#let alone mention a farrier !!

[archondorian]

does anyone know of any witcher fic that includes accurate horse care. asking for a friend

[bella-rose29]

Chapter 4 - The Honeymoon (part 2)

Did I take inspiration from Queen Charlotte? ... mayybe. Did I also take the image from Queen Charlotte? ... mayybe

Also please let me know if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list and I will do so!

Enjoy! <3

Warnings: mentions of past trauma

Word count: 2.6k

Tag list: @kentucky-criedfricken, @polli05927, @kateswone, @historianthesecond, @ell0ra-br3kk3r

This honeymoon was a disaster.

Since that first day when they had arrived, Y/N had seen Nikolai twice.

It was the third morning.

She had breakfasted alone, she had eaten her lunch alone, and she had had dinner alone. Her husband was nowhere to be found, and it was starting to infuriate her. She understood that she wasn't being the nicest to him, but she didn't feel that Nikolai had given her enough reason to trust him yet, and her past experience had left her too hurt to trust this man so easily.

But he could still have sat and eaten with her.

The dining table was long enough to seat her entire village, yet she was the only one there every meal time. There were staff around the walls, of course, but nobody to talk to, or even glare at across the table.

The first day, after she'd left him standing by the lake (she could have sworn that he'd said something but she was too far away to make it out), she'd gone back to the greenhouse, finding peace in the plants as she always had. Y/N had stayed there until someone had found her and told her it was time for dinner, and she was only a little disappointed to find that Nikolai wasn't there, but she should have expected it, really, given how she'd treated him earlier. She did feel bad about it, but she was hurt, and lashing out.

After eating, she had been on her way to her rooms to retire for the evening, but was distracted by the library on the way. The library in the Little Palace had been incredible, and she'd read everything in it at least twice, spending more time there than in her training sessions, but it had been somewhat restricted in its contents. This library, she found as she scanned the shelves, had far more interesting texts; there were some titles she recognised from Os Alta, but a great number of them seemed to be older, in different languages she could only barely read. Y/N frowned to herself, making a mental note to try and learn more of the languages, in case it helped with negotiations with other countries.

She'd then spent the next hour or so in there, brushing her fingers over the spines and occasionally selecting one from the shelves to take back to her room. When she'd eventually left, and headed out into the corridor, she'd caught a glimpse of Nikolai at the far end, fiddling with something in his hands. Curious, she followed him (at a distance, she didn't like to think how it would look if she were caught stalking him), and her curiosity only grew when he disappeared into his room, still fiddling with what looked like some sort of vial, and Tolya went in after him. The door locked behind him, and Y/N was left in the corridor with her stack of books to wonder what the hell had happened that Nikolai needed to talk to Tolya this late at night.

The second time she saw him was when she had gone for a walk the next day. The weather was nice, the sun shining over the grounds, and so she'd taken one of the books that she had collected the night before and gone outside. She'd been wandering close to the stables when she'd heard what sounded like metal clanging, so she'd walked a little closer. Her first thought was that a stable hand was helping a farrier shoe a horse; her second was that somebody had broken in to steal something.

Given her ideas on what she thought she would find, she naturally was shocked to see her husband, King Nikolai Lantsov of Ravka, lying on the floor in his shirt and trousers and covered in straw, fixing something on the underside of the carriage they had ridden in the day before. She felt like a schoolgirl looking at him, his shirtsleeves rolled up just past his elbows showing his forearms and blackened hands (that she assumed was oil, although it looked much darker than that), one of his suspenders slipping off of his shoulders and being yanked back every now and then. He had dirt on his cheek, and Y/N wondered if he knew, then had to fight off the thought that she should go and wipe it off. Shaking her head, she left quickly, gathering a mist to cool her flushed cheeks that she refused to properly acknowledge when asked if she was alright by a concerned staff member. Since then, she'd been stubbornly avoiding him, hoping that by putting some (extra) distance between them it would help reduce the number of times she thought about his arms.

On the third morning of the honeymoon, Y/N had awoken to the sun, frustrated at the thin curtains for allowing so much light in so early, then had reluctantly got out of bed and dressed herself. Heading down for breakfast, she was expecting to eat alone, as she had at every mealtime here so far. She was surprised, however, to see her husband sat at the other end of the table, looking exhausted yet scribbling notes like his life depended on it.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was loud in the quiet of the room, and although her shoes had clicked on the floor, she didn't think he'd actually heard her come in. Her suspicions were confirmed when his head snapped up so fast she thought he might break his neck.

"Oh, you're here! Uh, I was just... eating my breakfast. I'm not normally awake this early, so I thought I'd just come and eat with you?" His explanation was more of a question, as if he were hopeful she wouldn't turn him away. She could only stare at him, though, fixating on something.

"You're... not normally awake at this time?"

"Uh, yeah. I usually end up sleeping in, so..."

"Oh. Okay then." It was awkward after that, both of them refusing to meet the other's eyes. The only noises were his scribbling and their cutlery clinking as they both ate, and Y/N couldn't help but wonder what the staff positioned around the room would say afterwards. Most likely rumours would spread that the king and queen were fighting, or unhappy, or hadn't consummated the marriage (all of which were true, but nobody needed to know that), and then both of their reputations would fall apart, Ravka would become even more susceptible to attacks, and they could all lose everything.

When they had finished eating and were getting up to leave, she made a decision.

"Would you join me on a walk this morning? The weather is lovely and I would hate for you to miss it," she said, and she was immediately relieved when he nodded. Y/N didn't miss the way the staff looked at each other, or the hope in his eyes, and as soon as they were outside and away from prying eyes and ears she turned to him.

"I just wanted you to know I only asked you out here so that people wouldn't think something was wrong. I could tell they were already coming up with stories and I didn't want any rumours to spread that Ravka is weak or anything."

He was quiet for a moment, and he sounded almost deflated when he spoke.

"You're right, of course you are. Did you... did you have any plans for today?"

"Not really, although I don't really see why you care, you haven't been very involved in my daily plans lately." She knew it was unfair, but she was still hurt, and old memories had been dredged up from the back of her mind that she thought she'd never have to revisit, and it was making her lash out.

"I'm sorry. I could show you what I've been doing, if you like?" She nodded, letting him lead her away to a separate building she hadn't noticed before. It was nestled in the undergrowth, and she had a horrible moment where she thought he might be taking her here to kill her, but then they stepped inside and all thoughts of malicious intent left her head.

She was surrounded by machinery, work benches and storage cabinets overflowing with stuff, and projects that had been started but not yet finished were everywhere. The thing that really took her breath away, however, was the boat suspended in midair.

"So you build things?"

"Yes. I haven't had much time to do any of this recently, what with the war, becoming King, getting married. I'm sorry for not spending more time with you, I just figured you wouldn't want me around since I can't actually tell you why I left, so I came here. I've been working on a new model, one just for small travelling parties, but I can't quite get the-" He cut himself off when he saw her face, then said "Sorry. I'll stop boring you with this. I just thought you might want to see what I was doing."

"I- thank you. Really." She supposed she could try and be civil, since he was being respectful of her wishes. "If... if you don't want to tell me, that's fine, I just..." she sighed deeply, taking a risk and jumping in the deep end. "I've been left before, and I don't want to get close to you in case it happens again." She could feel his surprise at the fact that she'd shared the information, but her eyes were squeezed shut so that she couldn't see his reaction.

"I won't leave you, I swear. I know this isn't the most... ideal situation, but on a purely political level I need this marriage to work, and that won't happen if you hate me or if I leave. On a personal level? I would like you to have some sort of happiness in this marriage, given you didn't have much of a choice in it. So I swear I won't leave you, because I need you, and because Ravka needs you. Also you'd probably have to run the country on your own because you'd have killed me for leaving, so..." At some point his hands had landed on her arms, gentle enough that if she wanted to move away she could, and she had to blink back tears. His last comment had made her laugh a little, and now that her eyes were open she could see that he was smiling softly at her, hope in his eyes again.

"Alright. I can't promise that I'll be anything more than civil, though. I just... don't want to get too close in case I get hurt."

He nodded his agreement, exhaustion coming back from breakfast momentarily before he seemed to be so full of energy she thought he might be a power source himself.

"Why don't you show me around? I doubt I'll understand much of what you're saying, bu-" she was cut off as he practically dragged her over to a workbench, already explaining about three things at once and talking so fast she couldn't keep up.

Let's just hope this works, she thought. Or we could be in big trouble.

Y/N wasn't sure how long they'd spent in Nikolai's workshop, since they'd eaten in there when they got hungry (he had a cupboard filled with food, and she made a mental note to put one of those in her rooms when she got back to Os Alta), but she found herself thoroughly enjoying the time. They ate dinner together (sat at opposite ends of the table, but still), and the atmosphere was much less awkward than it had been that morning.

When Y/N decided to retire, Nikolai walked her to her rooms, her arm slipped through his. It seemed as though he really meant that he wouldn't leave unless she wanted him to, and the thought made her smile.

Maybe this won't be like before.

It was wishful thinking, she knew, but she had to hope that he was different, that all of this was different, even if it was only so that the two of them could help Ravka be rebuilt.

They reached her door, coming to a stop, and she took her arm out of his, one hand already on the handle.

"Thank you, for giving me a chance today, I really appreciate it. It must have been difficult for you to tell me about... that, so thank you," he said, voice quiet and, if she wasn't going deaf, a little shy? She nodded, hesitating slightly.

Before she could question what she was doing, she reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, immediately turning red and shoving open the door, muttering a "Good night," and practically slamming it in his face. Y/N pressed her back up against the door, gripping the handle for dear life as she tried to work out why, in the name of all the Saints, she had just kissed his cheek, when unbidden the memories of him in the stables fixing the carriage came back to her, and her face became even more red (although how that was possible, she wasn't sure, since her face felt like it was on fire).

Y/N only managed to get to sleep many hours later after chucking a jug of cold water over her head to try and get her out of her thoughts, and when she woke in the morning, she found that she was actually looking forward to the day, hopeful that Nikolai would be at breakfast when she got there.

He was, looking considerably more well rested than he had the day before, and they spent that day together too, and the next, and the next, and she was almost sad when their honeymoon came to an end and they had to return to the Grand Palace. He hadn't brought up the kiss she gave him which she was grateful for (and she hadn't done it since), and there hadn't been anything other than the occasional hand-holding and awkward hug, but they had talked, and learned a lot about each other. She sensed there was something more, since when she had brought up why he wore his gloves one evening he had stiffened and abruptly changed the subject, but she had softened up a little over the week, deciding that if she was allowed to have secrets then she couldn't fault him for keeping things from her either. She just hoped that in time, they would be comfortable enough around each other to share, and stop keeping each other in the dark.

The carriage ride home was a lot smoother, both conversation-wise and physically; whatever Nikolai had done (he had explained it, but it mostly went over her head) it had made the carriage jolt less on the smaller bumps, although every now and then a larger pothole would get the better of it and they'd go flying in their seats. The journey was short, but tiring enough that when they got back they ate their dinner and went straight to bed, Nikolai walking Y/N to her rooms as he had done every night since that first one.

The next morning was chaos, filled with reports and meetings and note-taking and people talking into her ear, and the rest of the day carried on like that. She needed no help getting to sleep that night, but found herself longing for the calm of her honeymoon, or even the Royal gardens. She'd had to finish planning for her coronation, too, which was only a couple of days away now.

Her last thought as she was drifting off into sleep was that the honeymoon wasn't as much of a disaster as she'd originally thought.

Chapter 5

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again part 13

It’s been a long time coming this one. But it was time.

Collins becomes a father and a bombing mission goes awry with disastrous consequences.

Trigger Warning: battle, war, mentions of the Holocaust

This was always the plan.

Fic Masterlist     all previous chapters are posted here.

We’ll Meet Again 13: The Way You Look Tonight/The White Cliffs of Dover

Jack was in the air when your daughter was born, but you weren't alone, you were surrounded by Violet, Della and Mary, though your heart still ached for him, even through the pain.  One day you would tell her that she was born in an Underground shelter on the last day of the Blitz. You had hoped that meant it was the beginning of the end for the war, but how terribly wrong you all were on that count. A telegram was dispatched to inform Collins that he was now a father, the letter that followed told him she had his hair and eyes and a set of very healthy lungs. You had discussed names in your letters and decided to name her Carys for your mother, she would have loved that, and it wasn’t until you held your own child in your arms that you realized how much you still missed her. It was a month before Jack could get a day’s leave and he admitted that he now owed a lot of boys a great many favors in order to pull it off.

Standing at the door of the boarding house you cradled Carys in your arms as you waited for him. A proper party had been planned in the garden to celebrate your little family and you were anxious for Collins to arrive and just as anxious to hide the fact that you were already heartbroken at the thought of him having to leave again.

'Y/N!' you heard a shout and whipped your head around to see Jack trotting down the street, a small rucksack thrown to the ground as he opened his arms.

Tears were in your eyes as you flew down the steps, running to throw an arm arm around him as he spun you around, laughing. His arm wrapped around your waist, his mouth on yours before you could say a word. You kissed him back, not caring if your lips bruised, feeling like a thirsty man at a desert oasis. The whole world ceased to exist for a moment as six months of missing him came down to this one moment and you poured every ounce of love and longing you had into kissing him. It was Carys who eventually decided to bring you both back to reality, letting you know, loudly, that she did not appreciate being squished between her parents. 

Jack pulled away, blue eyes shining brightly as he looked down to see his daughter for the first time.

'She's so tiny,' he whispered, his finger brushing her brow.

'Daddy, meet Carys Margot Alex Collins.'

"Alex?' He whispered.

"For Farrier.’

Collins nodded and you saw him choke down a lump in his throat. You hoped there would be news about his friend, good or bad, it had to be better than not knowing. Blinking away tears

he let you place her in his arms, holding her as though she was made of the most delicate glass.

"Hello there, darlin, I'm yer da.'

You watched, your heart swelling as he smiled down at her, rocking his arms with as much love in his eyes as you had ever seen. Looking back up at you he reached out a hand to cradle your cheek, his smile so blinding it made you sigh. He was so beautiful.

'I'm sorry I wasnae here, I wanted tae be so badly."

"It's not like you had much of a choice, Jack, you wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked back to the boarding house. Everyone was gathered in the garden, just as they had been the first day he came to visit. There were new faces now, as well as the ghosts of those who had gone. Jacob and Mary greeted Jack as though he was their own son, a deep sadness in Jacob's eyes. There was no chance any of his family in Poland were still alive and it tore at him more than if he had lost them in a battle. They had been murdered, along with who knew how many others. Still, on such a day he rallied and mingled, keeping everyone entertained with funny stories you all knew weren't true.

Collins was never without a well-wisher and for just a few hours it was as though the war hadn’t  even happened. There was even cake for the brave new father. Margot's photographer friend was there too, having kept in touch even after her death, and he made sure to take as many photos as he could. When questioned about it he simply shrugged and said, 'We should have as many reminders of those we love as we can. For when they are gone, they should be remembered.’  His picture-taking was encouraged after that and even he seemed content for a time, his subjects all happy and alive, unlike the ones he took photos of on a daily basis.

For his part, Jack had fallen head over heels with his child, never more than a foot away from either of you at any time. He looked on with wide-eyed wonder when you nursed her, and when she was unbundled for a nappy change he couldn't keep his hands off her, counting every finger and toe. When her fingers grabbed onto his thumb and she opened her eyes to look at him he

actually cried. Your strong, brave fighter was an absolute softie at heart and you knew Carys would have him wrapped around her little finger for life. You could already see them ganging up against you, knowing you would never be able to not give in.

Later that night as darkness fell, you placed the baby in her cradle, willing her to sleep for at least a few hours. You wanted time alone with your husband, who at that moment walked out of the bathroom in his skivvies and wrapped his arms around you. Looking down at Carys he squeezed you tightly.

Can ye believe we did this?’ there was wonder in his voice. "We

made a whole person together.’

‘And when all this is over we should make a couple more. Hopefully at least one of them will look like me. you chuckled.

"What? Ye dinnae want a litter o my carbon copies then? I feel almost hurt, lass.' he pouted before sneaking a peck at your lips.

"But I am glad tae have ye to meself fer a wee while. I missed ye."

For a moment you both stood there, your arms around his waist, head resting on his chest while he stroked your hair.

"I missed you too, Jack.' you murmured, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing in the smell of  him.

‘Come.' he whispered, taking your hand and walking to the bed.

He placed your arms around his neck, leaning down to kiss you as though he had all the time in the world, his lips soft and warm on yours, his tongue teasing your mouth open. Even though you had cursed him and his whole sex while in labor, going so far as to swear you wouldn't let him touch you again, it took only seconds before you felt your desire for him break to the

surface. Heat gathered in your belly, your body coming alive for him as if no time had passed at all. You pressed yourself against him, moaning into his mouth as his hands ran the length of your back,grabbing your rear and tugging you closer.

"Wait.' he pulled away for a moment. 'Is it ok? I don't wan tae

hurt ye.’

"It's been a month, I'm all healed." Even if you hadn’t been you never would have stopped him.

"Alright then. You'll tell me if ye need me tae stop?'

You nodded your assent, fingers tangling in his head and  pulling his face down so you could kiss him again. He smiled against your lips as he started undoing the buttons of your dress, making short work of it and your slip. Shivering in delight you helped him peel off his white singlet, running your palms down his chest, feeling him tense under your touch. Silently, you divested one another of your underclothes until you stood naked in front of one another. Collins

placed his hands on your waist, his eyes following their path up your sides to cup your breasts. He was gentle as he touched you, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they peaked, smiling sweetly as you trembled, goosebumps breaking out on your skin. His hands trailed down toward your belly and instinctively you tried to cover yourself. Still recovering from pregnancy you were self-conscious about the extra rolls and the marks that marred your skin.

"Don't.' he whispered softly, kneeling down in front of you and gently moving your hands to your sides. "You are beautiful, you know that right?’

He looked up at you earnestly, and you managed a nod.

‘Don't ever be ashamed of this,' he pressed his mouth to your belly, blowing warm air over your skin. ‘You brought a new life into the world, with this body, my child. That's an incredible feat and

you have never looked more stunning to be than you do right now.’

His words made you want to cry, but his mouth had other ideas, his tongue tracing the path of each stretch mark making you moan his name, dampness flooding between your legs. Sparks of electricity shot from where his lips brushed your skin, prickling through your limbs until they met at a point, throbbing and aching for him. 

In a flash of movement he had you up in his arms, crawling onto the bed until your head met the pillows and his body covered yours. He kissed you senseless, your head spinning as his hand pushed on your thigh, opening you under him. Your back arched off bed as his fingers dragged through your wetness, circling around that tiny bundle with frustrating slowness, never quite touching you where you needed him to. Blood pulsed in your veins, rushing in your ears while he took his time, allowing you all the time you might need to be ready for him, which was too slow for you.

"Jack.’ you whined, rolling your hips toward him.

"Hold on love.' he crooned, his lips marking a heated path down your neck.

He slid a finger inside you, slowly, testing for any discomfort from you. His name slipped from your lips breathlessly, it wouldn't have mattered if there had been pain, you still would have wanted him. These moments you could steal away were precious, never knowing when the

the next one might be. Or even if there would be any more.

