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fenristheorem · 3 years

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Lance finding out that Gardienne killed herself? After a while of her being in the HQ again, he has fallen in love with her. She just couldn't bear those seven years, having lost that many people and being here just to save this world by suffering.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, he knocked her door, he worried bc no one answered, and he finds her hanged up.

I know this is really specific, it's just kind of my OC ending😅😅 anyway, I'd understand if you weren't comfortable with this.

So I’m going to talk about the boundaries of what I write for a moment, starting by saying that I will write this BUT I won’t write detailed suicide scenes due to the sensitive nature of it.

This ask isn’t asking for a detailed scene, it’s asking for the effects the decision has on Lance, and because it’s asking for the long-term effects and not a scenario I’m just fine with writing this.

Thank you for asking this, Anon, genuinely. Being this specific was probably what gave me the push to write this in the end because I know you were looking for the reaction and not the actual scene. This is a good example of a post that walks along the lines of what I will and won’t write so anyone requesting future asks with a similar subject gets a better idea of what to ask.

Also, I apologize for how long this took to write. This ask was, unfortunately, the one that spent the most time eaten in my drafts folder so I couldn’t work on it until about a week ago. Fortunately that gave me a lot of time to think over how to best write this, so I think this’ll be appropriately written considering the subject.

*Warning / Note: This post contains heavy depressive themes and suicidal mentions, as evident by the ask and what I wrote above. I’m aware that this is a very sensitive subject and I intend to treat it with appropriate seriousness. This is not a happy post, please only read this if you know this won’t lead you down a dark path. To me, writing is another form of art, meant to express and draw out emotions from the audience, so I won’t subside the intensity of my writing even with this being a sensitive subject. I don’t intend to drive anyone to harm themselves, but I do intend to write with the intensity that I always do because this is my artform; so please prepare for heavy themes or don’t read if you’re not comfortable with this. On a side note: I care about everyone, I really do, so please take care of yourselves. If you’re feeling depressive or suicidal, talk to someone, please. There is always someone who cares about you.

Technically Guardienne's death may have a major adverse effect on Eldarya due to her link with the crystal, but for the sake of this ask I'll ignore any possible effects like that.

~Under the cut~

Lance’s reaction to Guardienne’s suicide:

Lance had seen a lot of terrible things in life and had done many terrible things in his life, but this reached a new type of fucked up for him. Not because it's truly disturbing - although it is deeply disturbing - but because it fucked him up even more in a way that he neither thought could be possible nor that he could bear.

He’s convinced that he’s cursed; everything that’s happened to him has been his fault. He started the war within Eldarya, destroyed so many faeries’ lives, killed his own brother, and now the woman he loved is dead because of him as well. Sure, he wasn’t the one to tie the rope around her neck, but there are signs for these sorts of things. Was he truly that blind that he couldn’t see that she was in pain? Did he ever truly love her if he couldn’t see the pain? Would she have done anything differently if he wasn’t there to constantly remind her of everything that was lost?

Lance believes he deserves this. He’s caused so much pain and agony for everyone, it only makes sense that he should be the one in pain now. Lance won’t try to fight the agony he’s in, he’ll let himself drown in it for nights on end to wake up - or not even sleep to begin with - feeling exhausted, reckless, irritated and - overall - worthless. He’s sure to emerge from his room in the morning without the slightest hint that he’s been sobbing quietly with the feeling of a dagger twisting itself over and over within his chest all night, and he’ll refuse to answer any questions about if he’s alright after the recent events. He was the one to find her after all; it would make sense that he was hit the hardest...

In the daytime he’ll be rough and withholding, keeping the Obsidian guard in a tight hold to reflect how he needs to hold himself tightly to keep from falling apart. It’s one thing for him feel and express emotions, but this feeling is an entirely different thing; this is something that should not be released into Eldarya. He realizes it and knows that this feeling - something that he recognizes all too well from his past - threatens to destroy everything that he worked so hard to gain in the past seven years.

Mathieu will notice Lance’s change in temperament immediately, and being the kind man he is he’ll want to be there for the dragon, but Lance won’t be looking for comfort; he’ll be looking for something that will change the past and take back everything that happened. But that’s impossible - he knows that - and so he’ll be stuck in a state of limbo, deemed to mourn for his unknown, unrealized love until... something happens to change him.

Ice cold fear will wash over him some days as he recognizes the familiar feeling that haunted him in the past, and while he’ll be aching to reach out to lean on someone for support - afraid of this feeling overwhelming him again - he’ll feel that he can’t lean on anyone. He doesn’t deserve that support at this point after all he’s done, and there’s so many others who are busy grieving; the guard needs him to be strong now. However, on occasion - when he has a clear mind - he’ll grieve gently with someone who’s somewhat close to him, sharing kind memories of Guardienne and gently advising them to spend time around friends if his co-worker feels it’s needed. He’ll never completely break in front of anyone though, he can’t bring himself to.

However, Lance falls apart immediately when he’s alone, sometimes even lingering in the conference room for a few minutes after a meeting to allow himself the private time alone to recollect himself. Grief will randomly hit him throughout the day, constricting his throat, burning his chest, and glassing over his eyes - and every time he’ll excuse himself from his company to isolate himself until he regains control again. This, of course, is taken into notice by a few others around the guard, and slowly there’ll be people who realize that Lance is not fine.

This becomes a further issue over time as his grief slowly turns into anger and disgust, and this is when that familiar, ominous feeling from his past really rears it’s ugly face. He should have seen something. Was he really that terrible to her that she felt she couldn’t trust him? Was everyone really that blind to not see her hurting?

Lance finds that he begins to choose to isolate himself, mentally and physically. He’ll leave the guards members alone that have stated they need time off, but he won’t be very forgiving with those who have chosen to continue their work but seem to be slacking. His mentality is that if you can’t handle continuing on, then don’t offer your service as it’ll become a hindrance, and this quickly becomes a major issue.

Huang Hua - knowing how important Guardienne was to Eldarya, and the guard especially - has let it be known that if anyone needs a break from their responsibilities, then it’ll be allowed, but she will stress that those who feel they can continue to function please try to do so, and be lenient and take on a few responsibilities that aren’t usually asked of them if they feel they can. She can read other’s auras and sense intentions and emotions of sorts, so she can generally get a good read on how someone is doing, but she can’t consistently do that with everyone, so while she’ll use this ability when necessary to enforce that someone take a break so they don’t fall apart, not every unstable case is known to her. This is the main reason why she slightly overlooks Lance for a while. When he first found Guardienne, he panicked immediately, rushing her to Ewelein and not even truly believing her death until many days after the event. Huang Hua - having sensed his shock and panic blocking out any other emotions - let it go for a few days; everyone goes through their own grieving process, some immediately and some not until many years afterwards. There was nothing that anyone could do for him until Guardienne’s death hit him fully. However, she also knew from her abilities that Lance was in love with her, or at very least had a deep liking for Guardienne, so the instant a few members of the guard come to her expressing serious concerns regarding Lance’s recent aggression and distance, Huang Hua knows immediately that it needs to be dealt with. This grief was an unknown factor in Lance’s new life - but his past with this type of grief shows clearly that this can really fuck him up - so it needed to be discussed, otherwise he risks spiraling back into the same place he was seven years ago.

