market day to ensure a sizeable crowd.

Her body was then taken in a coffin for burial to the town of Musselburgh which was east of Edinburgh. Apparently this was only after an unseemly scuffle between her family and local medical students keen for a young body to dissect. The corpses of the condemned were regularly passed to the Schools of Anatomy in the name of science in the 18th century.

The family had their way and took possession of Maggie's remains for burial. They set off on the journey and on the way stopped off at a pub for some refreshments in the Peffer Mill area. All of a sudden there came a knocking and banging on the coffin lid from the inside. Astonished, they opened up the coffin to discover that she was not dead.

Miraculously it seemed that Maggie Dickson had not succumbed to the gallows but had cheated death at the hands of the law. She was alive and well as confirmed by a local gardener on the scene who cut a vein to check for a flow of blood. After spending a night to recover Maggie actually walked back to Musselburgh the next day.

But what would happen next? As the death certificate had already been issued it was impossible to re-execute Maggie. This was because Scots Law is based on Roman Pandects and in this case it prohibited further action. Therefore the King's Advocate could not pursue the matter any further.

Instead he filed against the Edinburgh Sheriff in the High Court of Justiciary for not efficiently conducting the public execution. The ruling also meant that as Maggie was technically dead then her marriage was dissolved.

Furthermore, the prevailing opinion amongst people in Edinburgh considered her survival to be the result of divine intervention. Local people believed it had been 'God's will' that had spared her from an early grave.

Rumours persist that she actually seduced the ropemaker and convinced him to make the noose weak enough not to kill her. We will never know if that's the truth.

Whatever the facts of her hanging Maggie lived for another 40 years and had many children. Her husband remarried her despite that fact that she now sported rope burns and her neck was permanently crooked for the rest of her life. She is said to have ran an alehouse in Musselburgh for the rest of her life.

If you have ever visited Edinburgh’s Grassmarket you will have no doubt seen the names of the bars have a historical connection, The White Hart connects with King David I and his encounter with a White Stag, The Last Drop is of course a nod to the execution place and Maggie Dickson is for our erstwhile subject today, who the people of Edinburgh remember as “ Half-hangit Maggie “

[noxxytocin]

Just Peter Hart Annotations Chapter 3 🏴‍☠️

This chapter was incredibly touching. I really treasure it. 🫰✨ @the-golden-comet

"...paddled their rowboats to the sandy shoal, dragging their loot-laiden waveriders..." - The usage of words here is lovely.

Awww...Davey noticing that he looks like his father. 🥺

"We’ll reconvene for a few pints at The Olde Pub.." - A few pints, my arse. 👀 You scallywags.

"After all, Peter was the Golden Pirate; a crafty gentleman that was loaded to his knees..." - Loaded in more ways than one...? finger guns 😉

Wait the Duke (supposedly) pardoned his dad?! Whoa. If not, I wonder who forged the signature...

THE MOM HUG! 🥺

Oh heavens...Peter's stepdad is a cop? Oh boy...

Omg Pickpocketer!Peter...fitting. "Peter picked a peck of pickled...peckers?" (i'm sorry)

My heart. Peter protecting his mother and giving a white lie about his father's death.....😭 (and her asking Peter to stay)

"My heart belongs to the sea.” - And soon, to a twink in a bag. 🫴✨

"No, mother. I’m part of a fishing crew now." - PETER BE HONEST.

Not Ralph pushing the shame hahaha. Damn it Peter, haha...

Aww, the golden locket. I'd hug Peter and never let go.

"Still, nothing beat the mist of the sapphire ocean speckling his face on a brisk morning, right at the crack of dawn." - I adore the immersion in this line.

Wait- Benji was his childhood bully? OMG.

"Make sure to blow out the candles and wrap yourself in the wool blankets. It’s supposed to be a brisk one tonight." - Ralph is such a gentleman.

"The crew will ROAR at the story: “Ah Peter, you rascal! While we were out drinking, you stole from the crown? So bold~!” - Not Peter being a daydreamer for his accomplishments, haha. What a cutie.

[liverpublians]

The Engineer - Arrad Street, Liverpool The White Hart - Hope Street, Liverpool

What? Two pubs in one!?! This place is cool! On one side you have a steam punk sort of pub with cosy upstairs rooms for small intimate gatherings, the other side is a classic old pub with curtains, warm decor and outdoor seating! I really like this place! Plenty of local taps, charm, candle light, warmth and friendly service etc. This one is high on my list for mood, ambiance and decor.

[muiitoloko]

MISSION: HEARTBREAK

(The GIF belongs to: @blanchett )

Author's Notes: Greetings! I hope you're doing well. In this new narrative, we'll explore an alternative story within the Bedivere and Harry saga, set in an alternate universe. In this tale, Bedivere will be portrayed as an original character, and we'll embark on a separate storyline. So no "YOU" pronouns here, and remember this story is completely separate from the original Bedivere saga

Summary: Harry Hart had always professed his love for Bedivere, but she never took his words seriously. It wasn't until it was too late that she realized the depth of his feelings.

Pairing: Harry Hart ( Kingsman) × OC

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst and mention of death.

Word count: 3151

In the dimly lit pub, Harry Hart, code-named Galahad, sat at a corner table with Merlin, Eggsy (code-named Tristan), and Bedivere. The atmosphere was casual, and laughter filled the air as they enjoyed their drinks and shared stories of past missions.

Bedivere excused herself to fetch some drinks from Merlin at the bar, leaving Harry and Eggsy at the table. As they watched her move through the pub, Harry couldn't help but let his gaze linger on her. She was stunning, as always, with a charisma that drew people in effortlessly.

Eggsy noticed Harry's lingering stare and nudged him playfully. "Oi, Harry, you've been eying Bedivere quite a lot tonight. You should confess your feelings, mate."

Harry didn't look away from Bedivere as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "I've done that, Eggsy. Multiple times, in fact."

Eggsy raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You're joking, right, Harry? I've known you for ages, and I've never heard you confess to anyone."

Harry finally tore his gaze away from Bedivere and turned to Eggsy with a somewhat melancholic smile. "I've told her, Eggsy, but she always thought I was being charming or simply joking. She never took my words seriously."

Eggsy looked genuinely surprised by this revelation. "Bloody hell, Harry, that's impossible. You're not the type to joke about love."

Harry nodded, his eyes still reflecting a hint of sorrow. "I suppose she never realized my feelings, and I never pushed the issue further. I didn't want to risk our partnership."

The conversation was interrupted when Bedivere and Merlin returned to the table with drinks in their hands. And Harry took the opportunity to show Eggsy that he told the truth about Bedivere not taking his confessions seriously. He thanked Bedivere for the drinks and then turned to her, his voice sincere and full of emotion.

"Bedivere," Harry began, his gaze unwavering as he looked into her eyes, "I love you."

