#i never want to see a map of england again

[malinowaj]

have i spent the past 3-ish months telling my friend i haven't written anything in 10 years and won't start now? yes.

have i spent the past 2 days writing a rough plot draft for an au where wilhelm is a footballer and simon is a popstar, spanning the whole season, creating an entire fictional football league complete with clubs? maybe also yes.

am i going to write this? i guess all signs also point to yes.

[wileys-russo]

"Let's never speak of this again!" with mearps in the zoo?

mary earps

"oh and look they have two kinds of elephants!" you gasped shoving your phone in your girlfriends face who hummed with an amused smile, knowing there wasn't a point in her saying anything anyway since you were so caught up in your excitment.

"you're such a nerd man, they're just animals!" ella turned around with a laugh from the seat in front as you shot her a filthy look, alessia tugging her back down as you huffed.

"ignore her love. what else do we need to see?" mary squeezed your knee to gain your attention back, your head falling to her shoulder as you flipped from the zoo website to your notes app running her through your ideal itinerary.

"you realise we have like the whole day yeah? we don't have to rush, i'm sure loads of people can see it all in a few hours." mary smiled as you stressed how you didn't want to miss out on anything, the goalkeeper kissing your cheek affectionately.

"look, babies!" you perked up as esme dangled over the back of your seat showing you a live feed of the new lion cubs as you gasped and the two of you fell into conversation, the blonde probably the only person as excited as you were for today.

"alright alright jesus you're gonna yank my hand off woman!" mary groaned as the bus parked up and the girls made their way off, your hand firmly gripping onto marys as you dragged her toward the entrance much to the amusement of everyone else.

"yeah we need those hands thanks, safest hands in england!" rachel yelled after the two of you with a grin. "okay baby. where to first?" mary chuckled once the pair of you were inside, a map tucked into her back pocket.

you'd claimed you'd stared at it on your phone long enough to know the zoo like the back of your hand but mary knew you too well and wanted to be as prepared as possible.

the first couple of hours you spent dragging your girlfriend from animal to animal, rattling off fact after fact much to her amusement and the rest of the girls annoyance and it didn't take long until it was just the two of you.

"see? my plan worked." you sang out with a grin as you and mary stood alone watching the otters, the goalkeeper sending you a funny look. "i knew if i waffled on about the animals enough everyone would leave us alone, much more romantic." you beamed, mary letting out a laugh of surprise.

"oh you're evil, i love you so much." the girl tugged you into a kiss, both of you pulling away with a smile as mary interlocked your fingers and the two of you strode off toward the next animal.

marys grin grew as you both waved at a small group of your united teammates, the girls waving back but making no move to join you much to her pleasure. "see? like our own private zoo date." you winked, the taller girl kissing your cheek.

"did i already tell you i love you?"

though your facts may have driven everyone else up the wall mary genuinely enjoyed learning more about each animal and seeing the way your eyes lit up when she'd asked a question.

your childhood dream had always been to work with animals but once you did a back gate keeper for the day tour of london zoo and realised the job was ninety percent cleaning up after them you were grateful to have chosen football instead.

arriving to the aquatic section was when the dynamic flipped, mary now the one to rattle off fact after fact about the different types of penguins and seals, her interests in whales meaning she'd watched an endless amount of oceanic documentaries.

in fact much to your friends endless teasings that was how most of your date nights when you'd choose to stay in would go, the pair of you happily curled up together on the sofa eating a takeaway and watching some sort of animal documentary.

marys david attenborough impression was even getting better by the day.

pausing your travels to eat lunch with the team you both settled back in with the group, your animal facts banned from the table as you rolled your eyes but indulged their wishes. instead you took ella and maya up on a game of finger football, taking turns to kick a small ball of rubbish through goals made with one anothers hands.

taking an easy victory and leaving behind a fuming tooney for alessia and katie to deal with you and mary eagerly left the group behind again, making a beeline for the africa section.

elephants were your favorite animal and mary knew this, watching on with disgustingly lovesick eyes as the two of you spent well over a half an hour watching them.

next up was the tigers and with the zoo closed to the public for the day and most of the girls having started at this section it once again left just you and mary alone together, the taller girl hugging you tightly from behind as your intertwined hands sat against your stomach.

the two of you watched as two of them began to playfight, mary making quick work of commentating in her infamous attenborough impression, heart swelling at the sound of your laugh.

only it took a split second for the two of you to realise they weren't play fighting, yet you were both seemingly unable to drag your eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of you, wide eyed with both terror and curiosity.

once they'd finished there was a tense silence between the two of you, mary letting go as you spun around to face her. "did we just watch two tigers have sex?" you questioned bluntly as the goalkeeper nodded.

"yep, like a couple of perverts." mary confirmed, another silence falling as you both opened your mouths and spoke again at the same time before hurrying away.

"lets never speak of this again!"

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐛𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: a long awaited cross over that I promised months ago.. please do not hate me! Also, Danes = vikings, but the word viking is also a verb. So, you could say 'Hey Ma I'm off to go viking!'.

Saxons = those from England

Celts are an umbrella term for Native Britons who were here before the Saxons.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

It didn't make sense.

Ubbe's shoes walked the length of the boat and back again. Creaking wherever he put his feet, the wind was howling. Even during the day. With the sun high in the sky; not that he could see it.

None of the men or women could see more than five feet in front of them. Once he, along with two other ships left Kattegat, the mist had surrounded them.

Ubbe had the mind to turn back, but he couldn't see the shorline of Kattegat. Only the thick whirls of fog surrounding the boats.

What would have been a long journey, was shortened to mere seconds. And Ubbe was in a place he did not wish to be.

It was a place where his father had died. Where a many great Viking men had died.

But something was different. The time, Ubbe knew it; years had passed somehow. Many, many years. And when he took 4 men into a tavern to investigate, he asked and was told.

Ubbe and his men had gone through 100 years on the water.

・Life had gotten better since Uhtred and his men frequented your village - hell, everywhere had gotten better; not only were the raids less and less.

・But safety and hope were two words that Uhtred of Bebbanberg gave the people

・Well, Uhtred along with his three men - Finan, Sihtric & Osferth.

・You always had a crush on Finan. His Irish charm and humour always brightened your day.

・But he had never ventured for more than conversation and company

・You thought he must have an eye on someone else, but news never reached your ears about anyone else.

・And then something happened.

・Two ships full of Danes had washed on Englands' shores. It was not like any other raid. The Danes spoke differently, their weapons seemed old and the way they dressed was so ... incredibly different to the Danes you all knew

・Where did they come from? Why hadn't any other Dane claimed to know them? And why couldn't they point to where they were from on a map?

・These thoughts plagude you for days. You did your chores and you thought about it, you cooked and cleaned - and thought about it.

・However, curiosity won out and you snuck into the woods to get a better look at the semi-prisoners.

・One man caught your eye instantly.

・And he ...

・He was ... beautiful.

・Outlandishly so, you hadn't seen such a man and with so many unique tattoos...

・His hair was long and braided, parts shaved on the sides and you were taken aback.

・A blush creeping so bright you swore he would be able to see you in the dark - like a beacon of sorts

・But a body had bumped against your own, a hand over your mouth. You bit down - hard and Osferth hissed

"Ow!" He said, trying to keep his voice low as he flung his hand about in pain.

"Well don't do that!" You whispered incredulously.

"What are you staring at?" whispered Osferth, crouching down and following your line of sight.

"No-nothing, nothing, stop it-"

"Ooh got your eye on somethin' then?" he mocked.

・You rolled your eyes and pushed him. He caught your arm and hoisted himself up, catching you against him in the process.

・This back and forth behaviour was normal between you and Osferth. As soon as you met, it had started.

・He knows about your feelings for Finan, and has helped you to gain his attention time and time again

・The only failure in this was the fact that he didn't want to put you at risk. Finan couldn't bear to have you as some sort of target.

・But god did that change when Ubbe started talking to you.

・You decided to help around with the new Danes

・Your skills were highly renound and useful no matter who you were with

・Ubbe did everything he could to get your attention and soon Finan became a shell of his witty self.

・Grouchy and sensitive, Finan couldn't stop watching the two of you interract.

"I mean wha' does she see in 'im??"

"- Finan, please-" Uhtred interjected, trying to calm him down. He did not calm down.

"Just tell her how you feel-" Sihtric exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I - I cannot."

"You cannot what?" You said coming up behind him, the trees and darkness hiding you easily.

・From that day on you and Finan were together, but the subject of Ubbe hung loosely in the air.

・However, your relationship was changed because of Ubbe. Who shocked both you and Finan.

"It is true, I want you. But I want both of you. The funny one as well."

・Finan gulped.

・Your relationship is very loving. It truly is.

・There's a lot of PDA

・But even more affection when people aren't around

・Like casually sitting on each other's laps

・Forehead Touches

・The union between all three of you created something. It was peace.

・Peace settled over the group, a sense of ease becoming easier and easier to grasp.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Shut Up” (You) x “Make Me” (Ubbe) x “Just Kiss Already.” (Finan)

Found Family

Intuitive & Attentive (Finan) x Restless & Flirty (Ubbe) x Witty & Intuitive (You)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Intertwined Destinies

Love Transcending Boundaries

Legacy and Legend

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Scotland by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

Golden Years by David Bowie

To Bring You My Love by PJ Harvey

[futfemfantasies]

I Need You \\ alexia putellas x morgan!reader

July 2022

International break wasn’t your favourite time. Since you and Alexia play for different national teams, you are competing in different competitions over the summer. You’re playing in the CONCACAF championship and Alexia in the Euros. Of course you text, call and facetime each other but on some days it’s just not enough. 

You are currently at breakfast sitting at the table containing Alex, Charlie, Kelley, Mal, Sonnett and Kristie. You all somehow got onto the topic of everyone’s partners and the girls are teasing you about Alexia.

“Auntie Y/N/N, where’s Aunt Lex?” Your niece Charlie questions as she climbs onto your lap, visibly upset.

“She plays for Spain remember bubba. She’s in England for the Euros”

“Oh” Charlie frowns as you tighten your arms around the 2 year old. 

“But you are going to visit her soon okay?” Charlie nods and cuddles into you more. 

You get back to eating breakfast, with Charlie stealing some of your toast when your phone rings from next to you. Charlie looks down and gets excited because she sees Alexia’s face on the contact photo. You move away to the side of the room, away from your teammates so you can hear Alexia. 

“Bebé? I need you here. It hurts” Alexia pleads, almost sounding like she’s been crying.

“What hurts Ale? What happened” You start to panic and start pacing in the converted dining hall, which some of your teammates become worried as you are speaking Spanish fast.

“My knee. I did my ACL. I’ve been waiting for this for years and now it’s out the window” Tears start forming in your eyes and you blink them away.

“I’ll talk to Vlatko and he should let me come home, seeing as it is a family emergency. If not, it’ll be after the first game. I’m so sorry hermosa” You sit down against a wall, slightly away from your table.

Vlatko looks over at the mention of his name. You wave him off and he nods in consideration. You talk to Alexia for a few more minutes until she says Mapi is there. You tell Alexia to put Mapi on the phone.

“Maps you take care of her until I get there. I don’t care what you do but stay with her please” You beg your best friend.

“Sí, I’ll do everything I can Y/N/N, you know that. We’ll see you soon. Ale wants to say something” You hear some mumbling then your loving fiancés voice again.

“Please hurry mi amor. I really need you” Alexia begs you. 

You’ve never heard her voice like that in the whole 5 years of being together. You know in that moment, you need to get to her. And you need to get to her fast. You turn around to see Alex gesturing that they need you back.  

“I’ll be there as soon as I can baby. Te amo mucho hermosa and I’ll see you soon” You say as you walk back to the table. You throw your phone down and rest your head on your arms. 

“Everything okay?” Alex whispers as she leans into you and Charlie attempts to climb back on your lap. 

“Lex tore her ACL. Mapi texted me while I was speaking to her, she hasn’t even cried yet”

“Let’s listen to the staff so you can get outta here”

After the short meeting, Vlatko pulls you aside and says you can go to Alexia. He says you can come back and play when you’re ready, if you’re ready. You thank him and Vlatko gets everyones attention so you can make the announcement. 

“Can I have everyone’s attention? I just want to say how proud I am of everyone here. As your co-captain I really hate to do this to you all but I have no choice. I know that you all will succeed and listen to Becky. I am leaving camp because Alexia has been injured very badly about 3 hours ago. She will most likely need surgery so I am leaving to hopefully be there by the time she wakes up. I’m not sure if I’ll come back for any games, but ultimately it will decide on how Alexia is doing”

You say your goodbyes to everyone before racing up to your room and gathering your things together. You book a flight to London and get the hotel name off of Mapi. You get changed out of your USA gear and order an uber. You wheel your luggage to the foyer of the hotel when you hear a little voice call your name.

“Aunt Y/N/N!” You turn around and see Charlie running as fast as she can towards you. What you don’t see is the entire team at the entrance of the conference room watching on. You bend down and scoop the nearly 3 year old in your arms. 

“Where you going?” Charlie inquires. 

“Auntie Ale hurt her knee baby so I have to go make sure she’s okay” You explain.

“Okay, give Auntie Ale this?” Charlie holds her toy you both got her when she was born.

“Mr Monkey will help her knee gets better!” The team laughs at Charlie and you put it in your backpack. 

“He’s all safe in here. I’ll see you soon okay?”

You say goodbye to your sister before getting in an Uber to the airport. On the way to the airport, you text Alexia for a while and she only replies with one or two word answers, this is worse than you thought. You called Alexia’s sister Alba and she explains what’s going to happen with the surgery and what hospital. You ask Alba to text you any updates while you’re travelling and she replies with ‘of course I will y/n/n 😊’. 

After the usual airport routine of bag drops and long security and custom lines, you finally sit in the seat you’ll be in for the next 12 hours. You quickly text Alba to let her know you’re on your way. The plane lands 12 hours later, you arrive in a gloomy London. After collecting your bags, you into hop into the closest taxi and give the driver the hotel name. When you arrive, you ask the taxi man to stay as you’ll only be a few minutes. Thankfully he agrees and you make a mental note to left a big tip for him later. You check into the hotel and left your bags behind the desk. You remember to get Mr Monkey out of your backpack before going back to the taxi. You tell the taxi driver the hospital and watch the scenery as it passes by. The taxi driver pulls up to an entrance and you give him all your cash before running inside. You look around and can’t seem to find the desk. After what feels like turning a million and one corners, you are met with the in patients desk.