She’ll approach him when he’s alone, or if they’re in a relatively public space she’ll take him somewhere private, sensing all the while the breathtakingly painful feeling of agony, anger and distress that’s clouding his mentality. It was just the same as when he was Ashkore, how did he not yet break? He’ll refuse to follow her if he knows she wants to talk about his emotions - ironic since he’s always been open to sharing his perspective and thoughts - so she’ll just tell him that she needs to talk to him in private regarding a few anonymous tips from some guards members if he happens to ask why.

Being alone with an unstable, emotionally distraught dragon with a history of violence while under heavy states of grief does unsettle her a bit, but she knows the outcome of this will be much worse if he truly feels isolated. He’s not going to reach out for help by himself - he doesn’t know how to, nor does he probably want to - so she needs to be the one to reach out to him and help him stabilize himself before another situation like Valkyon’s death occurrs.

She’ll consider first talking alone with him in his room - where he’d likely feel most comfortable - but considering he’d likely be defensive, that could then translate into aggression in his own territory, and that may lead her to being forced out of his room for her own safety. Lance has certainly changed in temperament, but heavy grieving emotions can blind someone, so there’s really no promising that nothing... destructive may happen, no matter how much he’s changed in patience.

She then considers talking with him in the conference room, but there isn’t a whole lot of privacy there. The conference room is more for business, rather than personal, private, emotional conversations. The last thing Lance needed in this moment was for his emotions to be treated even slightly like a business confrontation and not as an important part of his being. Frankly, even on a day where he’s feeling just fine he would never accept anyone’s emotions to be treated like a business issue, so the last thing she wanted was to imply that by bringing him into a room that could do just that.

Huang Hua then thinks over the idea of talking to him in her room; it would likely be safer, after all. He probably won’t become territorial or aggressive as it’s not his territory, and it’ll be a gentle reminder that she’s happy to welcome him into her personal life to help comfort him (therefore defeating the concern that it could seem like a business confrontation), but since it’s her territory he might emotionally shut himself down. It can be uncomfortable to fall apart in someone else’s room, especially knowing they’re higher ranking and could be interrupted at any moment to deal with something else...

Then she wonders if she should bring him outside of the guard to speak with him - somewhere that’s private and on neutral ground. That way they’d both be in strange territory and may not be interrupted, and if they are they’d receive prior warning by noticing that someone was walking their way.

Of course, Huang Hua then realizes that - no matter how much she’d like to think that she understands what would make Lance most comfortable - she truly doesn’t know what would help him best, but she can be there to provide support at very least, regardless of where they are. At the end of the day, Lance would probably know where he’d feel most comfortable, so when she approaches him to talk, saying that it’s an important but private conversation, she’ll ask him where he would rather talk. He’ll be slightly hostile, especially when he picks up on the fact that she’s going out of her way to word things carefully and prioritize his comfort, but he’ll decide to talk somewhere private outside the guard, where no one is around.

And that’s how Huang Hua finds herself in the middle of the open plains, far away from the guard to talk to a dragon who might as well be stabbing himself with his own dagger with how he’s been allowing himself to feel as of late. She’ll start off gently, telling him the recent concerns of a few anonymous guard’s members and Lance will stand a few feet away and listen coldly with a blank expression until she suggests that he take a few days off. He’ll debate things with her then, and it’ll escalate slowly until Lance is clearly distressed but still unmoving in his decision to remain active, and Huang Hua will know then that she can’t be gentle anymore...

“Lance, take a few days off, for your sake.”

“No.” His tone is harsh and cold as he snaps at her. “The guard needs me, there’s so much I need to do - so much I need to repay-” He didn’t mean to let that last statement slip - after all, his actions certainly couldn’t be made up for, right? - but emotions can be a powerful thing, can’t they?

“You won’t be able to do any of that if you’re destroying everything you’ve helped rebuild in the process.” Lance is pacing, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. Huang Hua - despite her anxiousness at the dragon being so stubborn on decisions made under heavy negative emotions - tries to keep a comforting, open atmosphere to avoid furthering any issues. “You know the pain you’ve cast upon on others, you’ve felt that same sort of pain now and you need to take time to be able to recover from that.”

“I can’t take time, it’s not something I can just accept! Everyone I’ve hurt before never had time to accept the situation before I made it worse, but they still pushed forward! There’s no reason for me to have it any easier!”

“And where would we be if we treated you the same way you used to treat the world? Would we be any better than how you used to be?”

Lance stops pacing but his eyes remain on the ground, his throat constricting as his thoughts run rampant. Would they be the same as how he used to be if they allowed him to keep running himself this way? He’s done terrible things, but he’s spent many years trying to keep that from happening again. Certainly he’s an asset to the guard now, so would it be cruel of them to ignore his distress? Or would it be justified payback for everything he’s done?

“Lance, you’ve done wonderful things the past seven years, and we want you to continue that and I know you want to continue that as well. Take some time off so you can do that without destroying yourself or your environment. Don’t ignore your pain like it’s nothing - it’s not nothing, and you have the resources to deal with it in a better way now. Use those resources, Lance, it’ll help you work your way through this.” Huang Hua’s tone is gentle and soft as she pleads with him, hoping that her blunt words will reach his common sense.

He tries to argue this, stuttering the beginning of sentences to try and disprove her point, grasping for any reason as to why his pain is invalid. However, Lance finds that there’s no sound argument against Huang Hua’s words, and constricting panic, horror, and then heavy tides of grief will hit him as he realizes that he is, in fact, dragging himself into his own downfall. He is his own worst enemy, once again.

In any manner, this is all his fault - his past actions, Guardienne’s distress of what’s changed that lead to her death, his emotional isolation, and disruption of the guard is all because he doesn’t know how to deal with himself and his abyss of emotions. How did this happen to him? He was never the type of person to deny and hide away his emotions, so how is it he ended up caging himself like this when under personal grief? Is it because the situation is so personal to him that he has a hard time allowing himself to seek comfort in others who likely couldn’t understand?

Lance will fall apart at this, closing his eyes and turning towards the ground to keep himself together, but falling apart all the same as grief overwhelms him one final time in a push that throws him over the edge. He’ll clench his fist and bow his head, bringing it over his mouth as he desperately tries to steady his breathing, to no avail as tears find their way from his eyes and his chest heaves in quieted sobs.

Huang Hua will lurch forward to comfort him, but stops as Lance whirls around to step back and snap at her - he didn’t want comfort, he wanted her back!