Bedivere, true to her flirtatious and mischievous nature, responded with a playful grin, sitting down next to Eggsy and leaning in closer to Harry. Her voice dripped with flirtatious charm as she replied, "Oh, Harry, keep talking sweet like that, and maybe I'll consider getting you another drink."

Harry's heart sank as Bedivere's response mirrored her previous reactions. He forced a smile, his disappointment hidden behind his usual composed demeanor. It was clear that she still didn't believe his words, despite his sincerity.

Eggsy couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He exchanged a bewildered look with Harry, who, in response, gave him a sad, resigned smile. It was clear that Harry's feelings for Bedivere were genuine, but she continued to treat his confessions as playful banter.

Meanwhile Bedivere was playfully flirting with Merlin. Her attempts to seduce the Scotsman became more of a running joke than serious flirtation. She insisted that she loved the Scottish accent, while Merlin, as always, rejected her advances.

Bedivere, undeterred by Merlin's rejection, leaned in closer with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, Merlin, I love a challenge," she purred, her tone dripping with seduction.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice as he replied, "Bedivere, you've been trying to win me over for years. I'm afraid I'm not that easy to conquer."

Bedivere flashed a teasing grin, her charm irresistible even in jest. "Well, Merlin, I've never been one to back down from a challenge."

As Bedivere continued her playful banter with Merlin, another crack formed in Harry's heart. Despite his efforts to express his feelings, she still didn't take him seriously. He sipped his drink, his expression pensive and filled with longing.

Eggsy, noticing the pain in his mentor's eyes, decided to change the subject. He leaned in closer to Bedivere, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, Bedivere, didn't you mention something about an abandoned bulldog puppy on your last mission with Harry?"

Bedivere's face lit up with excitement as she nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes! I found the cutest male bulldog puppy during our last mission. He was all alone, and I couldn't leave him behind."

Eggsy grinned, eager to hear more. "What did you name him?"

With a proud smile, Bedivere admitted, "I named him Harry Jr."

Merlin, who had been quietly observing the conversation, looked between Bedivere and Harry, curiosity piqued. "Why Harry Jr., Bedivere?"

Bedivere snorted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because he has Harry's face, of course." Eggsy chuckled at Bedivere's cheeky explanation.

Harry's disbelief was palpable as he questioned Bedivere, "Did you name a dog after me?"

Bedivere, without missing a beat, said as if stating the obvious. "Of course, Harry. We found Harry Jr together, so he's our son."

She then leaned in closer, her voice filled with humor, "And just so you know, next week is your turn to have Harry Jr. You can't run away from your responsibilities as a father, Galahad."

Eggsy couldn't contain his amusement and burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. He playfully teased, "Well, it looks like you two should get married soon since you now have a child together."

Bedivere pointed at Harry with a grin, adding to the jest, "See, Harry? Eggsy thinks it's a good idea. Maybe we should consider it."

Harry couldn't help but shake his head in amusement, the weight of his unrequited feelings momentarily lifted by the playful banter.

As the quartet continued to enjoy their drinks, Harry's thoughts occasionally drifted to the playful banter about marriage and Bedivere naming a bulldog puppy after him. He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have Bedivere as his partner in life, not just in missions.

Hours passed, and the pub grew darker as the early hours of the morning approached. Laughter and stories flowed freely, but Harry's mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of Bedivere. He couldn't shake the idea of what it would be like to call her his own, to wake up beside her every morning.

But then, in a fleeting moment, Bedivere excused herself, stating that she was going to the bathroom. Harry nodded, watching her disappear into the dimly lit pub. Minutes turned into what felt like an eternity, and Bedivere still hadn't returned.

An uneasy feeling settled in Harry's chest. He decided to discreetly get up from the table, making an excuse to Merlin and Eggsy about needing some fresh air. His true intention was to find Bedivere, making sure she was alright.

Harry moved through the crowded pub, glancing around for any sign of Bedivere. His heart pounded in his chest, worry mixing with the anticipation of seeing her again. He turned a corner and froze as he witnessed a sight that shattered his heart.

In a dimly lit corner of the bar, Bedivere was engaged in a passionate kiss with an unknown man. Their bodies pressed close, their hands tangled in each other's hair. Harry's world came crashing down as he watched Bedivere, even in her drunken state, sharing an intimate moment with a stranger.

It was as if a knife had been driven through his heart. The pain was excruciating, and his vision blurred with unshed tears. Despite all his confessions, despite all the missions they had shared, he wasn't even a consideration for Bedivere, not even for a one-night stand.

Harry turned away, his emotions in turmoil. He couldn't bear to watch any longer. He returned to the table, his face a mask of sorrow as he retrieved his coat, murmuring that he was calling it a night.

Eggsy, noticing the change in Harry's demeanor, asked with concern, "Harry, you alright, bruv?"

Harry's voice was heavy with sadness as he replied, "I'll be fine, Eggsy. Just need some rest."

As he left the pub, Harry couldn't shake the pain in his chest. He had watched Bedivere from afar, loving her from the shadows, but it was clear that he would never be more than a friend and partner to her. It was a bitter realization that would haunt him long after that night.

As Harry drove back to his house, the weight of his shattered heart bore down on him like a ton of bricks. The image of Bedivere entangled with that unknown man replayed in his mind, tormenting him with the harsh reality of his unrequited love.

Upon entering his impeccably decorated house, he mechanically poured himself a glass of whiskey, his hands trembling slightly. As he raised the glass to his lips, the bitterness of the alcohol couldn't compare to the bitterness in his heart. He downed the drink in one gulp, hoping it would numb the pain.

But the pain refused to dissipate. It swirled within him, threatening to consume him entirely. In a moment of despair, Harry hurled the empty glass at the wall with a vehement force he rarely exhibited. The glass shattered, and a framed painting of a stuffed butterfly met its demise, falling to the floor in a shower of glass and splintered wood.

The butterfly, a beautiful specimen that had once hung on Harry's wall, was now ruined, its delicate wings torn. Harry had always been fond of lepidopterology, even before his military and Kingsman days. Those butterflies had been his connection to a world he had dreamt of as a child, a world of beauty and serenity that contrasted sharply with the violence of his chosen path.

Now, as he stood amidst the wreckage, he didn't care about the ruined painting or the broken glass. All he cared about was the searing pain in his chest, the realization that Bedivere, the woman he had fallen so deeply in love with, would never return his affections.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he pressed his hands over them, as if trying to hide his vulnerability from the world. He wished he could hate Bedivere, wished he could erase these feelings that had taken root in his heart. But he couldn't. He was trapped, ensnared by emotions he had never experienced before.