“Hi, my wife Alexia Putellas came in. Where is she?”

“Ah yes, let me search that for you...she’s just gotten out of surgery a few hours ago so you can wait in the family area just around the corner”

You thank the nurse and take a deep breath before going to the family area. Palms sweaty and slightly out of breath, you turn the corner and see Alba and Eli. You walk quickly and sit across from them. Eli looks up at you with a relieved look on her face.

“Thank goodness you’re here sweetheart. She won’t let any of us in until she sees you first” Eli tells you and you frown at the comment. You are confused at the same time because Alexia is really close with her mom and sister.

You get the room number from Eli and start to make your way to Alexia’s room. You count down the room numbers until you reach room 1411. You take a deep breath before softly knock on the door. You open it slowly to see Alexia looking out the window, not bothering to see who’s coming in.

“Mi amor” Alexia’s head whips around and her eyes soften. Like she’s relieved that you’re there with her and not another nurse or doctor.

You walk around to her good side to give her a tight hug. After a few minutes, you try to pull away but Alexia doesn’t let go. Eventually, she lets you go and attempts to move over in her bed so you can stay as close to her as possible.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you” Alexia nods and you give her a kiss on her forehead before carefully manoeuvring yourself in her bed.

“I’m sorry I took so long. The plane was delayed then there was a stor-”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters. I’m sorry I pulled you away from your team” Alexia frowns after she realises what happened.

“Baby, you are more important than anyone or any soccer tournament. If you’re hurting, I’m going to be on the first plane out” Alexia cuddles into you more and you kiss her forehead.

“Have you seen Eli or Alba yet?” You feel Alexia shake her head and you ask if she wants to see them. You give Alexia a soft kiss before going to get her mom and sister.

A few hours later, after conversations on Alexia’s rehab and you going back to Mexico, Alba reaches behind you and holds Mr Monkey, looking confused.

“What’s this?” You look at Alexia and she slightly smiles as she knows exactly who it came from.

“When I was leaving, Charlie asked where I was going and I said I need to see Aunt Ale, she hurt her knee. Charlie said Mr Monkey can help her knee get better” Alba gives it to Alexia and she tucks it under her arm. You take a sneaky photo and send it to Alex to show Alexia. 

A nurse comes in and says visiting hours are over but mentions you can stay due to being Alexia’s partner. Eli and Alba bid their goodbyes to you both and promise to visit first thing tomorrow. As soon as Alba and Eli leave, Alexia breaks down in tears. She tightens her arm around you and you do the same around her. You just hold Alexia and kiss her forehead while whispering sweet nothings to her. 

“Let it all out babe. Let it all out” You say trying to comfort Alexia. 

After a while, she lifts her head and sees the massive tear stain on your grey hoodie.

“I’m sorry mi amor” Alexia apologies after seeing your hoodie.

“It’ll dry Ale. More importantly, are you okay?” You asked worriedly. 

“I am now. I just needed to let it all out. Thank you hermosa. Te amo mucho” Alexia expresses before kissing you softly. 

“I love you too Ale. We will get through this together” You hold Alexia tight until you both falling asleep.

February 2023 (lets pretend its not the World Cup year)

7 months later and Alexia and you are finally coming back to training together. You park your newly bought Cupra in the Barca car park and you look over at Alexia. She was staring at the training fields in front and is frozen in place, only blinking and breathing. Your hand on her thigh makes Alexia jump and look at you with anxiety filled eyes.

“What’s wrong Ale?” You ask softly, turning in your seat, facing Alexia fully. 

“I’m scared. What if it happens again?” Alexia replies looking.

“Mi amor look at me” Alexia looks up and you cup her cheeks gently.

“You are Alexia Putellas Segura. You will kick trainings arse today. I am so proud of you mi amor” Alexia leans forward and kisses you before you hear knocking on both sides of the car. 

You both pull away to see Mapi and Ingrid laughing to themselves. You and Alexia get out and you quickly grab both of your bags. 

“Bebé, I’m not on crutches anymore. I can get my own bag”

“Just because you can baby, doesn’t mean you should” As you walk away, Alexia’s heart skips a beat at the gesture. 

You all walk into the locker room and the girls in there cheer at their captain walking through the door for the first time in a while. She tells them to quit it and they stop immediately, with you trying to hide your giggle at your cubby. Everyone gets changed and walks out to the field where now all the staff are clapping her out. Alexia turns to you and hides in your neck. 

“Embrace it mi amor, la reina is back” You whisper to her before kissing her head.

Alexia participates in a few light drills with the team before going over for her 1v1 training. She gives you a kiss on the cheek before starting to jog around the field. You and the other girls start scrimmage and Jonotan puts you, Kiera, Mapi, Ingrid and Cata as one team and Lucy, Oshoala, Pina, Rolfö and Panos on the other. 

The scrimmage was going well until you went to pivot around Lucy and that’s when it all went wrong. Lucy catches you as you go down and you instantly felt pain and you screamed as you went down. Alexia stops her drills as she looks over and see you on the ground. She apologises to the staff and runs over to you as quickly as she can. You couldn’t stop holding your right knee with one hand and banging your fist one the ground with the other. The medics tell you to turn over and you block out the sun with your hands but also wipe your tears away subtly. You feel familiar hands on your back and you look to see Alexia. The medics and a few of your teammates lift you on the stretcher that takes you straight to the hospital. Alexia gives one look to Jonotan and he nods at her to say ‘forget training and go with her’. Alexia runs into the training room and grabs her phone and a little something special that will cheer you up later on that she hides in her hoodie. 

After countless hours in the hospital, it came to the conclusion that you torn your ACL. You are exactly how Alexia was, closed off and not speaking to anyone except each other. You rest your head on Alexia’s chest and cuddle up to her the best you can, when you both hear a soft knock on the door. You look towards it and see Lucy, Keira, Mapi and Ingrid. You wave them in and balloons, teddy bears and flowers decorated your view. 

“What did they say?” Lucy asks.

“ACL” All 4 of your closest friends winced at the three letters then instantly got a sad look on their faces.

You all converse until a nurse comes in to tell you that visiting hours are over. All the girls hug you tightly and say they’ll visit after the game tomorrow. Alexia leans down and gives you a sweet kiss.  

“We will get through this together mi amor. Te amo mucho”

“Te amo Ale” They all start to walk out of the room, then Alexia remembered something.

“Oh bebé, so your knee is all better” 

Alexia places Mr Monkey with your phone next to you. You smile at Ale and decide to send your sister photos of your condition.

Lex 👯‍♀️❤️:  

(selfie of you and Mr Monkey, photo of your leg propped up)

couples who get ACL injuries together, stay together ✌️🥲

[taradactyls]

Progress Update for Trying to Tread Water

Welp, we all got better, and then sick again within a week. So I didn't write enough to feel ready to post the chapter before illness got me. Pretty mildly, but fatigue is a big factor and when you combine that with caring for two toddlers... yeah.

So, below is a (largely unedited) sneak peak for you, of the chapter which has unintentionally turned into a little bit of a tour guide of the route from London to Derby.

I thought I would do a paragraph or two of the journey, but then I wanted to know a few villages I could name drop (the same way Jane Austen does with Oxford, Warwick, Kenilworth, etc in Pride and Prejudice) but that required research. Which led me into the research black hole. I ended up stitching together my own maps, comparing that to two or three other antique maps which focused on different information, plotting alternate routes, excessive use of the measuring tool in google maps, google street view, Wikipedia searches (why do so many villages list the amount of Indian restaurants they have??), and finally a four page document I made of each village they would pass through, with their distance, special features, etc. Most of it isn't relevant, but I needed to know it to feel that my writing had a solid foundation, and there was too much good stuff and potential scenes for me to be able to resist including some.

Here's the first glimpse of one of those locations I 'found' as I was doing this research. Dunstable Priory (with an image of it at the bottom).

They passed two more villages before the Dunstable Downs came into view, somewhat low as the road was, but Elizabeth did indeed reckon the walk to the top would be worth it. They resolved to undertake the climb, and explore Dunstable, the adjacent market town, for a considerable time. There was unlikely to be anything more enticing awaiting them in their final two stops for the day, so they had plenty of hours to spare.

At the inn where they were changing the horses, Elizabeth asked a maid within what might be seen around the village, and whether the downs were worth the exertion.

“There is the priory, if it please you ma’am. And the view from the hills is very fine. I have heard tell it is the highest point in this part of England, and indeed you can see farther in fine weather than I have ever travelled.”

Elizabeth settled it with Mr Darcy to climb the escarpment after their meal. While that was being prepared, they walked over to explore the church, which was considerably closer by and could be managed in a short time. It was far statelier than Elizabeth expected, with a very ancient façade which only grew more imposing the closer they got. Until, standing on the path sloping down from the doors and feeling entirely dwarfed by the ornate columns and pillars stretching many stories up to crenelations and yet a higher tower, she had to laugh. “I was expecting a country church,” said she. “I feel this place once might once have been of considerable importance.”

His brow furrowed slightly in thought, Mr Darcy mused “Yet there are many grand remnants of abbeys and priories about, after falling into ruin following the dissolution of the monasteries. Perhaps it was common for places of worship to be so impressive, and the only uncommon aspect is that it survived.”

“I will concede perhaps it once had more peers, and many larger, before so many other grand religious houses were lost. But I think it must have always been uncommon in its size and ornamentation. The sheer number of tiny country churches whose simple Norman bell towers cannot rival this surely show that.”

“They show this may never been considered modest, that is true,” Mr Darcy conceded. “But it does not necessarily follow that this particular priory had any great significance. It might have been rather average, or slightly above, for most of its life, until its fellows lost their roofs in the looting following Henry VIII’s decrees and his appropriation of the income which funded such splendour.”

Elizabeth turned to him with a smile. “I suppose I have not the knowledge to counter that fully” said she, “as we would need to compare it to a comprehensive list of everything that existed alongside it. But I cannot imagine something so impressive in appearance and preservation is irrelevant.”

“Luck, and relevance to the local people might be all that was needed to preserve it. Plenty of places of undisputed national importance have been lost,” countered Mr Darcy. “If there is anything significant about this particular priory, we might expect it to be an abbey, or have heard more about it.”

“If whole palaces and abbeys have been lost to ruin, I think it not unusual if we also lost the history of a place. It might still be important despite us knowing very little of it,” said Elizabeth empathically.

“One could claim the same of almost any hill in England – there have been ancient kingdoms and barrows enough to justify it.”

“Perhaps one would be right to do so! Maybe every mundane piece of earth we tread was once unfathomably important in a time immemorable.”

A faint smile came to the gentleman’s face. “You have a romantic’s heart, Mrs Darcy.”

“And just enough a mind for history to feel I can credibly support my claim,” rejoined Elizabeth.

“Not without leaning heavily on presumptions.”

“Do not forget, Mr Darcy,” she replied archly, “I have the liberty of being able to assert that a lack of evidence does not disprove my claim, since it hinges on such knowledge being lost. All the while being safe in the awareness that it is impossible to disapprove that a place has never been sacred in all the long years of the world.”

His smile seemed fonder, as he said “Ah, you are taking an unassailable and yet unprovable position.”

“Which is the cleverest stance to take” said Elizabeth, with sparkling eyes belying her serious tone, “if one never wishes to listen to anyone who disagrees with them.”

“And if they do not particularly care about being academic.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I cannot say being academic does matter to me; but listening to differing opinions and being open to changing my mind does. I should not seriously want to adopt such stances regularly.” Without her earlier jesting, she added “Truly though, there must be many locations forgotten. Between the Normans and the Saxons and Danes and Romans and all the Picts and the like who came before, if we overlaid all of their most important places atop one another I feel the isle would be fairly fully coloured.”

“Perhaps. But I think many of the sites would overlap,” said Mr Darcy thoughtfully. “Certain rivers and hills have attracted people for as long as people have existed to observe them. We cannot say the same for any random patch of dirt.”

“No, there may not be anything special about the dirt which draws people. But it only needs once to have been a hall, or a grave, or have been the location of a sacred tree, and then it has been important. Farmers in unremarkable fields are always finding old coins and shards of mosaic. Who is to say great things did not once happen on any random bit of soil?”

“No one living,” confirmed Mr Darcy. “But we have strayed far from the original premise of our conversation – and regardless of whether the soil its foundations descend into was once significant in ages past, that not does dictate whether this priory itself was ever particularly important beyond the local populace.”

“But we have established that it might have been, even though we have heard nothing of this priory before now,” replied she.

“Yes, which is to say that we established only that we know nothing at all and have no metrics by which to make fair assumptions.”

Apparently quite delighted by this ignorance, Elizabeth smiled, and leant against Mr Darcy. The familiar ground of their back-and-forth had done much for her in dispelling the anxiety treading the unfamiliar grounds a partiality for her husband had created. But before they could settle into their ignorance, one came along with the power to dispel it. The residing clergyman had perceived them from within, and, easily deducing them to be people of some importance on their way through, was eager to make their acquaintance and offer them a view of the interior.

They gratefully accepted, and as they were walking in Elizabeth said “Our first tour of a local church – we are proper travellers now, Mr Darcy.”

The gentleman made a slight noise of agreement. “In a place I have passed through dozens of times yet never truly explored. I have climbed the downs, but never investigated this priory.”

“Well, there you have it – something new for both of us on this journey.”

(To Be Continued in Chapter Forty)

The view Elizabeth and Darcy had of the priory:

A Wikipedia page for it here

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Roadtrip (Part 1/?)

“I’m not going in the back.”

“You’re going in the back.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No—”

“Reggie is up front with me, I need a good guide.”

Regulus smirks at Sirius, tongue out and teasing as he opens the front door. “There you go, Sirius. I’m a good guide,” he says, closing the passenger side door with a snide smile.

Asshole.