'I'm fine, I promise, I just want to be with you."

He caught your eyes, the same unspoken fear of the future reflected back at you, then acceptance, love and finally passion. Guiding himself to your entrance and pushing forward slightly, he never moved his eyes from yours, hands holding your head still as he kept searching and finding your love for him staring back at him. With a soft smile he moved again, slowly, but not stopping until he was seated inside you. Wrapping your arms around his back you encouraged him to move, pressing butterfly kisses up and down his neck, your body pulsating

and humming. With a groan, Jack moved, setting a leisurely pace that was loving, gentle, tender and sweet. You both took your time to simply enjoy one-another, to memorize every movement,

every sigh and every whispered endearment. Your pleasure grew slow and warm, spilling through you until you basked in it, blooming and opening until you gave over. He held you tightly as you shivered and trembled, swallowing your low moan with his mouth as you rippled around him. He followed a few moments later, lips against your ear as he whispered his love for you over and over. You held him close to you, and waited until you both stopped shaking, not knowing when the next time you could hold him again would be.

After a time Jack sighed, rolling over onto his back and tucking you in beside him. You lay silently for a time, listening to one another breathe, his fingers stroking your arm softly.

"Have ye given any thought tae going tae Scotland?'

'I have. I'm staying here unțil this is over. I'm not going somewhere where

we won't be able to see you.’

‘You would both be safer there, ye know.’

'I know, but what if this war drags on for years?"

He sighed again and you knew he was torn, while you wanted to grab hold

of any moment with him you could. It was selfish, you knew that.

"Promise me ye'll go if it gets bad again."

You nodded your assent, not wanting to think about all the terrible things that could happen, that had already happened. You talked into the wee hours of the morning, about everything except

the future. Instead you talked about books, music, how his parents farm ran, all happy things that helped you shut out the outside world for just a little longer. Carys woke up once, but fell back to sleep quickly after eating. You tried so hard not to fall asleep, there would be enough

time for that later, but sometime in the dark your eyes had grown heavy and with the soothing comfort of your husband beside you, you had surrendered.

Waking with a start you sat up in bed, the space beside you empty. For a moment your heart stopped, had Jack gone, had he slipped out in the night? No. He would never have done that, it would be too cruel to the both of you. A shadow passed by the window and you held your breath as you heard his voice singing so softly you almost couldn't hear it.

"Can ye no hush yer weepin'

A the wee lambs are sleepin'

Birdies are nestin', nestin' together

Dream Angus is hirplin ower the heather

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell

Angus is here wi' dreams to sell

Hush ye my baby un' sleep without fear

Dream Angus has brought ye a dream my dear”

You didn't move a muscle as Jack’s shadow rocked back and forth gently, repeating the chorus of the lullaby until he finally laid Carys in her cradle and backed away. Turning to the bed he saw

your shadow in the pre-dawn light and climbed beside you holding you tight against his chest as you both laid back.

‘I didna wan tae wake ye, she just had a wee nightmare. My mam

used that lullaby tae sing me that tha' lullaby when I was a we’en. Always did the trick.’

‘It's beautiful.’ you murmured, looking to see the tiniest purple tinge to the sky through the window.

Dawn was coming, and with it Collins would leave again. Tears stung your eyes and you blinked them back, you wouldn't make him see you cry. He had enough to worry about, and you had to be strong so he didn’t go back to war worrying about you rather than himself.

The mood at breakfast was much more somber than the day before, everyone knew what it meant to go back, and though none of you spoke of it, the specter of death hung over you all.

By midmorning he was showered and back in uniform, ready to catch the train north, looking grim when he thought you weren't watching him.

This farewell was like all the rest, and not the only one happening around you. The station was full of young, uniformed men, weeping women and fathers trying to hold it together as their sons went off to war. You stood in each other's arms until the train arrived, Jack quietly singing in your ear as you swayed gently.

"We'll meet again, don't know where,

don't know when, but

I know we'll meet again some sunny day.'

He kissed you when it was time to board, his blue eyes shining as yours were with unshed tears.Uniformed men were leaning out of the windows, saying their farewells, kissing their sweethearts as they smiled and promised they would be home soon. Realistically you knew probably half of them would die far away from all those they loved. Finding a window Jack leaned out with a smile, reaching out his hand for you to grab, all the while telling you he loved you, that he would be back, not be afraid. You held on as long as you could as the train started to move, but soon it was too fast for you and he slipped out of your grasp. You ran after him as long as you could, until you could do more than wave until he rolled out of sight and was gone

July 20 1941

Collins.

Collins barely made mail call and it was with much relief that he managed to toss the letter into the bag before it was too late. He had taken his newest RAF photo a few days earlier and was anxious to send you a copy, he had grown a mustache and hoped that you would find it rather 

dashing when you saw him, he certainly liked it and was determined to grow a beard as soon as all this was over. He could already see you laughing and playfully pushing him away as he tried to nuzzle your face with it, then he would do the same to his children, enjoying their playful squeals when he chased them. The other men teased him good-naturedly for his eagerness, all of them having had to run to catch the mail at some point. The sooner you got a letter out the sooner you got one back and they all lived for those loving words from home, often reading them aloud and passing pictures around. He had done it two weeks ago after you had sent him copies of photos taken at the party and all the boys had awed over little Carys, a few of them had even offered to take his pretty wife off his hands. This had led to some friendly wrestling for the photo and sheepish grins when their Commander had come out to yell at them for behaving like children. The whole thing was a basic ritual between them now, along with the gathering of those things for the family when someone didn't come back. Which was more often than any of them cared to admit.

It was a beautiful day, bright sun and a cool, soft breeze and the men were all lying about on the grass next to the airfield. His squadron was stood down for a day so they could rest before

going back out there on their bombing missions. Collins was at war with himself about what he did now. In the spitfires, the enemy was easy to identify, and engage. The German pilots had the exact same mission as he did. When he shot down an enemy pilot he knew what he had done and who he had killed, though it never sat easy with any of them, the killing of another human being, no matter the reason. They tried to justify it by remembering that the same human would just have soon killed them without any hesitation, it was enough to bring a form of acceptance. But now, they crept through the skies under the cover of darkness, dropping bombs on the ground and most of the time sneaking away undetected. But on the ground were civilians, some likely innocent and that sat harder with him. There was not a small amount of guilt for the suffering he helped to inflict, but he would always do his duty. For King and Country and

all that, though he knew he would carry the guilt for the rest of his life. It was one of the many costs of surviving the war.

A football was produced from somewhere and several hours were spent kicking it about, right beside all the planes taking off and landing, the bullet holes in many of them a solemn reminder of reality. It was an unspoken superstition among the men at Feltwell and possibly everywhere else, that they didn't speak of the future after the war, it was considered a jinx and all too often it

had proven to be just so. Farrier had told stories about his plans almost every night and look at what had happened to him. His family may never know what had happened to him and they certainly would never have a body to bury, most of the families wouldn't. Where you fell was

where you stayed and if they found your tags and gave you a wooden cross with your name on it you were lucky.

Trying to shake the depression he was feeling, Collins pulled your photos out of his pouch and gazed at them. A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how happy you had all been that

day, they had captured a moment of pure happiness frozen in time. A smile

spread across his face as he looked at his family, someone handed him a cigarette and he lay back in the grass, the sun hot on his bare arms as he remembered all your happy moments

together. The sound of laughter filled the air, the kind of raucous noises that could only come from the play of hot-blooded young men letting off steam. It could almost make him forget, at least until the next plane landed.

'Fall in!'' A voice boomed from near the hangar and every man on the field was instantly back in duty mode, lining up and standing at attention.

Their commander stood before them along with four men, all dressed in the uniform of the New Zealand RAF, all with bright, friendly smiles on their faces. Collins had a feeling he knew what this was about and judging from the grim faces on the others, so did they.

'Right lads, I’m looking for  a volunteer to lend these Kiwis a hand tonight, their Flight Sergeant has the runs and they need a replacement for a run tonight, anyone want to offer their assistance?'

Dead silence, no-one ever actually wanted to go on a run. Collins looked at the four kiwis, all of whom looked younger than they had any right to be and saw the grim acceptance in their eyes. With or without a volunteer they would be in the air that night, with one they stood a better chance of surviving.

'I'll go!' Collins' hand was in the air before he even realized what he was doing. ‘Someone needs to show the colonists some real swagger. Aye lads?’

He stepped forward with a grin,trying to lighten the pall that had fallen over them all, the looks of relief on the Kiwi’s faces more than enough to convince him he'd done the right thing.

They all introduced themselves over tea, he would be flying with some great guys, and experienced at that, between them all they had almost 200 sorties done and dusted. In fact there had been more than one occasion when he and the Kiwi crew had been in the air on the same mission, flying alongside one another without ever knowing. The war may have been on many fronts but sometimes it shrunk down so small that it was uncanny. 

The other men went back to their leisure time while Collins quietly got himself ready, photos in his pocket for luck and a shot of scotch for courage. The men of  RNZAF Squadron 75 quartered on the other side of the base, and boy were they a rowdy lot. He smiled as he walked into the mess and the men started ribbing him about having a stiff upper lip. It was normal and he gave back by asking them if they all had pictures of their sheep. A few laughs and pats on the back later and he was one of the lads, although he was sure he understood their accents 

about as much as they understood his..

As it started to get dark, Collins and his four crewmates silently dressed in their flight suits and parachute packs before joining the rest of the squadron on the runway. The ground crew were fueling the five Vickers Wellington bombers that would be flying the mission. There were no escorts, Bomber Command had deemed them non-feasible in the long term and the Wellingtons

were heavily armored and carried a considerable amount of fire power. But they weren't as maneuverable as fighter planes, which often led to problems when they were faced with them. Still, Collins thought, staring at the metal fortress towering above them, these missions were considerably safer than dog-fighting in Spitfires.

‘Time to go mate.’ The wireless operator slapped his back as he walked by, breaking Collins from his thoughts.

"Hey, I thought it was the Aussies that said "mate”’

'Nah, who do you think the thieving bastards stole it from?'

The Kiwi / Aussie rivalry rumors had apparently not been exaggerated. Collins laughed as he slid into his seat in the cockpit of the plane, buckling himself in tightly and immediately beginning

to check his instruments. The pilot, a lad of 19 took his own seat and set about doing his own checks. The others took their own positions and chatted happily as they prepared.

"Hey Collins, you got a sweetheart?"

"Aye, a wife and a wee bairn." he pulled a picture of the three of you out to show the others.

"That's a lovely family you have there, Collins,’ the front gunner showed you a picture of his sweetheart, a pretty blonde girl of about 20. 'Hattie's parents said I couldn't marry her until I got home, so we better move this war along fast, so someone else doesn’t have time to try and steal her away.”

"Right then lads, let's go show the Krauts a thing or two about superior races!”

Collins slid his photo into the instrument panel after kissing it for luck. The bombers powered up and taxied to the runway, taking off into the night in quick succession. For a moment there was silence as they gained their altitude and moved into formation.

“What’s the mission then?”

The Flight-Officer/Wireless Operator unfolded his bundle of papers and pointed to a spot on the map.

“Here.” he handed Collins the aerial photo of their target so the pilots knew what to aim for. “A munitions factory just outside Gelsenkirchen.”

“Where the fuck is that?’

“Near Belgium and the Netherlands, the biggest city close to both of those borders.”

“That’s Western Germany ain’t it?” The young pilot looked unnerved, and Collins couldn’t blame him.

“Sure is, but we are flying up and around to avoid the worst of the Front.”

Collins had flown into Germany many times, but never so close to the Front. From the sounds of things the other men had only done it a handful of times and none were happy about doing it again. Then again orders were orders and they were well trained to follow them without question.

“So then, the flight time should be about one and half hours and it’s hot as soon as we cross the Channel, so stay sharp boys and let’s get home in one piece.” 

With that the Flight Officer took his place at the radio and silence settled on the small crew. They remained undetected as they flew over Belgium, their target was closer to the Netherlands but the Germans had control there, so a straight route was out of the question. It was amazing how quiet it was on the ground, at least until they flew closer to Germany and Collins could see the flashes in the dark, the fires and explosions. A prayer was whispered for the men down in the dark as the formation turned North North West toward the small town of Weseke, from where they would turn South toward their target. Intelligence had the area relatively clear of air traffic and at only 40 miles from the target it seemed they were well on course to complete the mission. They were only 20 minutes from dropping their bombs and getting the hell out of dodge.

There was a crackle through the radio and a voice came over sounding concerned.

“Be advised we think we spotted three Me.109’s, stay sharp lads.”

“Fuck.” Collins muttered under his breath, looking out the windows into the darkness.

There was barely enough moonlight to allow any of them to see any more than half a mile in any direction, meaning the Germans could be on them before they even had time to react.

“There!” He spotted a shape that seemed to be keeping pace with them. “One at 2 O’clock, about half a mile away!”

The gunner in the turret turned to aim, spotting the fighter where Collins said it would be. He was good, taking a mere second to open fire, the bullets streaking through the air, silver in the darkness. The German pilot easily dove out of the way before coming back into position. What the hell was he doing?

Collins didn’t like this at all.

“Anyone got eyes on the other two?” he asked into the headset.

“Confirmed, one Me. at 10 O’clock, half a mile out.” This from the other Wellington who was bringing up the rear of the formation.

They were being flanked and there was no sign of the third one anywhere. Their new 'companions' seemed in no rush to engage which had a shiver of unease running down Collins' spine. Looking over at the pilot he saw the same unease mirrored back at him.

Something was very wrong here.

“Heads up, they're moving.”

Collins watched as the fighter beside them banked away and out of sight, a voice on the radio confirming the same move from no. 2.

'This is it! Whatever their plan is it's happening now"

In almost perfect harmony, the five Wellingtons moved defensively, zig zagging across the sky in the hopes the Germans couldn't get a fix on them.

"Fuck me!" Where the hell are they?” he craned his neck to look out the window at all angles but there was nothing, except darkness.

"How are you as a gunner Collins?" the flight officer asked, poking his head into the cockpit.

"I'm a better pilot than gunner, Sir.”

"Actually, I'm good as a gunner, I have excellent aim." the young pilot spoke up.

“Collins, you have control, keep zig zagging��� Gunner we need you in the rear in case those bastards come from behind.”

The bullets that hit the perspex in front of his face came out of nowhere and Collins felt his heart start to race from the unexpected shock.

'We're takin fire from the front!' He banked the Wellington as hard as he could, barely escaping the next barrage.

Like a monster rising out of the darkness, he saw the Me. coming straight ahead at him and he pushed the plane down, the bullets streaking overhead by centimeters, followed by lines of return fire, like shooting stars into the night. The Me. was gone before the bullets even got there. He heard the rear gunner firing and a loud curse.

"It's like he's a fucking ghost'' he yelled, searching for any sign of their enemy.

From the radio Collins could hear that the rest of the formation was under attack, men were shouting and the sound of gunfire was alive in the air. They were all well-trained men and if

anything they were going to make it bloody difficult for the Germans to get the better of them. 

They were so busy trying to stave off the German fighters that everyone had forgotten one thing.

The third one.

The blast came out of nowhere and if Collins hadn't been strapped into his seat he would have hit the roof of the cockpit. The Wellington shuddered and groaned, the sound of metal buckling and crumpling screaming in the air. He could smell fuel, taste the heavy tang of metal in the air, and could hear the men crying out behind him. 

“We’ve been hit!’ he barked into the radio, forcing himself to stay calm while the fear tried to overtake him.

They were still in the air. Chancing a look behind him he saw that the middle of the plane was caved in, trapping the young pilot in the back of the fuselage where he continued to fire relentlessly on the enemy. The Flight - Officer and Bomber were either unconscious or dead, their bodies trapped under crushed metal and framing. Sparks cracked in the air and at any moment one of them could ignite a fire, killing them all. 

"Sir, he's coming again!' The gunner in the turret cried out, letting loose a barrage of bullets while Collins tried to bank the Wellington out of the way with no luck. The ability to maneuver was gone, none of the pedals or sticks would respond and it was pure dumb luck that they

were even still in the air. The plane was dead. For the first time he felt terror. They

were going to go down and there was nothing he could do about it.

“If you can bail out, do it!' he called out to the two men, even though he already knew there was no way out.

“No chance for me, I'm stuck in here!” The rear Gunner called

back.

“Same up here.” The front gunner responded. “Let’s at least try and take the Nazi bastard with us!”

Collins could hear the fear in their voices. He could feel it rising in his chest, catching his breath away from him. He was trapped as well, the only escape route now buckled into the middle of the fuselage. His eyes darted around with the speed and terror of a caged animal. Less than a minute had passed since they were first hit, and yet it seemed like hours. In what seemed like  slow motion, Collins saw the Me. coming back at them and he called out to the others, bullets flying back and forth in the sky, the other bombers under attack and moving ahead. Banking

and turning sharply, the Me. flew overhead until it could come down behind them, like a lion coming in for the kill.

He heard the bullets, the scream of the pilot as they pierced the tail of the plane, managing to tear it off, along with half the rear gun compartment. 

Immediately the Wellington began to whine, the nose falling forward toward the unseen ground. As the plane began its final dive, Collins looked at the photo in front of him. Suddenly he felt no fear, only a heart-aching heaviness in his chest. He could see every memory, every moment you had spent together flashing in his head. So many happy memories. He felt sad that he would never see his daughter grow up, or see your eyes light up again, but he was thankful for the time he'd been given. 

The plane fell fast, spinning as it dove, trailing acrid smoke behind it. It took a minute and as it crashed into the ground, crumpling into almost nothing, Collins smiled as he slipped into unconsciousness. He was at peace. 

Then the world went dark.

Author’s Notes

On July 20 1940 a Vickers Wellington bomber carrying five souls, was lost near the town of Weseke. They were on a mission to bomb oil and coal infrastructures near the city of Gelsenkirchen in Germany. All on board were killed.

Nothing is known as to how they were lost, only that they were there and then they were gone.. 

Other crews with them that night reported seeing Me. 109's “Messerschmitts” in the area, so it is 

assumed that they were shot down. It would have taken no more than two minutes.

German Ace Pilot (he was not an Ace yet as this was his first confirmed kill), Siegfried Wandam

reported downing a Wellington bomber in the same vicinity on the same night. He was later killed coming in to land, badly damaged in 1943, having claimed 10 kills.

The crew of the Wellington consisted of four Kiwis and two Brits, the Kiwis part of the famous 75th Squadron, the first non- British to fight and suffer losses in the air. The 75th were known for their high success rate and tenacity, they flew the most missions of any squadron, dropped the second highest payload, and suffered the most losses of any other unit.

Bomber and Fighter Command did not believe that fighter escorts were necessary for night-time bombing raids, a belief that left the Wellingtons vulnerable as they only had the ability

to defend themselves from the front and back. In one mission in 1942, 20 Wellingtons were lost out of 33 Allied  aircraft downed. A total of 73 men went down . Only 13 survived as P.O.W’s.