“Where were you for her!? Why didn’t anyone else see her pain!?” His eyes are tragedy and desperation underneath the weakened cold anger of ice blue, a faint few tears streaking down his face as his voice - thunderous and howling - cracks and breaks alongside his crumbling rage. If he couldn’t have fixed this, then someone else could have - why didn’t anyone fix this!?

“You know it’s not morally correct to monitor everyone’s private emotions all the time. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t allow my people their privacy?” Huang Hua stills and clasps her hands together at her waist, understanding Lance’s outward anger. However, she realized his statement signaled something else as well; Lance could no longer fight why he should allow himself to grieve, so he was desperately clinging onto some semblance of needing to be distant by turning it to be someone’s fault - someone that he could hate. “You are right in a way; of the many people who knew her, someone might have been able to catch how torn up she felt, but people who wish to hide their pain, or spend so long hiding their pain that it becomes a part of who they are, learn how to hide their pain in ways too complex for others to realize. And, Lance, if she didn’t want anyone to know about her grief, there wouldn’t have been much that I could have done anyways.”

“You could have helped her!” The dragon’s voice was weakening as he spoke, distant anger being replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness as he realized the truth in Huang Hua’s words.

“Only if she was ready for that help. You can’t force someone to accept help, you can only wait for them to allow themselves to be helped.”

“She wouldn’t want me to find relief during this time...” He looked away toward the ground and hung his head, blinking rapidly as he began to heave for breath. There must be a reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way .

“Do you think she would have wanted everything good you did - whether she knows what you did or not - to be destroyed because of your grief for her?” Lance’s eyes squinted closed and he tilted his head a bit further away from the phoenix. It seemed as though every reminder of everything good he’s done continues to leave him with a hollow chest. “I think if she witnessed firsthand everything you’ve done the past seven years she would have thought very differently about you now than what she did when first having woken up from the crystal.”

Lance turns to face his back towards her, resting a palm on his forehead before brushing his fingers back through his hair as a tremble rolls through him. He could feel pressure rising from his throat as he bared his teeth in an agonized snarl before parting his mouth to silently gasp for air. His head tilted back to look at the sky, only for a few tears to fall from his eyes when he releases a shaky breath.

“Lance, your situation with her was very unique - no one else could begin to understand exactly what you’re feeling from your history with her. Take some time so you can understand it - and fix, or do, or feel whatever you need to - so you can carry forward knowing yourself better.”

He wanted to fight her statement, but his moral compass argued with his resistance on this as well. If anything, of whatever terrible things came as a result of her death, there should be some good sought from it as well. What’s the point of accepting a tragedy if not to learn something from it as well, even if it’s something quiet that no one else knows you learned?

For the first time in a long while - if not ever - Lance allows himself to break and be comforted. He lets himself embrace the burning, stinging pain that rises in his chest as he turns his head back to the ground and collapses on his knees. Huang Hua immediately reacts and is by his side in moments, on her knees and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as she leans against him slightly. Sobs escape his throat as his body tenses and curls forward slightly, bracing a hand on the ground to steady himself as tremulous waves of emotions - any and all emotions that could possibly be named - wash over him and leave him gasping for air.

“I miss her, too.” Huang Hua’s voice shakes now as she leans further against the dragon, bringing her arms as far around him as she can while her head rests against his shoulder, away from the spines on his pauldrons. Lance brings his other hand up and tightly grasps the forearm reaching across his chest.

Huang Hua had spent so much time trying to help others through this that she had completely forgotten to make sure she was alright as well, and seeing Lance - the man she least expected to be torn apart by this situation - completely break and fall apart before her eyes reminded her of the true depth of their loss. They didn’t just lose Eldarya’s savior, they had lost a friend, a great warrior, one of the last angels, someone who was pure at heart and wasn’t afraid to face the darkness of life without so much as a blink of hesitation. They had lost someone who gave everything for the world, and suffered because of it.

Minutes merged until they were unsure of how long they spent in the fields, but in time both of them calmed down. Lance - now able to think clearer on the subject - began to reflect on the situation.

“This wasn’t her fault... the blame is on all of us, for not having seen anything... but she must have known that someone would have been there for her if they knew how much she was hurting...” He murmured this quietly, waves of shame washing over him again as he realized he was perhaps pinning some of the blame on Guardienne. Was there really anyone to blame here? She must have known that someone would have been there for her if she sought help, but it’s not right for others to pry into the personal life of another if the intrusion is unwelcomed, and who was to say she wanted help in the first place? Had she given up? Would anyone have been able to stop her to begin with? Who was to blame, if there was anyone?

“There’s nothing we can do now except honor her and move forward.” Huang Hua whispered back with a shaky voice and Lance faintly nodded his head. There were many things that worked together to lead to this happening, and in between there also were moments where something could have helped deter it, both by her doing and by others. At the root core, everyone and anyone could have helped stop this in some way, even if it was by giving her a small passing smile that could have helped remind her that there is good and hope in the world, but there’s also no guarantee that anyone could have stopped it. Regardless, this is how things happened. They can’t change the past, but they can move forward with her in mind and learn from this.

Lance - despite his heavy grief and complex emotions on everything - begins to soften himself to the situation. He’s not the only one grieving. His situation may have been the most complicated, but he’s still in the same boat as everyone else. He doesn’t feel the need to sob alongside the others anymore, but he does find that whenever the group he’s in begins to fall apart into wailing, he’ll bow his head and won’t hide the obvious pain that he’s in at the reminder of his lost love. His feelings for Guardienne will be kept quiet, and he won’t openly say how he felt about her - it could still be seen as wrong in the opinion of some people for him to have fallen in love with the same woman he hurt so much, especially knowing her pain is what led to her death - but he won’t deny the truth of his feelings to those who caught on somehow. Lance will find that he’ll slowly begin to mend after this death, many months after of course, but it’ll happen, and in some ways this will help him move past his brother’s death as well. After all, in the end both Guardienne and Valkyon came to accept their final moments in life before allowing Lance’s past actions to bring about their end, and although one chose to die to help mend him and the other chose to die to help relieve herself, the root issue of the situation that led to their death was still very similar. He’ll have a hard time allowing himself to move past the fact that his actions played a major part in both deaths, but he realizes in time that that’s what happens when someone has a violent past. It’ll haunt for many years, and the effects of it can never be reversed, but in the end this only inspires him to work harder to provide a better world. Maybe he can’t erase what he did, but he can make sure it doesn’t happen again and work to provide Eldarya with as much good as he can provide now.

Without a doubt Guardienne’s death hits him hard, but he’ll be sure to come back twice as strong from this.

I hope you like this, Anon! I feel Guardienne’s suicide would definitely hit Lance hard and remind him subtly of Valkyon’s death, but I don’t see Lance being held down by this for too long. He’d heavily grieve for her for a good while before he eventually finds himself standing on two feet again and powering his way through life, if not for his own sake then for the sake of others, both alive and dead.