Sirius throws hands, opening the back door and climbing in with Remus, who’s already settled in, kindle open. He doesn’t look up as Sirius slides in. “You know you were never getting in front, sweetheart, right?”

Sirius kisses his teeth. “It’s like Reggie’s trying to steal my best friend from me.”

Remus hums, “It’s possible to have several best friends.”

“No. James is one of a kind.”

Remus turns back to his kindle, “Then date him instead,” he shrugs.

“No!”

Remus’ eyes are back on Sirius, twinkling. “No?”

Turning to his right to grab the top of the security belt, Sirius mutters as he slides it on. “I don’t want to date him, I’m just saying he and Reggie have been chummy with—”

“Aannndd we’re ready to go,” James says as he slides into the driver’s side, smiling with all his teeth. “Take us away, space man,” he says, passing the map to Regulus, who opens it up.

“Tell me again why we aren’t using Google maps?” Sirius asks, and Regulus reaches back to slap the map over Sirius’ head.

“Hey!”

“Because Google maps is turning our brains into mush, and we’ll miss all the fun,” Regulus says.

Sirius rubs at his head. “All the fun of…knowing where to go?”

Regulus kisses his teeth. “I have a map, I know where to go.”

“But you could be using Google maps,” Sirius reasons.

“Yes, I could,” Regulus starts, with the tone of someone who is about to launch— “And I could also have chosen a different breakfast, a different degree, I could have decided to wake up and pick another type of shirt, there are so many options around me, all the time, and I am picking a map on purpose.”

“But—”

“It’s the adventure,” James interrupts again, pulling out of the main house.

The Black summer house is less of a house and more of a mansion, where most of them have been spending a lot of time this summer. To cap it off, the general consensus was that a road trip—wouldn’t it be fun?—would be a great way to end it. In two weeks, Remus and Sirius need to be back in England, where Remus will start teaching. James will head back to England a few days after. He’s got friends to see in Paris, so he’ll make the final leg of the drive up with Regulus before abandoning him to the clutches of City of Love while he goes back to London.

In the meantime?

Two weeks of road tripping the french countryside, from Cassis, where the Black family owns a house, all the way to Bordeaux, where the boys will take a train to Paris, leaving James and Regulus to climb up alone.

The problem Sirius has, is that Regulus and James have become friends.

The problem Sirius has, is that he is no longer the center of attention, the main tool through which everyone communicates. Over the course of the past two weeks, he has seen the blossoming friendship between his brother and his best friend, and he’s not—happy about that.

James has been remote working, and so has Regulus (who technically, is remote working from anywhere), while he and Remus have been on proper holidays. And okay, their schedules have been different. Okay, maybe James and Regulus have been left alone while Sirius took Remus out and about town, kayaking and paddle boarding to nearby islands, and maybe it would make sense for them to bond. And okay, it would have been sad for them not to get on, but they’re just… getting along too well. It’s freaking Sirius out.

“The adventure,” Regulus confirms, opening the map to its maximum before folding it back the way he prefers. “Right, Jamie, you’re going to take a left and follow the signs all the way to A50.”

Sirius is right there, once again, “Why Marseille, Reggie?”

“Because you’re going to have the best ice cream of your life there, that’s why.”

“But I hate Marseille.”

“And so you shall suffer.”

Sirius rears back, turning to look at Remus, who’s sporting a little, barely-there smirk, “He’s already bullying me!”

Remus doesn’t look up, reaching one hand to tangle it in Sirius’. “He’s not bullying you. You agreed to this road trip, you knew Reggie was going to pick the stops.”

“But Marseille?”

Regulus turns around from the passenger seat. “If I give you music rights, will you leave it?”

And that, is that.

Sirius grabs the aux cord and starts fiddling with Spotify. “Oh, there’s so much, I have so many ideas, let’s start with Chappell Roan.”

Regulus is quick to reach for the aux, “No, not Pink—”

“Pink Pony Club,” Sirius nods. “Yep. That’s the one.”

Regulus turns his head to James, please help, but James just shrugs. “I’m happy with all music.”

“No,” Regulus moans, just as Sirius fist pumps the air. “James, turn the car around.”

James doesn’t look up from the windshield. “Nope, we’re in this together now. No one is ruining this for me.”

“For you?” Regulus asks. “How has my road trip become yours?”

James sneaks a look at Regulus, “Since you sat next to me, polluting my work environment and telling me everything you wanted to do and whether everyone else would be on board.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

James scoffs, “Sure it isn’t, Baby Black.”

“This is actually the worst thing to come out of this adventure,” Regulus says.

And Sirius is there, right away, putting his head in between the seats, pulling on his seatbelt. “Baby Black?”

“I like it,” James says right as Regulus quips, “It’s horrible.”

Sirius squints between the leather seats. “I can’t decide.”

“Sirius, the beauty of it,” James starts, taking a right, “is that there is nothing you have to decide on. It’s been decided on already. I like it, so I will use it.”

Regulus looks out the window, “I’m pretty sure that’s not how democracy works,” he pouts.

“Funny of you to think it’s a democracy. I am driving—”

“It’s my car—”

“I’m in charge of the music,” Sirius cuts in right before Remus grabs his arm and pulls him back to his seat behind Regulus, enough of that.

“Remus, they’re—”

“They are chatting. Leave them alone.”

“They’re flirting.”

“They’re not.”

Sirius turns to James. “James, are you flirting with my brother?”

“Um, not really?”

Remus turns to Sirius, “See?”, just as Regulus turns to James.

“’Um’? What a vote of confidence.”

“Well, do you want me to flirt with you?”

“No,” Sirius says, just as Regulus says nothing.

Regulus says nothing.

Regulus says.

Nothing.

“Reggie.”

Silence.

“Reggie.”

“Sirius, don’t say anything,” Remus says.

“I—”

“Just. Leave it.”

Sirius does.

For a minute.

“Okay, but—”

[starman-john-tracy]

Garden Party Gale [RP]

@socialitesleuth:

Penelope had since risen from her armchair and repositioned herself by the window, as if her taking a proper look herself would change matters. Lips purse in consideration. Abandon plans...? But so much effort had already gone into the event. It seemed unfair to be beaten by a little rain, but Penelope knew when to listen. Especially when it was John, and especially when he sounded so concerned. She flicks a strand of blonde from her face, noting with her own eyes the car that has now arrived. "I suppose we could bring the party indoors, though I'm not sure how well Parker will take it. He's spent the last couple of days organising and setting it up. Still, it is better to be safe than sorry." After all, Creighton-Wards never quit, unless they absolutely had to, and this situation most definitely fell under the banner of what was an acceptable defeat. "Parker!" She calls out briefly over her shoulder, and as far away from the communicator to avoid possibly defeaning her friend, before replying directly to John again. "It was a good few years ago. I believe they signed us off as fine, but... Well, Parker has been expressing concern over the East Wing these last few months. He wanted to bring some surveyors in, but I'm afraid we haven't had the chance. Work has kept us rather... tied up, on occasion." As nice as it had been to visit Southern France last month, Penelope hadn't been appreciative of the criminal she and Parker had been tracking down. The lack of manners was astonishing, to say the least. Realising this probably wouldn't help John in feeling less worried, Penelope offers a quick, soft, reassuring smile in an attempt to lessen his concern. "We'll make sure we bunker down somewhere safe, John."

A strong gust of wind buffets the wall outside, rattling the window panes violently in their frames. It must be loud enough for John to hear over the comm because his eyes flick to the side, ginger brows furrowing. The sky outside the window is black with thick, heavy storm clouds. The darkness hangs threateningly over the manor - the air seems just about ready to burst.

"You’ll have to pass my apologies on to Parker.” John says, which is rather charming considering he has no control over the weather. “I'm not talking just a little British rain, Penelope. Upwards of sixty three miles per hour," John shakes his head, clearly trying to convey the severity of her situation, “we're looking at flying gazebos.” And the straight face the man keeps, saying things like that, is genuinely impressive. “Let him know to hurry. I’d hate for anyone to get caught out there… and speaking of, you better get your guests inside. How many people were on your invite list this time anyway?”

He thinks he could probably call anyone else in transit and warn them to return home or, if the rain and wind is about to get as bad as his meteorological predictions suggest, to take shelter. John turns to the side and swipes the weather map, with its rolling red of oncoming inclement weather, up to the top of his periphery and expands his palms to open a new window as another thought hits him.

“And keep away from that East Wing.” He’s pulled up a perhaps-not-entirely-legal three dimensional satellite map of her estate, and is busy examining the building.

“Eos, could you run a structural analysis on these segments of the manor for me?” He earmarks something Penny can't see with a few quick, short taps.

There’s a chirpy little FAB John, before the information begins to cascade into his hands. 

On the ground, the first few drops of rain fall, bursting against Penny's antique glass windows like tiny, wet grenades. It's going to be, what they call in England, a bloody great storm.

[vickyvicarious]

Something I noticed is that Dracula has now resorted to killing his aides when he can to cover up his tracks and make it look like a human did it, he didn't use to do that, so Jonathan kept interviewing them

I suppose it depends to an extent on who you consider Dracula's aides. Because we see him deliberately turn on people who have unintentionally aided him (the Demeter crew), who have been forced to aid him (Jonathan), and who have aided him but then turned on him (Renfield). Jonathan's the only one who gets out alive from that, and it's largely due to Dracula's personal like for him/schedule constraints.

But even if we limit the category to people he has hired to do a job for him and who know who he is, I still think he has done that previously. Or rather, he had plans to do that, or at the very least was prepared to do so as needed. It just depends on what his main goal is at the time. I feel like I've talked about this earlier this year, but I can't find it right now, so let me just restate.

On looking at it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed that one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.

On May 7, Jonathan notices several key locations marked off on Dracula's map. His arrival to Whitby is marked off, as is his first estate in London. But so is Exeter, where both Jonathan and Hawkins live. Unlike the other circled spots, Dracula never goes to Exeter. So why circle it?

One explanation which at least partially explains this: I think he deliberately chose a lawyer who wasn't based in London, in order to minimize the chances that local people would notice said lawyer going missing and connect it to the latest client arriving in town. Because it is very evident that he always intended to kill Jonathan. The man was not meant to leave the Castle, one way or another. Dracula had his whole letter scheme to disguise that fact and to separate Jonathan's disappearance from the time spent with Dracula (the cover story was obviously 'something happened while traveling home'). But if that failed and Hawkins seemed likely to raise any kind of stink, I think Dracula would have happily gone and killed him. But the man didn't contact him again about Jonathan so he didn't have to bother with that.

Similarly, Dracula doesn't kill any of the people who moved his boxes. But the thing is, that would have drawn way more attention. He didn't know that Jonathan was following his paper trail and interviewing them all, and killing a bunch of people all of whom worked for him would have been way more suspicious than just leaving them alone and hoping no one found out. So that's what he did! Not killing these people was the smarter move as far as he could see, the best way to hide his tracks. No need to have murders associated with him in England; he wants to be an unnoticed predator and to leave behind the place where everyone is onto him. Even if people still think he's human, getting associated with murders isn't a look he wants.

He's thinking long-term when he arrives in London. And he may well still have the idea of coming back and killing people later, when they're no longer so associated with working for him, but certainly in the moment it doesn't make sense to do so. Similarly, it didn't help him when leaving Transylvania. The people who work for him there are either scared enough or willing enough to do what he says, so why deprive himself of this resource in case he needs it in future? There are plenty of others to hunt instead, and no one he needs to hide his tracks from. The Demeter served a function too - first, he wanted a ghost ship so he could get ashore more easily. Second, he probably wanted to tank up before arriving in England so that he could fully use all his powers both to manipulate the weather for the crash and to shift to wolf form to get ashore. Once he's starting killing some of them, better to kill all of them so no one can tell the tale. Also, I bet he wanted to let loose and in the middle of the ocean was a good place to do so without causing any harm to his future plans.

This time around is different. He knows he's being hunted, so he's not worried about drawing attention. It's already on him regardless. All he cares about is hiding the exact information of where he's gone in order to slow them down, and the surest and most convenient way to do that is by killing the man who arranged it for him. So he does.

He is resorting to it, but not necessarily because he's finally driven to it when he normally wouldn't do that, so much as because the situation now makes it a more reasonable choice for him. I think it would have been just as much an option on the table the entire time for him.

[hellofanidea]

Dealers choice 43 and 47 on the clothes prompt list 👀

A bloodstained uniform + Rolled up shirtsleeves, Arthur Foster (MOTA AU)

The second raid over Bremen kills Blue Moon's navigator.

All it takes is some well placed flak and George Hatch is knocked out of his seat and onto his ass, screaming about the holes in him. His blood gets all over the maps, and it's nothing short of a miracle that they actually make it back to Thorpe Abbotts.

His blood also gets all over Arthur, who spends the last half of their mission trying to hold his insides together. It doesn't work. Hatch is dead before Blue Moon lowers her landing gear.

They have to peel him out of Arthur’s arms.

He doesn't move after, just stays staring at the spot where he was, the holes in the side of the fort where the killing blow entered. Morse has to come back in and bodily drag him out by his harness. He slides out like a newborn foal, gets a face full of tarmac when his knees don't work, and feels himself get scruffed into the truck waiting to take them to interrogation like a disobedient dog.

Their co-pilot is being taken away in an ambulance with a fucked up leg, along with their waist gunner and radioman. None of the others can look at him. Arthur can’t blame them. He’s stained red from chin to knee. His nose had crunched when he’d fallen out of the fort, and now he can feel the blood from that slowly trickling down his face to join Hatch’s.

The Clubmobile girls, usually so unflappable, blanche when they see him. Doc Stover grabs for him, but Arthur waves him off, wiping at his nose with his sleeve despite the blinding pain it brings.

“S not mine. ‘S not mine. ‘S Georgie’s.”

Stover lets him go, but Tatty pulls him aside by the elbow, forces a glass of whiskey into his hands, and doesn’t let go until he’s knocked it back. It mixes poorly with the metallic taste in the back of his mouth, but the burn is comforting.

“Thanks,” he murmurs to her, and hopes she knows how much he means it.