In the dimly lit room, with the remnants of his beloved butterfly painting scattered around him, Harry felt utterly defeated. He had always been the composed and unflappable Galahad, but now he was a broken man, his heart shattered like the glass on the floor. And as he sank to his knees, a solitary tear escaped his clenched eyes, a silent testament to the agony of unrequited love.

Harry felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins as the speedboat roared through the dark waters, away from the dangerous island they had infiltrated. Bullets zipped through the air, impacting the water around them, but he and Bedivere had managed to take down the gang of criminals pursuing them. It was a mission that had gone south, but they couldn't afford to let the flash drive they had recovered fall into the wrong hands.

As they sped away from the mansion, Bedivere expertly maneuvered the boat, her skills as a pilot evident in every calculated turn. Harry kept his aim steady, providing cover fire to deter their pursuers.

The urgency of the situation was palpable. They needed to reach the extraction point where Eggsy, aka Tristan, would pick them up in a helicopter. Bedivere's voice filled with a mixture of adrenaline and triumph as she shouted above the deafening noise of the boat's engine, "We're almost there, Galahad!"

But Harry didn't respond immediately. Instead, a sudden, searing pain pierced his chest, causing him to stumble backward. His hand instinctively reached for the source of the pain, which he quickly realized was a gunshot wound.

Bedivere's voice called out in alarm, but it seemed distant as his focus narrowed down to the agony that consumed him. The world around him felt like it was moving in slow motion, and the urgency of the situation intensified.

"Harry!" Bedivere's voice finally broke through, and he watched as she abandoned the throttle to rush to his side. Her eyes were wide with alarm, and Harry could see genuine fear etched across her face.

Panic gripped him as he struggled to breathe. Blood stained his once-pristine white shirt, and he knew that he was in dire straits. Bedivere reached for her glasses, trembling fingers activating the communication system in a desperate attempt to contact Merlin or Eggsy. Yet, the interference from the island and their remote location made it impossible to establish a connection.

Desperation clawed at Harry as his vision blurred at the edges. He could feel the life draining from him, and his voice came out weak, filled with apology. "Bedivere..."

But Bedivere's voice, filled with determination, cut through his pain. She refused to let him give in to despair, and her words were a lifeline in the storm of agony. "Don't you dare die on me, Galahad."

With trembling hands, Bedivere unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the source of his injury. It was a gunshot wound that had torn through his chest, and blood continued to ooze from it. She tore off her own suit vest, pressing it firmly against the wound in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding, her fingers slick with Harry's blood.

As Bedivere worked to keep him stable, Harry couldn't help but admire her unwavering determination and strength. He knew she was fighting against time, just as much as she was fighting to save him. His breaths grew shallow, his strength waning.

But even in his weakened state, Harry managed to interject with words that held more weight than he could have ever imagined. His voice, though barely more than a whisper, conveyed the sincerity he had held back for so long. "Bedivere... I'm sorry..."

Tears welled up in Bedivere's eyes as she shook her head, her voice quivering with emotion. "No, Harry, don't say that. You're going to be fine. You hear me?"

Bedivere's hands trembled as she tried to stop the bleeding, her fingers stained with his blood. Desperation fueled her, and she attempted to contact Merlin or Eggsy once more, hoping for a response that never came. Panic gnawed at her composure, and she felt as though time itself was slipping away.

Harry, struggling to maintain consciousness, found himself drawn back to the present by Bedivere's voice. She was trying to reassure him, to keep him grounded in this desperate moment. His voice, filled with the weight of his emotions, broke through the haze. "Bedivere... Eggsy... won't make it..."

Realization struck Bedivere like a lightning bolt. She knew their extraction was on a tight schedule, and Eggsy might not arrive in time. Her gaze darted around the remote sea, her mind racing for a solution.

Harry felt the world around him blur as he struggled to stay conscious. The gunshot wound in his chest throbbed with excruciating pain, but what pained him even more was the thought of leaving Bedivere behind, alone on that speeding boat.

He could hear Bedivere's voice calling out to him, a desperate plea to stay alive, and it fueled his determination to hold on. He watched Bedivere desperately searching the sea for a solution, her face etched with fear and determination.

But he couldn't let this moment pass without confessing his true feelings. With a trembling hand, stained with his own blood, he reached out to Bedivere, gently touching her cheek to draw her attention. His voice was barely a whisper, a fragile thread in the cacophony of chaos around them.

"Bedivere," he began, his gaze unwavering as he looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you."

For a moment, Bedivere's frantic movements halted as she locked eyes with Harry. His words held a weight she had never heard before, a sincerity that cut through the chaos of their dire situation. But old habits and doubts still lingered in her mind.

Bedivere shook her head slightly, tears glistening in her eyes as she tried to respond, "Harry, please, don't say..."

Harry's grip on her cheek tightened slightly, his voice filled with urgency as he interrupted her. "No, Bedivere, listen to me. I've loved you for years. I'm not joking, not being charming. I mean it with every fiber of my being."

His eyes pleaded with her, begging for a glimmer of belief, for the affirmation he had longed to hear from her. He knew she didn't love him back, but in this desperate moment, he needed her to lie, to say the words that could bring him some peace.

"Please," he whispered, his voice trembling with the vulnerability of his confession. "Just... lie to me. Tell me you love me."

Bedivere's tears fell freely as she shook her head, her voice choked with emotion. "Harry, you're not going to die. You have so much to live for, more missions, Harry Jr..."

The mention of their bulldog, their shared "son," brought a faint smile to Harry's lips despite the pain. He was grateful for the memories they had created together, even if it was as unconventional as naming a dog after him.

"Harry Jr," he repeated with a soft chuckle, his hand still cupping Bedivere's cheek. "Our son."

But the pain was relentless, and Harry knew his time was slipping away. His voice grew weaker as he continued, his gaze never leaving Bedivere's. "Please, Bedivere, just once... say it. Say you love me."

Bedivere's tears fell onto Harry's hand, and her heart ached at his plea. She couldn't bear to lie to him, to give him false hope. But in this moment, as the speedboat raced through treacherous waters, she couldn't deny him the solace he sought.

With a trembling voice and a heart heavy with unspoken emotions, Bedivere whispered, "I love you, Harry."

Harry's eyes held a fleeting moment of peace as those three words finally reached his ears. It was all he had ever wanted to hear from her. As his strength waned further, he whispered back, "Thank you, Bedivere."

Harry closed his eyes, the world around him fading into darkness. Bedivere's voice sounded distant, echoing in his fading consciousness. He knew he was leaving her alone, and that thought pained him deeply. But at the same time, he couldn't bear to stay awake any longer, for he knew he was dying.

In those final moments, fear was absent, replaced by a profound sense of peace. Hearing Bedivere say those three words, even though he knew deep down they were a lie, brought him a happiness he had never known. It was enough to make him content, to let him die in her arms, in the arms of the woman he had always loved.