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 37 - SBT

Here it is!

"If it isn't the Sun King of singing, Lulu!"

Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy before turning to the man who called him.

"I am glad you and your friend came."

Through the vampire costume and make-up, there was no doubt possible. It was Arthur Duchemin.

"Ah, good evening, Monsieur Duchemin." Lucien extended his hand. "Please meet my dear friend…"

"Mike." Mundy answered. "Name's Mike."

"Ooh, a local at that, hm? I see you haven't lost your time, Lulu! But it is to be expected from such a successful singer as you are…" Duchemin chuckled. "Come on, you can call me Arthur." He shook hands with Lucien and Mundy. The Aussie gagged behind his mask. Thank God he was wearing the white gloves… "Oh and I see your glasses are empty. What would you prefer, champagne? Wine?" Duchemin went on.

"Wine, please." Lucien answered.

"For Mike too?"

Mundy was gobsmacked. Here he was. That brute, that bastard, that heartless piece of filth, and dressed as a vampire at that! Well, we'll see who will bleed dry at the end of all that, eh.

"Mike, what will you take, dear?" Lucien asked.

"Uh, y-yeah, yeah wine's fine."

Duchemin made a gesture and a waiter made haste.

"Please, pardon my friend." Lucien tried to cover it up despite knowing exactly what had gone through Mundy's head. "Him and I were just marvelling at this place, Arthur, really, this is a wonderful palace you have." Lucien looked up and around at the immensity of the venue.

"Oh, it isn't much. I used to have even better than that back in France." Duchemin answered, sipping on his champagne.

"Really? What made you leave?" Lucien continued the conversation as the waiter came back with two glasses of red wine.

"Ah, thanks." Mundy took one and handed it to Lucien.

"Well, I didn't like it there. And people started noticing me a bit too much. I prefer a much more reserved way of life." Duchemin answered.

"And yet you enjoy this kind of party?" Lucien asked, sipping on his wine. "Hm, not bad… Is this a Bordeaux by any chance?"

"It is!" Duchemin answered. "I didn't know you were quite the connaisseur, Lulu."

"Well, I do come from that region after all." The spy answered with a smile.

"Ah, oui, indeed, I remember you telling me so." Duchemin nodded. "By the way, you should go outside and have a stroll in the parks, you will see, they will remind you of your own Jardins de Versailles." The criminal raised his glass.

"Oh, will they? Then Mike and I will surely have a look. Many thanks, Arthur."

"My pleasure, and please, enjoy yourselves."

"We will." Lucien answered. "Although, I do have a question if you don't mind."

"Yes?"

"What are you celebrating with this party?" Lucien asked.

"Well I have sealed a very fruitful deal with some collaborators and wanted to celebrate this success with them and other friends."

"Ah, my congratulations, then." Lucien shook his hand again.

"Thank you. Now, I'm afraid I must go and greet other guests."

"But of course."

"I will see you later, no doubt." Duchemin said.

"Surely." Lucien said and the criminal left. "Meanwhile, Mike, dear, let us enjoy the parks, shall we?"

Mundy nodded and both left the ballroom to get some fresh air in the gardens. Indeed, they were very similar to those at the Palace of Versailles in their style. They were a vast French garden. Hedges and bushes geometrically cut to form shapes and motifs that looked like they were traced with a ruler and set square, if one could see it all from the sky. It was all very green and punctuated by the white of the jasmine, the red of the roses, and the multiple spectrum of colours of the tulips and other flowers.

A few people were scattered here and there on top of security agents in uniform. The sky was as dark as blue could get, sprinkled with stars, but the gardens were nonetheless well lit with lanterns, candles and the like.

Lucien and Mundy strolled along sufficiently to be quite isolated from the rest of the guests. The Frenchman went to a bush with flowers.

"Hm, roses." He smelt a flower and cut it from the branch to put it on his waistcoat.

"Roses? Roses?!" Mundy finally broke his long silence.

"Oui, those are roses. They are my favourite type of flowers. What is wrong with them?"

"Mate…!" Mundy walked a few metres away and Lucien stared at him.

"What?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Mundy burst out.

"With me?" Lucien repeated.

"Yeah, with you! One minute you're so mad about the bloke you could have broken your teeth cause you were clenching your jaw so hard; the next, you're havin' small bloody talk with him like you've been his friend forever?!"

"I told you, Bushman. Not everyone has it in them to be able to do what I do and I warned you. This will be a hard night for your nerves."

"What the hell are you?! How on Earth can you be like that?! Are you an actor or something?"

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't matter what I am. What matters now is do you think you can pull this off with me or shall I call a taxi for you and you go back to your den of a van?" Lucien asked, irritated.

"And what will you tell Duchemin when he'll see that you're now alone?"

"I'll tell him that my dear Mike, because apparently that is your name, how unoriginal, was inconvenienced and would rather get a bit of rest!"

Mundy's hands flew faster than his thoughts and he grabbed Lucien by his collar.

"You shut your mouth about that name." He growled, furious, his fists pulling on the Frenchman's attire.

"Why? Ah yes, I understand it is the first and forever gift that your parents gave to you, but still - argh - Bushman, I am warning you, if you do not let go of me, I will have to call not a taxi, but an ambulance, and it won't be for me."

Mundy had Lucien's collar in his white gloved fists and was clenching hard around the Frenchman's neck.

"Mike isn't my name, you mongrel."

Lucien raised a curious eyebrow and Mundy let go of him. The spy dusted himself off.

"It was my dad's name. His name was Michael. Everyone called him Mike."

"Why give Duchemin your father's name?"

"I don't know. But when I heard that piece of filth say his name, I just…" Mundy lowered his head. "I don't know."

Lucien came closer to Mundy and looked up at him.

"I understand."

"How d'you do it? How d'you stay so calm?"

"This is my profession, M. I was trained and I excelled at it."

"What kind of job is that?" Mundy stared at the light blue eyes through the holes on the mask. He could see the lights of the candles dancing on the icy irises.

"A very delicate one." Lucien simply answered. "Anyway, are you alright? Do you think you will manage? There is no shame in thinking it is too hard. But please, if you do wish to stay, be extremely careful and don't let incidents like these happen again. It could cost us the success of this whole operation and more importantly, our lives." Lucien's voice had been soothing, calm.

Mundy nodded.

"Yeah, it won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"It is fine. He still doesn't suspect a thing." Lucien tapped his shoulder. "Come on now, I imagine you are getting hungry. Let us get something from the buffet back inside."

The Frenchman turned on his heels but felt a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" He turned to face Mundy again.

"Just… Thanks."

Lucien softened.

"What for? Avoiding us getting spotted? Consider it a professional courtesy, and a payback."

"Payback for what?"

"That day you saved me." Lucien smiled and Mundy couldn't see his lips purse up. Yet he did see his eyes shine brighter and grin too, in their own way, between the long dark eyelashes.