Hatch's logs are, understandably, incomplete. Arthur reads out what he can of them. Stutters, and stumbles, and the pity in Red's face as he listens is worse than any frustration at his incompetence. He wants somebody to yell at him, shake him, tell him to get a grip on himself. He needs somebody to come rip him out of the hazy, distant, place he's been sunk into since Hatch had wheezed his last into his neck.

Jimmy Douglass would have done it. Would have rattled him by the shoulders until some sense had been knocked back into his fellow bombardier, and then dragged him along to the O Club to take his mind off of things. Would have cracked a shitty joke and nudged him to dance with a Red Cross girl until the pain was back to its usual dull ache.

Douglass isn’t here though, like the rest of the crew of Just-a-Snappin’, like the crew of Our Baby, like the six other forts that went down. Eighty men. Eighty one including Lieutenant George Edgar Hatch, navigator and son and husband and father.

He’d never even held Abigail. She’d been born after they shipped to England, six pounds and seven ounces and with a head full of hair, and they had drunk Norfolk dry toasting her.

Arthur doesn’t hear the dismissal, but Morse’s hand is more gentle this time when she guides him by his collar.

“C’mon,” she says. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

She leads him out of the hut, and he’s barely cognizant of his surroundings until he hears a hissed ‘Jesus Christ!’ from the group of men huddled by one of the doors. Veal and Bubbles are staring at him with open horror, Crank’s crew not looking much happier even though they’d already seen him in interrogation.

“‘S not mine,” Arthur mutters again, sniffing and swallowing a blood clot he really should have spit onto the grass.

“You feeling alright?” Crank asks cautiously.

“Peachy.” This time when he sniffs he does spit, turning away and shooting the vivid red glob between his teeth. “Fuckin’ aces, Charlie.”

“I got him, he’s fine,” Morse says firmly, taking him by the elbow and marching them away.

He needs a shower. Some more whiskey. A nap. His father to rise from the dead and be in England so he can pet his hair and tell him how to live through a man dying in his arms.

The irony of that last one isn’t lost on Arthur. Thomas Foster didn’t live through that either, it just took him a while to die.

Getting a shower at least is feasible. One bonus of walking around the base looking like something out of a nightmare is that when he steps into their block it very quickly empties out, and Morse stands a vicious guard at the door whilst he scrubs off the now dried blood and changes into his uniform. It helps him feel a little more human, even with the blossoming bruise on his nose and the black eyes that will rise any time soon.

His flight gear is pretty much ruined, especially the sheepskin, which has gone a muddy pink and looks distressingly like rotting meat. Smells it, too, and Arthur abandons it all after emptying the pockets. There’s blood on his pack of smokes, and he considers tossing them out of spite, but the craving wins out so he lights one as he waits outside for Morse to clean herself up. With his face tilted up towards the sky the last dregs of blood and mucus slip down his throat. He chainsmokes away the taste until Morse emerges, hair still damp but neatly combed. Unflappable as ever, his pilot.

“I’m gonna go to the hospital, check on the boys. You comin’?” She asks.

Normally Arthur would say yes without hesitation, but this time he actually thinks about it. Then he shakes his head.

“Naw. Give ‘em my love, though. Think I’m gonna sack out for a while.”

Morse gives him a long, searching, look, then nods.

“Course. Get some rest. I’ll swing by our racks later, make sure you get some dinner.”

Arthur isn’t sure he can stomach anything, but thanks her anyway. She splits off to medical, and Arthur makes his way back to the barracks. There's a mostly full flask slid down the side of his locker he should be able to get away with drinking until he knocks out. Maybe that way he'll be too out of it when she comes around.

Marta's already sitting on his bunk when he gets there. Not a hair out of place as usual, except for how her jacket is off and her sleeves are rolled above her elbows, even in the chill of an English October. There’s a sketchpad and pencil in her lap, with a figure Arthur can’t make out yet.

For a brief, fierce, moment he hates her. Hates her for being here, for seeing him, knowing him. Hates her even temper and pragmatism and the sad way she looks at him from behind her glasses.

“Not sure you're meant to be here,” he tells her dryly, staying by the door like that will save him from whatever conversation she might want to have.

“Not sure you're the person to make that argument,” Marta shoots back, just as flatly. Then her mouth twists uncomfortably. “Saw you get back. Heard about your navigator. Wanted to see how you are.”

“I'm fine. You can tell Esther that, too.”

“Tell her yourself. I ain't got the time to talk about you in my letters.”

That makes Arthur snort. Some of the tension he hadn't known he was carrying leaches from his shoulders.

“I ain't been good at keeping up with her recently,” he admits. Not since before Regensburg, at least. He’s found it harder and harder to carry a conversation with her, to share jokes and stories and pretend that it’s all still just a game. Frowning, he adds, “I need to write Georgie's family.”

“Thought that was Kidd's job?”

“Yeah, but…” Arthur shakes his head. “I was with him, Marta. I was… I held him. When he went. That’s… I owe him that.”

Marta doesn’t say anything, but she shuffles up his bunk a little, and he gives into the aches in his body that tell him to sit down beside her. Hatch’s rack is the one beside his, and he stares long and hard at the blanket. His footlocker is gone already, swept away to the orderly hut to be shipped back to his folks in Queens. Arthur doesn’t know everything in it, but there aren’t enough trinkets and letters in the world to make a whole picture of George Hatch, to replace him at his mother’s table and in his wife’s bed and in his little girl’s life.

They sit. Arthur smokes. Marta carries on with her sketch. Outside, the sun fades. 

Eventually, Marta breaks the silence.

“They're talking about sending you to the Flak House.”

“What? Who?”

“Major Bowman was talking to Smokey about it. Said you didn't look good in interrogation.”

Yeah, no shit. I still had my friend’s blood on my hands.

Maybe a trip to the Flak House wouldn’t be the worst thing. It was treasonous to admit it outloud, but he had been able to feel himself fraying at the edges since Algeria, since it became abundantly clear that Escape Kit wasn’t making its way over the horizon or back to base. Some time not sitting behind a bombsight might be good for him.

Then he remembers how many forts they just lost, how many crews. Their names and faces overwhelm him momentarily, one above the rest despite the way Arthur’s been steadfastly refusing to think about him between Hatch dying in his arms and hearing that Just-a-Snappin’ had bailed.

He’s not dead. Can’t be. Arthur doesn’t have that same roiling dread in the pit of his stomach that he did over Curt’s absence, and he’s willing to trust that superstition just to keep himself level. His name will appear on the next list of POWs, or he’ll vanish for weeks and then reappear after finding his way through France. Those are the only options Arthur can contemplate without clawing his own face off.

The thought of being trapped with those two scenarios (and their unspeakable third) for an unspecified time at Coombe House, where he is certain to have far too much time to dwell on them - and every other terrible thing to happen in his cursed fucking life - is completely unbearable. He’d rather shake apart here, in private, and keep himself up in the air in the meantime. They were going to have to drag him out of that fort feet first, just like Hatch.

“They won’t,” Arthur tells Marta. “Too few crews as it is, nobody will be going anywhere until the next batch of replacements make it in.”

“Yeah, well, once they do I’d say you're high on the list for sending out. Just thought I’d let you know.”

His earlier flash of hatred for her smolders shamefully in his guts. Sweet, perfect, Marta, who knows him too well. Knows his ways of running and hiding like a sick animal and lets him get away with it, like she lets him get away with so much else. He nudges her knee with his own in thanks, and she kicks him in the calf in return. For a brief moment he feels like a child again, and the bittersweetness of the sensation makes his eyes burn.

Some time later he is being shaken awake. He rolls over to knock Morse's hand off of his shoulder and buries his face more in the pillow with a groan. Marta had left him to his letter writing with a quick press of her head to his, and he had swiftly started on emptying his flask, a task only left unfinished by his falling asleep.

“C'mon, sleepyhead, I don't get a welcome back?”

It takes a moment for the voice to penetrate. Then Arthur is springing up, nearly tripping over the mattress and his own legs in his haste to get upright. Wild eyed, he fixes on Blakely, standing smiling by his rack like he hasn't just materialized from the ether.

Gagged by sleep and whiskey and confusion, Arthur surges forward to wrap his arms around him. Real. Warm. Holding him back. Arthur barely checks there's nobody around before pulling back to land a desperate, smacking, kiss against his mouth.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he breathes. “Jesus, Ev, what the fuck-”

“Easy, there,” Ev is laughing, gentling him with a hand down his side. “I'm alright. We made it back.”

“Fuck,” Arthur spits one last time. Then he turns them and pushes him onto his bed by his shoulders. “Sit down, sit down, Jesus, are you insane? Have you been to medical?”

Without letting him answer, he kneels in front of him, starts really checking him over. Miraculously it seems like Ev’s in one piece, aside from the usual scratches and bruises they all come back with. Arthur runs his thumb over the largest graze visible, the one that has smeared a thick line of red over his nose.

Having sat patiently through the hurried examination, Ev reaches out to brush at Arthur's own face. It’s an effort to not flinch away, the puffy soreness of the skin around his eyes having settled in properly by now.

“What happened here?” Asks Ev.

“Fell outta my fort when we landed,” Arthur admits sheepishly. “Broke my nose on the runway.”

Ev tries valiantly not to laugh, but fails, and Arthur can't help but join him, dropping his forehead onto his knees. He's still in his flight suit. It smells of smoke, and sweat, and comfort. Arthur breathes deep, tries to calm his racing heart and spinning mind, tries to bottle up the screaming cocktail of feelings that wants him to pin Ev down and tell him in great, emotive, detail how deeply fucked he thought he was going to be without him. They clog his throat, jostle for dominance, pinwheel him between joy and fury and grief until a kind of numbness wins.

“Hatch is dead,” Arthur says hollowly, not raising his head.

The laughter above him stops, and a hand touches the back of his head.

“So's Saunders.”

Neither says anything for a long moment.

“I'm glad you're not,” Arthur finally adds. If he says anything else it’ll all come spilling out, and that can’t happen, not ever. For both of their sakes.

The fingers in his hair curl, then release.

“Me too.”

[jodithann827]

One Night Stand (Revised)

2/13

Rated X (this chapter)/ Ao3/ @today-in-fic

Dana Scully Residence

Friday Evening

“That sounds like an amazing time,” Dana says, slightly breathless from the stairs they climbed up to her floor of the apartment building, while she unlocks her door. She and Mulder went for coffee after they left the bar and talked for over an hour until the coffee shop needed to close down. They talked about simple things; hobbies: his sports, hers science, childhoods: vastly different, and school. Neither appeared to want to focus on heavier topics and they were having such a nice time, they didn’t want to call it a night. They hit it off and talking seemed so simple, so natural, and effortless. They talked about Dana’s family, and Mulder’s time in England, and were genuinely enjoying each other’s company. They kept the conversation light and entertaining. After leaving the coffee shop, Dana suggested continuing the conversation at her apartment. Just conversation, she told herself as they walked to her place. The night was peaceful and the weather pleasant with only a cool breeze in the air.

“You know William, I know it sounds cliche, but I don’t usually do this,” she says, hanging her coat up on the entryway hook. She drops her keys, clattering, onto the side table by the door. That’s a lie; she NEVER does things like this. She can’t believe she’s even entertaining the idea. She never brought guys home to her apartment, at least not ones she isn’t dating seriously. What if he’s a serial killer? At least I would go out having a great conversation, she thinks, wryly.

“What? Invite strangers back to your apartment?” he chuckles, then adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.” She turns to look at him and smiles. He continues, “Look, Dana, I don’t do this sort of thing eith…” but before he gets the words out, Dana lunges herself forward into his arms, her mouth enveloping his. He’s caught off guard but opens his arms, and his mouth, to her and immediately moans. He didn’t expect this sort of thing. It wasn’t what he had anticipated. Dana runs her tongue along his lips and the roof of his mouth. She pulls him by his shirt collar and guides him to her bedroom.

“So, Dana, how many people live–” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“I live alone,” she says, breathlessly, which is all the confirmation Mulder needs to hear.

Mulder guides his hands up and down her back, rubbing gentle circles, while their tongues duel, each vying for a place on top. Mulder sets one hand just above the dip on Dana’s ass, the other hand sneaking gently under the hem of her shirt. Dana removes her tongue long enough to start working the buttons of her shirt, which she successfully gets open, despite her shaking hands. Why am I shaking, she wonders. Because I haven’t had sex in 10 months and there is an undeniable spark between William and me, she rationalizes with herself. Mulder moves his hands over hers to help her remove her shirt. He slides it down, past her shoulders, and lets it drop to the floor.

He nips at her lips again, then moves his slowly down to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He pulls back briefly and sees her simple, but beautiful, black lace bra. “So stunning,” he mumbles as he reaches his hands around her back to loosen the contraption. Her breasts spring free. Dana sees his mouth actively watering, which sends shivers down her spine. His mouth begins to map a trail from her lips, down her neck, and to the valley of her flushed breasts. He takes the opportunity to lick, nip, kiss, and suck.

Still teetering on the line of being nervous as hell because she never does this, and wanting to seize the moment, Dana blushes but decides to live a little and enjoy herself. Something about him makes her completely comfortable. She twists her fingers through his hair as he pulls a rosy, pink-tipped nipple into his mouth. He licks over it with his tongue and begins sucking and swirling around its peak. His other hand meets the other breast and as he begins kneading it, Dana lets out a low moan, “Oh William.” She reaches for the button on his jeans, swiftly opening it and yanking them down.

“Do you have anything?” she asks, in a deep and husky voice, before she’s too far gone to think somewhat rationally. Mulder gently lets go of her nipple, slowly dragging his tongue across her skin to her other breast. She walks him backward and they fell onto her bed. She straddles his now bare legs, having lost his pants somewhere along the way, and feeling his erection hard between her legs.

“William,” she says again, a little more forcefully. He pulls her other breast from his mouth and looks up at her, clearly enjoying himself if his grin is any indication. “Do you have a condom?” she repeats. He sheepishly looks like a deer in headlights. How endearing, she thinks, knowing he went out without a plan to get laid. Dana rolls off him and reaches into the drawer beside her bed. There she has the leftover condoms from her last relationship, thankful for having them now and not tossing them at Ryan’s head when she kicked him out for the last time. She pulls out a condom, and tosses it to him, implicitly telling him that he needs to put it on. Mulder smiles a thank you, pulls his boxers off, opens the package, and rolls it over his throbbing member. He’d been so focused on Dana’s top, that he doesn’t realize she removed her bottoms. He reaches out and strokes her a few times. She’s slick and ready for him.