The crew of Wellington Mk. Ic R. 3165 AA-L were buried in a communal grave by persons unknown, a marker with their names erected. The only way to identify them was with their dog tags which were collected and returned to their families. At a later time the remains were transferred to be interred at Reichswald Forest War Cemetery in Germany.

7671 men are interred there.

Their names were:

Samuel Miles Mackenzie Watson Age 27

Edward Colin Joseph Cameron Age 19

Ronald John Alexander Anderson Age 26

John Lewis Owen Age 24

G. M. Cumming Age 27

H Wilson Age 21

Ronald Alexander John Anderson was my great-uncle.

From top left: Anderson, Reichswald Forest War Cemetery, Cameron. Middle Left: Final resting place1, communal grave with marker, final resting place 2. Bottom left: Watson, Wandam, Owen.

I could find no photos or information on Wilson or Cumming, who were the two Brits on the sortie.

[commodorecliche]

shed my skin to let you in - escus modern AU - chapter 8

Chapter 8 AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31534703/chapters/103958781 Title: shed my skin to let you in Rating: E Pairing: Marcus/Esca (The Eagle) Chapter: 8/10ish? Fic Summary:  After a less-than-pleasant break up with his long term partner, Liathan,  Esca decides he needs a change of scenery. On a whim, he purchases a  horse ranch in rural Tennessee, hoping to start anew and pursue his  life-long passion for horses. Esca longs for time to devote solely to  himself, a place to think, and as much distance between him and the  awful memories he left behind in England. What he doesn't expect is the  overly-friendly and overly-handsome farrier, Marcus, for whom - despite  his best efforts - Esca can't help but fall. Chapter Summary:

“Esca, don’t get mad when I say this, but… it seems like you haven’t been happy in a really long time. And that's understandable, given the circumstances. But you deserve to be. You deserve to be happy, to be proud of yourself. You should be proud of everything you’ve done. I know it feels like you have nothing, but you aren’t alone in this. You’ve got this farm, these horses, and hell, you’ve got me. And you’re not gunna lose that; you’re kinda stuck with me now, bud.”

 Voice a little rough and wet, Esca half scoffs-half chuckles at Marcus’s words, but he can’t bring himself to deny or refute them.

 “Would it help,” Marcus continues, “If I told you that I’m proud of you? That I’m happy you’re here? And that I don’t care what brought you here, or what you had to leave behind, because I’m just glad you came. I think you’re doing fucking amazing.”

 Esca chuckles again - breathy and uneasy. He wants to ignore Marcus’s words, to pretend they are meaningless platitudes, offered only because Esca is sad. He wants to pretend Marcus doesn’t mean any of this - because that is the safest thing to do. But this feels different.

I LIVE! I am so sorry for the wait. Life is just so much at the moment. But I am HERE, I am ALIVE, and the chapter is UP. Please note that this chapter mentions animal death (no animal cruelty though).

[pelham-bits]

Can someone just 😅🔫

1st row: Hives (?) yesterday afternoon right after I took her flysheet off, 15 minutes later where they seemingly went down on their own, and then again today where they had come back even bigger???? They didn’t really seem to improve today, we turned her out without the fly sheet though in case it is irritating her for some reason (because they improved when it was taken off yesterday) but if it is bug related then she’ll probably just be even worse tomorrow. Unless it’s maybe something to do with the heat? Can heat cause hives? I have no idea.

2nd row: Bad flare up of vasculitis on the left hind, seemingly in response to attempts to treat it? Was to the point that she was actually stomping the leg and biting at it but it seems to have settled down a bit since shampooing and leaving it alone. It has been dry out which probably helps as well.

3rd row: Swelling on the right hind has returned, see right v left comparison. Seems to come back when it is warm out but could also possibly correlate with a heavier work load? Unclear if it is causing soreness as it has not been flared up when the vet has been out recently. She was lame on the right hind when it wasn’t swollen at all. Tried ice wraps with no success because they didn’t make enough contact with the leg and she doesn’t tolerate them well so I’m going to exchange them for some Incrediwear products. Hoping that they might come in useful with future attempts to treat the vasculitis as well.

4th row: Farrier was out yesterday and I mentioned that she seemed short strided when we ride outside, so he checked and she has bruising on both toes and the left front (her more upright) heel. Decided to use a flat pad with a pack underneath, and the yellow area makes it softer at the heels. She was really not happy about having the hinds trimmed (right from the start, like not necessarily related to the actual trimming) and acted like she did once with her past farrier where she is super grabby with the legs. As soon as he puts one down she’ll also yank the other one up, as if she is really sore from having to stand on the first once. That behaviour continued today and she was tracking very strangely on hard ground (right hind swinging under to the left side of her body???) and she was very clearly uncomfortable (constantly resting the hinds, alternating which one) so we are going to give her at least a couple of days off with some icing. There’s a chance she’s also sore because of the pack on the front, I’m supposed to let him know if it is too much pressure but I couldn’t tell today because she was so messed up in the hinds. If she’s still sore I’ll probably give her a dose of bute tomorrow, which I hate to do because of her ulcer history but I also don’t want to leave her in pain. If it doesn’t improve through the weekend I’ll contact both vet and farrier again. I just can’t tell what’s causing it because I do trust this farrier and I know she did this weird hind end thing with her past farrier, so I don’t want to just assume he messed something up but I’d also love to know what is making her so sore when this happens. As evidenced by the first 3 rows of pictures it’s also far from the only factor at play lol. You can also see the really weird way she wears the hind feet clearly in these pics, which is another??????

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 3: From the Ashes

Intro -

Scene 1: Freedom-Alls

Well, folks, we start out with Rosemary and Elizabeth discussing the latest and greatest trend of the western world (or attempt at a trend): Freedom-Alls! Patented in April 1918 by Levi Strauss & Co., Freedom-Alls were a women’s one-piece suit intended to appeal specifically toward ladies who lived out west and wanted to take advantage of the areas and work they did for a living (ranchwork, farming, hiking, et cetera). It was introduced alongside Kover-Ups (a one-piece suit for men) and Koveralls (a one piece denim suit for children). 

You can read a little more about them here.

Unfortunately Freedom-Alls didn’t really catch on; they were, perhaps, a little too ahead of their time. But guess what? It means this season of When Calls the Heart takes place in 1918! 

Rosemary says she’s trying to support Clara’s ideas by trying to sell the Freedom-Alls and that she “can’t run the dress shop forever.” When Elizabeth tries to talk to Rosemary about it, she changes the direction of the conversation to Nathan and Lucas. Elizabeth admits she feels bad for having ridden off on Nathan, and Rosemary gets a weird line: “But who knows what might have happened between you two if you hadn’t?” I’m not sure what to make of this... With modern viewers it almost sounds like they might have had sex or something if left alone, but really I think they want to hint that they might have said regrettable things. I think that line could have used a bit of a tweak.

Elizabeth goes on to say it was right to choose not to be with Nathan but she hasn’t chosen Lucas either, and in fact does not want to even speak to Lucas until his mother tells him the truth about his father. One thing I really appreciate about this scene, and in fact this whole plot, is that Rosemary knows the hot gossip but she doesn’t repeat it to anyone else. In fact, she makes sure Elizabeth knows immediately that Lucas is standing behind her before he can hear her say anything, and when given a very obvious opportunity to intervene (when Lucas says he’s going to call his father) she elects to stay out of it.

I’ve been a little worried about Rosemary’s character writing in the past; they tend to bounce between wholesome and entertaining to cringey and embarrassing without...really meaning to, or without thinking about what kind of person that creates on-screen. This episode, and in particular this first scene, really makes up for a lot of past problems with her writing.

Also, Lucas was just really cute and wholesome at the end of the scene and I liked that.

--

Scene 2: Bill’s Land & The Inquiry

Bill stops Nathan and lets him know that he’s still working on Allie’s official adoption but it’ll still be a few weeks, and Nathan is understanding about this. Bill then brings up his land that Nathan seemed interested in buying. He says he has another potential buyer that’s been asking about it, and Nathan says he changed his mind about it.

Before they can really get into any sort of conversation about it, another Mountie approaches. Bill refers to him by his first name (Andrew) and then his title to congratulate him on a promotion (Superintendent Hargraves). He tells Bill that he learned from the best.

When Bill tries to introduce Nathan to Andrew, Nathan says they already know one another. When Bill asks what Andrew is doing in Hope Valley, he says he has a matter to discuss with Nathan and Bill says he hopes they can find the time to catch up before he leaves town again.

Bill leaves, and Andrew tells Nathan that due to the fact that a Mountie lost his life last year during the shooting, they’re opening up another internal inquiry (which means they already did one) and that Nathan is the focus of it.

“to determine your possible culpability as to whether or not you were at fault.”

Apparently this also means his career as a Mountie is at stake.

There’s not a lot to discuss this early in the episode about this plotline, but I do wonder if Bill actually has a potential different buyer for his land or not. I don’t think Bill is above pretending he has another buyer to push Nathan into making a decision either way, but if he actually does have someone else interested, that could be interesting.

As to Nathan, it’s pretty clear Andrew Hargraves doesn’t care for Nathan.

--

Scene 3: The Introduction of The Chair

Molly and Florence talk about a crate that is sitting outside and Molly asks Florence if it might be the beehive that Florence ordered for Ned for his birthday. Florence shushes her (worried Ned will hear, as this is clearly meant to be a surprise) and says no it isn’t; her order has been delayed.

Molly goes on to say that she’s thinking of taking a cue from Florence and wants to buy Bill something for his birthday. Molly asks for Florence’s advice on what to get and Florence can’t help her:

Florence stares at her with...honestly kind of a sad expression after this? I don’t know what to make of that. Molly tries to say she’s kidding but Florence isn’t stupid enough to believe it. 

I’m not exactly thrilled with this storyline (nobody is surprised yet again lol), but one thing I really hope they bother taking the time to do is...you know...show why Molly might be interested in Bill. They don’t really have a particular chemistry I think, so...right now it just feels like Pair the Spares because nobody else in town is of the right age and available (except Henry and I can’t see that working well). If they’re going to bother with it, I really hope it’s either “Molly’s just lonely, actually” or “She likes him because XYZ” and not that weird middle thing where it’s hard to understand why either person would like the other...which has been a problem in this show’s writing since about Season 4.

The camera pans out to the mysterious crate. Ned wants to guess what��s in the crate but doesn’t get the chance before Jesse announces what it is to everyone (and Ned is sad about this haha). Cute little bit, honestly; you can tell the dialogue in this season has gotten a glow-up.

Jesse is disgruntled about the chair’s existence (why would you ship a chair halfway across the world?) and tries to sit in it to see if it’s a good chair but Lee tells him it’s bad luck to do that. The person for whom the chair was made has to be the first one to sit in it! He asks Jesse to take the chair to his house and move his motorcycle to the mill.

This is overall a nice scene. People feel...like people. And they carried over Lee’s back injury because now he’s wearing a back brace. This follow-through, this continuation from episode to episode, makes a big difference in the quality of writing, IMO.

--

Scene 4: Nichols & Dimes

Fiona is just getting done trimming Lucas’s beard and makes a comment about how if he wants it all shaved off she’ll be happy to do it because she’s curious to see what is hiding underneath it. Faith walks in and when Lucas asks her opinion, she has the same answer: “I’d be curious to see!”

Lucas considers this a moment and asks to think about it. She dusts off Lucas’s shoulders with her brush and asks Faith if she has time to chat and Faith says for a moment. Lucas gets up and pays Fiona, but it’s too much money so she tries to get him to take it back but he insists she keep it. 

“Besides, after I meet Lee about a lumber order, I might need a free haircut.” Fiona only can say after he leaves, “He is so nice.”

Do we have a Fiona/Lucas hint? Or is this to show up how generous a person Lucas is? Or perhaps...how kind the people in this town are that they know to help out where and how they can?

--

Scene 5: Boy Meets Bike

Jesse drops off the chair at Rosemary and Lee’s house and goes out back to uncover the MOTORCYCLE. This is a man in love with a machine right here.

--

Scene 6: The Oil Rig

Lee promises Lucas a lumber order by the end of the week and Hickam stops Lucas to talk about the fact that the men think they should drill further (another 50 feet). Lucas seems to be having some...regrets about having gotten into the oil business (it is lucrative but it’s also a lot of work and with a very serious uh...potential for failure). 

Lucas says (to Lee) that 50 feet becomes 100 feet becomes 300 feet (increasing costs of course, with no guaranteed payout), and jokingly (sort of) asks Lee if he wants to buy an oil well. Lee just laughs and says he doesn’t think so.

--

Scene 7: The Motorcycle No-Nos

Hope Valley really isn’t ready for Freedom-Alls after all. On the plus side, Dottie gets a mention! She sent over a beautiful dress (I think this is the one we see Molly wearing in the promo images for a later episode) from Union City. Clara laments having to replace the Freedom-Alls in the window just as Jesse pulls up on the motorcycle he’s moving for Lee.

Rosemary scolds her and tells him not to make Clara a widow (very insensitive choice, not sure they thought this through before they included that... She already IS a widow...and through no real fault of her husband). Rosemary said the danger is why she wanted Lee to sell the motorcycle and Jesse says, “You know, Lee always said you loved riding on the back of the motorcycle” which seems to upset Rosemary a bit. She tells him that was a long time ago and they’re married now and she wants Lee to sell it to the first person to make a good/fair offer.

--

Scene 8: Editing Woes

Helen is trying to go over Elizabeth’s manuscript with her but Elizabeth is completely zoning out and Helen is kind of sick of it.

She asks Elizabeth what the problem is and they talk about Lucas’s lack of knowledge about his father. Helen doesn’t want to talk about this and suggests they get back to work. Elizabeth asks to open the window (probably hoping some fresh air will clear her head). When she goes to open it, though, she sees Nathan and Bill talking animatedly by the blacksmith/farrier.

Helen confronts her about her feelings for Nathan and for Lucas, and Elizabeth asks if they can get back to work.

This is probably one of the weaker scenes. Helen pries too much and doesn’t seem the type to do so without good reason. I’m not sure how I would word it instead but the audience already knows Elizabeth has feelings for both men, and the scene with Rosemary sufficed at explaining Elizabeth’s stance on things.

I feel like this mostly made Helen look prickly and nosy...and it wasn’t doing either character any real favors.

--

Scene 9: Henry’s Flowers

Henry walks into the mercantile with some flowers and I definitely thought he was going to give them to Ned! (Let the shipping BEGIN...)

He apologizes very thoughtfully to Ned and I can honestly say this is one of the best scenes both men have gotten on this show and I really appreciate it. It was wholesome and kind, and I definitely think with the way Ned brushed things off that he at least read that first letter.

Florence kind of stands up as Henry starts talking (probably thinking she’ll have to yell at him again lmao), but Henry walks up to her and gives her the flowers, saying she was right to be angry with him and he hopes they can move past it.

Henry leaves and Ned’s like heyyy I was the one he yelled at and Florence tells him that’s true, but...she defended him and Ned seems a little...touched by that and says, “Yes...you did.”

Wholesome...good. Nice scene.

--

Scene 10: Motorcycle Absolutely Nots

Jesse brings the motorcycle to Clara again and tries to appeal to her using logic that my own husband would use if it meant he could possess yet another motored vehicle.

Same Clara!!!

I’m a little amused by this and also kind of like...meh about it. These characters had a long time to get to know one another and court before they got married and now Jesse’s just...Like This? It’s not that I’m against the plotline, but...I  don’t know exactly how I feel about it right now. It’s funny but something still feels tonally off about it to me...

--

Scene 11: Inquiry Part II

Bill reads the inquiry notice that was given to Nathan and says it doesn’t seem right to him. Nathan says he tried to explain that earlier (must have been the conversation by the blacksmith). Bill goes on to say the Mounties can of course do this as it’s well within their rights and that...it’s possible it’s just...a formality? Andrew’s a good Mountie and a stickler for detail so--

Nathan seems annoyed at this and says “That’s one way of putting it” which of course prompts Bill to ask why they don’t get along. Nathan will only tell him that they’ve crossed paths before but refuses to elaborate.

It’s pretty clear that in whatever capacity they crossed paths before, it wasn’t exactly...friendly.

I also wonder if this man has been in a previous episode? He seems familiar but I couldn’t find anything with a quick Google search.

--

Scene 12: OIL! And uh, fire. Yeah.

Lucas and Mike Hickam talk about the oil business and Lucas admits that if they don’t see oil soon he’s going to just shut the entire thing down. Mike wants to react to this but there’s a ruckus at the well that isn’t normal so he runs over to the men and insists they get out of there right away.

They get oil! And then a spark catches. If you were confused about what supposedly caused the spark, it was this:

The metal of the wire rubbing against the metal of the pipe, causing friction. To be clear...the wire would be so coated in oil it wouldn’t be likely to catch fire in this scenario, but eh, we can ignore that. It was at least an attempt, and considering some of their past attempts this one was pretty good, actually.

For some reason the town has a real siren (more accurate would probably be a fire bell) and everyone freaks out. 

Bill tells everyone to stay where they are and Fiona says “We can help!” and Bill says if they need more help they’ll call for more men. Fiona’s like:

I kind of missed that line my first watchthrough but I’m belatedly annoyed with that “Let’s make this look kind of misogynistic and make Fiona a Feminist Icon™ (as if she isn’t already good enough like??? what). It’s literally an OIL WELL FIRE. It might burn for WEEKS. It’s INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS and if you get too close you’ll be lucky if you’re not covered in burns. 

They’ll get men because they’re more likely to be wearing the proper clothing and have the proper knowledge. Also, there are plenty of men on sight already. Why risk more casualties (or any if there aren’t already some, which of course Bill doesn’t know about). 

It’s not that I don’t appreciate some good women-getting-involved writing, but this reads very much like it was written by a man.

That said, Henry’s determined face when he saw the fire was GOOD. He’s blurry but he’s MOVING FAST.

--

Scene 13: The Fire

Mike Hickam has burns on his face, Lucas has been knocked down, and everyone is in a panic. NATHAN IS ON THE SCENE.

IDK........I’d ship it.

Nathan asks Lucas how to put the fire out, and Lucas...doesn’t know. How could he know? He’s involved and he’s the owner of the operation, but he has absolutely (or nearly) no practical experience. BOOM HENRY IS ON THE SCENE.

He suggests they get some dynamite. A LOT OF IT.

They gather enough dynamite to blow an entire quarry sky-high. (My husband and I work in construction and this is more dynamite than we use to do blasting in the quarries. A few years ago we did our biggest blasting job ever in our largest quarry and we didn’t even use that many explosives lol...)

I would imagine your average person wouldn’t know that, though, so...I’ll give it a pass. Ned comes to help, and Jesse, and then Fiona shows up just in time to ask if the one more person to help they need needs to be a man. She then proceeds to stand at the back of the group. She’s also the first person to drop the cart lol... -_-

I can’t imagine being in town for all of this. It would probably be terrifying. Imagine being Florence or Molly who lived through the mine explosion. PTSD right there fellas.

And it’s over like...in two seconds.

People hugging all over the place. 