And so, with Bedivere's voice as his final anchor, Harry's world went black, his heart at ease, knowing that he had bared his soul and received a fleeting, beautiful lie in return.

..... Part two?

[topazadine]

🐎Story/WIP Tour Tag⛰️

Thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag! This one looks interesting and I am not sure I can do it justice, but I'll give it a shot. I absolutely loved Captain Hart taking us all around the world!

Our tour guide through Breme and Sina today will be Mordrek Willets, spy with the Sinan Intelligence Services. He doesn't appear until the fourth book in The Eirenic Verses, but you'll get a little sneak peak of him today.

Here, we're looking at his diary entries of the different places he has visted in Sina and Breme, which will be coded with the country color.

Kulniryi

Capital of Sina, home to the Royal Ocean Palace, Queen Alnan College, and of course, Thieves' Quarter, home to yours truly. Major international port, which would likely be the perfect place to launch an attack if the Fuarese Union gets sick of being Sina's vassal state. Kulniryi Harbor is one of the deepest and largest ports in the world - or so Queen Susuma says. Able to accommodate dozens of merchant ships at a time, it's no wonder that vessels from all across the globe come here. At least I can always be assured a beautiful woman to romance at one of the dozens of pubs. Loud, ugly, but perhaps the most beautiful city I've ever seen. So clean, and I must grudgingly admit that the black Royal Ocean Palace looks striking against the pale granite cliffs.

Santal

Suburb of Kulniryi. Most notable for Wet Cat Tavern, run by my good friend Ganbold. He's done me far too many favors over the years. Given that he was able to gracefully exit the Sinan Intelligence Services in a much more ... diplomatic way than me, it's always brimming with good intel. And Ganbold is more than happy to calmly and rationally persuade anyone who may not be behaving correctly to leave. Without any dangerous tactics, of course. Also home to the Haratshi family. I don't really want to talk much more about that.

Heretic's Way

This was the path that the heretical Princess Yiella took out of the future land of Sina with her lover, Seinn Luridalr Breme, who subsequently blocked their exit in quite a fantastical way. Anyway, Heretic's Way is perfect for those seeking a more discreet way to travel around Sina, given that everyone's terrified of the place. Not really sure why. Sinans aren't known for being particularly superstitious, but it seems the entire country has thrown away their brains when it comes to this one little path. Or maybe it's because they keep finding half-eaten bodies scattered willy-nilly about the premises. Briar bears, to be sure. I wouldn't know anything about that. Just secondhand information.

Eavelnen

Utter piece of shit town. Ugly, useless, and the one single pub is filthy. I was pretty sure I caught multiple diseases, but at least the alcohol's strong enough to burn away any parasites that might have got their hooks into me. Can't really say much more than that the air is perfumed with horse manure and body odor. You can smell the place from a mile away.

Traifalnar

What a strange little place - like one of those fairytales they read to children. It's built on a swamp, so there are dozens of little bridges that create a lacey network of streets. The buildings are sunk into the murky soil by heavy timber pylons that are probably rotted half to hell by now, so they're girded by strong wires that hold them all up, leaning against one another and distributing the weight. The townsfolk use these wires to send baskets or messages across the streets when they're too lazy to get out and walk. Its pub, Firefly's Rest, is pretty cute, I must admit. But god, the bugs. No wonder all the townsfolk wear citronella cloaks all year round.

Wieleiss

A forgettable town. It's one of the smaller military outposts but damn, do they take themselves far too seriously. The rolling foothills of the Rimuk Mountains - aftershocks of Breme's Saint Luridalr creating her fantastical barrier - start around here, so the town has a lovely view of the hills if you're staying at the Inn Wieleiss, the tallest building in town. I will admit that their inn is excellent: clean, with a well-stocked bar. The security leaves something to be desired, though. Probably because the soldiers themselves are not of the finest quality this far from Kulniryi. Of course they're taking bribes. The place has almost no industry. They're basically private security at this point.

Yunnoun

Spooky town. Butting right up against the Rimuk Mountains, it's the most fortified outpost in the entire country, always ready at a moment's notice to attack. Most of the populace is connected to the armed forces in some way, whether they're soldiers, military wives, or contractors. Their stables are enormous and maintained with almost neurotic precision. Of course, the Sinan army does not use horses in warfare - most of the soldiers have to go right up the Rimuk Pass to engage - but they are very useful for ferrying supplies, and most soldiers are accomplished in equestrianism anyway, as they may be asked to ferry messages to other outposts. Horseback riding is a good way to keep them from getting lazy, too. There are four entrances, each guarded by multiple soldiers who do not take kindly to those without proper identification. The military headquarters squats in the center of the town, with the barracks stretching out like spiders. Its training grounds is incredibly extensive and can accommodate hundreds of soldiers at a time.

Nyulinsk Defensive Tower

A tower hammered into the Rimuk Mountains, which has always been a sore spot for the Bremish. We stuck a military fortification on their most sacred mountain: Mt. Luridalr, so named after their beloved saint. Of course Queen Kulni did that just to piss them off, and it has worked marvelously for hundreds of years. More than a few soldiers have been picked off the top while trying to perform maintenance, so the poor tower is beat all to hell. There are singe marks from flaming arrows on the interior - it has always fascinated me how well the Bremish archers can get their arrows into those tiny slits. I imagine it has something to do with their precious High Poetry. I have not been inside so cannot speak much about the interior. Queen Susuma doesn't trust me enough, I suppose. As well she should not.

Rimuk Pass

This was supposedly where Saint Luridalr stood while bringing up the mountains: it's almost like an empty doorway in the middle of the enormous range that spans the length of the continent. Well, it used to be an open door. The Bremish have fortified it to hell and back with layers upon layers of brick; I imagine dozens of their soldiers have died attempting to protect their country by building a bigger wall. And, of course, during battles, which take place almost exclusively at the Pass. Our army has installed convenient footholds to climb up the side and drop down into enemy territory. Once they are beyond the Sinan border, most know that they are unlikely to return. Many have defected upon realizing how defenseless they will be on the other side - and how little Queen Susuma cares about getting them back unless they are somehow related to the royal family.

Dropbone Caverns

A strange, curving, and terrifying network of caverns buried under the Rimuk Mountains: impurities in the rock when it was wrenched from deep in the earth. There are at least two rivers that wind through it, having percolated from the very top of the mountains on their way into the groundwater. I can confirm that this long filtration process makes for very hard water. Delicious, though. The Bremish, being superstitious fools, refuse to use the Dropbone Caverns - or any caverns under the Rimuks - as points of attack. They believe that their dead reside in some mythical Cave of All Fallen, where Saint Luridalr waits with them for the end of the world. From there, they believe that their goddess Poesy will rewrite the world and they will reincarnate with their loved ones after a long "dream." Utterly ridiculous notion and very tactically unwise, but the taboo is so strong that the Bremish Army sporadically performs sweeps through a small section to ensure that none of their people have set up camp there. Being as they only check perhaps once or twice a year, and daren't traverse very far, most of the caverns remain unmapped. There are deep ravines that can easily become one's tomb if they aren't careful.