“How do you…” he starts but she quickly interrupts him.

“On top,” she states firmly. She climbs back onto him and slowly sinks on his waiting hardness. “Oh god,” she says, breathlessly.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder stammers, mistaking her comment for possible pain.

She smiles and kisses him square on his lips. “It’s ok,” she promises, sucking in her bottom lip, “it’s just been a while.”

Mulder draws her lip into his mouth and sucks. He doesn’t dare move until she indicates she’s ready. He feels her insides stretching as she adjusts to his width. “You feel so amazing,” he whispers into her ear, “so wet and so tight.” He nips on her earlobe, leaving her mouth.

“Mmmm,” was all she could acknowledge. She starts to rock against his body slowly. He begins to move in time with her. He pulls a breast back into his mouth and she places one hand on his chest. Her rocking becomes faster and more hurried.

“It’s been a while so I am sorry I don’t know how long…” he tried to say.

“Put your hand on my hip, like this” she shows him. His hands immediately engulf her sides, where he grips and circles his thumbs over her fiery skin. “It’s been a while for me too,” she promises. His lips found the crook of her neck again and he begins to nip and suck. She rides him faster and faster.

“Oh my god William, oh god that feels incredible” she pants.

“So close,” he tells her, though she can feel it in his erratic movements. He thrusts up into her, meeting her each way. He desperately wants to please her as well. He slips his hand between them and thumbs her clit. She jumps at the initial contact but continues her rhythm.

“Oh my… oh, oh…,” she pants, grinding into him. He speeds his fingers up and grunts into her neck.

“Oh, oh oh William, yes. Don’t stop. Oh my god, I’m coming” she shrieks, as her muscles clamp around him, overtaken by her release. Suddenly, Mulder explodes into her, biting down on her neck. It seems like their shared pleasure goes on and on. After a bit, breathing heavily, Dana slowly rolls off of him.

“Wow,” he sighed, trying to slow his beating heart.

Dana extricates herself from him and leaves the bed, heading for the bathroom. She closes the door part of the way, trying to get her breathing under control. That was mind-altering, she thinks to herself as she uses the toilet. She finishes, flushes, and quickly washes her hands. She opens the door and stares for a moment, a smile plastered on her face, at the man in her bed. “Bathroom’s free,” she says, almost shyly, walking over to the bed. To his credit, Mulder returns her smile and makes his way to the bathroom. Once the door shuts, Dana lets out a breath and quickly slips on her panties and a ribbed tank top. She gets back into bed and snuggles into the covers.

After a few minutes, the bathroom door opens and Mulder emerges, stark naked, hair sticking up in different directions, and he looks utterly delectable. He stops for a moment, gathering his boxers, clearly uncomfortable, not wanting to presume his next movements. Dana smiles and moves the covers, indicating that it’s ok if he wants to join her. He makes his way into the bed and looks at her.

“That was amazing,” he says, kissing her lips slowly. He works his tongue into her mouth gently and she smiles into the kiss.

“Yes, it was,” she replies, a little unsure of how to continue, knowing her next words are probably not what he wants to hear. SHe doesn’t have to, as he beats her to it.

“I sense a but coming,” Mulder states.

“But,” she says, hesitantly, “I’m just starting out in a new career that is going to be intense and time-consuming, and I think that’s what I need to focus on right now,” she explains, her eyes cast downward. He smiles and lifts his finger to her chin, pulling her face up so she’s looking at him.

“It’s ok. We’re both adults. I know I can speak for myself and say I had a really good time. I understand work and intensity, believe me,” he adds, attempting to make her feel better.

She sighs, choosing her next words carefully. “It’s just, the term ‘one-night stand’ sounds so, I don’t know, maybe cheap?” she tries to explain.

“Hey now, listen,” he encourages, taking her cheek in his hand, “it’s ok. Again we’re both adults. I think we both had a really good time,” she blushes again at his words, as he continues, “We had some fun, some amazingly hot sex, some great conversation. Not all in that order, of course. That’s all it has to be. It’s ok, I promise. An amazing night between two consenting adults” he assures her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, still unconvinced.

“Why?” he asks, “For giving me a mind-blowing orgasm? Please do not apologize for that!” She giggles and smirks at him, softly kissing his lips. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, adding, “I won’t be offended if you say yes.”

How amazingly sweet of this man, Dana thinks to herself, before adding aloud, “It’s late. I think the best thing would be for you to stay if that’s okay with you. I mean the word night is in the phrase one-night stand” she attempts a little humor. She snuggles closer into his body, her actions indicating she doesn’t want him to leave. He wraps his arms around her and slowly they fall into a dreamless sleep.

Scully Residence

Saturday morning, May 9, 1990

Light streams through the closed blinds in Dana’s bedroom. Birds are chirping, the sounds of a brand new day. She opens her eyes, slowly, and immediately recalls the last 12 hours. Did she really…

“Good morning,” comes a rugged voice, belonging to the very naked and warm man spooning up to her. Not a dream, she assures herself.

“Hi,” she said, quietly.

“I’ve been up for a bit, but I didn’t want to take off while you were sleeping,” he tells her, honestly.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she admits, moving her back closer to him if that’s even a possibility. She can’t get enough of the feeling of his body wrapped around hers.

“You know Dana,” he starts, nuzzling into the flesh below her shoulder, “Even though it’s called a one-night stand, technically we haven’t gotten out of bed yet so…” he’s grasping at straws and he knows she knows it.

“Shut up, William,” she says, rolling to face him. Her eyes fixate on his mouth. “Do you have anywhere pressing to be in the next few hours?”

“Just inside you again,” he replies, and then he makes use of his time over and over again.

[biryukzlodei-artblog]

That's why "peace" was established for in Palestine. One good thing is that NATO can't wage more than 2 wars at a time. It would be nice to set Israel on fire again. Politics is a dirty business.

Funny, Turkey has been a proxy lapdog of England and Europe for centuries. 12 "Russo-Turkish" wars confirm this. The world changes only for those who don't know history. And another good example why it should be no Ukraine on the map because Anglos will never stop using it against Russia.

Btw, last time when France was a leader of Europe and the biggest trade Empire on the continent, they too tried to crash the Russian Empire through Turkey-proxy in a hope to defeat Russians with Turks hands and compensate investments through the robbing of "defeated Russia". It didn't work out, and all ended in revolution in France itself. Just saying.

You are the dictators, West. You are all covered with blood of millions of children and women just that some European bitch could enjoy her life and believe that she is "civilized" and belong to the "God chosen nation". I don’t condemn this; we all want to live well and whatever on the others. But there is no need to lecture Russians about the mythical struggle between democracy and dictatorship. Your hypocrisy is irritating. But if you really believe in your statement then I always despised delusional fools.

France has been lying under the Americans with its legs spread for almost 100 years. How much longer should we wait to see when you will liberate yourselves? In my opinion, you, the French, were good with everything (same like the rest of Europe) and always gladly joined in the pack when US decided to tear up another country "in the name of democracy". You are only unhappy today because your American patron lost to Russia and forcing you to live worse because of it. It’s all unpleasant, I understand. But no need to pretend that any of this have anything with the fight for freedom.

The only thing worse than war with the Anglo-Saxons is peace with them.

(The only thing worse than war with the Anglo-Saxons is friendship with them. – modern time quote from the rus internet. Original quote is: Finally, after its experiences with the English and Americans it’s China’s turn to say: It’s bad to have an Anglo-Saxon as an enemy, but God forbid to have him as a friend! - Alexey Efimovich Edrikhin-Vandam, military intelligence officer, writer, author of works in the field of geopolitics and geostrategy of the Russian Empire.)

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I weirdly haven’t written enough about this on this blog so far, given what a big thing it is for me – I’m going to the fucking UK this summer. For real this time. For real. Here is a post about it.

I first posted on this blog about wanting to go to the UK in early 2021, I think. I remember making posts about how maybe once the vaccines were finally released, and I was all vaccinated, travel would be safe, and I could go for a little while before I start my college courses again. That didn’t happen for quite a few reasons.

I spent much of 2021 planning a hypothetical trip, knowing it probably couldn’t really happen, because obviously things like this don’t really happen, but I needed something to fantasize about in the depths of lockdown. It’s odd that a global pandemic made me interested in international travel for the first time. Pre-COVID, my life was so full of a single sport that I didn’t really have time to think about anything else as a hobby. I was on the road most weekends, but that road was the 401, driving off to the same few cities anywhere from two to twelve hours away, to sleep in a cheap hotel or on someone’s gym floor and then shout at teenagers at day and immediately drive home. Every once in a while we’d go to a tournament in the States, which counted as exciting international travel. The idea of actually seeing places that are not in or near the border with my country just hadn’t occurred to me.

Then the world ended, I fell deep into the Britcom rabbit hole, all that stuff. And in 2021, I got really into 1) memorizing how to label all the countries and major cities in the world, and all the counties or other regional areas in the UK and Ireland, on a blank map, because I’d learned that the larger world existed and I wanted to be clear about where it all is, and 2) going through places I’ve never been on Google Earth, usually while listening to audio comedy. I also took to looking up things to do in the UK on Trip Advisor, mapping the route on Google Maps and following it on Google Earth, knowing this was all for a hypothetical fantasy trip but still researching things like train fares and schedules because it was more fun if it felt like it could be real.

I’m fascinated by the idea of places that are Different From Here being actual real physical places where people could actually go. Which is especially weird in this case because I actually have been to the UK. I have a godmother there, whom I’ve met in person three times, twice when she’s come to Canada and once when for my sixteenth birthday she paid for my mother and I to go to England for a week. We stayed at her place in London, did all the tourist-y things, also spent a day in some spot in Somerset but I’m fuzzy on where or why, it was 2006. My clearest memory of the week is seeing Spamalot on St. Patrick’s Day and thinking it was the coolest thing ever. I’ve also got fairly clear memories of climbing stairs at St. Paul’s Cathedral, thinking Westminster Abbey was the most beautiful building I’d ever seen, and seeing some extremely cool stuff at the British Library including some original handwritten Beatles lyrics. And I remember the tube and being impressed that the cars really do have driver doors on the wrong side, that’s not just a thing they made up on Fawlty Towers.

Still, it was so long ago, and it was such a short time compared to the amount of time that I’ve spent watching Britian on TV, that it does feel a bit like Britain is a fictional place that exists on TV. Obviously I realize that’s a very ignorant North American thing for me to say, and in my defense I think I know a hell of a lot more about Britain than the average ignorant North American. I can label all the regions in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales in under five minutes. But I’ve got to admit, on a visceral level, learning all that stuff does feel a bit like memorizing lore in a fantasy novel.

There is kind of an appeal in the idea that… okay, the last time I was this obsessed with something besides a sport in which I actually participated, I was a kid in the Harry Potter fandom. I was a kid who read a lot of books, and a lot of my favourites happened to be British fantasy or sci-fi novels (Harry Potter, CS Lewis, Tolkein, His Dark Materials, Douglas Adams), but Harry Potter was the one that took over my life from the ages of about ten to fourteen. You classic situation of – didn’t have friends in real life, all my social interaction came from Harry Potter message boards, a vast chunk of my free time dedicated to reading every passage of the books over and over and over and analyzing them and writing things about them and I made some friends on the internet who loved Luna Lovegood as much as I did. Then I got to high school and started wrestling and made some friends in real life and slowly moved away from online fandom, didn’t do anything except that for fifteen years, then the world ended, I came back and found a new online fandom that was also British but had less magic and more panel shows, then the author turned out to be a terrible person and ruined my childhood.

Anyway. The point is that I remember when I was a kid, obviously I spent ages fantasizing about being able to actually go to all those places in Harry Potter. But I couldn’t, because those are not real places. Well, my new foray into fandom also feels a bit like that – like this fictional thing I’ve got obsessed with that no one around me knows anything about but some people on the internet are into it. Except that this time, the place where all these things happen is actually a real place, and I can pay money to go there. This concept remains amazing to me.

So I mapped out the idea of this trip a couple of years ago, and for a long time, it stayed in a limbo between fantasy and genuine possibility. I did actually start working out budgets and putting money aside for it, but all the while thinking this won’t actually work. I was starting to do things post-lockdown again, the sense that we were all locked down so nothing is real so I may as well engaged in some escapism and plan some fantasy trips – that started to give way to regular life, and in regular life, I’m not a person who does shit like that. I can’t just fly across the ocean to see a fictional place. I still had it vaguely in my head that maybe someday I’d like to, but I stopped actively planning anything.

But at the same time, the whole concept of Britain was starting to feel a bit less fictional (I’m… I’m feeling the need to clarify, again, that this is just a sort of emotional automatic response to put “the place where Britcom happens” in the “fictional” category in my brain… I did not at any point genuinely think the United Kingdom was fictional… especially since I’ve been there before). I do remember the first time I got physical, tangible proof that the people in the fictional Britcom world are real, when Russell Howard came to my city in March 2022 (my then-girlfriend got us tickets because she knew I liked British comedians, she was excited about it so I didn’t tell her that actually I’m mad at him for the Jordan Peterson apologism so don’t want to go, it’s not something I’d have chosen myself but it was a thoughtful gift and to be fair an extremely fun night), and I could not get over the idea that the man from the fictional place was here in real life displacing air like he’s a real human being and actually all of it is physically real. Over the next few months I did an 8.5-hour drive to New York City to see Nish Kumar, and then two months later a 2-hour drive to see him do the same show in Montreal, because it was that fucking great a show. I also saw James Acaster in Montreal, and a club night with Dara O’Briain and Fern Brady and Phil Wang and Tom Allen and Sindhu Vee and every single one of them was an actual real person breathing the same air as me. Before the show I saw Dara O’Briain on the street and was so shocked that I hit my mother too hard to show her and she jumped and the commotion attracted his attention and I didn’t know what to do except stare at him like he was a zoo animal until he smiled awkwardly at me and went on his way.