Even though I was a little shocked the drama didn’t last longer, it was probably for the best. As much as I like drama, this isn’t the kind of drama that makes sense to be dragged out. If you don’t act fast there’s no chance to act at all, and you’re either successful with the dynamite attempt or you’re not. Either way, the town would be lost if the fire burned for too long, so it was worth a shot. Just...not with THAT much dynamite.

Also, using dynamite to snuff out oil fires was the first proven accurate method of putting out oil well fires! It basically uses the dynamite explosion to “blow out” the fire by forcing the furning fuel and oxygen away from the fuel source. It’s still used, and its first successful use (that we have record of) was in 1913. You can read more about oil well fires here.

--

Scene 14: Kindness

Lucas and Henry run into one another outside of Abigail’s Café and agree to meet outside the mercantile when Lucas is done chatting with her. Inside Abigail’s, Mike Hickam is dabbing (antiseptic?) on his burned face while Bill and Helen are chatting.

Helen is a bit upset that Lucas helped with the fire because it frightened her—the thought of losing him. He responds by saying he had to help and that she is being dramatic, but then apologizes and says, “I love you, too.” I think this is a sign he understands his mother more than we realize.

They agree to have lunch together at the saloon and Lucas says he couldn’t reach his father. Helen says she doesn’t know where he is but she’ll try to reach him.

Lucas tries to say something to Mike but Mike insists he won’t take a vacation; he was only doing his job.

Then Bill stops by with another plate of food for Mike and insists that it’s free just like the first plate. 

I’m pretty sure this scene + the barbershop one earlier were just showing us how good and wholesome the people in Hope Valley are. They support each other and SHOW THEY CARE. I like it. :)

--

Scene 15: The Letter

At the mercantile Henry finally gets a letter!

It’s from “Christopher Hughes” in Cape Fullerton.

Henry stares at the letter for a long moment but says nothing is wrong. 

Ned limps away as Henry leaves the mercantile to wait for Lucas and Florence scolds him for being stubborn.

There is a Romantic Sort of Moment...

And Florence talks about how gallant Ned was during the fire... A little spice is in the air methinks!!

--

Scene 16: THE LETTER PART TWO

Lucas stops by Henry’s car to say thanks for yesterday (the fire advice) and then tells him that even though he doesn’t agree with all of Henry’s terms/methods he does want him to come back to work.

Henry’s response? “I’ll think about it.”

This man is RATTLED by that letter! Lucas is shocked that Henry isn’t as on board as he was just the other day...

Scene 17: Chair Adjustment

Lee moves the chair around the house trying to find the perfect spot, and he refuses to sit in the chair until he gets his back brace off. It’s a pretty wholesome and fun scene; it manages to be lightly funny without trying too hard, and the best part about it is actually that they take the time to weave other characters into the dialogue more. “Carson wants me to walk; he says it’s good for my back.”

This is the stuff dreams are made of, folks!

Jesse drives up on the bike as Lee comes out of the house and he tells Lee that he wants to buy it off of him. When asked what Clara thinks of it, Jesse says:

This is going to be a big problem later. Lee says Jesse can buy it for $5.00 less than asking and Jesse rides off excited.

--

Scene 18: Trouble at the Infirmary

Florence apparently was successful in her attempt to drag Ned to the infirmary because he’s getting his foot looked at. When asked how he got the injury, he says he must have stepped in a hole or something, and Florence adds her heroic spin on things:

Faith tells Ned there’s some swelling with indicates a mild lateral sprain, and that the best thing for him to do will be to stay off of his foot for a week. She turns to Molly to suggest getting some crutches and Carson steps in to ask what Ned did to himself and begins his own exam, asking Ned which way his foot turned in/which way causes pain.

He then turns to Faith and explains that with a lateral sprain the foot turns inward, but with a high ankle sprain it turns outward (which is Ned’s problem).

Faith tries to explain that if you feel the tendon--

But Carson cuts her off and says that Faith will wrap it up nice and tight for him and he can go back to his regularly scheduled heroics immediately.

This angers Faith and makes Molly uncomfortable.

--

Scene 19: Goodbye Sweet Chair (I Hardly Knew Ye)

Rosemary approaches Elizabeth and they talk about how Elizabeth and Jack want to start a garden in the backyard, but first she has to go to town and speak with Bill. Rosemary offers to babysit and do the planting with Jack herself, and Elizabeth agrees to it.

They go over to Rosemary’s and Jack sees the NEW CHAIR and makes a beeline for it. Rosemary stops him from sitting in the chair but...overcome by curiosity she herself sits in it...

...and it breaks.

--

Scene 20: Elizabeth’s No Good, Horrible, Very Bad Day

Elizabeth presumably asked Bill what was going on with Nathan, and Bill explains that one of the superintendents, “an old friend” of his, gave Nathan some bad news. The Mounties are investigating last autumn’s prisoner transfer shooting. She asks why, when it was already completed, and he tries to calm her down by saying it’s an inside investigation and the Mounties always try to better perform their duties (the suggestion here is that they do this by reviewing recent cases).

After Elizabeth pesters Bill about it a little more, he folds and admits that it’s all very unusual and he has no clue why they’d have an inquiry about that case. He promises Elizabeth he’ll keep digging until he finds out.

Just as Elizabeth is reeling from this, Lucas approaches her and asks her why she didn’t tell him about his father leaving his mother. Elizabeth tries to say that she was told that in confidence and couldn’t/didn’t feel comfortable breaking it. She then says, “This isn’t my fault” and Lucas kind of just walks off annoyed/frustrated.

--

Scene 21: No-Work Advice

Clara comes into the barber shop asking Fiona for advice. Jesse asked for the day off to ride the motorcycle to Albert Falls (even though she asked him not to buy it). Fiona’s like “Uhhh...”

Then Faith walks in upset and says to Fiona, “Maybe you can help!” She goes on to say it’s like she’s back in Chicago being ignored like all the other interns!! And Fiona’s like, “Uhhhh...”

Faith realizes Clara is there and apologizes for interrupting. She asks Clara what’s wrong and Clara tells her about Jesse. Faith is like, OHhhhh My GOoDnESS I feel the SAMe wAY about the way Carson is treating mE!!!

And Clara says, “I have some chocolate cake at the cafe.”

And aWAY THEY GO.

Leaving Fiona cakeless (unless she’s gettin’ some of Mike Hickam later; that man is CAKED UP).

--

Scene 22: 

Lee sadly contemplates his broken chair.

And then has a midlife crisis.

The chair reminded him of a chair he built with his grandfather, and he’s getting older and thinking about how he can’t do any of that stuff himself, and he doesn’t remember how to build things anymore. “I don’t make anything, Rosie.”

--

Scene 23: Judge Avery’s Office

Bill walks into his office to see that Andrew Hargraves has let himself in while he was out. Andrew asks Bill if the Mounties can use the judge’s office for the inquiry.

Bill says that, given they have a history, could he maybe tell him what’s going on? The inquiry isn’t adding up.

He goes on to say he was close by and that he stated on the record what happened that day, as well as the fact that everything regarding that event was done by the book.

Andrew says, “A Mountie died. I think that warrants a review.”

Bill says he noticed that Nathan and Andrew aren’t close and Andrew says the same thing Nathan did earlier: that they’ve “crossed paths.”

Andrew says he wouldn’t have achieved his rank if not for Bill; he also says that Bill was a good mentor. (I would argue this means that Bill taught him at the Academy like he did Jack and many others.)

And he suggests that Bill with see that his council wasn’t wasted. Bill replies back, “What appears to be holding a grudge.”

I mean, it’s not as if Bill didn’t have grudges (COUGH HENRY COUGH COUGH) but he never let those impact his work overmuch and he always did the right thing when the truth was uncovered. That’s one thing I have always enjoyed about Bill’s character. He’s suspicious of like, basically everyone but when someone he has reason to actively dislike (Henry Gowen) is innocent he’s the first person to insist the right thing be done.

Andrew doesn’t respond to that; he simply asks if the Mounties can count on use of Bill’s office and Bill agrees. Andrew then tells Bill that he’ll be called on as a witness.

--

Scene 24: Heart to Heart

Helen comes to Elizabeth’s house to visit and almost sits on a block (#parentlyfe).

She notices Jack playing with a little Mountie and a horse and asks about it. Elizabeth says a friend made that for Jack. 

“Hm. A Mountie. Constable Grant?”

“A Mountie. My late husband.”

They’re clearly talking about the figure and not who made it, here. I’m not sure who the friend would be in this case, but it could be literally anyone in town.

Helen admits to Elizabeth that the most difficult thing she’s ever done in life is try to be a mother. She “never discovered what seems to come so naturally to others” (in particular Elizabeth)—the joy of it.

Elizabeth admits that sometimes she can’t recognize the joy in anything, but in moments like that she surrounds herself by people who love her. She asks why Helen has come, and Helen says she regrets having put Elizabeth in a position where she had to keep a secret from Lucas.

Elizabeth thanks her for her honest and Helen admits tearfully she should have said it earlier, in a more forthright manner, but that she doesn’t really know how to be any other way than how she is.

Elizabeth comes to sit with her on the couch and says that it’s understandable to be afraid because being yourself can make you vulnerable. She tells Helen that she is thoughtful and intelligent and asks if she shows that side of herself to her husband. Helen admits she hasn’t for a long time. 

Elizabeth tells her that if her husband doesn’t love her for exactly who she is, then it isn’t love and he doesn’t deserve her...but if she’s not sure if they’ve shown each other their true hearts (i.e., their true selves) then it might be worth considering trying again.

She suggests Helen reach out first. Jack plops on Helen a bit, Helen hugs him, and Helen thanks Elizabeth for being her friend. 

This isn’t a bad scene by any means, but I think I liked it better on a second watching. Still, the dialogue was a bit stiff and hard to follow. I really think it should have been put past someone specifically to see how easy it was to understand/if it hit the correct emotional beats. Rewatching it slowly and making sense of the complicated wording is what made it better. I’m not sure if I was the only one who thought that, though...

--

Scene 25: Faith vs. Carson

Faith approaches Carson and tells him they need to talk. She tries to insist that Molly stay because they all work together...but when Faith says that Carson ordered her to wrap Ned’s ankle without listening to what she had to say about it, Carson tells Molly to leave.

Faith expresses her concerns and he says she’s reading too much into it.

He says he wants to hear about it and then doesn’t want to actually hear about it because he is treating her exactly the same way she was being treated there. I think they’re being pretty lighthearted about that, too; you know she got talked over and overlooked over the male students for sure.

Carson tells her that he doesn’t know what she went through but that they aren’t in any shape to discuss it right now.

She just wants to make an effort, they need to get through this, but he claims he doesn’t know what “this” is and wants to know what she wants.

“You say that you value me as a doctor. You say that I’m gifted. But I don’t just want to hear it. I want to be treated like you mean it.”

Honestly this entire scene I just wanted them to break up. I make no secret of how I feel about them as a couple and this scene, this season’s drama for them, is maybe going to resolve my biggest annoyance about Faith and Carson as a couple. She was SO good on the show, you guys, and then he came on and as soon as he picked up the role of doctor again he completely outdid her at everything and overshadowed her character to the point where she may as well not have even been there.

He’s never seemed to be as into her as he seemed to be into the idea of her. I never got the impression that he viewed her as an equal. I’m pretty interested to see where they go with things this season; I have a feeling it could actually be really good.

--

Scene 26: Lee’s Workshop

Lee comes home and finds Rosemary in the backyard setting up a little workshop space for him.

He confesses that he doesn’t remember how to build anything and she encourages him fully. This scene was really good. It’s sappy and silly but it’s super cute and fun. I always do enjoy these two. I hope they get other good things this season. They deserve it.

--

Scene 27: Axes

Nathan and Bill are talking about the inquiry and Nathan says maybe he is responsible for the Mountie’s death. Bill insists that is not the case.

Nathan continues on to say maybe he should have listened to the demand and let the prisoner go.

Bill cautions him against talking in hindsight and asks if he’s sure Hargraves doesn’t have an axe to grind with him. Nathan says “Yeah” but doesn’t look at Bill when he says it, so of course Bill knows it’s not the truth.

--

Scene 28: Helen’s Goodbye & The Cruel Reality

Helen leaves on the stage with hardly a goodbye, and Elizabeth runs over to ask about it. Lucas tells her that she was determined to catch the last stage (probably for the week or month) and tells her that she’ll be in touch about the manuscript soon.

Lucas is a little uncharacteristically emotional and Elizabeth tries to stop him from leaving in a hurry. He tells her that what upset him about the whole thing isn’t just that she didn’t tell him the truth, but that he thought his parents loved one another.

Elizabeth says maybe they did love each other, though. Maybe they still do. 

And Lucas replies with, “How do you lose that?”

Elizabeth says that she can only tell him what she told his mother: love has to be fought for.

“What would you know about it?” he asks.

Elizabeth stares at him a moment and can only say, “...That was cruel.”

Lucas walks away, and we see Nathan on the other side of the street.

Elizabeth doesn’t go to either of them.

And that’s the end of the episode.

--

Something I think needs to be mentioned is...the audacity of the writing this season. It feels bolder. Definitely better. The writers are taking their time and writing things that feel...mostly interesting or relateable. I never expected Lucas’s parents’ splitting up to be such a big deal to Lucas but adding that touch in there is just SO good. It makes me want to go back and watch the “date” scene where he explained how long it took his father to convince his mother to marry him. Any kind of story can be told in a way that it might sound romantic, or funny, or silly...when that isn’t the reality. 

It’s actually a bit of clever storytelling to take Romantic Lucas and turn the idea almost upside-down. Whether his parents were actually in love or not doesn’t matter (yet); he feels that something he believed in his whole life, something he’s wanted his whole life for himself...isn’t even real. Worse, I think, he had that long conversation with Elizabeth about his parents and how lovely things were there, and...she finds out first that it might have just been...something he made of the situation. 

And then... Elizabeth tells Lucas that love needs to be fought for. First of all, she told Helen it needed TO BE NURTURED and an a language nerd I’m a little annoyed that she used a different word with Lucas because...they aren’t the same thing. Nurturing is a tender sort of care, encouragement, growth. Fighting for love is a different beast.

But I still appreciated Lucas’s cool, irritated (frustrated?) response back. “What do you know about it?”

It’s a fair question. Who is she to give advice like that to Helen? I mean, objectively it’s good advice, but she hasn’t lifted a finger to fight for Lucas OR Nathan, and both men know it. She hasn’t worked to nurture her relationship with either of them. 

The only thing cruel about his response is the time and place of saying it, but like...it’s honest.

If she doesn’t love either man, she needs to say so. She needs to be honest. If she loves Lucas she needs to tell him. She needs to reach out first. If she loves Nathan she needs to tell him. She needs to reach out.

She’s making both of these men do all the work. They both have to be the ones to reach out. Over and over and over while she does the bare minimum to encourage them enough to keep trying. 

And the thing is, they’ve both been incredibly patient, certainly due to her situation. But their patience means she needs to be the one to reach out.

And she hasn’t. She won’t.

Fight for love? Nurture love? Please. What do you know about it, Elizabeth? 

--

I’m really curious to see where they’re going to go with this. I hope they give Elizabeth and someone else a good talk about it. Maybe Clara would be a good choice... Or she could ask Rosemary for her HONEST opinion so that Rosie can give it.

Very much looking forward to the next episode!

[carewyncromwell]

Cue the Pirates of the Caribbean theme, people! ☠️

This is the next installment of the POTC AU -- if you’d like to read the previous part, you can find that here, or you can consult my “POTC AU” tag for the full thing as well as some other wonderful contributions my HPHM friends have made to this AU! Juliette “Jules” Farrier, who’s mentioned here as our sort-of-Elizabeth Swann, belongs to my sweet @cursebreakerfarrier. 💚

x~x~x~x

Now, normally, finding out that Orion had appeared out of nowhere to rescue her friend from drowning would’ve been more than enough reason for Carewyn to run over to both of them, check them for injuries, thank the stars that they were both okay and that Orion had been there, and finally ask Orion what the hell he was even doing there at all. Of course, Carewyn was not the only person who recognized Orion -- every single soldier who’d followed her out of the fort, as well as both Percy and Governor Farrier, were with her and had also recognized the pirate captain from his wanted posters. And so Carewyn had no choice but to immediately draw her sword and point it at Orion’s chest.

“Captain Orion Amari,” she said lowly, her blue eyes boring into his face.

Orion looked from Carewyn’s blade to the other swords held by her subordinates. Jules had already been snatched up the ground and pulled away by her father, but the dark-haired lady looked back at Orion, her eyes very wide. Orion’s eyes then returned to Carewyn.

“Captain Weasley,” the pirate greeted airily in return, as he slowly rose to his feet. “Oh -- yes, pardon me...you would be Commodore Weasley now...isn’t that right?”

"You know full well he’s a Commodore!” one of the regulars who’d been at the dock piped up angrily. He whirled on Carewyn with an almost huffy expression. “He said he’d come to ‘pay the Commodore a little visit’ -- ”

“Told you he was telling the truth,” the other regular muttered resentfully at him, before very quickly and dutifully adding to Carewyn, “These are his, sir!”

The young man turned over Orion’s belt and belongings. Reluctantly Carewyn parsed through them, turning his pistol over in her hand. She opened up another pocket and found a round gold framed object small enough to fit in her hand.

It was a portrait miniature of her, like the kind currently being sold on the docks of Port Royal.

Carewyn’s wide eyes darted from the portrait to down at Orion. His face was very placid, but there was a flicker with something almost sheepish in the creases of his eyes and lips.

“I suppose that’s how he found out you’re now Commodore,” said Percy, his brown eyes narrowing coldly upon Orion.

He picked up the little black box-like object that had fallen out of his belt pocket onto the deck and opened it. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Why -- his compass doesn’t even point north!” he said incredulously.

The other soldiers sniggered. Tucking the portrait miniature swiftly back into Orion’s belt, Carewyn turned and gave her troops a faintly reproachful look, and they all quieted.

“Dignity, men,” she said primly. “We’re soldiers of the crown. Let us act accordingly.”

Percy placed the compass in her waiting hand, shooting another dirty look at Orion as he did so.

Although Carewyn’s face was calm, her mind was working at a mile a minute. With the Governor, Percy, and so many of her men there, she knew there was no way she could simply get away with letting Orion off the hook, even if he had just saved Jules’s life. There was nothing she could do -- she would have to take Orion into custody.

“As flattered as I am for the...visit, Captain Amari,” she said as sardonically as she could, “you clearly had not the time to make living arrangements, for your stay. Fortunately there’s more than enough room in the local jail, where you can make yourself quite at home.”

“Ca -- Commodore,” Jules said quickly, “you don’t really intend to throw my rescuer in prison?”

Carewyn turned to her. She could see the concern in her eyes as she glanced from Carewyn to Orion and back, even as she tried to feign gentility.

‘She knows I don’t want to do it,’ thought Carewyn. ‘But I can’t pardon him, even if it’s supposedly for her sake -- her father would never be willing to look the other way...’

“I intend to throw a pirate in prison, Miss Farrier,” she murmured as calmly as she could.

Jules opened her mouth as if to protest, but her father spoke first.