Vieleste

Beautiful Vieleste is a military outpost close to the Bremish entrance of the Dropbone Caverns. It is also home to the Vieleste Meronym, one of the High Poet Society's religious centers. An easy rule of thumb is that if there is a meronym, there is likely a military presence as well. The High Poets and the Bremish Army are closely entangled, given that the poets help enchant weapons for the military's use. I have never heard of anywhere in Breme where there is not at least the tiniest military outpost near an official meronym, though the High Poets have retreats throughout the country where their members can work in privacy. Anyway, Vieleste is a unique place in that some of the buildings have been erected atop the ruins of older homes that were crushed by boulders triggered by the Sinans. To think that they live atop the graves of their ancestors ... very disturbing, to be honest. I have been told this is because they believe though the boulders were sent from malice, they are hewed from the Rimuk Mountains, and thus they are sacred.

Gold Cascade

Oh, how can one even speak of the Gold Cascade without breaking down in tears at its beauty? It is born from a lake at the top of one of the Rimuk Mountains, which few have ever seen. The Bremish refuse to climb the mountains, and the Sinans rarely go for pleasure. I find myself deeply curious about what it may look like up there, at the top of the world .... This thunderous waterfall is so named because at sundrop, it is lit up in glorious golden hues, making it seem a stream of citrine pouring down the mountain. Some also believe that Saint Luridalr herself hid a treasure trove at its base, but I doubt it. She did not seem the avaricious type from what I have been told. At certain times, the Gold Cascade is wreathed in rainbows, while it steams during the summer. A unique ecosystem has grown up around it, including hardy fish and beautiful ferns. However, its strength has carved out underclings through the rock that surrounds it, creating vortices that could easily drown anyone who attempts to swim there. There are a number of superstitions about damned souls, and some believe that the Cave of All Fallen begins at its base.

Miskinint Lake

Technically a sinkhole, but I'm not about to argue with the Bremish about this. It is fed from the Gold Cascade further upstream, which then turns into the Great Gold River that nourishes most of the populace until it peters out into smaller rivers around the Windswept. I have been told this is a popular swimming hole and diving spot because of its steep cliffs and great width. There are specialized species that live here, including the Miskinint crayfish. Absolutely delicious with sheep's butter.

Caichaille

A very small, isolated town near the Rimuk Mountains, upways from Vieleste and its ilk. Perhaps 100 people live here, though it may be less. There is a cave entrance close by that has been firmly closed with a large iron door, and only the High Poets are allowed inside this cave to provide alms to the dead. The town itself is ringed with a defensive boulder wall, but there is a poet's retreats on its outskirts. A really ugly one, to be honest. It looks like someone just threw together a bunch of boulders and called it a day. I imagine it was probably a young High Poet forced to do this to prove her power.

Vercingetorix

Previously named Paulemaule, its current name is in honor of one of Breme's five saints, whose claim to fame was learning how to poison arrows and kill scores of Sinans through some incurable disease. Saint Vercingetorix was eventually caught and tortured by Sinan forces, and the secret to this poetry died with her. Some of her body parts were recovered by the Bremish and are kept as relics at the meronym. Given that she killed Sinans through an epidemic, Saint Vercingetorix is the patron saint of healing, and her meronym is renowned for its focus on the medical arts. Many desperately ill Bremish come here in hopes of finding a cure for their ailments. There is also a small military outpost, as expected, but I have seen that it is poorly maintained and ill-equipped to deal with an invasion.

Bewerian

The capital of Breme, it is the largest and most prosperous town. It is separated from its adjoining suburb, Goldnin, by Mermina's Bridge, which spans the Great Gold River. Mermina was one of Breme's five saints, who reversed a terrible drought of the Great Gold River through her poetry. Bewerian is home to the Bremish Council and the War Committee, which is their central place of governance. The War Committee is subordinate to the Bremish Council, and both are informally whipped by the High Poet Society, which works autonomously and could rescind its promise to help the military at any time. There is also a court here, where the most serious of crimes are prosecuted: sedition, treason, murder, child abuse, and assault. I have been told that the trials are mostly perfunctionary and that being convicted is a near-certainty. The punishments are brutal yet appropriate, such as castration for a serial sexual offender. Can't say I have many complaints about that.

Goldnin

The primary suburb of Bewerian, this is the home to Breme's principal marketplace and the Goldnin Meronym, where the most powerful High Poets train and perform their arts. I suspect that placing the meronym in the suburb was to demonstrate their independence from the government and military, forcing high-ranking officials from the Bremish Council to make the commute if they wish to consult with the poets. This is also the location of the War Academy, where soldiers train or wait for deployment. The training grounds are large and well-equipped, while there are numerous dormitories and barracks. One can see child soldiers here, as young as 11 years old, developing their bloodlust. There are also children they title "Future Boys," who can be thrown there by their parents when as young as 6 or 7. They are forced to perform manual labor until they reach the age of entrance into the Academy.

The Windswept

A vague and mysterious area of Breme set aside for the nomadic tribes: the original inhabitants of Breme, who were slowly pushed aside as more people turned to an agrarian lifestyle. While the nomads have representation on the Bremish Council and their own system of governance, they are often treated as second-class citizens by the settled peoples, who view them as backwards and archaic. In many ways, it feels like they are an enclave within the overall country, making their own rules and settling their own disputes through ancient processes. This area is less resource-rich than the settlements, yet carefully maintained by the tribes for maximum efficiency. Seasonal migrations help to cycle the soil and allow it to rest. There are large herds of feral horses, wolves, wild pigs, and even some strange, savage flightless birds that frequently cause problems. Large herbivorous creatures known as auraks live here and are hunted down using the fearless Bremish wolfhounds, domesticated from wolves and known for their indefatigability. Apparently the settled peoples think aurak meat is disgusting and prefer their livestock.

All these fascinating places will feature, at sometime or another, in the Eirenic Verses. If you'd like to get a good idea of what Goldnin and Bewerian are like, check out 9 Years Yearning, the first book in the series!

Tumblr tag list: @kuebiko-writing, @ryns-ramblings, @cain-e-brookman, @halfbit, @macabremoons,

@theverumproject, @aquadestinyswriting, @urlocalwitch555, @sarahswriting, @drchenquill,

@davycoquette, @mysticstarlightduck, @aalinaaaaaa, @gioiaalbanoart, @theaistired,

@somethingclevermahogony, @wyked-ao3, @avaseofpeonies,

[drabbles-mc]

Better This Time

Harry Hart x Merlin

Written for @ess-jay-oh-kingsman for the 2024 Fandom Trumps Hate fan auction!