"Yeah…"

Both of them walked back through the park and reached the palace again. They walked up the marble white stairs and got inside.

"Ah, there's the food." Mundy pointed in front of them.

They went to the tables and helped themselves to a variety of what the Aussie would describe as fancy, overpriced and ridiculously tiny sandwiches and nibbles. They filled their white and golden cardboard plates and went to a small table with stools.

"Are you seriously gonna keep the mask on to eat?" Mundy asked.

"Oui." Lucien answered as he put his gloves in his pocket and started eating. "Hm, quite good."

Mundy rolled his eyes and smiled. He removed his mask and shook the locks of hair that fell in front of his face away before digging in.

"So, if your name is not Mike, does it at least start with an M at all?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, it does."

"Marcel?"

"Ew, sounds posh."

"It is a French name."

"That's why then. But no, that's not my name."

"Hm. Mathieu?"

"You mean Matthew? Nah… Hm, those little sausages are good, go on, try them, Spook - uh -" Mundy looked left and right, in fear that someone heard him. "I mean… Luv'." Mundy blushed and lowered his head to his plate, hiding his face behind his hand.

He saw two fingers creep up to his plate and steal one of the sausages. He followed them up to Lucien's mask, under which they disappeared.

"Hm, you are right, they are quite tasty without being too salty. You have a good sense of taste, dear."

Mundy blushed. And he forgot he wasn't wearing the mask so Lucien saw it all.

"Have a go at those canapés. The salmon is exquisite." Lucien said.

"Alright… Thanks, eh."

The Frenchman chuckled as Mundy ate the little toast with smoked salmon.

"What? Hm, by the way, yeah, that's good. The sauce thingy under the salmon's very fresh."

"Seeing such a tall man as you blush is entertaining. And yes, the garlic paste gives it an extra punch."

"I'm not blushing. It's just hot under this bloody costume…"

"Of course." Lucien chuckled.

"It's true!"

"As true as Michael is your name, oui."

"Spoo- uh… Anyway…"

"I see you are not a fan of vegetables, hm?" Lucien asked, looking at Mundy's plate.

"Depends."

"Please try these carrots. They are fresh and the dressing sauce isn't too oily."

Mundy raised an eyebrow but did as he was told.

"Hm, yeah, the sauce is good, a bit on the acidic side, but good."

Lucien smiled.

"Quite the palate you have."

"Hm? Well, can't you feel it? And it's not vinegar. I think it's lemon juice, I prefer it."

"Such a gift for tasting and you did not become a sommelier…"

"A sum of what?"

"A sommelier, an expert with wines." Lucien explained.

"Yeah, well, I didn't really think it was an option. And being arrogant about food isn't the national sport here, Spoo- uh, luv'." Mundy got chills. He couldn't see it but behind the mask, Lucien had the sweetest of smiles.

"I understand. Tell me, you mentioned that your parents owned a farm. Was it their profession?"

"Yeah, they had chickens and geese, rabbits too when I was a kid. But as I grew up and they grew older, they just did chickens and geese. They had a bit of fruits and veggies too but the surplus wasn't enough to sell at the market, so they just gave it to Maurice and his people. Mum would make jams and all kinds of stuff with what we had in the garden."

"What kinds of jam?"

"Strawberry, pear, apricot. Apricot's my favourite but she was the only one who knew how to make it right."

Lucien smiled.

"And you, what about your parents?" Mundy asked.

"Ah, well. My father was a successful lawyer and my mother used to work as a dressmaker. One day my father took a suit to be adjusted and that's how they met. After they got married, my father was enrolled in the Great War and he died there, leaving my mother with a baby."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. I grew up and wanted to become a sin-... An artist. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer or a doctor. I refused. We fought endlessly about this even after my mother married another man. He tried to force me to choose one of those professions."

"What did you do?"

"I ran away." Lucien answered.

"Wow… I'm…" Mundy was taken aback. "So you weren't born rich?"

"Yes, I was. But when I disappeared, I started from scratch again, as you say in English. I had no money, no friends or acquaintances."

"D'you still have news about your mum?" Mundy asked.

"She died a long time ago now."

"Oh… Sorry."

"Hm."

Lucien's eyes had fallen on his plate. Mundy wanted to cheer him up and looked left and right to see what he could do. His eyes fell on his plate and saw the last sausages. In Lucien's plate, a few carrots remained.

"Oh?" Lucien got surprised when he saw Mundy swap their plates. He raised his eyes to the Aussie who started eating the carrots.

"What? Go on then, you liked the sausages."

Lucien smiled sweetly under the mask.

"Thank you but here, you liked them too." The Frenchman pushed the plate in the middle and they both finished the carrots and the sausages together.

"What did you do after that?" Mundy asked, as he put his mask on again. "D'you mind helpin' me again with this thing?"

"Of course…"

Mundy came off his stool and went to his friend. He gave his back to him and the Frenchman tied the mask behind his head, making sure it would be safely secured and wouldn't push the ponytail.

"Thanks, mate. So…?"

Lucien raised his eyes to the lagoon blue ones riveted on him. He did not want to answer that question. Non. Not only was he not proud of what he was, but it would put Mundy in danger. Non, he wouldn't tell him the truth on his job either.

"Lulu!"

Both men turned their heads to the vampire coming to their table. This time he was accompanied by half a dozen other people in costume.

"You see, my friends, this is the prodigy I have been talking about!" Duchemin said to his cohort, pointing at Lucien. He turned to him and Mundy. "I hope I am not disturbing your dinner."

"Not at all, we were just finished."

"Ah, may I have your expert opinion on something, Lulu?"

"But of course. How may I help?"

"It's the orchestra I hired. Follow me, I'll show you."

Lucien and Mundy followed the criminal through the busy crowd until they arrived close to the band playing some jazz tunes.

"You see, they were warmly recommended to me but I find that they're lacking something, you know…" Duchemin said, with his hands on his hips.

"I find that they are good for such an event." Lucien answered. "You have to consider that almost no one is paying attention to their music anyway. The point for them is to cover the noise of people's chatter, provide some background of their own. They are not to produce a concert that will be closely listened to."

"Ah, I guess you are right. But don't you think it lacks the emotion, the punch?" Duchemin asked.

"Oui, it certainly does, but it makes sense for the occasion." Lucien answered.

"You know what? Why don't you give me and my friends here a taste of what a real professional can do, hm?"

Mundy's blood froze. Duchemin was really convinced that L was Lulu and that he could sing. But there was no way on Earth that posh snob could!

"Oh," Lucien chuckled. "I am not warmed up at all and I haven't prepared anything I'm afraid."

"Who needs all that faff anyway when you're the great Lulu, hm? Come on, I guess you will need the piano, won't you? Hey, you there!" Duchemin hopped on stage and started to talk to the orchestra.