“And then send him to the gallows, as is proper,” said Governor Farrier icily. His eyes turned to Carewyn. “Commodore, if Amari is here, the Artemis cannot be far behind -- we should make ready the Interceptor and take them down.”

Carewyn immediately looked at Orion’s face. Despite the level of cool he tried to put off, his shoulders had tensed noticeably.

“...I wonder about that,” said Carewyn very softly.

The Governor looked at her with narrowed, confused eyes. “What?”

Thinking quickly, she folded her arms behind her back and took three slow, plodding steps toward Orion, her eyes boring into his shoulder rather than his face. Her black boots clapped against the deck as she strolled leisurely but purposefully around him.

“You came to pay me a ‘visit,’ Captain Amari,” she said slowly, “and yet you came alone. Even though you must have known there’d be a fort full of soldiers attending the ceremony...”

When she was facing away from the Governor and her men, Carewyn shot Orion the quickest of gentle warning looks to tell him not to say anything.

“...It’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Orion Amari is known for being odd, Commodore,” Governor Farrier pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s odd to the point of being irrational, which he’s not known for. Pirates are sea rats first and foremost, Governor -- they’re not creatures of the land, by nature. A pirate choosing to fight a battle on dry land as opposed to the open sea can only signal one of two things: one, they think they can get away with it -- highly unlikely, in this circumstance...or two, they’re desperate.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes bore hard into Orion’s dark eyes.

‘Please -- please, play along,’ she thought desperately.

“You don’t have a ship anymore...do you, Captain?” she whispered.

Orion’s eyes widened. Then, understanding light flooding through his narrowing eyes, he made a sharp, almost violent movement toward her -- Carewyn grabbed his arm and in an instant had looped it around his back to restrain him.

“I would still, were it not for you,” Orion breathed as coldly as he could manage.

Carewyn put on the best smirk she could. “Mutiny and betrayal is par the course for pirates. I suppose your First Mate or Quartermaster is in charge now?”

Orion made a show of struggling against her grip, and Carewyn tightened her grip.

“Fetch some irons,” she ordered one of her subordinates.

Her and Orion’s eyes met again as the soldier ran off for the irons. Carewyn tried very hard not to show the anxiety she felt, but her face was very white. Orion’s dark eyes remained unreadable, but Carewyn could feel his arm in her grip twisting just enough that he could trail the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand along the inside of her forearm, almost as if to comfort her.

‘Oh, Orion, why did you have to come?’ Carewyn moaned internally to herself. ‘Why did you have to be so noble that you got yourself caught?!’

Fortunately once the irons arrived, Orion managed to seize his chance of escape. When Jules once again tried to protest him being imprisoned and hung, Orion was able to loop the iron chain connecting his manacles together around her neck and threaten Carewyn to give him his “effects” and let him loose, so that Jules wouldn’t come to harm. Although Carewyn knew that he would’ve never really hurt Jules, she could sense everyone else thought he was just off-balance enough to do it -- and fortunately Jules, in a incredible display of brilliance, was perfectly willing to play the part of the frightened damsel so as to help with the ruse. And so Orion Amari escaped captivity and went running off into the streets of Port Royal.

Carewyn’s men were sent after him, of course. She made sure that the soldiers fired off a lot of guns and made a good amount of noise in their pursuit, so as to hopefully alert any of Orion’s crewmates who might’ve stuck around to the trouble and make them retreat. Orion managed to evade capture for a good couple of hours -- he even managed to break the iron chain attaching his manacles. Eventually he ended up in a church not far away from the northern dock. When he went to hide out in there, however, the pirate captain collided with a priest about his age, with hair as ginger red as Carewyn’s.

The priest gave Orion a very penetrating look, his hands folded together inside the long white sleeves of his robes.

“You’d be who they’re looking for,” he said lowly. “Orion Amari.”

Orion’s dark eyes ran over the priest’s face for a moment. Then a trace of something almost like a smile touched his eyes.

“...You must be Bill Weasley.”

“That I am,” said Bill. His voice had hardened even further. “I suppose you’ve come to claim sanctuary?”

Orion’s smile left his eyes and he suddenly looked much more serious.

“...That would be rather helpful, Father,” he said.

His dark eyes flickered from the priest to the closed church doors over his shoulder.

Bill’s brown eyes narrowed upon the pirate’s face.

“Normally I’d be willing to give it -- but I’m afraid there’s a problem. You don’t fulfill the rules of sanctuary, for you’ve entered our church carrying weapons.”

Orion glanced down at his pistol and cutlass.

“...I see,” he granted. “Very well...I shall find refuge elsewhere, then.”

Orion made as if to turn on his heel and leave. Before he could take more than a step, though, he felt the tip of a blade poking him in the back.

“I’m afraid that’s not the only problem,” the eldest Weasley said, his voice very quiet and low in the back of his throat. “You see...you’ve threatened the lives of two of the most important people in my life.”

Orion glanced over his shoulder, very startled despite himself at the sight of a priest pointing a sword at him. Once he’d recovered, his face grew much more solemn.

“It was unavoidable, I’m afraid,” he said lowly.

Bill’s brown eyes flashed. “All the more reason for me to insure you don’t do it to anyone else.”

The sentiment was very much like Carewyn’s, when she’d first arrived on the Artemis -- it was little wonder this man and she had bonded so closely that he’d given her his name...

‘Carewyn said he’s in love with the Governor’s daughter,’ Orion quickly reminded himself when his heart clenched at the thought. ‘He gave Carewyn his name to protect her -- no other reason.’

Therefore Bill Weasley was someone Orion could only look upon with patience and gratitude, however misguided he now was...

“I don’t wish to fight you,” the pirate captain murmured.

“Then surrender to the Navy,” said Bill sharply. “Give yourself up quietly.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed. “That I’m afraid I cannot do.”

Bill made as if to lunge forward, his sword raised -- Orion immediately unsheathed his cutlass to block him.

“I do not wish to fight you,” Orion repeated. “Do you truly mean to fight in your own church?”

“Romans 13:4,” retorted Bill. “‘For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer!’”

CLANG! SHING! SWISH! Orion had to block twice more and duck, to avoid Bill’s blows.

Before long, Orion and Bill were hotly engaged in battle. At one point, they were even climbing over and balancing on the edges of the benches in the pews, Bill holding the advantage not just due to his superior swordmanship, but also his long legs giving him a wider reach. Throughout the fight, Orion consistently tried to talk Bill down, but the eldest Weasley was too righteously angry to heed Orion’s repeated attempts at pacifism.

At long last, Orion was forced to play things a bit underhandedly. With a hard kick, he knocked a pew bench on top of Bill’s chest, slamming him down into the floor, and propped a leg firmly on top of the bench so Bill couldn’t get up.

“You...you cheating -- !” swore Bill.

He struggled in vain to try to push the bench off, but the angle made it impossible to properly position his arms in a way that he could move it.

Keeping his foot firmly on the bench, Orion contorted awkwardly to snatch up Bill’s sword from the floor in his other hand.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice both shakier than normal as he tried to catch his breath and harder as he fought to contain his temper, which had been thoroughly tested over the span of the last five minutes. “But you’re more bull-headed than a Minotaur, Bill Weasley. Perhaps from that angle you may be able to listen a bit better...”

“I don’t need to hear any fairy stories from the man who kidnapped Carey and used Miss Farrier’s life as a bargaining chip to save his own neck,” Bill spat.

“Neither of which I deny,” said Orion, and his voice betrayed an odd edge, “but I would never have harmed either lady -- neither yours nor mine.”

Bill stiffened sharply. His narrowed brown eyes bore into the pirate, before they widened little by little, filling with shock and horror. 

“Yes, I know she’s a girl,” said Orion very softly. “Her name is Carewyn. Carewyn Cromwell -- granddaughter of the pirate Captain Charles Cromwell. Her brother is Jacob Cromwell -- lost at sea years ago, disappearing under the name ‘Roberts.’ She’s worn a red ribbon in her hair since she was a child. She fought in the Navy, where you gave her the name ‘Weasley’ and adopted her into your family. She has a voice like a nightingale’s and a heart as large and deep as the ocean itself -- ”

“ENOUGH!” shouted Bill. His freckled face was flushed a deep scarlet and he tried to sound fierce, but his hands clutching the edges of the bench were shaking.

THUNK.

Orion abruptly stiffened. Then, his eyes rolling up into his head, he collapsed to the floor.

Charlie was standing overhead, holding the large, thick hilt of his own sword over where Orion’s head had been seconds previously. His face was just as flushed and upset as Bill’s as he rushed over to yank the bench off of his brother’s chest and help him to his feet.

“Bill -- are you okay?”

Bill gasped for air, clutching the front of his robes. “Ugh...yes...”

Charlie looked anxiously from Bill to the unconscious Orion. Before he could say anything else, the church doors were flung open. Red-uniformed soldiers poured into the room. At the front of the charge was Percy.

“Bill!” the youngest of the three Weasleys cried. “Charlie, thank goodness!” He shot over his shoulder at the other soldiers, “Swords -- out!”

He and the other red-uniformed soldiers surrounded the unconscious Orion, all pointing their swords at him. Carewyn entered the church at last as a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Her face was very pale as she surveyed the felled pirate. Her blue eyes darted to Bill and Charlie -- seeing that Charlie was supporting Bill, she immediately ran over to him.

“Bill -- ”

“I’m fine,” said Bill. His brown eyes rippled anxiously over her face, before they flickered down to Orion. “...I’m fine...”

His voice sounded oddly uncertain and shaky. Charlie glanced from him to Carewyn, his eyes narrowing with concern.

“Carey...before you arrived, Amari said -- ”

But Carewyn shot Charlie a subtle, but sharp shake of the head.

“Never mind what he said. He’s a pirate -- pirates lie.”

“But -- ” started Charlie, but Carewyn gave him a quelling look. She glanced over at the soldiers surrounding Orion over her shoulder, her blue eyes rippling with something almost like shame and remorse. Then she looked from Charlie to Bill with a pleading, almost desperate kind of look.

‘I’ll explain later.’

Then she turned on her heel and walked over to stand over Orion.

“It seems this is the day we’ll always remember as the day Captain Orion Amari almost escaped,” she said very coolly. “Take him to the brig. We’ll set his execution date once the weather improves.”

As the soldiers locked Orion up in chains and Carewyn followed along after them, however, both Bill and Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t happy about how things had gone down...

As night fell, there was a terrible chill in the air over the island of Port Royal, with clouds passing over the skull-white moon. No one could’ve known what that bizarrely cold wind from the East really meant...and who it was carrying closer to port.

[victorianwestpiano]

The death of Holt Farrier’s mom.

For the ones who had read my fanfic, An Unexpected Visit, you may remember that my OC Jerry Farrier, Holt’s father, mentioned that his wife Dorothy Farrier died at childbirth giving birth to Holt.

Since Dorothy “Dory” Farrier is another OC I created, my headcanon goes like this: Dory and Jerry decided to have a family right after Jerry returned from the Civil War, the couple were already on their mid 30′s so they wanted to have a child as soon as possible. And some months later they made it, Dorothy gets pregnant making her and Jerry happy and anxious, not wanting to wait the birth of their son, or daughter.

Dory knitted all Holt’s baby clothes and toys, everything that will go for thier kid was handmade, never bought. Also, Dory had a habit of singing to her belly every night before to sleep. 

Dory had black hair and eyes, just like Holt, she was very sensible and sweet with a strong character. It would seem that emotionally, she and her son are very alike, while physically Holt takes after his dad.

Unfortunately, the night Holt was born, the job of childbirth was to much for Mrs Farrier, she gave birth to her son on their house, in her bedroom. Jerry was suggested by the doctor to wait outside the bedroom, since around that time period the father had to be away from their wife during childbirth. So he could only stay there, listening to his wife’s screams, looking at the room’s door.

When everything ended and the baby cries started to be heard, Jerry stormed into the room only to find Dory covered in blood and their child under her arm but she didn’t had enough strength to hold his little body, only his tiny hand. Jerry approached his beloved.

“Dory!” Jerry exclaimed alarmed holding Dory’s hand. “The doctor told me you’re...you’re goin’ to...die, but that ain’t happenin’...” he breathed.

“My love...” Dorothy said with the strength she had left, “I- I am dyin’, Jerry, I’m dyin’... I’m... tired.”

“No, my love, you’re not going to die!” Jerry exhaled squeezing Dory’s hand, “You’re strong, I know you are.” then he looked at their baby who was on her left side, his little head resting on Dorothy’s armpit, snuggling his face on her chest and his tiny left hand being held by their mother’s. The agoniving woman slowly turned her head to see him, smiling, then she looked back at her husband.

“We have... we have a boy... a beautiful son...” Dory replied “...his name... his name will be Holt, like my father...his name is Holt, Jerry.”

Jerry’s tears started to fall and his own smile appeared, “If that’s the name you want, my love it will be.” Mr Farrier glanced at his son, covered in brown sheets, “Holt.” he brethed with joy hearing his child’s name from his voice. “Is a good name.”

Dory smiled at her huband’s reaction by her choice.

“Our son will be a man among man, he’ll be a king, my love, a king!” Jerry squeezed Dorothy’s hand again desperately, “I’ll teach him everything I know”.

“He’ll be Jerry...yes, he’ll be a king... but... I... won’t be there.” Dory sobbed, “The only thing... I regret... is... that I won’t be there for him--”

“Shhhh, don’t say that,” Jerry caressed his wife’s face, “we’ll see him grow, you’ll be the best mom ever, no, you’re already are--”

Dory interrupted him by laying her other hand over his, “Jerry...I can’t go on...” her tears fell like waterfalls alongside her sweat “I’m dying... you have to raise him... alone...I’m sorry.” her hold started to loosen up but Jerry caught her hands and kissed them passionately, trying to quiet his sobs.

“Dory...” Jerry breathed in pain “I can’t, I can’t do it without you, Holt needs ya, I need ya. What am I goin’ to do without you?”

Dory rose her right hand and gently stroked her husband’s face, her body was shaking a bit, “You will... continue... ‘cause you’re strong, you’ll... know how to... let me go...” each breath for her was painful, the room became more blurry for her and the rest of her body slowly started to get numbber.

“Dory...” Jerry sobbed lening on her touch grbbing her hand, closing his eyes.

“Promise me Jerry... promise me you’ll take care of him... that you’ll... protect him. Promise me you’ll protect him... my love... protect our son...” Dory felt her head heavier, her voice sounded more like a weak and desperate whisper, “Promise me...Jerry... promise me...take... care... of... him...” with that, Dorothy gave her last breath, her left arm fell slowly, surrounding her son again.

Jerry, who was still with his eyes closed and holding his wife’s hand, nodded at her petittion, “I promise, I promise you my love.” without hearing an answer and Dory’s grip loosened. Mr Farrier opened his eyes and found his partner’s eyes closed and her whole body inert. Jerry’s own eyes widened in horror.

“Dory?...Dory!!!” Jerry screamed, “No, no, no!!! My love!” the cowboy carefully hugged Dorothy’s, burying his face on her neck, crying desperately, “Please, please don’t leave me!!” he stayed like this for half an hour, rocking her body until he heard Holt’s own cries.

The cowboy glanced over to see his baby with watery eyes, Jerry’s body was shaking but he slowly rested Dory’s body and very carefully picked Holt up, he was a very tiny baby who fitted in his father’s hands.

Jerry rocked his son to calm him, holding him tight in his arms. Jerry did his best to not let his tears fall in his son’s face, “Shhh, don’t cry Holt I’m here, I’m here...” he said “ I promise... that nothing will happen to you... as long as I am here. I’ll take care of ya my boy,” Jerry looked at Dory once more and to his son again, “I’ll take care of you, Holt” Mr Farrier kissed Holt’s forehead and hugged him tight, letting out his cries of sorrow.

[gammatreis]

In my post about dragon lore, I mentioned a scene from the perspective of my twins’ mother. For nano, it was the opening scene and it’s rough but one of my favorites that I wrote. 

And will probably never see the light of day so here it is.

TW: forced abortion, miscarriage

Every woman knows that with pregnancy, she courts death. There are laws and regulations and to break them is to die at a Maiden’s hands, deserving death all the way from sentencing to the shadows of the afterlife. 

When I was fifteen, I watched a woman stoned for her pregnancy. They had tied her to the ground, hands above her head and her ankles tethered to stakes so that she watched the cloudless blue sky as men laid stones the size of a bull atop her body. The screams had started after two  and stopped when the weight had become too much for her lungs to draw breath. 

Children were dangerous, everyone knew and still everyone took the risk. My husband and I tried. We were in love, we wanted children. 

Eyes brimming with possibilities, I could look at him and see his thoughts of an idyllic future. Thoughts of what we could build together. About having a son, teaching him how to lay bricks so that they kept the desert sands at bay, the water currents and  how to moor a boat. I used to think about the love I felt for my husband and the way his eyes warmed when they met mine in the kitchen, across the yard, where other people could see at the market. I thought of his eyes in a daughter’s face and tucking her hair behind her ear. Or a boy with my nose and a dirt smudge across his cheek that never stayed away for long.

I dreamed about a child in our house, lazy autumn afternoons under the Red Date tree in the yard, closer to the desert than the river. Our apartment sat at the edge of the village, past the wheat farmers and the farrier. Less than a day’s ride to the capital, there was still enough room for the hens to squawk and roam and lay eggs where the sun would bake them before they could be collected. Perfect for raising a child.

We were in love. We were so in love that we needed someone else that was ours and ours alone, that our love could overflow into. Children were dangerous and still we were willing to try. A pearl does not lie on the seashore, if you want one, you must dive. 

Pregnancy came in the dead of night when I was nineteen. I woke in a sweat. Sick plagued me for weeks, every morning worse than the last. The nerves arrived soon after and stayed, roiling, until the Maiden Guard rode down the main street two months later.  Then the nerves turned to fear.

Every pregnancy had to be checked, inspected, given the blessing of not being cursed with the worst plague of all. Twins.

Five Maidens entered, two men and three women, the oldest middle aged. They asked questions about my habits, my mood, ill thoughts. Did I find myself waking under the waning moon? When the desert sands were hot at midday, did I wear sandals or go barefoot? When I crisped rice over the fire, did I prefer it burnt? Had I always?

The oldest’s hands pressed against my belly, first over my clothes, then under them. I remember the warmth of her fingers. I remember as they stilled, felt them burning holes into my skin the longer they held still. Everything showed in her face but she only spoke two words.

Cursed. 

Twins.

They gave me saanhar resin, distilled from the sap and oil of a plant that flowered in the spring. Applied it between my legs, pressing their fingers inside my body. Then they beat me, one with his hands, the other with a short, straight wooden pole that made a dull sound against my stomach.

Cleansed by fire, my insides turned to ash but the sweat that broke over my body was cold, ice rolling down my skin. I felt feverish, bile rose in my throat, and then the blood began to flow. Down, down.

Down.

“Be grateful,” the Maiden said, “that you’re still alive.”

She was right, most women were killed. But I did not feel solace, I felt nothing. And everything.

They took my first pregnancy from me, tore it screaming from my fingers. 

The second left me on its own, two months after my stomach started to show.