Things like this did rather renew my interest in a trip, not just for the novelty of seeing a place that feels fictional, but for the more practical purposes of seeing my favourite comedians live. My interests within Britcom were starting to shift significantly toward stand-up, I got obsessed for a while with learning everything about the history of the Edinburgh Festival in the 21st Century, it seemed like another world, the time of the Chocolate Milk Gang and 24-hour shows from the early 00s, but then I watched videos on the internet that were filmed at the 2022 Edinburgh Festival and realized this place is actually real and still happening now and it is technically possible to go there.

After that, the concept rapidly became de-fictionalized in my mind when I sent someone a message on a comedy forum, in the hopes of finding a few comedy recordings that I heard existed, and by complete coincidence stumbled upon the best person I possibly could have. I’d thought worst case scenario is he doesn’t reply and I will be left to assume he saw my message and considered it horribly rude, great scenario is he has a few things I’m asking for, amazing best case scenario is maybe he has lots of stuff and is willing to share. As it happened, I got the best case scenario, plus far more than that. Specifically, a the coolest fucking person I could possibly have found, as a new friend, direct interaction that made all of this seem a hell of a lot less fictional very, very fast. He said things like “So are you ever going to come out here and actually see this stuff yourself”, and I said things like “Obviously I have plotted a route and looked up train fares but don’t be silly, that was just the stuff of lockdown-induced dreams.”

I quickly started planning things more seriously, but at the same time, the editing work I’d been doing started drying up, I had a bit of a financial crisis where I became concerned that I’d be unable to pay rent, and couldn’t save for a trip. I followed the 2023 Edinburgh Festival from afar, from NextUp streams and hearing stories about it from a friend who actually went there and sent me pictures, which was so fucking cool, and it was all so very very real.

I got a new job, this one much harder because it involves leaving the house all day for five days a week, but also it’s much more stable than the editing work I did for all of lockdowns, and I was able to start saving money in the second half of 2023. I learned that the place where I work shuts down for the last week of July, and the Monday of the following week is a holiday. So I put in a request for just four days off, the Tuesday-Friday, to create a two-week holiday. One week in London at the end of July, and one week in Edinburgh during the first week of the Edinburgh Festival.

The time off got approved (barely, I was told I can’t book any other vacation time in 2024, but I got it) in late 2023, and it was so exciting, and that’s the first time it started to feel even a little bit real. Then I booked an Air B&B for the week in Edinburgh, because it’s my understanding that accommodation availability and prices are a huge issue there and you want to book early. I think I did well, though. Found a place that’s not cheap but not unfeasibly expensive, I can have my own room and it’s a 50-minute walk or 10-minute bus from Edinburgh city centre. It was so exciting to book the place, put some money down, finally have something on the books for sure. Though I did triple check that it’s fully refundable if I cancel up until pretty much the day before, just in case something goes wrong.

I booked the flights over Christmas. They weren’t cheap, but I was able to afford them without destroying my ability to pay rent, because it turns out there is a reason why I put myself through human interaction for 8-10 hours five days a week. I did pay an extra fee to give myself the ability to pay another fee and cancel them, because still, it felt like I can’t be totally sure this will actually work. But that was a big commitment.

And that’s pretty well the main things sorted out. I still have to book a whole lot of train tickets, but I have the flights. I have the time off work. I have the Edinburgh accommodation. I have accommodation in London, because the absolute coolest person I could possibly come across on a comedy message board has a spare room, and is extremely kind and generous with his time and space, and I’ve said some pretty disparaging things about that message board before (based on some quite bad threads from like fifteen years ago, that I spent weeks reading in their entirety because, you know, autism), and I would like to take them all back.

Now they’ve announced the first bunch of acts at the 2024 Edinburgh Festival, and I’ve been going through picking out which ones look most interesting to me, and for maybe the first time, it’s finally feeling completely, entirely real. This is happening. For real this time. I am going through an Edinburgh Festival catalogue not just to take screenshots of the most interesting blurbs so I can save them in a folder and/or post them on my blog to say here’s an interesting piece of history. I am going through it to pick what shows I wish to see.

So here’s my plan, that I’m writing because I now feel confident that I think it’s actually going to happen. Obviously I have a spreadsheet with various tabs, and a KMZ file so I can open Google Earth with all the places I might potentially want to see already marked. I have been planning this trip for years. I have two weeks in the UK, and I don’t want to waste a single second. I want to make sure all that time spent planning comes to something, because as a fundamental part of my personality, I have always believed that there is a level of planning you can do to guarantee that everything goes right. This belief has been proven wrong time and time again, but I’ve never tried something with this much planning beforehand, so surely this time it’ll work. No taking a chance on some tourist attraction that might turn out to be shit, because I’ll have looked at it all on Google Earth beforehand and ranked things in order of how cool they look.

I have organized my spreadsheet into seven tabs: overview, plan by day, places to eat, things to see London, in Edinburgh, in Cambridge, and things to pack. I have organized each “things to see” tab into three sections: things I want to see for reasons related to general tourism, things I want to see for reasons related to comedy, and things I want to see for reasons related to Harry Potter. I apologize for the latter, and obviously I will not be doing anything that would give revenue to JK Rowling. But nothing JK Rowling can say in the 2020s will change my childhood, and I need to spend some amount of time indulging my childhood dreams of running around fancy buildings feeling like I’m in a magical British land.

London, tourism: pretty straightforward. Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral are on the list, because I remember how cool they were last time, and because for some reason when I stopped being Christian at age 16 I did not also get rid of my awe at fancy churches. I want to see Parliament and related areas, I want to try to get a picture of the Number 10 door as seen in Yes Minister. I want to see some bridges. Take a cable car across a river. Go look at Douglas Adams in Highgate Cemetery (I realize there are more famous people than Douglas Adams there, I’d like to see them too, but mainly Douglas Adams). Go see what The British Library has going on while I’m there. There are too many pubs on the list given the fact that I’m currently trying to stop drinking, I am going to cut some of those pubs off the list and I’m just trying to decide which ones, but I really love a good pub and the ones in London look so cool and even if I can’t have a pint I want to sit there in the atmosphere and have a burger or some shit.

Harry Potter tour of London is simple. Obviously I want to go look at King’s Cross Station, I did it when I was 16 and it was so fucking cool, I don’t care how stupid that is. Otherwise, I’ve looked up three different areas that were used in filming Diagon Alley, and according to Google Earth, seem like the do sort of look like Diagon Alley-like places. That’s what’s interesting to me. I’m not really interested in places where the movies just happened to be filmed (the movies were fine, I’ve seen them a couple of times each, but it was the books that I read until I had them nearly memorized), I want to see places that look like they could be where the books were actually set. And Goodwin’s Court appears to look like where Harry Potter could have actually been set. So I’ve made an appointment to go walk down a road.

For the comedy-related locations in London, there are a few venues I want to see. Ideally while something’s playing in them, but even if there’s nothing I’m interested in at the Soho Theatre while I’m there, I’d still want to go in and just see the building, after the all the shows I’ve seen and heard that were recorded there. Same with The Bill Murray. Battersea Arts Centre. I also wish to make a pilgrimage to the bit of Regent’s Park where Daniel Kitson’s done some of the most landmark nights of comedy in the last twenty years. Obviously I want to go stand outside the gates to the Taskmaster house and see just how close it is to that golf course. (There will also be a few hours of the itinerary where I might just leave some of the details blank, no need to get too much into what I want to see there, it’s in my spreadsheet as just “Crystal Palace”, and I will say that if you don’t want people to go look at a place where you used to live, don’t make your address the title of your theatre show – I need to stress again, just so we’re clear about what level of creepiness I’m talking about here, it is a former address, not anywhere that anyone significant lives now or has lived for the last fifteen years, it's just the subject of comedy stories that are now long in the past, as are various surrounding landmarks, it’s archaeology.)

Now, in Edinburgh I’ve put a lot fewer things on the itinerary, because I want to leave most of my time for going to see comedy shows. And going to see a couple of music shows, because that first wave of events they’ve announced includes a couple of traditional Scottish music things that I am so excited about, it’s going to be mostly comedy but I do want to do that as well. Celtic music, Harry Potter, British comedy – all the biggest special interests of my life besides the one where you beat people up, all easy to access at this festival (I mean, technically Edinburgh has something called wrestling too, but it’s best if I don’t hear anyone try to compare the Max + Ivan wrestling to the sport that I do).

I do want to climb Arthur’s Seat, because I’ve done it about a hundred times in Google Earth so I just have to do it in real life. When Mark Watson released his book last year, I got the signed and dedicated version and he said we can tell him about a problem we have for him to solve in the dedication. I said my problem is I’m going to London and Edinburgh next year and need advice on where to go, he said I should climb Scott’s Monument. Even though my levels of respect for Mark Watson have dropped significantly since that book actually came out, I am still going to climb Scott’s Monument because Mark Watson told me to.

Similarly, this extremely kind and cool person I know recently got the chance to get me an autographed copy of Tim Key’s new book (which I unfortunately won’t get until I go to London and pick it up in person, but it looks great), where he also asked Tim to give me some advice for my trip. Tim Key said to go to Mosque Kitchen, and Indian restaurant in Edinburgh, so I’m doing that. Oh, and while I’m in London I have to go to a place called Kebab Kid, because it’s Nish Kumar’s favourite shawarma place in England, which I know because I know a guy who could just walk up to Nish Kumar after one of his gigs and ask him what his favourite shawarma place is. Have I mentioned how fucking cool this is?

Anyway. That’s the extent of my interest in Edinburgh tourism, mainly. I mean, if I were going when the festival weren’t on, there would be plenty of other stuff I want to see. But I don’t want to take time away from festival events. I might do the castle. The castle’s probably cool. I definitely want to walk up that hill, as I’ve done many times on Google Earth, and look at the castle. Whether I pay to go inside will depend if there’s a hole in the comedy schedule, I guess.

In the Edinburgh – Harry Potter section, I have a few things. Greyfriar’s Kirkyard, the graveyard with the story about the dog that’s probably bullshit (I mean, it happened, but I think someone was just feeding that dog) but the story about how it inspired Harry Potter character names that’s true. Go get a picture of Tom Riddle’s grave. I’ve marked a couple of streets and a couple of buildings that look particularly like they could be from Harry Potter, those are on the list of places to walk. There’s a Harry Potter store that I want to go in and look through the stuff because the interior seems really cool, but I promise I would never spend money in there.

And then Edinburgh – comedy will probably take care of itself. I want to see The Stand and The Gilded Balloon, as the sites of many of my favourite comedy events over the last twenty years. But I’m hoping I’ll end up in those places anyway to see shows, so no need to make a special trip. If not, though, I’m making a special trip. I have to see the stage where the cow got torn apart. I absolutely have to go see it in person.

There is also the Cambridge tab, because I have blocked off one of my London days to take a train to Cambridge and back. I have made a Google Earth document with about 20 of the most interesting-seeming colleges marked. Obviously I’m not going to see 20 colleges, I’m going to look at them all in Google Earth and then rank them by how cool they look and go see as many as I can in order. I have also, of course, marked down which ones let you take tours and at what times. The place I’m most excited to see is the Wren Library, which appears to be a library from Harry Potter or His Dark Materials or something. I want to see Trinity College because it’s the college on which Douglas Adams based the college in the first Dirk Gently book. A few of the colleges have chapels that look really pretty and are interesting to me because I have for some reason not lost my awe of pretty churches. And mainly, I just want to walk around the Cambridge University grounds looking at stuff.

Oh, and we’re leaving another day to take a train to Kent, where they have an archive of stand-up comedy materials that I wish to see. But I haven’t made a tab for that, because I just want to see some stuff in the University of Kent and then go back to London.

I am also hoping I can block out one day from the Edinburgh week to not book any shows, and just take trains around Scotland. I have always wanted to take trains around Scotland. I have always romanticized trains, I have always romanticized Scotland, taking a train through rural parts of Scotland will make me feel like I’m on the Hogwarts Express, it’s everything my over-romanticizing heart fantasized about when imagining this trip. I’ve checked, and while it would be an incredibly long day, it is possible to take a train from Edinburgh to Mallaig in the morning, have a couple of hours in Mallaig, and take another train back at night. This would take me, twice, through something that’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful train journeys in the world, from Glasgow to Mallaig. Mallaig is a tiny village on the West Coast of Scotland and it’s got a hiking trail and a pub and I just want to take a train across a country and walk around the trail and then sit in that pub and look at the ocean. I want that so badly. It’s been a rough couple of months, I find it hard to spend 8 to 10 hours a day interacting with other people, the thought that one day in early August I might spend one hour sitting in a pub in Mallaig looking at the ocean is really getting me the through the day at this point. There are a few pubs in Mallaig, but obviously I’ve picked out my favourite. I want to eat seafood. I love seafood. That’s not just a Mallaig thing, seafood is my favourite food and I always eat lots of it when I visit the East Coast of Canada because it’s better near the ocean. All of Britain is near the ocean, so I want to eat all their seafood.

Okay, that’s the plan. I was going to write about what I’m thinking in terms of actual shows to see, but I might let that turn into a different post. Right now, I’m just excited about the idea of posting this on the internet because it is real and I am actually going to do it and having this to look forward to is way too big a proportion of my motivation at this point in my life.

[guess-ill-dye]

WANNA LEARN SOME HISTORY???

Cool because I have a test tomorrow and I want to write abt it >:3

So let's say we are in the beautiful year of 1870. You are a germanic state trying to unite to other germanic states so you can form a massive empire.

Now let's say you are France. You see a powerful nation being born and decide " Well that's threatening " So you know what you have to do: boicot it ofc

But then they realise what you have been trying to do and invade your country as revenge. They do it with ease, and they go to your simbol of power in Paris, The Versalles (idk how to write that in English lol) and establish themselves as a nation: The Germanic-Prussian empire (again, the term in portuguese I think is "Império Germânico-Prussiano" and Idk how that translates.) And then just leave, but keeping a little part of your country with them. ( portugues expression incoming- Uma espinha entalhada no orgulho francês)

So after that there is a ton of peace and cultural flourishment, in am epoque designated for "Belle Èpoquè" in wich there is like a looot of beautiful things. Let's say the social side of it. People started having more fun since they worked less and the middle class was emerging rapidly. The cinemas, Caffès, operas, theatres, films/movies, amusement parks, all were created at this time. Also penicillin, as they were ton of medical advances at that time. They created the telefone and the plane and the car and WOW everything is beautiful.