Warnings: 18+, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, grief

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: my favorite pair of superspy husbands 🥹

“I don’t think that the late again was necessary,” Harry said as the two of them laid in bed together at the end of what had been a very busy day for both of them.

Merlin chuckled as he adjusted the blanket over his legs. Even with his glasses on the bedside table, he was still close enough to see the perfectly neutral and unamused look on Harry’s face. He saw the way that the man laying next to him kept his gaze locked firmly on the pages of the book in front of him. He wondered if Harry was really reading any of the words at all or if it was just for show.

“Necessary? No,” he conceded with more amusement in this voice than Harry probably cared for. “But it was—”

“I don’t think it was that funny, either,” Harry finished the sentence for him, already knowing where it was going.

Merlin sunk down further on the bed so that he was lying flat on his back. He only stayed like that for a moment before rolling onto his side, turning to face Harry. He didn’t wait for him to make eye contact to say, “Respectfully, I disagree.”

That was what got Harry to turn and face him, looking down at him over the rims of his glasses. “Respectfully?”

Merlin didn’t hesitate as he nodded, one arm tucked comfortably underneath the blanket while the other laid across the top of it. “Always.”

Harry shook his head. “Now you’re just lying.”

There was a moment of silence before the both of them allowed themselves to smile and laugh. Harry gave up on the façade of reading his book, sliding his bookmark between the pages before letting it fall shut. He set it on the nightstand that lived on his side of the bed before resting his glasses on top of it.

Once he shimmied down so that his head was on the pillow, he reached over and turned the lamp off. The only thing that kept the room from being cast into complete darkness, was the light sneaking in through the window—a little from the streetlamp outside, a little from the neighboring houses full of night owls. Once he was on his side, his position mirroring Merlin’s, it was enough for Harry to still be able to see him alright even without his glasses on. For Merlin, everything was fuzzy in low lighting but he still found it comforting in a way.

“Worried I ruined your first impression?” Merlin asked, a twinge of humor in his voice.

Harry shook his head, the sound of the movement against the pillowcase the only thing that they could hear in the otherwise silent room. “Hardly.”

Merlin knew exactly what Harry’s first impression had been. It was nearly a day-long impression but it certainly did the trick. He would’ve believed it even if he hadn’t watched it back on the feed from Harry’s glasses.

“D’you want to talk about what happened, then?” Merlin asked.

Harry’s brows pinched together. “What?”

“At the pub.”

Part of Harry was thankful that Merlin wouldn’t be able to see the intricacies of the expression on his face at the moment. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Now Harry was the one lying. He was lying and they both knew it. It was the type of thing that he could get away with when it came to everyone else, but not with Merlin. He knew that, too, but his pride got the better of him sometimes. And if it wasn’t his pride, it was just pure stubbornness born of everything else.

They’d done this dance enough times over the years that Merlin knew exactly what he was in for. He had all the time in the world to wait it out, to talk in circles that got smaller and smaller until they had no choice but to address the topic at the center of it all.

“Aye, of course. The cleanup crew we had to send to The Black Prince was just part of doing business, then? Cost of recruitment?” He paused and he could hear how Harry took in a breath in preparation to try and come to his own defense but he continued before he could get a word in edge-wise. “If that was what you had in mind for your first impression I guess I can’t say that you don’t know how to make it a memorable one.”

Harry waited, wondering if Merlin was going to beat him to the punch again. When the silence persisted, he said, “It wasn’t part of my plans, no.”

“So…do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Merlin rolled his eyes knowing full-well that Harry would be able to see him do it. Certain petulant behaviors like that were reserved for when it was just the two of them behind closed doors. Strange little intimacies that had developed over the years.

Harry saw it, could feel it coming before it happened. Since he was ready for it, he already had his response lined up. “I think that if either of us should be talking about it, it should be you.”

“Me?” Merlin said, unable to stop the chuckle that slipped out with the word.

“Yes.”

“I’m not the one who went around South London and—”

Harry cut him off, much more direct in his attempts to stop Merlin from deflecting. “You still haven’t said anything about James.”

The silence that followed his statement spoke volumes. There was no getting away, no hiding now. Even if he was to turn his back to Harry, pull the blanket up and clean over his head like a child, it wouldn’t grant any real or effective distance. He wondered if Harry hadn’t brought it up in earnest until then for that exact reason.

Patience was a virtue they each had when it mattered the most. So they waited. Harry had the urge to reach out and take Merlin’s hand in his, rest his hand on his shoulder even, but he fought it for now. Gave Merlin the time and the space to try and string his words together without interruption.

“He shouldn’t have gone alone,” Merlin finally said, trying his best to sound detached and failing miserably.

Harry stayed silent still. There was plenty that he could say, could ask in response to what Merlin had said, but he could feel the emotions welling up inside the man laying in bed with him. Merlin wasn’t done, and for all their bickering and cutting each other short under every other circumstance, it wasn’t the time or place now.

Merlin took a slow, deep breath. “He shouldn’t have been alone. I—” He stopped himself short, hearing how the lump in the back of his throat was changing the sound of his voice. “When I lost communications with him I should’ve done something. Should’ve sent someone, should’ve gotten him out of there. That’s my—”

“As fast as you are,” now Harry interjected, his voice quiet and gentle, “you wouldn’t have been able to get someone to him fast enough.”

“Shouldn’t have let him go, then,” Merlin retorted with a shake of his head.

Harry let out a soft chuckle, one that was accompanied by the smallest of smiles that Merlin couldn’t see, but he’d be able to hear in his voice. “There was never any letting with him.”

The truth of the statement got a tiny hum of amusement out of Merlin. For a few precious moments the air didn’t feel quite so heavy, each of them remembering the years of brazen antics that had ended well. That became James’s mode of operations shortly after he became part of Kingsman. It was a welcome change of pace in a way—funny that someone had come along that made Harry Hart seem subtle.

Harry saw it happen, the shift in Merlin’s expression as their current reality set back in. Now he allowed himself to reach out and thread Merlin’s fingers with his own. The way that Merlin traced his finger along Harry’s wedding band wasn’t lost on him. Small comforts.

“You’re all my responsibility,” he finally said. The statement wasn’t untrue, but Merlin could feel Harry tensing up and getting ready to try and alleviate him of the stress he put on himself. He didn’t allow Harry to get there. “That comes with my position there. But James…” He trailed off, allowing himself to focus on the feeling of warmth emanating from Harry’s palm while he tried to gather himself. “James was my responsibility because I brought him into this. I brought him into this and then…”

Harry pulled their joined hands closer, placing a soft kiss on Merlin’s knuckles. “And then for seventeen years you ensured that someone always had his back.” He continued, lisp brushing against their joined hands as he spoke. “You made sure that he never went into any situation blind or alone.”