The next one left me too, and the one after that and the one after that. And the one after that. There was blood. So much blood and tiny, barely formed hands.

I cried over every one of them, alone on the floor with blood on my legs or the sheets and everything inside me empty, desecrated. I hated the Maiden, I hated the house, I hated the constant eyes watching, watching, watching. There was nothing worse than seeing a woman pregnant, walking the streets, tending her garden, holding her husband’s hand, like being neighbors with a shark that walks on two legs. And, for a while, it seemed like I was always pregnant. Never holding a child’s hand or carrying a baby abreast, but always in the early stages, ceaselessly, endlessly.

When my body rebelled, I expected it. For years and years after, we tried to conceive, chewed all the recommended  herbs, tried every position, but my womb had given everything it could. There was nothing left and every day I hated myself. But, moreso, I hated what it had done to me.

After everything.

The Maidens’ eyes never left our house, they were always watching. We moved, left our lives and took camels through the eastern crossing, where the desert was tame. There were ox in the field next to our house. A field. I never knew so much green existed in the world. It stretched on forever and the nearest house laid beyond even that. In our self imposed exile, no one could ruin us.

When my final pregnancy took, I was thirty-four. We hadn’t been trying for a child and yet, the sickness came. And then the rest of the signs followed one by one, like landmarks on a trail I had walked before. But the trek was farther than any I had taken, I walked onwards, past the third month. And the forth. After the sixth, I locked myself inside the house and worried that I might stumble between the bed and the kitchen or move too quickly stoking the fire.

But nothing went amiss. Six months became nine. And then ten.

There were complications. My husband, for all his talents, was useless once the contractions started. Bent on avoiding the Maidens, we had left everything we’d ever known behind but there was nothing to be done. It felt like I was being rended in two. I would die if I tried to go on untended, I felt it, a baby was always meant to be my end.

My husband ran for a Maiden so that I was alone with the sweat and my screams, hair stuck to my face, pain lancing through every nerve. Starting in my gut and working slowly through each, unexplored inch of my skin. Just me and my child. I stood, braced myself against the wall and the dry heat and let gravity do some of the work.

Returning five hours later with a girl half my age, my husband held my hand and it felt strange, to be accompanied through this singular terror. After I had already accepted that I would give birth myself or die here on my own. The girl’s presence felt oppressive, a savior come too late. She was young, inexperienced, I don’t know where he found her. 

But I remember her cold hands and her cold, horrified eyes when the first baby came silently into the world. And there was still another behind him.

The second child was as much a terror as the first. The Maiden saw them both into the world and when it was done, her body laid dead and broken on the floor. There was blood on my hands but it wasn’t my own and it wasn’t my child’s.

“You’re lucky to be breathing,” I said to the first, its small, squashed face.

The baby looked like the earliest miscarriages, where they had come out wrinkled and not quite human. Red irises stared back at me, so bright they seemed to  glow. He didn’t cry, but his brother did and in his mouth there were teeth already beginning to surface. The other babies hadn’t been fully human yet; this one wasn’t human at all.

But it was mine.

[withastolenlantern]

The brown fields of the western midlands sped by in a near blur as the train left the Birmingham conurbation and passed into rural Herefordshire. It was mid-autumn now, and the harvests completed. The apple orchards had all been picked clean of their fall fruits and sent off to market or crushed and juiced into seasonal ciders. Small herds of sheep meandered in their pastures, grazing at grass now browned as the weather cooled towards winter, their coats grown out to guard against the chill.

The one thing she didn’t see much of was people. Britain proper was prosperous, of course; the pound sterling still traded at the world’s highest exchange rates. The UK parliament had balked at the prospect of a unified currency, and so the rand and various dollars had remained, although pegged at a fixed rate relative to the central denomination. But in due course, the farmers and farriers had all migrated away from the rural midlands and taken up new employment as merchants and marketers in the more urban centers. The land was still fertile here, for some time at least, but now it belonged to the machines. The drone tractors and tillers and threshers were all idled now under barn roofs or lean-tos, their summer works finished, as if resting before taking up winter duty as plows or salt-trucks come the snows. Prayers to Demeter or Aine had been replaced with swears at Deere and AGCO, although they often carried the same futility. Even the bees had been replaced, after the great dying; their tiny buzzing wings now traded for the low hum of rotors as their simulacra flitted about carrying pollen and confusing predatory birds. 

As they passed Gloucester and into Wales, the River Severn emptied into Bristol Channel and she could see all the way out to the Atlantic. The seas had risen here too, of course, as no effort of man could yet hold back them back, but Britain was largely immune from the worst. London had been bulwarked for a thousand years against the flooding of the Thames, and the port cities all braced or barricaded against the advancing surf. Wind and tidal generators dotted the horizon all around the coast, turning Nature’s fury into man’s gain. Britannia rule the waves, indeed. Some seaside properties had moved; the poorer communities had to relocate inland, and the new littoral real estate was gobbled up and repurposed into pricy condominiums or resorts for upper class holidays. The ports, again as vital to commerce as ever in earlier centuries, had multiplied, their piers expanding out over the breakers like the long fingers of industry stretching over a swirled tumbler of gin.

The train pulled into Cardiff station and Chatham exited into the station, grabbing some take-away kebab and sitting down at a wrought-iron table to take stock of her situation. The meeting with her superiors had not gone well, and she replayed the events in her head as she considered her options.

DCI Ratnayaka was supportive, at least, but they were joined in his office by a liaison from the Home Office. Whoever he was, he’d been introduced by both name and title, but she couldn't be bothered. They were all interchangeable, the bureaucrats, at least in her experience. She'd been to Westminster once to receive her Military Cross; it reminded her of a giant ant colony in both form and function, and that was before she'd been paraded around like a prized crumb stolen from Grandmama’s biscuit cupboard. The fellow might as well have been Undersecretary for the Ministry of Peace for all it would matter to her; she wouldn’t waste the effort, and anyway she was sure the relevant details had already been transmitted to her mobile. Much like those ants, she was apt to find the bureaucracy exactly where she least wanted it. 

She’d recounted the details as best she could recall, and explained her concerns given the situation she’d found below deck and the deadly potential. Clearly further investigation was needed, and the Lord Swansea should be called before a HeRMES inquiry panel.

The government’s man was unswayed. It was a time of great economic distress, his counter-argument had gone, and the Government was leaning heavily on major players like the Ross Consortium to assist them in navigating the increasingly new fiscal reality. Besides, His Majesty had a personal stake in the Ross board, and it would not do for Him to be associated with untoward activities, especially of a potentially terrorist nature. The tabloids would have a field day. No, MI5 could control the message via the social networks; better to leave it alone, and stick to the cover story, than risk what might become an… indelicate investigation.

“What about the lives of the men in the skiffs?” she asked, barely masking her contempt. “Or does their indelicacy not rate investigation?”

“The pirates and smugglers? Hardly,” the Home Office man replied. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“And you’re not at all concerned about the fact that we found some kind of uncontrolled toxin in Ross crates?” she said.

“My concern, Detective,” he said, chewing on her title as if it were a crisp, “is that you and Leftenant Ayobe disabled terrorists carrying weapons and illicit drugs. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, but your brave actions represent the type of inter-service collaboration that His Majesty’s father envisioned when the Union was formed, God rest his soul.”

“Yes, and I’m sure The Old Ginger would be thrilled to know his progeny was using it for political gain.”

“Detective!” her superior snapped. “Decorum, please.”

Home Office waved him off. “Your concerns are not without merit. DCI Ratnayaka argued strongly for your character and your experience in certain… high profile investigations. Given that input, the Government will allow you to continue your investigation as it relates to stolen, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “potentially hazardous Ross goods.”

Chatham started to object, but her governor raised an eyebrow from across the desk, beckoning her to remain seated.

“You will not mention terrorism to any party. You will forward any findings outside of your jurisdiction, which includes only crimes against His Majesty’s Government or its Citizens, directly to myself and MI6. And above all, you will be discrete,” the Government’s man said with finality, rising to leave the office.

“We’ve arranged for you to meet with Lord Swansea at the Ross headquarters tomorrow,” Ratnayaka said, hoping to defuse the situation.

“And one more thing, Detective – you and Leftenant Ayobe are to be honored for your service at a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense,” Home Office continued, “on the week-end. Obviously you will be on your best behavior,” he cautioned, before closing the office door behind him.

“Fokken idioot,” Chatham swore breathlessly towards the door. She blushed as she realized her superior was still sitting at his desk, glaring. “Sorry, sir.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked quietly, sighing.

“The same thing you’ve always done,” the detective replied, flashing a faux-smile. 

“Be careful with this one, Detective. I’d advise you not cross the powers that be, but I know you likely won’t listen. I don’t know what it is that drives you to this disrespect for authority that you cultivate, but mark my words, one day it will get you into trouble that neither I nor your record will get you out of. I just pray it’s not the kind that comes staring down the barrel of a gun,” the chief inspector cautioned.

She gathered her things and stood to leave, lingering briefly in the doorway. “I’ve been shot before, gov,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’d much like to relive that experience, either.” 

She’d boarded the train then, straight away, to return back to Cardiff, where it had all begun. She still had no idea who had called in the tip about the gun-runners, but HeRMES had been investigating arms trafficking into the Subcontinent for several months, and when the informant had mentioned there’d been a possible theft of Ross property, her governors saw a fortuitous opportunity. She’d been stationed in Wales since mustering out of the SBS; having made her peace with her father’s untimely demise, she felt she owed it to him and herself to return to the other half of her ancestral homeland. 

Her Welsh was terrible but she found the climate more amenable to her complexion, and the pace of life significantly slower than the crowded streets of Cape Town. HeRMES was happy to oblige, as they’d needed someone to take up the Welsh region; the office still carried a reputation as a “backwater” even though its economy had been carried forward with the rest of the Union’s. The British crown had claimed the Welsh marshes for nearly as long as it had existed, and even though they’d mined out all the coal years ago, the Union’s industrial backbone still ran through the Brecon Beacons, whether Westminster remembered it or not.

She missed her mother, some days, but the SAR was only a holo away, and she hadn’t left behind any real friends when she’d left. Not that she’d made any here, or in university, or the service. There’d been colleagues and workplace proximate acquaintances; of course she would have, and in fact had, taken a bullet for any of her fellow soldiers. Along the way there’d even been brief affairs and lovers, men and women and whatever in between, but none so serious as to tether her in time or space. No, she was alone here, just herself and the spectre of her father, when she let herself acknowledge it, and that was how she liked it. 

Can’t be disappointed if there’s no one to disappoint you, she thought to herself, huddling in the doorway of the station as a light, cold rain fell onto the streets outside. Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she stepped out into the drizzle long enough to jump into the first empty black cab she saw. The detective spoke aloud the address and the cab sped off toward her flat, throwing gentle splashes across the pedestrian walks as it rumbled through the late afternoon storm. 

She sat in the car and composed herself after the long day, smoothing the strands of her hair that had come free in the rain and loosening the tie on her uniform. The route from the station took the cab down the A432 passed the dockyards, and she could see several tall Ross crates and containers, the crimson R stenciled prominently, being maneuvered throughout the gantries by the drone lifts, and it gave her an idea. She paged through the contacts list on her mobile, laughing quietly to herself as a particular name scrolled past. Opening a text dialogue, she typed out a message of exactly the type Ratnayaka had cautioned her against. “Flynn: I need a favor.”

[quirkykayleetam]

The Best Place to Start

Hello!  This is Part 2 of Page and the Unicorn.  The first section can be found under the title Broken Angel from the Bad Things Happen Bingo squares.  The next chapter should coincide with another of those squares, but for now had a nice little piece all its own.  TW: For plot reasons this series relies of the whump of a minor (15-year-old), misgenderings of a non-binary character, and unicorn whump that can look very similar to animal abuse.  All specific warnings can be found in the tags.

God, Page did not want to be doing this. They were barely trained as a stable hand, let alone a farrier. The longer they looked at the not-horse’s mangled front hooves, the more they wanted to call not only for the farrier but for the doctor as well: under the improperly fitted shoe, the creature’s hooves were purpled and swollen. Page wondered how it had managed to walk here with only a limp and a few grunts of pain. It was clear that whoever did this wanted to hurt the creature as much as hide its irregular origin; they’d hammered several of the long metal nails into the tender flesh of the not-horse’s foot.

“This is gonna hurt,” they said, scuffing their toes against the straw of the stable floor.  “Are ‘ya sure ‘ya--”

“Is it necessary?”  Like before, the question blew through Page’s mind.  It was clear and powerful.  It brooked no argument.

“To tend those wounds underneath?  Yeah…”

“Then proceed.”  The not-horse looked straight ahead as it spoke.  A surge of awe spread down Page’s spine as they knelt in front of the creatures first hoof.

“Can you balance?” they asked.

The creature nodded, lifting its leg into Page’s gasp.  The stable hand secured it between their thighs and began their work, removing all the pieces they could without coming into contact with the foot itself.  As soon as they jostled a nail, however, the not-horse reared, kicking Page smack in the chest.  The 15-year-old hit the stone wall of the stable with a thud.

Pain.

Page’s head throbbed where it hit the wall.  They could feel the bruise forming on their chest and they could barely breathe.  They were suddenly woozy.

Pain.

Anger, fear, and worry raced through Korvon all at once.  They knew they should flee; certainly the boy would come to their senses soon to call down the authorities on the white beast.  They remembered with powerful clarity the men--the man--who had down this to them.  He had domination in his eyes as he gave the order for Korvon to be thrown to the ground, their legs tied together like a common animal, and their hooves mutilated for his sadistic pleasure.  Korvon hated him.  The unicorn knew then that he could throw the men off like parasitic flies, break their bonds, and skewer the bastard with righteous fury, but they didn’t.  They waited.  They took the pain and injustice, thinking it would be worth it.  If only they could aid the suffering of one who was innocent, they would take anything at all.

Their horn!  Korvon stomped the ground despite the pain, wishing they could have it back if just for that moment.  They could heal the stable hand before making their escape, maybe right one of their wrongs.  As the creature turned to leave, they heard a small scraping noise behind them.  The kid was standing up, hands held up by their sides.

“Sorry about that.”

Sorry?  Sorry?  Korvon couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“It’s probably a good thing I haven’t eaten today or I’d have coughed it all up.” They turned to the unicorn with a weak smile, though the movement caused them to wince and rub their chest.

“At least we know what we’re expecting now.  What do ‘ya say?  Give me another try?”

The stable hand looked up at the creature, gray eyes wide.  They were full of pain and sincerity and so much trust that Korvon wasn’t sure they could bear it.

Still, they stepped back inside the stall and offered their leg to the child.

“I still don’t know what we’re gonna do about that burn,” they were saying, “but I figure this is still the best place to start.”

Tagging for Page and the Unicorn: (Please let me know if you want to be added or taken off this list) @castielamigos-whump-side-blog

I did my best to research horseshoeing (and unshoeing) practices for this though real horse people will tell I breezed over the important parts.  I’m just excited that we got our first peak inside Korvon’s head and the first mention of our primary antagonist!

[mateomovies]

Dunkirk Review - 8/10

May of 1940 over three-hundred-thousand British and French soldiers are evacuating France from the small town of Dunkirk, they must leave the only way they can, by boat. The Germans have the upper hand as their air force is able to bomb British boats easily. The British are sending all the Navy they can across the English Channel, and in desperation, they begin to send civilian boats as they are less likely to be spotted. The movie Dunkirk by Christopher Nolan tells the story of the great evacuation through the eyes of many characters. Tommy is an English soldier that finds himself on the beach befriending many other soldiers and using trickery in an effort to find a way off the beach. Peter is an English civilian boy who goes across the Channel in a civilian boat to save soldiers, he is the son of Mr. Dawson and takes care of the soldiers and his friend George when he gets fatally injured. Finally, Farrier is an English pilot that shoots down many German planes and saves many soldiers and civilians evacuating, sadly he is unable to return home as he runs out of fuel. Eventually, all points of view come together to paint a bigger picture.

I have very mixed feelings about Dunkirk while the movie is praised by many and has amazing set design, props, music, and so much more, I simply did not enjoy the movie my first time through. My problem with the movie is that the storyline is similar to Pulp Fiction, there are different scenes that are not in chronological order and it can be very confusing especially if you have no previous knowledge of the situation in Dunkirk. The first time I watched this movie I was bored, sitting through an hour-and-forty minutes of scenes with not much dialogue, suspenseful music, and a confusing timeline had me fed up, I just wanted to go home. However, my second time watching allowed me to appreciate Nolan’s Genius. Every scene was planned out so that they would fit together and make sense in the end almost like puzzle pieces, in doing this Nolan was able to show that every role in the war counts no matter how insignificant it may seem. Despite me not enjoying the film the first time through the film turned out to be a good one.

In addition to Dunkirk being a good film, it was very educational. Prior to watching this movie, I had no idea what that Dunkirk France was even a place let alone that there were hundreds of thousands of soldiers there. This film has provided me with a good history lesson, I have read many articles mentioning the historical accuracy of Dunkirk with minor exceptions which are to be expected. Things like the characters, lack of Canadians, lack of Belgians, over exaggerated dog fights and things of that nature have been mentioned in many articles but, I think that it can be overlooked as it is mostly accurate. I feel that this film gives light to a lesser-known World War II story and is important for Canadians, French, and British or really anyone as it is a part of their history. I give this film an 8/10 as it was confusing and a little boring the first time through but, still had many good qualities.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 34: Vows

Summary: Nearly a year, Genevieve and Jack have been together; their big day is finally here.

AN: Thank you for being patient!

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Awaking alone after almost a year of the opposite was a strange feeling. Genevieve stretched languidly in the unfamiliar bed.  Once up and out, which took a few seconds contemplation, she rehearsed her physiotherapy. The culmination of months of work. She was unsure about whether she should rehearse her walk a little more lest she push herself too far.

Then her sister arrived and the calm was broken.

“Why haven’t you come down for breakfast yet?” Lilly squeaked, “Big day!”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Genevieve mumbled, longing to collapse back into bed. Later, she remembered the one lump in the mattress directly underneath her back and the desire faded.

A hearty breakfast was laid out across the table. Genevieve didn’t think she could stomach it. There was a hint of sickness in her stomach for a last minute invite had gone out and she’d been somewhat regretting it since she dropped it through the post box slot. No mention of it was discussed with Jack, something she was regretting even more. But at least she would find out the result in a few hours. Fucking hell, a few hours.

Felt like longer as she ate, washed herself and slipped into her freshly washed dressing gown. Lilly could be heard downstairs with her son and husband, chaperoning them about to go

Genevieve did her own hair and makeup. Her “bridal” team was merely a formality, the women of the immediate families. They were getting ready downstairs at her request. But that didn’t stop them from occasionally poking their head around the door and squeaking something before dashing back downstairs to relate to the crew what her current status was. The only assistance she required was getting dressed. The dress was tighter than before but not so much for it to become uncomfortable. The issue was the buttons that lined her spine. Her mother helped her out there and Genevieve spent the next few minutes thinking about Jack without distraction.