In art we see two main themes -> women and nature (often together). Details are suuuuuper important. Clothes get more baloney and plain, with big puff shoulders that were so big that they had to be stored with pillows inside in order not to lose shape. Buildings are BEAUTIFUL and everything is really. It's a great time for humans.

Then people start to get greedy. Africa, still unexplored in its interior is object of many country's desire. They are 5 main countrys who had colonies before: Portugal, Spain, England, France and Holland. 3 new countries want to have some colonies too: Italy, Germany and Belgium.

In 1885 a conference is hosted in Berlim to divide Africa between European countries, being two main things that are considered:

Historical right- given to the 5 starters for beig there the longest/ already having stuff there

Ocupation right- If the country is willing to explore, populate, and take care of that area. The ones who got the most following this right are the 3 big rich countries: England, France and Germany.

Overall the ocuparion right is prioritized, so Portugal comes up with The Pink Map ( no specific reason for the name it was just the color lmao), wich claims to Portugal the lands between the Angolan and Mozambican coast. This is approved.

BUT the English ofc wanted to build a giant train line that connected Cairo and Cape Town, so they needed our ( Portugal's )territory, and since they had like massive belic power the got us and Ultimatum, so that we either leaved or got into war. The king at the time, D. Carlos gave in and England NEVER MADE THE TRAIN LINE WHAT OMG.

Yeyeyey ty for reading this big history lesson bubye!!!

WISH ME LUCK ON MY TEST <3

[neufhistoires]

Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 9

Loveless Marriage

Chapter 9

Word Count: 4,327

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Seychelles was a beautiful country, so any couple would be happy to have their honeymoon there together… That is, if the couple was truly a couple.

It was rather awkward for Francis and Arthur to go to such a lovey dovey place together alone. Their parents had booked them separate rooms, instructing that they just had to be careful not to post pictures that alluded to them being in two different rooms. They told them that it was their treat to them for following through with the whole publicity stunt so well. Francis was hurt by the wedding ceremony, but the thought of essentially just hanging out with Arthur on an island where they didn’t have to put on a show anymore didn’t sound so bad… Actually, it sounded kind of fun.

Francis wanted to hit up the different nightclubs on the islands, go shopping, see the botanical gardens– that sort of thing. On the other hand, Arthur wanted to go to the island that was supposedly haunted. What they were interested in on the island did differ some, but they were both excited to go nonetheless.

Checking into the hotel felt normal because they didn’t have to pretend they were in love or anything, and they were both registered under their own last names. It was sure to be a whole argument when they had to figure out what to do about their last names now that they were technically married, but they would deal with that when the time came…

They brought their luggage to their hotel rooms and then met back up in the hallway afterwards. They didn’t have to spend time with one another, and they did want to do different things, but… they didn’t know anyone in Seychelles, so it made sense to stay together, right? Surely that was the only reason they did.

“I guess I’ll spend time with you because you’re terrible at socializing,” Francis said with a smug look on his face as he leaned over Arthur’s shoulder to look at the tourist map they had been given in the hotel lobby.

“Hmph, a haunted island would be more fun alone anyway. Go off and hook up with random people you’ll never see again if that’s what your idea of fun is,” Arthur said dismissively, as though he was too caught up in looking at the map to care about the Frenchman’s jabs at him.

“Are you really looking for ghosts on an all expenses paid vacation? I thought you were joking,” Francis said, surprise apparent on his face.

“I’ve already heard all the ghost stories in England. Not to mention the ghost that I keep seeing in our neighbor’s window…” Arthur muttered the last part, but it sent chills up Francis’s spine.

“Stop reminding me,” Francis retorted. He hated that sort of thing. Especially because he was pretty sure he had seen it a few times, too…

“How about we make a compromise?” Arthur said, lowering the map and locking eyes with the taller blonde beside him. “We’ll go to the haunted island today and then I’ll go out drinking with you afterwards.”

“That’s not fair– you like to go out drinking, too!” Francis complained, narrowing his eyes at the Englishman.

“Fine– what do you want to do then?” Arthur asked, sounding as though he was forced to ask him that question.

“We’ll go out drinking tonight, because we both want to, and then tomorrow will be my day to choose what we do… Which will most likely be…” Francis pulled the map out of Arthur’s hands so he could look at it again. On the right hand side of the map different attractions and events were listed. “We should go sunbathing and swimming at the Côte d’Or!”

Arthur looked like someone had stabbed him when he heard that Francis wanted to go sunbathing and swimming on some crowded tourist beach. However… the truth was that he didn’t actually want to go to the haunted island by himself… and the people in Seychelles did speak French, so it would make sense for Francis to come along with him… so…

“Alright, fine– we’ll go there tomorrow,” Arthur agreed reluctantly, making Francis smirk victoriously. Arthur cursed himself for thinking that Francis looked kind of handsome with that smug look on his face.

“It’s settled then– off to Moyenne Island!” Arthur said, pointing his finger at the island on the map with such enthusiasm that he made himself blush with embarrassment afterwards.

They took a ferry from the main island to Moyenne Island, which was supposedly haunted by ghosts, some of which just so happened to be British, and others which happened to be pirates. Arthur had always been interested in both ghosts and pirates, and he was British, so it was like it was practically made for him.

When the ferry finally arrived on the island, it left to return other tourists to the main island and pick up more people who were interested in going on the haunted tour. Francis was a bit unsettled by the whole thing, but it was still rather early in the day, so he figured he didn’t have to worry too much about seeing any ghosts. After all, they only came out during the day, right?

The tour guide started by explaining some of the history of the island while they were still standing at the shore. Then, after adding in some details about how the last man who owned the island died there (great), the tour guide began leading them through the wooded part of the island and it started to seem darker due to the shade from the trees.

They passed a sign that said the Moyenne Island National Park closed at four o’clock, but it was already four thirty. Francis had been reassured by daylight, but it was most likely going to get dark for part of their tour.

“Arthur– how long is this tour?” Francis asked, nudging the Englishman out of the trance he was in as he listened to the tour guide.

“It’s going to be a few more hours, but don’t worry so much– I checked and some of the bars around here don’t even open until midnight,” Arthur said dismissively, putting his hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder to urge him to continue up the trail with the other tourists.

It wasn’t exactly that Francis was thinking about drinking, but more so that he didn’t want to be on an island that was allegedly haunted in the dark… It was too embarrassing to admit that though, so he just accepted that Arthur apparently thought he was an alcoholic and continued to tread up the trail.

Eventually, they made it further up the hill and reached an area where mounds of cement with iron crosses atop them donned metal plaques which read “Unhappily Unknown.” They were tombstones.

Unfortunately, the sun had started to set when the tour guide stopped in front of the tombstones and started to explain who built them and when. The nameless ones were supposedly pirates who had visited the islands in the 1800s. The previous owner of the island was buried there himself along with his father. The thought alone sent chills down Francis’s spine. He wanted to leave.

“Do you think I’ll be able to capture a photo of a ghost?” Arthur whispered, leaning in towards Francis so he didn’t interrupt the tour guide who was still speaking. The Englishman had his phone out every once and awhile, making sure to take a photo of anything the tour guide mentioned being haunted or belonging to someone long dead.

“I don’t know– maybe,” Francis replied nonchalantly, but on the inside he was going against Arthur, hoping he didn’t see any ghosts.

The tour continued and they had finally made their way past the ominous tombstones. Francis had been impatiently waiting for that moment, but then his own paranoid thoughts caught up to him and he started to think about how unsettling it was that the graves were behind them now.

Francis and Arthur were at the back of the tour group, which was most likely due to a combination of Arthur stopping to take photos of everything and Francis being reluctant to be there in the first place. At the beginning of the tour, Francis thought being in the back was the thing to do. After all, he didn’t want to be there so why get in the way of those who did? However, he was starting to regret it because he felt rather vulnerable with no one else following behind them.

Nonchalantly– at least he hoped it was nonchalant– Francis grabbed Arthur’s hand and then acted like nothing happened when the Englishman turned to him with a confused expression on his face. 

“You got my hopes up– I thought you were a ghost,” Arthur joked. The sun had finished setting and it was dark. It was difficult to see much of anything other than the light that the tour guide was carrying and the occasional light from the other tourists’ cell phones.

“You were hoping to hold hands with a ghost?” Francis asked dumbfoundedly.

“Why are you holding my hand anyway?” Arthur asked, ignoring the Frenchman’s question. Of course he wanted to hold hands with a ghost.

Francis contemplated what he should say for a moment before a smirk formed on his face and he cleaned in closer to the Englishman. “You’re my husband– why shouldn’t I hold your hand?”

Arthur’s face flushed and he gave Francis a light shove, making their hands detach from one another. “Don’t say things like that..!”

The two of them walked in silence through the dark woods for a few before Francis casually reached out and took Arthur’s hand again, causing him to let out a sigh. Arthur would’ve just accepted it, but then a thought crossed his mind…

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Arthur asked with a smirk. 

“What? What’s there to be afraid of?” Francis retorted, but his offended tone made the truth easy to reveal.”If anything, the ghosts would come after you– you’ve been taking their pictures all day, after all..!”

Arthur’s expression was enough to make Francis even more annoyed, because the smirk on his face just kept growing.

“You could’ve just told me you didn’t want to come because you were scared– you didn’t have to lie and tell me you just thought it was boring,” Arthur continued to tease Francis until they reached another spot in the tour, so they had to quiet down if they wanted to hear what the tour guide had to say.

However, there was quite a distance between Francis and Arthur and the tour guide. That was why the noise that Francis heard behind himself was so distinct. He had definitely heard something. It sounded like some sort of rustling in the trees.

Francis still had Arthur’s hand in his because regardless of how much the other man had teased him, he still secretly liked holding him close like that, especially in public… So, in the most aloof way possible, he turned around to look at the clearing behind him to see if anything was there. There didn’t appear to be anything, but then he heard it again and he suddenly went from feeling a little suspicious to feeling terrified.

“Arthur– did you hear something?” Francis whispered.

“Huh? No, did you?” Arthur asked, feeling a bit empathetic towards the other man when he felt how tight he was squeezing his hand.

“Oui, it sounded like there was something behind us just now,” Francis replied, glancing at the path behind them again.

“You know what– it was probably just a–” Arthur started, but he was cut off by Francis suddenly jumping and clinging to his arm. The Frenchman’s actions were enough to catch him off guard and scare him, too, in the process.

The culprit that had followed and terrified Francis turned out to be a giant tortoise, which slowly crept out of the bushes after Francis’s sudden movements. Upon seeing what it was, the Frenchman released Arthur and let out a sheepish laugh.

“What I was going to say was that it was probably a giant tortoise,” Arthur said in a somewhat annoyed tone because Francis had scared him, too. “Weren’t you listening? The tour guide mentioned that the man who bought the island brought giant tortoises here, so we might see them roaming about during our tour.”

“Yeah, and he also mentioned how this island is haunted about five million times! How was I supposed to know it was a tortoise and not a ghost?!” Francis yelled in a hushed tone, hoping Arthur was the only person that witnessed his embarrassing reaction.

“So you do admit that you’re scared..!” Arthur said with a smirk, pointing his finger at Francis accusatively.

“Non! I was trying to protect you from the…” Francis stopped speaking and his cheeks turned pink as he became more and more aware of how embarrassing the whole thing was.

“From the tortoise?” Arthur pushed further, a smug grin on his face.

Francis didn’t answer him, letting out a “hmph” as he turned back around to face the tour guide. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. Then, the tour guide and the group of people in front of them started to walk further up the hill, so Francis and Arthur followed after them, still holding hands. It was pitch black outside, so it made sense for them to keep holding hands like that. You know— for safety reasons…

Eventually, the tour came to an end and they took the ferry back to the main island. Francis was spooked the entire way back to the island, thinking some sort of mysterious sea monster or vengeful spirit might attack them while they were drifting through the water. Meanwhile, Arthur was kind of hoping something like that would happen. For some reason, he would have loved to have seen it. Not to mention that he thought the way Francis had tried to pretend he wasn’t scared the entire time even though he kept latching onto the Englishman was rather endearing.

“Bien, c’est fini. Now let’s go to the bar,” Francis said, letting out a sigh of relief as they stepped off the ferry. “I need a drink after that,” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, I need one, too,” Arthur replied, a small smile on his face as he reflected on their time at the haunted island. It was actually a lot of fun.

Just like Arthur had mentioned, the bars didn’t actually open until around eleven thirty or midnight, so they had to wait a few until they could get in. Once they did, they drank much more than they should have and then headed back to the hotel.

The next morning, Francis woke up feeling like he had gotten the short end of the stick. It was his day to choose what they did, but since his day came after a night of way too much drinking, it was also plagued by a terrible hangover. Since Francis and Arthur were in separate rooms, the Frenchman couldn’t even bother the Englishman for medicine and water. He would have to get up and get it himself…

Reluctantly, Francis moved off the bed and stumbled into a standing position. He could barely remember the night before. Due to the fact that most of the night involved talking about ghosts, he couldn’t keep straight what was from the tour and what was from some sort of fever dream.

Francis fumbled around in his suitcase, trying to find medicine. Eventually he found it, took it, and then stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He looked like a mess, but he should be able to fix it within a few minutes. He just needed to take a shower and that would probably be enough to wake him up and freshen up his appearance.

Meanwhile, Arthur hadn’t even woken up until Francis was already in the shower, getting ready for the day. He was suffering from a hangover, too, but it was even more difficult for him to have motivation to get up and get ready because he absolutely didn’t want to go sunbathing and swimming at a crowded beach.