Lucien started to breathe heavily. Merde. He hadn't seen that one coming. He wasn't very anxious about singing or playing in itself. Non, something else, something much heavier and much more serious might happen…

"Hey."

Lucien got startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I-I'll try and help." Mundy said, before raising his head to Duchemin. "Hey, Arthur?"

The vampire who was addressing the jazz band turned to him.

"Yes?"

"I can play the sax instead of Lulu singin'. See, the man's a perfectionist. He, uh, he doesn't like singing without proper warming up and all… He won't feel right if he doesn't ace it, see?"

Lucien's jaw dropped behind his mask. He knew Mundy was too shy to pull off something like that. The jazz band had stopped and all the eyes were turned to the stage now, where Duchemin, his friends and Mundy and Lucien were standing. Non, Lucien could even see Mundy's fingers shaking in apprehension. He would screw it up without a doubt.

"Leave it to me, Mike." He answered as he walked to the piano and put a hand on Mundy's shoulder. "Just pass me a microphone, we will adjust it in front of the keyboard and I will sing something."

"You sure?" Mundy's voice was all but confident.

"Absolutely." Lucien however, sounded as sure as he could ever be.

Mundy gulped down hard but obeyed. He took a microphone and helped Lucien while Duchemin took another one and started introducing him to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to introduce an immensely talented singer to you tonight. Please, a round of applause for the great Lulu!"

Mundy came close to Lucien's ear as they both fixed the microphone.

"Look, you gotta make your jaw loose, relax your cheeks and let the sound come out as best as you can, ok?" Mundy tried to reassure his friend.

"M?"

Mundy and Lucien's eyes locked as the microphone was now standing correctly.

"Yeah?"

"Please, forgive me." The Frenchman said.

"Forgive you for what? You'll be fine. I'm here and it's gonna pass, just do your best, mate, you got this." Mundy squeezed Lucien's shoulders one last time before leaving him.

"The floor is yours, Lulu! Take it away!" Duchemin said in the microphone.

Lucien's distraught eyes made a strong impression on the Aussie. He went in the crowd and stayed right in front of the now almost empty stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lucien started. "Thank you very much for your warm welcome. I must say that I did not really prepare anything for the occasion, but I will do my best for you."

He cleared his throat and bit his lip behind his mask. That was it. It was time for his show to go.

Lucien took a deep breath and his fingers started gliding on the keyboard. Mundy opened wide eyes. The bastard knew how to play, eh? But did he only know how to sing?

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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dark-and-kinky-hetalia-scenarios · 5 years

Text

1p Scotland/Allistor Kirkland

How you meet

You would meet Scotland at a bar, where he’d be sitting and smoking while staring at his glass of whiskey, he wouldn’t notice you at first and it would most likely be you who initiates the first conversation, but after he has seen you he is obsessed, he’ll talk to you through the night and somehow manage to get your number.

Kidnapping

Kidnapping is a must for this man, he will invite you out and as you’re waiting for him in a dark alley, he’ll come up to you from behind and sedate you with a chloroform rag. The last thing you will remember is the smell of cigaret smoke.

S/o as a captive

Scotland is going to keep you in his apartment that smells like whiskey and cigarettes. You will be chained to the bed in the start and he will come feed you every day and bathe you with a wet cloth.

Scotland is going to drink a lot at home so you better be careful not to anger him, if you behave he will be soft and sweet, if you misbehave he will be hell on earth Scotland is not someone you want to anger, his punishments are ruthless and violent. The mildest ones include burning you with a lit cigaret.

Rival

Scotland isn’t keen on having a rival, but he understands why someone else would be interested in someone as wonderful as you. This doesn’t mean he’s going to let the rival live, oh no, that person is going to get their head smashed with an empty bottle, and then they will be drowned. No one is ever going to see them again.

What type of Yandere

Scotland is an obsessive yandere, he wants to all to himself and he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty

Nsfw

Scotland will at first leave you alone, but when he gets drunk enough he will try to force himself on you, you can either go along or knock him out and effectively piss him off in the process. Once you and him have established a sexual relationship, he will start taking you in public, fx in a public bathroom or in a dark alley, he just can’t hold himself back, he wants to hear you moan his name while there’s a risk of getting caught.

2p Canada/ James Mathieu “Matt” Williams

How you meet

You will most likely meet at a hockey game, you’ll be sitting there cheering for your team or hell even be a player. Your eyes will meet for a second and he won’t be able to get you out of his head. He’ll come up to you afterwards and try to start up a conversation with you, he’ll try to appear both manly and polite. Matt will be smitten with you and will try his best to get your number, if that doesn’t succeed then he will follow you home.

Kidnapping

Yes, Matt is going to take you away and bring you to his cottage, he can’t stand the thought of you being out of his grasp and he isn’t the type to sit around and wait for someone else to take you. He’ll knock you out with his hockey stick and carry you to his home.

S/o as a captive

Matt is going to keep you at his cottage out in the canadian wilderness, and when he’s out hunting poachers, he will leave Kuma to “protect” you, nonetheless you aren’t going to be leaving the cottage and if you try, then Kuma is going to sit on you.

Matt’s punishments involve tying you up and leaving you out in the snow until you’ve learned your lesson.

Rival

Matt’s reaction to having a rival is a hard “fuck no”, he does NOT take it well at all. He’s very possessive and he does not want anyone to touch his sweet maple.The rival is going to disappear quickly, Matt is going to drag the rival out into the canadian wilderness and leave them there. If he’s really pissed then he’s going to let Kuma eat the rival.

What type of Yandere

Matt is a possessive yandere, he wants to keep the world away from you and protect you. He also wants to own you and he isn’t afraid to tell you that, you belong to him and only him.

Random fact

Matt will allow you to call him James

Nsfw

Matt loves cute things and it shows in his sexual preference, he’s into pet play and will make you dress up as a cute kitten for him, he will of course be your master and if you’re nice he’ll treat you like a princess. If you’re a misbehaving kitten, then he will have to punish you accordingly. Matt also likes rough sex, mostly when he’s angry or stressed.

#Hetalia #Yandere Hetalia #Hetalia lemon #1p Hetalia #2p Hetalia #hetalia headcanons #hetalia scenarios #yandere scenario #yandere headcanons #1p scotland #aph soctland #2p canada

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selfship-uncharted · 5 years

Photo

The Fugitive part XI - A quiet time

part I - part II - part III - part IV - part V - part VI - part VII - part VIII - part IX - part X - part XI - part XII - part XIII - part XIV

A/N: Thank you so much as always for your support! A/N2: English is not my first language. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC (Claire Russell) Warnings: a little angst, drunken people, fluff Words: 2,593 Tags: @asiramhera @missdictatorme @zoilalove213 @avast-you-dirty-dog @lowkeyofsassguard

Special thanks to @asiramhera for being my beta-reader. Tons of love for you!