“Until—”

“Until he willingly put himself in that position,” Harry said, firmly but gently all at once. He kissed his knuckles once more. “This wasn’t your fault. He made his own decisions on that. He knew the risks.”

Something resembling a weak smile passed over Merlin’s face for the briefest of moments. “This all sounds rather familiar.”

Harry nodded. Even as he was saying the words he knew that he had been on the receiving end of them so long ago now even if it didn’t feel like it. There had been plenty of nights when he and Merlin laid in this exact position, in a house not quite as nice as the one they were in now, wedding bands not yet on their hands, and Merlin was the one comforting Harry after they lost Lee. Maybe it was all a little too fitting that James was gone and now Lee’s son was in the running to be the next Lancelot. He could think about that later.

“Someone who considers himself to be a rather smart man told me these things once.”

Merlin’s lips tugged up into a small smile, thankful for the little tidbits of levity that the two of them managed to dredge up for each other even in times of intense darkness and heaviness. “Do you consider him to be a rather smart man, then?”

He scooted a little closer to him, head resting on the very edge of his pillow, mere centimeters from falling into the small gap between his pillow and Merlin’s. “Certainly.” He kissed the knuckles of Merlin’s hand. “Not that I’d ever say that to him though.” He smiled and Merlin could feel it against his skin. “I tell him that and then his head wouldn’t fit through the door any longer.”

Harry felt the easing of the tension in Merlin’s muscles just before hearing the hum of amusement that he let out. “Can’t have that.”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

Even with their hands intertwined, Merlin was able to brush his finger along the side of Harry’s face. “It’d be a shame of neither of us could get through the door with ease.”

Merlin’s fuzzy vision be damned, he could still picture Harry’s shifting facial expression with perfect clarity in his mind. The same unamused look that he used on the recruits, on their marks. The same look that hadn’t worked on Merlin in decades but for the sake of the bit he went along with it.

They allowed themselves to enjoy the gentle jabs and humor of the moment. Merlin moved in a little closer as well, the two of them now close enough that their noses were nearly touching. The closeness, combined with their long legs, now made it so that with each small shift and shuffle their legs brushed against each other.

Harry untangling their fingers so that he could rest his hand tenderly against Merlin’s cheek was what brought their conversation back to the real concerns at hand. Merlin let his eyes close, focusing on the sensation of Harry’s thumb swiping back and forth along his cheekbone. It was a softer, much more pleasant thing than what they needed to talk about. And Merlin wasn’t disillusioned—he knew that they did need to talk about it.

“Does it feel better this time,” Harry began, intently watching Merlin’s expression even though the man was keeping his eyes closed, “not having your own dog in the fight?”

Merlin’s brows pulled together pensively as he considered what Harry was asking him. He’d been so caught up in the chaos of another round of recruits, the bone-deep weariness of losing James, the suffocating sense of guilt behind it all, that he hadn’t even given that conscious thought even if it had been running the background of his mind.

He kept his eyes closed as he thought a little harder on an answer. Finally opening his eyes, he brought his hand up and wrapped it around Harry’s forearm. He didn’t try to move his hand, just wrapped his fingers around Harry’s arm and let the warmth of his skin seep into his palm. “I’m glad that I didn’t have to give any thought to who I’d want to have replace him.”

Harry couldn’t stop his frown. “It’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Merlin countered before Harry could get a complete thought out.

They each knew that the other was right in a way. They also knew that if the shoes had been on opposite feet, they’d each both be saying the same exact thing as the other. The innate understanding that they had of each other made it hard to argue sometimes. Neither of them was looking for a fight this time, though.

Merlin ran his thumb back and forth along Harry’s arm. Allowing his eyelids to grow heavy and close once more, Merlin asked, “Are we going to talk about the boy, then?”

He felt the way Harry stiffened slightly, tension returning to the muscles in his forearm. “I wasn’t under the impression that there was anything to talk about.”

Merlin chuckled, the sound low and breathy as sleep crept closer and closer. “So, no. Alright.”

Harry wanted to get mad but he couldn’t really, not with the tired, nearly docile tone that Merlin was speak to him in. It was hard to get angry at that. Harder still to try and get angry when the man in front of him was melting between Harry’s palm and the pillow his head was resting on. It was almost its own different kind of infuriating, a notion that got Harry to crack a smile at no one but himself.

Leaning in, Harry pulled his hand away from Merlin’s face so that he could press a tender kiss on his cheekbone, followed by one on his lips. He could feel the hum of approval just as easily as he could hear it.

Harry was smiling still as he slipped his hand beneath the covers so that he could rest it on Merlin’s hip. “I love you, you know.”

Merlin gave a tiny nod. “I kn—”

“Even when you’re being insufferable.”

The laugh he let out then was genuine despite the exhaustion woven into it. He managed to wrap Harry up and pull him in tight, able to hook his chin perfectly over Harry’s head to keep him close. He felt the pressure of Harry’s forehead against his chest, the soft but not quite ticklish sensation of his hair against the bottom of his chin. He could breathe in the scent of Harry’s shampoo, and just like that the tiredness didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

“I love you too,” Merlin said, half-mumbled as he was finally rewarded with a real rest, however brief it would end up being.

Neither of them brought any of it up again until it was time for the candidates to choose a puppy. Until then, they’d been riding the very fine line between compartmentalization and avoidance. However Merlin’s passive, albeit mildly judgmental comment of, “He chose a pug,” as he stood by the stove cooking dinner was enough to break the unofficial stalemate they’d been locked in.

Harry, who’d previously had his focused dialed into the tablet he was holding, looked up from where he was sitting at the dining room table. He leaned in his chair so that he could look at Merlin properly through the openings in the wall between the two rooms.

“You don’t think that was a wise decision?”

Merlin chuckled, still not diverting his eyes from the pot on the stove. “I think he’ll figure that out for himself soon enough.”

“There’s nothing wrong with small dogs, you know. Mr. Pickle li—”

“Mr. Pickle lived a very long life and never became less of a nit for it,” Merlin interrupted him with a short laugh. He finally looked over at Harry, if for nothing else to see the indignant look on the man’s face. “I know you loved that dog, Harry, but…” he trailed off.

Harry’s expression changed, and he gave a bit of a smirk as he conceded. “He could be a little bit of a shit sometimes.” Even the criticism was said with affection. Letting a few beats of silence pass, Harry got up from the table and joined Merlin in the kitchen, busying himself by making them drinks as he asked, as casually as he could, “What do you think of him, then?”

“Mr. Pickle?” Merlin said, jest lingering in his voice because he knew the answer to the question.

That same brand of affection crept back into Harry’s voice at Merlin’s rebuttal. “Eggsy.”