He was in a small hotel function room with the few chairs in rows already filled with the guests, stood at the makeshift altar with his best mate Farrier and his brother Toby at his side. This was something he’d thought about briefly in his early RAF days, marrying Farrier in near matching suits. But now that couldn’t be further from what he wanted.

“Fifteen minutes, still time to make a break for it,” Toby whispered.

“So you can have Ginny? No chance,” Jack let out a laugh.

“Damn, you saw through my cunning plan,” Toby snapped his fingers before leaning in to whisper, “How’d you know she’s not already waiting for me in the car?”

“Helluva woman,” Farrier broke in and the two men glanced at him, “Marrying helluva guy. You’d be ridiculous if you thought one of these kids would leave the other at the altar.”

“You mean the collapsible table,” Toby snarked as Jack flushed at the compliment before busying himself with his mother sat in the front row.

“Eh, same difference,” Toby shrugged.

A collapsible table, no bridesmaids or over the top procession, just their nearest and dearest watching the ceremony and coming for the wedding breakfast. Simple, limited attention, despite Cora’s best attempts to “give them the wedding they deserved” which might have featured doves and fireworks. All that was missing was the bride.

She was nearly outside, tightly gripping the bouquet in the back seat of the car that was stuck in mild traffic.  The end of today couldn’t come sooner.

Finally, Tony parked the car in his reserved spot, outside the hotel. He skipped around to open the door for her. She stepped out, feeling the heat of late July prickle her legs. Thank goodness she wasn’t in heels.

“God, I’m gonna fall over,” Genevieve muttered as she glanced at her cane left in the backseat of the car.

“I’m here, pickle,” Tony took her arm, perfect father of the bride, “Squeeze if you need more support.”

“Hello, Aunty Gem,” James beamed at her with shining cleanliness. It disgusted them both so Genevieve tousled his hair a little. Lilly sighed at this but passed James the box with rings in them, ushering him after his father.

“He just wanted to say hello,” She excused, swallowing before she finished, “I don’t think I’ll have to kick Jack. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, so do you,” Genevieve tried not to duck her head with the compliment, “Is everyone in? Uh, I don’t suppose you’ve seen an old man and his son come by. You wouldn’t know them.”

“No, why?”

Genevieve restrained a sigh. Of course they wouldn’t be coming. An invitation and the first letter in three years explaining all was not enough to convince two strangers to be at the wedding.

“Just wondering, don’t worry.”

That disappointment was replaced by the worry she assured others about, a spike of anxiety, one that also met with Jack. He stopped talking to the notary when James trotted down the aisle, clutching a small box and singing loudly that “they’re coming”.  Lilly then quickly entered, repeating what her son had said before taking her seat beside her mother. An unorthodox beginning to the ceremony but that was the way with him and Genevieve.

His back was where she would appear and it stayed that way as he heard the door open. But he couldn’t stand it much longer and risked a peek for the first time in a day – that might have been a year. Jack wasn’t surprised, but still felt the full impact, that she looked so utterly radiant. In a dress that was simply a sleeveless, white polka dot version of his favourite and she was so far away – a whole twenty five feet. When she started moving towards him, his hand came over the right side of his face before pressing into his cheek to hide his tears. It didn’t work at all. Then he saw her left hand holding her cane, the last time that her finger would be bare, and he was gone, crushing his sobs and his laughter into his palm then closing it into a fist.

Very nearly did Genevieve fall to the same fate. She knew that Jack wasn’t going to be in his RAF uniform and thank goodness because he was so much more attractive in a kilt. The hand that occupied the bouquet was looped through her father’s arm; she had nothing to hide her smile behind. It only made her more beautiful.

After what seemed like hours, Genevieve reached the altar and, out of her bouquet, she pulled out a folded hankie. A wave of murmured laughter rolled through the room, Jack joining in as it was passed it to him.

“Thanks, love,” He dabbed his eyes dry.

Genevieve bit her lip which did nothing to hide her smirk, “Don’t mention it.”

With his tears mopped away, Jack tucked the hankie up his sleeve and the notary began the service. Genevieve kept checking Jack in the corner of her eye. It was hard to look away from such a vision.  Occasionally she caught him looking too and they shared a smile.

If there were any objections to the ceremony, everyone held their peace – apart from Toby, who conveniently cleared his throat after this was made known. Proceeding, the notary signalled for James to bring the rings to her. He did so with immense pride. His smile looked as though it would fall from his face as he passed them over. Genevieve and Jack shared that respect as they each recited the vows with their names inserted to that chain of words. Jack went first and he beamed at finally learning Genevieve’s middle name, then came Genevieve who already knew his from grilling him about the subject months before.

A new ring sat on their left hands and it was with bubbling giddiness that such words were spoke: “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Already, Genevieve had her arms around Jack’s neck so all that was needed was a gentle dip of Jack’s head for them to seal the deal. Clapping from around the room echoed into the distance as they pulled away and smiled at one another.

“Hello, husband,” Genevieve whispered, rubbing her nose against his before cutting off his reply with: “Do you have any briefs on? I’ve wanted to ask since I saw the kilt.”

“Well,” Jack raised a brow with what was meant to be a smirk but ended up being a gleeful grin, “You’re not supposed to. It’s tradition.”

“Really?” Genevieve said disbelievingly, yet she was still smiling.

Jack’s glow shifted from dusty pink to fuchsia, “No scants under these petticoats.”

The pair giggled like children at the thought of going commando and kissed again.

“You bought the cottage then?” Tony asked. Genevieve naturally rolled her eyes because of his tone. Even on her wedding day, he was interrogating her partner. Still, it couldn’t be helped and he wouldn’t sway her mind or heart.

“Yes, we managed to get that set of paperwork sorted out before this one,” Jack patted her hand in her lap and brushed his fingertips over her ring.

Ethel then jumped in, “So no honeymoon?”

“No honeymoon, but plenty of time off to ourselves, plenty of furniture to build,” Genevieve sighed, causing the table to snicker. In all honesty, spending time setting up their house to however they wanted, alone, was a perfect honeymoon in her eyes.

Dinner arrived and everyone continued conversation between mouthfuls. Genevieve and Jack barely parted contact, their hands returning to one another as if the rings were magnet and iron. Not that Jack would have minded if they were because a fad during the war, popularised by the absence from loved ones, meant that he could wear this token of affection and commitment. He could not be happier to wear one.

Despite holding prior knowledge of minimal speeches being a part of this ceremony, Farrier finished his dinner, downed his drink, then launched into his retelling of, when he first met him in RAF training, Collins being a skinny little bastard with knobbly knocking knees and a naïve smile that would not see the light of day once he started drill work.

Feeling the tranquilising effects of the alcohol, Genevieve pushed back her chair and leant over to Jack, “I need a quick break.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jack asked, throwing a glance at Farrier finally taking a seat.

“No thanks, you stay,” Genevieve assured.

She then excused herself from the table and those seated at it, heading over to the back garden’s entrance. Passing the notary leaving the function room opposite, Genevieve stepped outside. It was a pleasant little section enclosed in the centre of the building and completely empty. Stretching her arms upwards, Genevieve linked her fingers and cracked her knuckles upwards with a deep inhale. The smell of the flowers dotted about in pots soothed any other anxiety she felt in that moment.

“Sorry we’re late.”

Genevieve turned to the voice and saw Mr Dawson removing his hat with a smile as he finished, “I saw you heading out here. Thought I’d catch you.”

A little stunned and almost lost for words, Genevieve nodded. Then she found those words: “No worries. We’re just having drinks, would you like to join us?”

“No thank you. I’m driving. I don’t trust Peter with my car just yet.”

“Peter?” Then the man himself appeared as if he were waiting to be named dropped before making an appearance. Of course he wasn’t still wearing the red jumper she’d seen him in six years ago. He was dressed in a casual suit like his father, minus the hat, and he looked so much older.

“I should slap you for not writing back, you cheeky bastard,” She joked. Luckily, Peter saw the levity in her statement and his body language slacked into relaxation.

“How are you both?” She continued, “Still sailing?”

“Try and stop us, every weekend.” Peter looked to his dad to see if he had any input on the small talk. But Mr Dawson was looking indoors, through a window. Jack was rocking back and forth with laughter in his chair at something Karen had said across the table. Genevieve could see that no one else thought it so funny and that Jack didn’t care about that.

“I can go get him,” Genevieve offered but Mr Dawson cut her off.

“No, that’s alright.”

There were tears in the old man’s eyes and Genevieve suddenly remembered that Jack was RAF like Mr Dawson’s eldest son. She felt rather stupid for not recalling this sooner and fidgeted with her hands. Filling the silence, Peter cleared his throat.

“We can’t stay. We just wanted to come and say congratulations,” He tugged on his coat sleeve before stepping forward and offering his hand for her to shake. Instead, Genevieve opened her arms for a hug and Peter graciously accepted, though he had to bend over a little bit.

“You got taller, I swear,” She mumbled over his shoulder forgetting that he was only a few years younger than her.

“Skinnier, actually,” and there was a hint of a smile on his face when he pulled back.

“Yeah, well, make sure you eat your crusts,” Genevieve quoted her sister’s mantra to James, “Get some hairs on your chest.”

The smile widened as he backed away, moving towards the reception. Mr Dawson and Genevieve followed, a few feet behind him so that they could talk too.

“He rather fancied you,” Mr Dawson muttered with a sly smile.

“I won’t say anything,” Genevieve promised, “Is he alright though?”

“He’s doing very well.” Mr Dawson halted, looking like he was struggling to say something. Genevieve kept the silence a little longer to let him figure it out. Slowly he took Genevieve’s left hand in his then gave it a careful pat.

“I’m glad that, if anyone was to survive the war, it was you two.”

 Suddenly swamped with the possibility of crying, something she vowed not to do, Genevieve swallowed thickly, “You too. Thank you for coming.”

She walked with him through the reception and out the front, Peter at the far right side of the street where they were parked. Staying by the door, Genevieve watched them climb in. She didn’t notice Jack joining her side until he tapped her shoulder.

“You alright, love?”

“Just waving a guest off,” She said quietly. Jack followed her line of sight, brows furrowed until he saw Mr Dawson place his hat back on his head before getting into his car. The couple stared with one astonished expression and one of tearful happiness as the car pulled out and drove past their venue, honking the horn with an arm out the window waving at them.

“Let’s go back to our reception,” Genevieve said, taking his hand and leading the flabbergasted Jack indoors.

The rest of the day was a blur. At some point, Genevieve picked out a rosebud, free of thorns, from her bouquet and tucked it behind Jack’s ear. He was a little tipsy on the fact that it was his wedding – and the champagne that his brother Toby had ordered. He was giggling at James who was screwing up his face in disgust after a sip. The cake arrived and naturally Jack and Genevieve tossed each other pieces of cake into their respective mouths as opposed to smashing a piece onto their cheek. Farrier was all for that however and did it to both of them. James was about to join in but then the in-laws intervened, preventing an all out food fight.  

“Sweet like you,” Jack had said after kissing off some of the icing from Genevieve’s cheeks. So naturally, she licked his cheek in return.

The families dispersed once the cake was doled out and the newlyweds were shown to their room by the concierge who had brought their single bag up earlier for them. It was a beautiful room. A double bed in the centre, an en-suite to the side, it was lavish with plump pillows, oak furniture that all matched, and lit up with a soft yellow glow from lamps dotted about. Money well spent, even if it was just one night.

“So, I suggest we take all the complimentary shampoos and soaps and biscuits,” Genevieve took off one of her shoes and sighed in the relief she felt, free from its pinching grasp. Once the other shoe was off, she flopped on the bed and sighed again, smiling broadly at Jack who was lingering in the doorway, undoing his tie after hanging up his jacket.

“Come here, you,” She beckoned with a pat on the space beside her.

Doggedly, Jack quickly kicked off his shoes and tugged off his hose. He landed next to Genevieve with a little leap onto the bed. Her hand curled around to cup his face that was smiling back at her, especially as he felt the new addition of her wedding ring comfort his skin. She then wriggled closer, her cheek snuggled into his shoulder.

After tracing across her arm for a few moments quietude, Jack rested his hand atop hers and said softly, “I can only think of one instance where you’ve been more beautiful than you are now.”

“Oh yeah?” Genevieve said teasingly although her cheeks alerted Jack that she was flattered at such a remark. He hummed to draw it out a little before he decided to finish his thought.

“When I saw you for the first time after the war was over,” He said as his chest swelled with remembering their intense and joyous reunion, his smile aching on his face, “A sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. It felt like that again, when I saw you at the end of the aisle.”

For once, Genevieve didn’t tell him to shut up. Instead she pushed up and kissed him, short but sweet. She then sat up but kept her back to him, talking over her shoulder:

“Help me out of this please? I want to lie down comfortably with my husband.”

Jack let out an eager giggle, hoping that she would catch on that he liked when she called him “her husband”. Such a lovely title he never thought he would be appointed and yet here he was, helping his wife out of her wedding attire. Well. He was trying to help anyway.

“I love the polka dots but God there’s so many buttons!” He grunted, fingers fumbling over them in an attempt to release her.

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” Genevieve groaned, “There should be a hook on the dressing table.”

There was and it aided Jack in popping them out. Jack tensed as the dress slacked, contrasting with Genevieve’s sigh of relief. It wasn’t a very tight bodice but movement was heavily restricted in such a device. The sigh was clearly held in from the moment she put it on. The sigh was also very obvious in displaying the comfort she found with Jack. They shared baths, for goodness sake.

Jack suddenly leapt for the drawer, “Wait!” Then he yanked out an envelope, “Vows!”

Neither of them wanted to disclose these vows; they were personal and their families did not have to be witness for these vows to mean something. So they decided to include them in the wedding but when they were alone. Now.

Dress still holding most of its position against her body, Genevieve retrieved her own envelope from the plant pot and dusted off the soil that clung to it.

“You wanna go first or me?”

“You go first.”

Shuffling on his feet, Jack cleared his throat then spoke, “You make me so much better with your awful taste in tea and your quips so I vow to celebrate you every day, in ups and downs and whatever direction you feel you’re going, I’ll be there take make us the ultimate team.”

Then he said at a quicker pace, “I also vow to dance with you at least once a week because I know you secretly love it.”

Genevieve shook her head as it dropped, hiding the eye roll in sheepishness, “You cheated; we said one each.”

“I know but I can’t really pin down how I wanna treasure you in one single vow. You’re lucky that was the only two.”

Wrinkling her nose at him, Genevieve rubbed it against Jack’s that was screwed up in solidarity, “I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you too. Your turn!”

She copied his technique and coughed to ease the lump in her throat then started reading off the paper, “Something you told me a few months ago: ‘you are my normal.’ You do not know how much those words mean to me. It wasn’t really the moment I knew I loved you for there are plenty of those. It was the moment where I knew you were the one for me; you were as committed as I was in spite of everything. I vow to make you feel as safe and as loved as I did when you told me that, because you are my normal too.”

There were no words to say back to that. All Jack could muster was hugging Genevieve tightly. Their breathing synced up, grips loosened, emotions settling down, the couple found themselves swaying. It was a first dance they could both get behind. Until Jack started humming a nauseatingly familiar tune that made Genevieve laugh more as he spun her out with a dramatic flair.

“We have a radio!” She reminded him, “Not that I don’t appreciate your gorgeous vocal chords.”

“Ok, first song that plays will be our song.” Once in agreement, Jack side-stepped to the wireless and switched it on. After fiddling with the tuner for a few seconds, Genevieve sighed loudly whilst Jack beamed as the very same song began to play.

“I didn’t even plan that!” Jack squeaked with excitement, drawing back to his wife and offering his hand, “May I have the pleasure of the first dance with you?”

“You may,” Genevieve said with a sigh that was meant to come across as reluctant due to the song choice. However, it appeared more whimsical as if she was about to be swept off her feet. She settled for that; it was more accurate to how she felt.

Their foreheads connected as Genevieve placed her hands on Jack’s shoulders, his already on her waist. Kisses intermingled with soft laughter. A hand swept through Jack’s hair and Genevieve’s fingers then curled underneath the bootlace that held her old tags, toying with the knot that rested below the back of his hairline. His were still hanging around her neck. Her fingertips grazed the nape of his neck caused Jack to shiver with delight for at the back of his mind, near those fingertips, lingered a reminder of the final tradition of a wedding: the first evening together as husband and wife.

It was as if Genevieve could read his thoughts for she touched his face tenderly with concern in her expression and he leant into it, eyes closing at her gentle palm on his cheek

“You know we don’t have to do anything tonight. I know you love me and you know I love you. It’s not the be all and end all.”

“I know,” Jack said with a hint of relief as he opened his eyes, “But I want to. Do you want to?”

“I do too.”

“I-” He was cut off by Genevieve’s stomach gurgling loudly and she went a darker shade of pink as he commented: “Hungry?”

They giggled as Genevieve’s tummy gurgled some more to answer for her. She didn’t have to say it was nerves; they already knew that. To shut him up, Genevieve leaned over, switched off the wireless.

“Are you alright?” She asked. She needed to hear that he was alright, especially since he started staring past her for a moment.

“Sorry,” Jack excused when he came back to Earth, shaking his head a little. A strand of hair fell into his forehead as a memory of December came to mind. He fidgeted with the scratching material of his kilt as he glanced at the bed then back to Genevieve. There was a nervous laugh with his next sentence: “I only know what I’m doing in theory.”

“I’m with you there,” Genevieve said, taking his hands away from the wool.

It wasn’t that Jack expected her to be a virgin too but he was still a tad surprised at their shared experience, “So you’ve never…”

She shook her head, “No, not with a man.”

Ah. Jack nodded, accepting the connotations of that revelation, “That’s ok; I’ve never done it with a man either.”

The pair burst into giggles and suddenly it occurred to them that this didn’t have to be such a serious affair like every eavesdropped conversation or snippet of gossip had told them. It could be whatever they wanted. And all tension dropped from their bodies.

Leaning his forehead back against hers with an uncontrollable smile, his voice teeming with joy, Jack said, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” She replied, punctuating her words with kisses, “So. Damn. Much.”          

Lightheaded, Jack reciprocated. He tried to pull off his waistcoat, but he did so with such haste that he ended up getting his elbow stuck where his arm once was. Genevieve didn’t realise for a bit, simply petting his hair to placate his eagerness, but then she caught sight of his half T-Rex impression and start laughing again.

“You can slow down, my love,” She helped him out of his predicament, “Can’t rush these things.”

“I’m just excited,” Jack said, sounding ever so slightly out of breath.

“Me too.” Genevieve found herself experiencing the same symptoms as Jack started to unbutton his shirt, placing a hand on his chest as she continued, “But we have all night. All week.” Jack nodded, understanding what she meant. Honestly, he didn’t want to rush either. So he kissed her again, more gentle, appreciating the present moment where Genevieve was touching the sliver of skin available from his shirt’s now plunging neckline.

Taking a deep breath, Genevieve pulled away and held up the hook between their faces, “Now, get me out of this dress.”