Theodore stood up from Claire’s bed, fixed his pants’ zip and left her alone in her bedroom not even looking at her once. Claire didn’t move, she was laying on her bed with shaking legs after the unwelcome intercourse. She closed her eyes in frustration letting rage tears roll down her cheek. She felt so miserable, so disgusted with herself. The urge to get clean invaded her and rang the bell to make Marianne come. The maid didn’t take long to appear on her nightgown and helped her madam to clean herself. During the process, tears didn’t stop falling from Claire’s eyes. “I need to get out of here…” She mumbled to herself.

“And how do you plan to do that?” Géraldine sat on her chair in front of Claire in the living room of Beaubois mansion. “Where will you go?” “I don’t know…” Claire exhaled feeling hopeless. “But I can’t endure that ever again.” “Mr Cornwall won’t let you go that easily. Nor your father who spent quite a fortune to get a deal with him. He won’t risk losing it.” “I know…” Mathieu, the butler came in with a plate of tea and pastries for both ladies. Claire kindly rejected them, she wasn’t hungry at all, her emotions made a knot in her stomach and wasn’t able to eat anything at the moment. Géraldine gladly accepted her tea. “I can lend you some money if you need.” Géraldine sipped her tea. “But I need to know your plan first. I don’t want you to do anything stupid.” Claire nodded absentmindedly, she had to think of something, she was unwilling to accept having a child of Theodore, to live like that. No, there might be a way to get away from all that.

Claire stepped in her house feeling how that big mansion made her feel insignificant. Some voices came from her husband’s office. Getting closer she recognised the voices of Theodore and Leviticus Cornwall. She tried to listen to what they were talking about. Their conversation was heated. She heard something of cargo from the Cornwall Oil field. To be sold in Saint-Denis port for a lot of money. A hatred feeling invaded her, it would be a pity if something would happen to that cargo. Claire immediately thought of Arthur. She needed to talk to him, that information would be useful to him and his gang. “How is the other matter going?” Leviticus voice woke her up from her thoughts. She didn’t know what was the other matter but deep down she could easily imagine it. “Working on it.” Theodore simply answered, he didn’t sound interested in that conversation. “You keep me updated.” Leviticus took his belongings and went straight to the door. Claire hid in the next room. “If she is of no use…” He turned around to his son with a menacing tone. “Yes, father.” Theodore replied bitterly. “No need for you to say it.” “Mr Russell played us well giving us that whore.” Leviticus voice was full of hatred. “And you, you better learn to control her.” Claire froze at those words scared of what might happen to her if she made a false step. She slightly opened the door from her hideout and saw Leviticus Cornwall leaving her house. She ran up the stairs to her room and took a piece of paper, a pen and wrote down a message to send to Arthur. “Marianne, please, could you send this note as soon as possible.” She gave the piece of paper to her maid, Marianne bowed at her and went away.

Arthur Morgan was waiting for Claire in the saloon of the east of Saint-Denis, the most humble part of that big city. For that, Claire borrowed some clothes from Marianne and used Arthur’s bandana he gave him some time ago to cover her neck. Her coach stopped just in front of the tavern. “Hey.” Arthur greeted her when she stood in front of him. Claire looked at him and a storm of feelings shook her. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, and cry her heart out and at the same time, she didn’t want him to touch her or even see her after what happened last night with her husband. “You okay?” He asked when he saw her face. “I need a drink.” She stated with a deep sigh. Arthur followed her inside the saloon. There was quite a lot of people that night and music too. A pianist and a violinist were playing some happy tunes. Claire pushed her way to the bar and ordered some strong drinks for her and Arthur. “I don’t have money, you will have to pay for it.” She spat to Arthur without looking at him, she didn’t pretend to sound that rude but it was stronger than her. Arthur looked at her puzzled and dropped some coins on the bar. The bartender served them the drinks and Claire drank in one shot. “Another!” She ordered hitting the bar with the glass. “Wow, easy girl!” Arthur tried to stop her but she already drank her second shot. “Just, don’t tell me what to do! That’s the last thing I need from you.” She turned to him for the first time she entered the saloon. Her eyes were read fill up with tears. Arthur was taken aback not knowing what to do or say. He got back to his drink. “I- I ain't good with those things…” Arthur mumbled scratching his beard. “but if you need to talk…” “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She took another shot. “But I’m not ready to talk… not yet…” “Okay…” He sighed. “But you better take it easy or you won’t last long.” “If I get too drunk, which is actually my intention, I know you will take care of me.” She kept drinking. “I ain't leaving you all the fun to you.” He drank his whiskey in one shot too and ordered another round. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea but Claire was strange, he had never seen her like that. He would drink with her but he would also keep an eye on her. The musicians started a polka and some people started to dance. Arthur looked at them and then back to Claire. He rubbed his nose, he drank his whiskey in a shot and turned to Claire. “Wanna dance?” He asked her. Claire surprised looked at him but didn’t have time to say anything that Arthur took her hand and dragged her to the centre of the dance floor. “Huh, Arthur, I don’t know the steps…” She worried starting to feel dizzy for all the alcohol. “It’s okay, I dunno them neither.” Arthur took her from her waist and pulled her close to him, starting moving following the music. From time to time, he made her spin and slowly her smile came back to her and turned to silly laughter every time she tripped on her feet or bumped into his chest. Arthur also smiled at her sight, he made her spin once again and she tripped on her feet falling in his arms. She stupidly laughed as alcohol started to make her headlight. Arthur leaned forward and kissed her. He wasn’t sure why he was doing that but he felt the urge and maybe it was the alcohol running in his veins but he couldn’t control himself. A shy smile appeared on Claire’s face but soon Arthur covered it with his mouth again, he could not have enough of her. “I’m going for a drink…” She sighed as soon as he let her catch her breath. “I ain't letting you go…” He whispered holding her tightly. “Geez, Arthur, I should have got you drunk sooner…” She laughed. “Who says I am drunk?” Claire bit her bottom lip feeling the red burning her cheeks. She took his hands from her waist and dragged him to the bar to order more drink. She knew she was pushing herself with so much alcohol but the need to forget last night was strong and it seemed that alcohol was helping her. “Hey,” Arthur grabbed her hand that was already holding another filled glass. “Ya know… ya can talk to me…” That soft voice, that gentle touch brought tears to her eyes, she fought them back, she didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. She wanted to be the light-hearted lady who was always smiling at everything, even at bad times. “Why do you keep saying that?” She freed herself from his hand. “I’m perfectly… Okay!” She took her drink in one shot with such eagerness she bumped into a stranger behind her making his drink spill up. Arthur and Claire burst into laugh for they had too many drinks to think straight. The stranger a tall man looked at her annoyed but when he saw it was a drunken lady his expression changed. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. Claire tried to get rid of him. Arthur stopped laughing and pushed the stranger to the wall grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Take yar hands off her!” Claire stepped forward in front of Arthur annoyed. “Come on, Arthur!” She protested. “Because I am a woman you think you always have to protect me? That I’m defenceless?” Arthur confused looked at Claire who suddenly threw a punch to the stranger leaving Arthur completely speechless. “Nice hook!” He whistled praising her. “Ow! That hurt!” She shook her hand in pain. “B'cause ya ain’t doin’ it right, princess.” Said Arthur. “Look,” he grabbed the man again by his shirt. “Ya’ve to close da hand like this, see?” Claire nodded exaggerating the movement. “And when ya punch ya’ve to follow the movement with yar hips, like this.” Arthur punched the man again making him fall on the floor. “Ya see?” “Yes, I think I got it.” She said sure of herself. Arthur nodded at her and raised the man again whose lips were bleeding for that punch. “Then yar turn.” He showed her the man’s jaw. “Please… I didn’t do anything….” The man begged. “Oh, ya won’t leave da lady without her lesson, will ya?” Arthur pushed the man even more against the wall with a menacing tone. “No, no…” He said raising his hands defenceless. Arthur smiled at him sarcastically and turned to Claire to invite her to punch the man. “Okay..” Claire took a deep breath, closed her fist how Arthur just taught her, tried to imitate the hip movement and she finally stroke the man making him fall on the floor. “That’s ma gurl!” Laughed Arthur lifting her from the ground. “She broke ma nose!” The stranger covered his bleeding nose being unable to get up. “Hey! Leave our friend alone, you drunkards!” Two other men appeared behind them, one of them grabbed Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur turned around and removed the hand on his shoulder. “Or what?” Arthur’s reflexes weren’t in his best conditions and couldn’t dodge the punch thrown at him. He nearly fell on the floor but one of the two men took him immobilizing him by his arms while the other started to punch his face and belly. “Hey!” Claire protested trying to free Arthur but all she got was a push that made her bump against the wall hitting her head. “Ya piece of shit!” Arthur used the strong grip from the man he got behind him to kick the man in front of him. He freed himself from the grip and punch the other man on the face making him fall. He straddled him and started punching him again and again. The other man came behind Arthur and wrapped his arms around his neck strangling him. Arthur tried to free himself but he couldn’t. Claire got up and took a bottle that was standing on the bar and hit that man on his head making him fall unconscious. Arthur recovered his breath and looked at Claire who was feeling dizzy unable to stand straight leaning on the wall. Her face told him she was ready to throw up. Arthur took her hand and dragged her in the back alley of the saloon and let her threw up all the alcohol she just consumed. “I told ya to not drink that much….” Arthur was rubbing her back with one hand trying to make her feel better and holding her hair with the other hand. “And that fast…” He chuckled trying to not sound like he was scolding her. “Cornwall wants an heir…” Claire confessed, still leaning on the wall ready to throw up more. Arthur didn’t say anything, he didn’t quite understand what was she saying. “He wants me to have that child….” Tears started rolling down her cheeks and Arthur understood what was happening. “And I don’t want it… I hate him, I don’t want him to touch me ever again… It was so disgusting… I hated every second of it… I just can’t….” She let herself fall on her knees sobbing uncontrollably holding herself trying to erase the memories from last night with her husband. “I feel so dirty…” Arthur not knowing what to say sat down by her side and wrapped her in his arms trying to appease her pain, but the more he shushed at her the more she cried her heart out. He held her tighter feeling the frustration of not being able to do anything and the rage against Cornwall to inflict her so much pain. Suddenly the saloon door opened and the men who Arthur fought minutes before emerged followed by policemen. “There they are!” The broken nose man pointed at them. Arthur felt helpless, Claire was sobbing in his arms unable to stand up and he wasn’t going to leave her there. He sighed. “Everything will be all right.” He whispered in Claire’s ear as the policemen arrested them.