“He’s doing well,” Merlin answered, keeping his tone neutral.

Harry chuckled, setting Merlin’s drink on the counter beside the stove. “They’re all doing well—that’s the point. But what do you think of him?”

He reached and turned the heat down a couple notches on the stove. “I was worried at first about why you chose him. That guilt, obligation. I was worried that was the only reason you chose him. I also worried that I’d be holding my own guilt and obligation against him the whole time.”

“About James?” Harry asked.

Merlin nodded. “Aye. Lee too, though.” He looked over at Harry, seeing the slightly perplexed look on his face. “You’ve been blaming yourself for Lee’s death for a long time, Harry. But you’re not the only one who didn’t feel right about what happened then. Or what happened after.” He sighed as he went to grab plates from the cupboard. “And then James.”

Harry waited a moment for Merlin to continue on, to start his next sentence with, “But now…” and say how his worries had been for nothing. Or, at least, almost nothing. But it didn’t happen. Looking over at him, Harry saw that Merlin’s mind was no longer on the batch of recruits that they had now, not thinking about the person they’d been discussing only seconds before. He was working his way back in time.

In an effort to get him back to the present, Harry prompted him. “And now?”

Merlin quickly looked over at him. “Hm?”

The tiny curl to Harry’s lips was gentle, cautious even. “You were worried at first. How about now?”

There was a brief moment where Harry genuinely wasn’t sure what words were going to come out of Merlin’s mouth next. It wasn’t often that they found themselves in that position anymore, but they could never say never.

His expression went from a neutral one to a smile as he turned the stove completely off and looked at Harry, who was carefully holding onto his glass. “I see why you chose him.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed at that. “Aside from my crippling guilt, you mean?” he joked.

Merlin laughed, finally picking up his glass to take a sip. “Aside from that. You both enjoy making a bit of a scene, for one thing.”

Harry feigned annoyance that the comment but it didn’t last long as Merlin started portioning out dinner for the two of them. Harry’s hunger won out over the desire to keep volleying back and forth for the time being.

When dinner was finished, and Harry was washing their dishes in the sink, it was Merlin’s turn to sit at the dining room table plugging away on their tablet while Harry stayed busy in the kitchen. It’d been the trade-off for as long as they could remember—whoever didn’t cook, cleaned. And while one of them was cooking, the other stayed out of the way unless otherwise instructed, simply providing conversation and amusement from the other side of the mock windows that bridged the two rooms.

“If he makes it,” Merlin said, picking up a conversation they’d seemingly abandoned some time ago, “Arthur is going to have a hard time.”

“Good,” Harry responded without having to give it another millisecond of thought.

Merlin laughed at Harry’s brevity as he watched back the feed on the recruits since he’d left the mansion. “The two of you together might actually drive him to step down.”

Harry paused, looking over at Merlin until the man looked up from the tablet. “Don’t tease like that.”

Merlin chuckled and shook his head, looking back at his tablet again. “You’ll be hoping for it either way.”

Harry chuckled as he returned his focus to the silverware in his hands. Allowing his focus to drift from the hot water cascading over his knuckles and the soap swirling down the sink drain, he thought about what it might be like if things really did play out that way. He’d been burned too badly before to well and truly get his hopes up again, but there was no harm in trying to figure out what it might be like. He thought about what it would mean for Kingsman, and of course what it’d mean for Eggsy. Along with that, though, he also thought about what it would mean for him, and for Merlin as well.

“Do you think he will?” Harry finally asked when the sink was empty.

“Will what?”

He reached for the towel to dry off his hands. “Do you think that Eggsy will make it?”

Merlin looked up from the tablet in his hand and over at Harry. Not that Harry was looking back at him, his eyes fixed instead on the now-empty sink as he ran the towel over his hands. Merlin set the tablet back down on the table. “I think he could.”

Looking over at Merlin, he asked, “You think it would be the right thing for him?”

That was when Merlin heard it, the little tendrils of doubt in his husband’s voice. Ghosts of regret coming back out of hiding all over again. Merlin opted for the only thing he knew how to give: honesty. “I think it’s a bit late to be second-guessing that, Harry.”

It wasn’t quite a laugh, the sharp exhale that Harry let out at that, but it was adjacent enough. He tossed the towel onto the counter before turning on his heel to go and find his spot next to Merlin at the table once more.

“With Lee I knew. Easily.” He paused, looking over at Merlin who now had one elbow on the table, propping his chin in the palm of his hand as he watched Harry try and work his way through his self-imposed quandaries. “What you thought of Lee…do you feel that way about Eggsy?”

Merlin shook his head. “No.” He saw the way Harry flinched at that. “I was James’s mentor,” he explained. “I got fleeting glimpses of Lee. What I know of Eggsy? It’s leagues beyond what I knew of Lee at the time.” He chuckled. “Doubt that Lee was as angry as his son.”

“Didn’t have as many reasons to be,” Harry offered.

He nodded. “That’s true.” With his other hand, Merlin reached and moved an unruly wave of hair from in front of Harry’s face. “If you want to know what I think,” Merlin leaned back in his chair with a small sigh, “I think that you’re certain of everything when you do it, even when you shouldn’t be.” The last few words of his sentence got knowing grins out of both of them before he continued. “The farther we get into this, the more you’re going to worry because of what happened to Lee.” He rested his hand comfortingly on Harry’s shoulder. “But that’s not what this is. He’s not Lee. He’s not James. It won’t happen like that again.”

Something about Merlin’s steadfast reassurance forced Harry to acknowledge how heavy the weights of doubt and worry were as they rested inside his chest. He swallowed the waver that wanted to creep into his voice, managing a smile despite the mist in his eyes. “This was much simpler when I was the one reassuring you.”

Merlin’s soft laugh was full of warmth. “You should know by now that nothing ever stays simple for us.”

��You’re not tired of it yet?” Harry asked in jest.

He was still smiling as he shook his head. “Never.”

“Never?” Harry asked in humorous disbelief.

Merlin’s hands found his on the table, finger lightly tracing back and forth over Harry’s wedding band. “Never for long, then.”

Harry hummed in amusement as he looked at Merlin, watching how he was looking at their joined hands. “That sounds better.”

When the moment began to pass, Merlin couldn’t help but to say, “I do think there was one thing you didn’t think through with him, though.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised at that. “And what might that be?”

“If he makes it to the final two, is that boy only going to find out you’re my husband when he comes here and he sees me standing in the kitchen making dinner?”

Harry laughed. “Maybe. Could be funny.”

“Not for him.”

Harry waved dismissively, a smile on his face and the heaviness almost completely gone from his chest. “He’d come around to finding it funny eventually.”

“You sound so sure,” Merlin chided him.

He shrugged, a smug little grin still on his face. “Always do, remember?”