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @scottishlowden

Dunkirk Tag: @lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa​ and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics and @prettyboytgc

[glittering-darmallon]

#9&7 for Anaani and Dorian

So um…this drabble got away from me. Like 2k worth of words got away from me. I hope you enjoy this piece of platonic soulmates fluff…with some angst…flangst? Content warning for alcohol consumption. Also on AO3

If You’ve a Mind

“Now, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Join me sometime if you’ve a mind,” Dorian said with a huff and strutted past Anaani.

Rather than let him beat a hasty retreat, she turned and caught his wrist. “Oh no you don’t. Come on. I have a much better idea than drinking alone in the tavern. But first, a stop in the basement for a bottle.”

Once down in the dim light of Skyhold’s basement, Anaani watched Dorian peruse the collection of assorted bottles she’d accumulated so. Like the books in the library, he seemed to have no qualms about telling her his opinion about each one.

He picked one up, “Oh Maker, that just screams, ‘Drink me!’. Honestly, who names their creation ‘Dragon’s Piss’ and hopes people will still drink it.” He set it back on the shelf. “Come to think of it, The Iron Bull would definitely drink this. The man seems to have an unhealthy love of dragons.”

She cracked a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t call it unhealthy. More like a strong affinity for them. It’s endearing.”

“I know that look. Someone is sweet on the man. Come. Do tell. Leave no salacious detail out.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “With an attitude like that, you’ll never find out. Find one that catches your eye?”

Without paying close attention, he snatched one off the middle shelf. “Now what? Am I to drink this alone in my quarters?”

“No,” she said, giving him a gentle, guiding, push towards and ultimately up the stairs. “Not exactly.”

***

“Ooh the evil Tevinter alone with the Inquisitor in her quarters! Think of the scandal, my dear Lady.”

Anaani plopped herself down on one end of the sofa, patting the spot next to her. Dorian, wasting no time, obliged her, removing boots before making himself comfortable.

“I can get some glasses?”

“No need,” he said as he tugged the cork from the bottle with his teeth.

“Charming.” She tucked her bare feet under her legs and turned to him. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Okay. Want to read trashy romance novels out loud and laugh at how bad they are?”

He feigned surprise. “My Lady! I am shocked. Shocked and appalled to find you read such horrible attempts at literature.”

“Why? I was married before. The naughty bits would hardly shock me.”

“I didn’t mean that part. I meant why would you waste your time reading drivel that was so poorly written?” He stretched out, hesitating whether to rest his feet on her lap until. Once she nodded that it was fine, he lowered his feet to her legs.

“Have a better idea? I mean aside from eloping so you can say, ‘Surprise father! I found myself a perfectly wonderful lady in a position of power. It didn’t require blood magic at all.’ And ta-da. They would leave you alone. Plus think of the delicious scandal you being wed to a Qunari would cause.” She patted his knee.

“Did you miss the part of the earlier argument where I mentioned preferring the company of men?”

She tossed a throw pillow at him. “I didn’t mean anything of the sort, Dorian. I am well aware you do not find this,” she gestured to her body, “form desirable. If it helps I don’t fancy yours either.”

“What? How could you not? Look at me. I’m a marvel of a human specimen.”

“Yeah, a human specimen. I… don’t care for humans. In fact, aside from you, they terrify me. My worst nightmare would be to find myself stuck in a room full of them with no escape in sight.”

“Ah. Prefer men more your own…size for lack of a better word? Can’t say I’d blame you. We humans do look quite fragile compared to Qunari.”

She threw her head back and cackled. “If you were anyone else, I’d ask if you were calling me fat. But yes. That is what I meant.” She rubbed his shin. “I would, you know, if you asked.”

“You needn’t tie yourself down to this mess.” Finally, he seemed to remember the open bottle of liquor in his hand and took a swig, coughing. “What in the name of Andraste is this?” He brushed the dust off the label, reading aloud. “‘Hirol’s Lava Burst.’ And oh look, there’s a description. Well isn’t that thoughtful. ‘Tastes like burning.’ Well at least the name is apt. Would you care to try?”

“Can’t be worse than the Maraas-Lok Bull gave me after we killed that dragon.” Hesitant, she took a sip, and immediately regretted it. “Oh Maker! That is terrible. It’s like swallowing a hot coal. Maybe the second drink is better.” She took another, but the same burn remained. “Nope. Still bad.”

Cackling, Dorian sat up fully and switched his position on the couch so that his head rested on Anaani’s thigh. “Well go on, it’s got to be better by the third drink.”

He was wrong.

It was still terrible by the time they’d finished most of the bottle. However, at least by that point, they were both well on the way to being drunk.

Anaani wriggled out from under his head and swayed as she walked backwards towards her bed. When the back of her knees hit the mattress it threw her off-balance and onto the bed. “Oh you have got to come over here. That couch is abysmally uncomfortable in comparison.”

Dorian flopped down beside her. “Why, Inquisitor, I do believe you’re right. It puts that sad excuse for a mattress in my quarters to absolute shame. In fact, I’m envious.”

She propped herself up with one arm. “Dori, can I play with your hair?”

“What?” he asked, looking over at her, eyes half-lidded.

“It looks so soft. And besides, it’s already messy from where you lay down earlier.”

Dorian looked like an owl as he blinked at her, eyes wide with childlike confusion.

With a yawn, she stretched out her stiff limbs, letting her arms hang over the edge of the bed to mirror her legs on the other side. This bed was clearly not made for a Qunari to lie across it sideways. “If it bothers you, I’ll let you play with mine too.” When he didn’t respond, she rolled over onto her stomach, gathering up the pillow between her arms. “Look, if you don’t want me to, I won’t. It feels nice though. When I was stressed or having a bad day I would have one of my fellow mercs play with my hair. It’s relaxing. I just thought you might like it.”

“Um…fine I suppose.”

Smiling, she sat up and scooted over to where he lay. Then, she began to card her fingers through his hair, making sure to massage his skin in soft, little circles. Every so often she would scratch lightly at his scalp. He leaned into the touch each time. Given time, Anaani thought, he might even start purring. “I’m sorry you have a family who would rather perform blood magic on you than accept you as the man you are.”

Dorian’s eyes had drifted closed under her ministrations. “Well thank you. I really didn’t mean for you to see me like that. It was…undignified.”

She hummed a note of contemplation. “Well, that’s what happens when you’re friends. You catch each other at your worst.”

“Friends. How I do love the sound of that. For several long moments, he was silent. “May I ask you something?”

“About?”

“Well, it’s personal.”

“You did bring me with you to confront your father, I suppose it’s only fair.”

He folded his hands on his chest and leaned into her touch. “Why are you afraid of humans? Present company excepted of course.”

Anaani froze, her hand still in his hair. Through great effort, she was able to control her breathing and get her heart rate back down. However, she had gone quiet for several minutes, perhaps a few too long, and Dorian noticed.

“Ah. The silence usually means it’s something bad,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her.

Looking down at him, she licked her lips and tried to find words that didn’t want to come.

“My my, you do have pretty eyes!  What a lovely shade of blue. That ring of lavender around the outside of your irises is like a jewel. I’m sorry. I’m distracting you. You don’t need to answer the question if it is too much.”

She let herself fall back onto the mattress and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. In. Out. In. Out. She thought, once more attempting to focus on her breath.

The bed shifted beside her. Looking over, she saw Dorian sitting up, staring at her. “Would you like your hair played with too?”

Would she? Yes, of course. She rolled onto her shoulder so she could untie the ribbon holding the bun at the back of her head in place. Once free, she ran her fingers through her platinum blonde hair. Then, she lay back down.

“You know, it really doesn’t look this long or thick when you have it tied up.”

“I know. My mother used to say the same thing to me.” She took a deep breath. “Growing up, the only other people like me were my parents. I’d never seen another Qunari besides them until I was nineteen. I’d left home to find work. Went all the way to Ostwick from Tantervale.”

“That’s where you’re from then, Tantervale? I thought your accent sounded a bit like the Northern Marches.”

“Yes. In Ostwick, no one wanted to hire me.  You ever wonder why all the Tal-Vashoth you meet are mercenaries or bandits? It’s because that’s the only job humans will let us do. But I met a woman, older, grandmotherly. She told me the blacksmith was looking for an apprentice. Well, my father was a farrier. I knew how to make shoes and put them on horses. It was worth a shot. That’s where I met Tamek.”

“Another Tal-Vashoth, I take it?”

“He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”

She winced as Dorian’s fingers caught a tangle in her hair. “Sorry. Surely he wasn’t more handsome than me.”

“Absolutely. You’re handsome…for a human I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Like I said. Humans…aren’t really for me. But yes. He took me on, eventually we became partners in the business and in life. Oh I loved him. He was good, honest, hard-working. And then…”

“What happened? Another woman caught his eye?” Judging by his chuckle, she could tell he’d been aiming for a joke. It fell short.

“No. Kirkwall happened, and suddenly the Arishok’s foolhardy decision to invade made every Qunari, every Tal-Vashoth across the Free Marches the enemy. We’re big, but even we can’t hold our own against an angry mob. He died trying to protect me from…from a lot. Fat lot of good it did too. I still got left for dead outside Ostwick. Valo-kas found me. Nursed me back to health. Took me on as their Quartermaster.”

She opened her eyes when she felt him move once more. He’d lain down, also horizontally across her bed and was looking at her. “What?”

“Look at us. A pair of traumatized fools trying to save the world. I knew when we met, I knew you were someone I wanted to and should get to know. I understand why now. Bloody people who can’t understand and accept those who are different.” He tousled her hair once more then tried to stand. “Oh whoa….the room is spinning.” He leaned against the small table beside the sofa. Well more like half sat upon, but semantics. “I think I will just stay right here a moment. Don’t want to fall to my death down your stairs.”

“The tragedy of the ages.” With a smirk Anaani reached out and tugged him to the bed.

“What are you-”

She tugged him back down to the mattress and folded around him in an embrace. “Shh. Just go to sleep. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Are you…spooning me?”

She moved the bolster under her horns and settled in. “Mmhmm,” she said, already closing her eyes in fatigue. “I’ll have you know, I have been told I am a fantastic snuggler. Consider yourself lucky. Few people get this treatment.”

Dorian wriggled a little, likely to get comfortable. After a minute or two, he spoke, “You know, you’re right. You are sort of the perfect size for a good cuddle.”

“Told you. G’night, Dori.”

“Pleasant dreams, my friend.”

[deadinsidedressage]

This is not meant to be provocative, I'm just really intrigued. What is the deal with the horse culture in the states. Do people that have their own horse, that they care for, and ride frequently exist? Or is it all professionals riding or supervising rides and having other people look after the horse?

Hooo boyyyAlright, so here’s the deal: a lot of people DO own their own horses, but owning your own horse (obviously) comes with expenses and based on everything I’ve heard from all my non-US equestrian friends... the United States is one of the most expenses places to be a home owner. The kind of biggest present issue is how hard it is to stay in horses once you’re living as an independent young adult and not longer have the safety net of parents (even if they had you work to pay for horse stuff) because balancing all your human expenses with all your horse expenses is really, really, really hard on a single person’s minimum wage/entry level income. Which is what I’m writing this all from the perspective of since that’s most relevant to Tumblr.There’s kind of this American Horse Ownership Paradox that exists, because if you own your own horse then you’ve got 2 obvious options available to you:

Either you board your horse somewhere.

Or you own property to keep your horse on.

Here’s the issues with boarding:

It’s expensive as fuck to board a horse at a facility that has some kind of arena option that’s going to work out. 

There’s always the option to board somewhere without an arena (you can get pasture board for a quarter of the price for regular board), but then you have to workout when you can ride somewhere with some kind of arena-- often pasture board doesn’t have something close to it and you’d have to end up 

There’s the potential for partial-care or self-care boarding where you pay less to feed/muck for you horse but uhh... often people end up in boarding situations that aren’t that close to their home and with gas prices plus just not having enough hours in the day sometimes this isn’t an option which means you can’t avoid the higher expense of full care board

Boarding is sometimes tied to training programs or at the minimum trainers, (not always but often), which means that if you have a falling out with a trainer you might lose your spot at the barn OR if you can’t afford lessons/training on top of board then you might not be able to afford to board in your area at all. 

Here’s the issues with keeping your horse at home:

Owning a house? Owning a house with enough space for a horse?? This is NOT likely possible if you’re a young adult. Especially in the PNW where I live (very expensive to own a home let alone a home with the space for a horse). 

Actually have either a barn w/stall for your horse (not necessary, but nice you know) or even a place to ride. If you can afford to own enough space to a horse that doesn’t mean you can afford a space with enough space for an arena, let alone a sand arena, and certainly not necessarily a covered arena)-- and not to mention the issues over owning the equipment to maintain a sand arena?? not likely.

If you have your horse on your place, but not an arena OR like a GOOD arena then that means you need a horse trailer. Which means you’re spending money on top of your monthly farrier/feed/vet to haul-in at an arena so you can actually ride your horse.

Even if you have an arena that’s decent to ride in, you still might NEED a  trailer in order to get to lessons assuming you can afford lessons because often instructors/trainers don’t travel from the barn they teach at. 

Even if you manage to have all these other things working for you, YOU STILL PROBABLY NEED A TRAILER; otherwise how are you going to get to shows or clinics (if you can even afford to do those things)? Maybe you can find people to trailer you to shows but there’s another expense for you because people aren’t just going to drive out of their way for you. 

So, the likelihood that you (as an independent young adult) are able to fully afford either option outright while also paying for weekly lessons outright isn’t really likely. Which is why you hear a lot about American riders on here just leasing or just taking lessons or just riding what they can in a working student position. Since doing otherwise might be out of their means. However, if you’re determined to own your own horse then here are the accommodations you might be making in your life as a young adult US rider:

Working a second job. Now you have money for a horse and lessons but time? HAH.

Working off your board or lessons or both. Congrats you don’t have to pay that $ but to work off even $100 of board can be a part-time job on top of you full-time job and congrats you now again still have limited time to actually ride or see your horse or whatever.

Half-leasing or lesson leasing your horse so you can afford to actually keep it and maybe take lessons on it. Congrats your horse now has a work schedule that might not match up with yours!

Taking lessons from your non-ideal trainer/instructor because you can’t afford lessons with the person you want to ride with.

Taking lessons once every other week instead of weekly because that’s all you can afford.

Taking lessons once a month because that’s all you can afford.

Taking lessons never because you can’t afford that on top of keeping your horse alive.

Selling tack you’d prefer to keep “just in case” because your horse colicked and you need to pay your vet bill.

I mean, I could go on and on with stupid things that you might have to sacrifice or what not to make owning your own horse works. WHICH... again, is why it’s not uncommon to hear more about lease horses or lesson horses with the young adult tumblr demographic-- it takes a lot of effort to make owning your own horse and being able to semi-regularly take lessons work. it’s not cheap, it’s not easy, and it takes a lot of damn effort. 

Props to anyone on this site who is anywhere in their twenties and managing to own their own horse while keeping the rest of their life afloat. 

[gurinssilverscreensynopsis-blog]

Dunkirk (mark)

Rating: 9/10

Based on the tragic world war II story by the same name, Dunkirk is an epic showcase of Christopher Nolan’s mastermind. It casts viewers right into the center of the gloomy and grey war at the northern French beach as its being advanced on by Germany. The despair of the soldiers involved is flawlessly portrayed. At times the film was a tad bit boring and uneventful, but the sheer beauty of the movie and its scenescape quickly drown out those feelings and replace them with genuine awe. At no point did the film lose its feelings of immense tension, which also helped keep viewers hostage for the entirety of the run-time. 

The film follows the happenings of the infamous Dunkirk tragedy, which happened during the Battle of France in 1940 when allied forces were forced to retreat into the beach of Dunkirk. The plot stays fairly uneventful in order to make it more realistic, as during the actual war the majority of the time was spent waiting in despair. In terms of what does actually happen, the movie begins with a scene of the beach where Tommy, the only survivor of a German ambush, finds the beach filled with thousands of troops waiting to be rescued. There’s a hospital ship at the dock getting ready to head out to deliver the injured to safety, and then starts the first moment of intense tension which sets the bar high for the rest of the film. After Tommy finds another soldier named Gibson burying a body, another soldier gets hit by a dive bomber and Tommy and Gibson are forced to rush him onto the shortly departing hospital ship. Once they got to the ship and got the soldier aboard, they’re hastily ordered off, and shortly after the ship departs, it is also bombarded by dive bombers and sinks. Following this, the plot changes perspective onto a French civilian named Dawson and his son Peter set up their ship to depart in hopes of saving more of the soldiers stuck on the beach. A friend of Peter’s named George joins the two of them without permission. As the three of them are in open sea, they spot a crashed ally plane with a single pilot on the sinking craft and rush to bring him aboard. The shivering soldier tells them of the horrors and the hopelessness of the war and ends up accidentally blinding and ultimately killing George to the dismay of Dawson and Peter. The third plotline involves Farrier, a skilled allied spitfire pilot played by Tom Hardy who begins in a group of three and quickly ends up alone when one is shot down and one ditched after being hit. With a shattered fuel gauge, he continues his pursuit for hunting German planes and ends up saving a minesweeper as well as many other people in danger. 

In terms of filming quality and elements of narrative, Dunkirk is an absolute gem which showcases the best of Christopher Nolan’s genius. The whole film seems incredibly realistic, which was the main focus in my opinion. He achieved this by using a colour palette that seemed extremely accurate to war-time as it was very much grey and grim. The camera work seemed very personal as the majority of the land shots were handheld and the light was mainly natural light which kept things highly natural. There was also very little talking which added to the feeling of loneliness which was known to soldiers all too well in the war. Additionally, Nolan decides to deviate from traditional linear story-lines by introducing three different storylines that all play out at once not directly relating to each other. This provided viewers with a feeling of how individual people didn’t really mean that much during the war and that everyone is vulnerable. It also lets viewers experience the plot from three different perspectives to have an all-encompassing understanding of what happened during the tragedy of Dunkirk. Furthermore, the use of film music was executed flawlessly, as does happen every time Nolan works with the mastermind that is Hans Zimmer. 

The tone and mood stayed fairly constant throughout the whole film, one of gloom and despair which perfectly matched the tone of the actual war. The tone was shaped using the aforementioned grey-focused colour palette and grim nature of the scenery. The film beautifully reflected the emotions likely felt by soldiers during the war including hopelessness and grief. Even at the end, when the two soldiers make it back home, the tone does not lighten up and it seems more like a failure than a success, which it arguably was. While this tone and mood played a massive role in the accuracy of the depiction of the infamous war story, it also is responsible for one of the only negative aspects of the film: it’s occasional boringness. It’s hard to say that Dunkirk was the most exciting movie I’ve ever seen simply due to how depressing and grim it stayed for the entirety of the film. Nonetheless, that does not take away from the general amazement that this piece of art provokes.

Overall, I very much enjoyed and valued this film and without doubt, I would recommend it for anyone to watch. History classes, as well as filming classes of any age and school,  would also find strong value in this film as it not only showcases superb filming quality but also a great deal of accuracy in terms of historical events. All in all, I confidentially give Dunkirk a rating of 9/10. The only factor keeping it from a perfect 10 is the previously mentioned boringness of some scenes. Besides that, it’s truly hard to not call this movie a masterpiece.