There was a selfish voice in the back of Arthur’s head that urged him to fall back asleep and forget about the plans he had made with Francis. After all, the Frenchman didn’t have a key, so all he could do was knock for a bit and then give up. Then, Arthur would have the day to himself and he wouldn’t have to do something he didn’t want to… Arthur smirked at the thought and closed his eyes again.

Just as Arthur was about to fall asleep, he realized that he couldn’t. He had a guilty conscience, and as much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t have been able to fall back asleep knowing that he lied to Francis and made him spend the day alone, especially after he had gone to a haunted island that he was clearly afraid of.

Arthur let out a groan and sat up, stretching his arms in the air as his head pounded with a terrible headache. Then, he went to take medicine and get a shower, too.

As soon as Arthur got out of the shower, he received a text from Francis, asking if he was ready to go. He had to rush a little bit, but the truth was that it didn’t take him very long to get dressed. He envied that Francis could get dressed in the same amount of time, but he still always ended up looking more fashionable. Actually, sometimes they wore similar things, or he took the Frenchman’s fashion advice, but he still looked better.

It had been just a normal morning and Arthur didn’t usually contemplate what he was going to wear too much, but his own thoughts suddenly overwhelmed him and he started to feel insecure at the thought that they were going to a popular tourist spot and Francis would be dressed so much better than him. He started frantically sifting through the clothing that he had brought with him, hoping to find something to pull on before Francis stopped waiting for a response and just came over himself. However, that time came quicker than the Englishman anticipated, as only a few minutes later he heard a knock on his door.

Arthur ignored the knock and continued to go through his clothing, but then he realized that nothing he packed would make him look as good as Francis. No, maybe nothing he owned would make him look as good as Francis. Or, maybe it was just him, and he couldn’t pull off anything as good as the Frenchman. Francis would look good even if he was wearing a trash bag, but Arthur felt like he struggled to put a decent outfit together.

“Arthur, bonne matin– are you awake?”

The Frenchman’s voice was easy to hear through the door, but Arthur really didn’t want to answer the door in his underwear, or, even worse, admit that he was terribly insecure and felt inferior to the Frenchman, so he was sifting through his clothes at the last minute and questioning all of  his life choices that led up to this moment.

Arthur chose to ignore Francis again and continued to look through his suitcase to find an outfit. Then, the knocking started again, and in a stressed panic Arthur just pulled on a random pair of shorts and a shirt before he ran over and swung the door open.

Francis’s eyes widened upon seeing that Arthur was indeed awake and he looked stressed rather than hungover.

“Arthur– what are you–”

“I know, I look terrible– go ahead and laugh,” Arthur said, cutting the Frenchman off before he could even finish his sentence. Also, he sort of looked like he was going to cry, like his eyes were glassy and the tears just hadn’t poured out yet.

Francis just stared at Arthur for a moment in confusion, trying to understand what could’ve made the other man so upset. He really had no idea, but he could see that the Englishman’s clothing was mismatched, so he decided to take it from there and tread carefully.

“I was just going to ask what you were doing– I could hear you rustling around in here…” Francis mumbled. “Anyway, didn’t you pack a white button up shirt with you? Why don’t you wear that? It will look nice with those shorts,” Francis said, pushing past Arthur and entering his room. He noticed the messy piles of clothing throughout the Englishman’s room and then he started to understand.

“Are you sure it will… look nice..?” Arthur murmured, shutting the door behind them as he walked back over to the piles of clothing Francis was standing in front of. He was embarrassed that the other man was looking at the mess he made– he had intended on cleaning it up when he got back later.

Francis found the white button up shirt in one of the piles of clothing and picked it up, turning to face Arthur. His heart ached at the thought that the other man felt so insecure. He felt sort of guilty, too, because he knew that he could tease him about the way he dressed sometimes. He was usually just joking and he didn’t have any malicious intentions, but he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was probably hurting the other man without realizing it.

“Oui, of course it will. I’ve always thought that you look nice in button ups– they suit you,” Francis said softly, a gentle smile on his face as he started to undo the buttons on the shirt.

Arthur felt inexplicably relieved, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He turned his back to Francis as he took off his shirt, but it wasn’t really because he was changing– he finally gave his eyes permission to release his tears and the pressure in his head went away some.

Arthur nonchalantly dried his cheeks when he pulled the shirt over his head and then he turned back to face Francis, who lightly tossed the shirt he had unbuttoned at him.

“Thanks,” Arthur murmured, pulling the shirt on and hastily buttoning it back up. “I’m ready then, if you are.” “Wait– you didn’t forget this did you?” Francis asked, picking a bottle of sunscreen up from Arthur’s bed.

“Oh, actually I did,” Arthur said, letting out a small laugh. He had been so concerned with his appearance and yet he had almost set himself up to get burnt to a crisp.

“I figured,” Francis said in a matter of fact tone as he opened the lid.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m going to put sunscreen on you,” Francis replied in a voice so innocent that Arthur almost obliged.

“No. You’re not.”

“Oh, come on. There are places you can’t reach,” Francis said, taking a step towards Arthur with a smirk on his face.

Arthur’s face paled and he took a step back, moving away from the Frenchman.

“I’m not going to get naked on the beach, so I think it’s just fine if sunscreen isn’t applied to those places,” Arthur hissed, continuing to back up as Francis neared closer.

“Arthur, you’re no fun,” Francis commented, the smirk on his face growing even larger as he lunged at the Englishman and tackled him onto the bed.

The whole thing happened so fast that Arthur felt as though his life had flashed before his eyes. The two of them ended up wrestling and laughing, accidentally getting some sunscreen on the bed and their clothes during their fight, if it could even be called that. It all felt light hearted and fun until they landed in a position where Francis was on top of Arthur and the two of them were panting from laughing and rolling around– that was when it started to feel a tad too intimate and they both abruptly pulled away from each other and got up from the bed as if a deafeningly awkward tension hadn’t just erupted.

Francis cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “anyway, you should put that on before we go to the beach.”

The two of them headed off to Côte d’Or and it basically turned out the way they both expected it would– Arthur set up a beach towel and an umbrella, hoping to fully stay out of the sun, but then Francis urged him to come get in the water, essentially guilt tripping the Englishman by saying that he did what he wanted the previous day, so now it was Arthur’s turn.

Reluctantly, Arthur did end up joining Francis in the water, but the beach turned out to be a lot less crowded than he had originally thought it would be, so it was also much less awkward than he had predicted, too. It actually wasn’t so bad. Although, to the Englishman’s dismay, because he hadn’t listened and didn’t keep reapplying sunscreen like Francis because it was too awkward to lather himself with lotion in front of a group of other tourists, he did end up getting burnt. It was mainly on his pale cheeks and his shoulders. It was sort of cute though, like he was in a constant state of blushing, Francis defended. And now he wouldn’t know if Arthur had actually blushed at that comment or not.

The day came to an end similarly to the previous one, but this time they vowed not to drink as much so they could wake up with ease and enjoy the next day properly. The plans for the following day were arranged according to Francis’s suggestion, too, but it was something that Arthur supposed he could get behind– the Victoria Botanical Gardens.

[thefictioness]

5. Map

This work is part of a fictober series. For more information, click here.

“Well then…” Sebastian adjusted his glasses using his pointing stick. Across from him, anxiously seated in their chairs, were the four subordinate servants of the Phantomhive household. “Since the trip to Germany was on such short notice, we never had the time to pick up topography lessons to teach you where we would be traveling to. So to prepare for future endeavors, we will be starting them now.” He pointed at a large sheet hung from the ceiling behind him. “Who can tell me what this is?” Finny’s hand eagerly shot in the air. “Oh, oh! Pick me! I know!” Sebastian indicated towards him, and Finny answered. “That’s a map of the world!” “Correct. Can you also tell me where we are at the moment?” Sebastian followed up. Finny frowned. Sebastian turned to the others. “Anyone else want to take a guess?” The four of them were at the edges of their seat, trying to find something recognizable on the map, but to no avail. Sebastian sighed. He pointed his stick at an island. “This is Great Britain. This part of Great Britain is England, and here in the south is where the estate is located.” The four of them blinked in surprise. “Oh, hello there home!” Finny waved at the spot Sebastian just pointed towards. “I knew it was smaller than the States, but I never knew it was so tiny…” Baldroy said. “Where is America?” Mey-Rin asked, searching further. “Well they say it’s westward so it must be somewhere over there, says Webster,” Snake gestures at the left part of the map.  Sebastian Clapped in his hands. “Would you all settle down. Actually, Snake wasn’t too far off the mark. North America is right here.” Sebastian used his stick again and the four watched it slide across the map to stop at a big slab of land. “But we’ll discuss that another time.” The four looked disappointed. “But all that’s surrounding this country is bloody water!” Baldroy complained. “Not quite. This island doesn’t consist of England alone. There is also Scotland and Wales, and even Ireland is part of the United Kingdom.” “So… Then where is the Germany we traveled to?” Mey-Rin asked. “Germany is part of mainland Europe, right here. This is the distance we crossed by boat.” Sebastian let his stick slide across the map. “But those lines indicate there are other countries blocking the way. We couldn't have gone off board in Germany itself, says Keats,” Snake comments. “Correct again. We arrived on land at the docks of Rotterdam in The Netherlands. We traveled by train - this route - to get to Germany and then bought a carriage to get to the village in the woods.” “But that is still such a small part of the map! I want to see aaaaallll the countries!” Finny exclaimed while Sebastian looked at his pocket watch. “Well, for now you’ll have to make do with aaallll the chores waiting to be done. Class dismissed.” The four got up and left the room to get on with their daily tasks. Tanaka, who had been sitting in the corner listening to the lecture, had transformed into his true self. “Ho ho ho. It’s been a while since I’ve had the very same lessons. Soon, they’ll know the names and locations of all countries by heart.” Sebastian replied while taking the map down. “I actually doubt it, but at least they’re enthusiastic….”

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Relationship HCs: Portugal & England

I do not know diddly-squat about Portugese history; This information came from @needcake's amazing fics.

The first time that Portugal and England met was during the Siege of Lisbon, when England was implored in a minor-sidequest from the crusades to assist Portugal in retaking the city; I think as far as first impressions went, Portugal was mostly preoccupied with the now and did not particularly spare England much thought. He was focused on mending and repairing, on gathering strength - and was relatively distrusting, even suspicious after hearing that those foolhardy soldiers had taken it upon themselves to help themselves to the fruits his city had yielded. England, by contrast, was quite taken by Portugal upon first sight - and always drove this feeling down as merely admiration of a fellow soldier, awe in how well Portugal fought and commandeered the room, rather than his passion for art and the depths of his eyes (England had always been drawn to deep things: literature, the ocean, Portugal’s eyes). 

Over the centuries, their relationship grew from one that was merely transactional (with England pining after Portugal, a dog patiently waiting for the bone) into something more companionable. This was most likely around the advent of the ‘Illustrious Generation’ (Ínclita Geração), if only because trade had never been more fruitful and both of them had an eye for maps. Commercial interest also drove their levels of ease (they’re more connected to the moods of their countries than they would care to admit, and England was always happy to spoil Portugal with gifts of wine at a discount c;). Though interrupted by the Iberian Union, it should be noted that England continued to send Portugal drafts of poems and stories that he had once been hoping to publish, and the two exchanged their most human thoughts. Besides, England could never give up something he had his sights upon - and was driven by a desire to see Portugal again, just as much as by his most base ambitions of power (and even pettier, viler distaste towards Spain in-general). In some cases England was almost blinded by this drive, and I would be remiss to claim they never had their ups-and-downs; The Capture Of the Portuguese Garrison in 1622, being one such example. On a more personal level, their ambitions clashed - and they would argue fiercely; Conflicted by a mixture of personal religious beliefs, ambition and power, as well as their own family and connections. For starters, when your crush tells you he wants to bring you your brother’s head on a plate…how the fuck do you respond? And moreover, how do you tell him that it’s kind of hypocritical of him to see your brother as incapable of redemption - when he is own mess? Nonetheless, their relationship has persisted - and has grown closer in the (relative) quiet of the 21st Century. Although there are less cases of death-daring boldness or even political espionage, their relationship is something closest to human about them. Portugal and England remember well their centuries, and remember well the swords that they have fallen upon for one another - and remember well that sacrifice is the closest thing that they have to a promise to one another. I think the relationship is built on centuries of comfort, quiet trust - I don’t think their love has diminished, no, no…but it's based on promises, expectations and understandings (and England is still so very mesmerised by Portugal’s eyes):

I do not think they’ve ever actually had a wedding. Such things seem futile, and time has always had surprises in store for the likes of them; They’ll likely out-last whatever Church marries them, and when you’ve brought one another all sorts of deadly promises, what more does a ring prove to them that entire fleets lost to the waves have not? 

England tends towards being more tactile about his affection; Often holding Portugal’s hand or kissing the back of his neck, England’s love shines best when he is embracing Portugal. Usually frigid or standoffish with the vast majority of people, he melts in Portugal’s presence. He is Icarus and Portugal his Apollo. 

Portugal in-contrast, is quite reserved about his affection; Or at least it seems that way. He’s the one that drove the age of Discovery, the one who always wanted to go a little further, and naturally he’s the one that will spoil England with this or that. Tales of the beyond and fine clothing, old maps and weathered compasses…his love for England pours out into his passion, and it’s not uncommon that Portugal will be happily talking to England about the technicalities of naval exploration. 

After England lost an arm in WW1, he was considered ineligible for duty in WW2 - apart from being a spy. Many suspect that the few occasions that he did go ‘missing’, England was truly just visiting Portugal; Who himself was neutral, anxious for Spain and perhaps needing just a small break, just focusing on something more simple.

In the summer, when England’s freckles are far more visible; Portugal likes to count them, with England always pointing out that the number will always be the same as last time. Portugal is still counting each and every one. 

Portugal struggles with claustrophobia. The effects of the 1755 Lisbon Earthquake still linger with him, and often struggles to sleep wrapped in England’s arm if only because it makes him feel trapped at night; Portugal believes it’s ridiculous and is deeply frustrated by it - meanwhile England struggles to sleep at night due to night terrors and sweats brought on by grave anxiety. As a consequence, Portugal is the big spoon (easier to get somewhere open, in his logic, if you’re on the outside) and the grounding presence for England.