Minutes later they were sitting in a police coach road to the police station. Claire stopped sobbing but she didn’t say a word for a while and Arthur was getting worrier. He didn’t care for him to go spend the night to jail, he had been there too many times to not care anymore, he was worried for Claire. She was in such a mental state that broke Arthur’s heart. They were soon put in different but adjacent cells, the police told them to stay still and maybe the next morning they will be free to go, depending if those three men put charges on them. “I’m sorry…” Claire whispered when they were left alone in their cells. “For what are you apologizing for?” Arthur got near the bars that were separating them. Thankfully the gap between the bars was enough for Arthur’s arms to go through them and he could reach her face to caress it. “If it wasn’t for me….” She continued staring at the floor. “We wouldn’t be in this mess.” “Nonsense.” Arthur cupped her face and lift it to make her look at him. “None of this is your fault.” Claire’s eyes were filled with tears again. “I feel so lost, Arthur… I want to just go away, but I don’t have any other place to be…” Silent tears fell down her cheeks and Arthur held her as much as the bars allowed him. “It’s okay…” He tried to smooth her. “Why don’t you try to sleep a little?” Claire nodded. They both sat down next to each other, holding hands. Claire fell asleep

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #claire russell #the fugitive #art post #rdr2 oc #rdr2

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junker-town · 4 years

Text

Chiefs-49ers is a head vs. heart Super Bowl

Photo by Michael Zagaris/San Francisco 49ers/Getty Images

Retired NFL lineman Geoff Schwartz breaks down who has the edge in Chiefs vs. 49ers and gives a final score prediction.

I’ve been in Miami since Monday, soaking in all the sights and sounds of Super Bowl 54. I’ve had the week to discuss, ponder, and study for the big game on Sunday between the San Francisco 49ers and Kansas City Chiefs. I’ve identified how each team will win this game, and then I’ll give you my prediction at the end.

Let’s get to it.

What the 49ers do well

The 49ers have a balanced team. On offense, Kyle Shanahan is the master at adapting his offense to attack the defense. He understands better than any offensive coach what reaction he will get from a defense to his formation and play concept.

Shanahan’s offense is more traditional than most. He uses a fullback and tight end, and enjoys rushing the football. Shanahan schemes his run game for success by formations, shifts, and motions, which allow his linemen to have good leverage before the ball is snapped. A staple of their run game is outside zone. However, the Niners do mix in gap schemes, like trap and some power, plus they’ll pull a tackle on a toss play. It’s truly a diverse scheme.

In the pass game, they’d prefer to use the run action to set up play-action pass and the screen game. According to the fine folks at Football Outsiders, San Francisco’s pass game DVOA is eighth, while the rushing attack is only 13th. Even though the Niners would prefer to major in the play-action pass game, Jimmy Garoppolo has shown the ability to throw the ball well in the dropback pass game. Look no further than their wins over the Saints, Seahawks, and Rams. He was great in those contests. He’s not a liability.

The 49ers’ defense is outstanding. Their overall DVOA is second in the league.

The Niners play a majority of zone coverage, Cover 3, and some two-high looks. They prefer to rush four and play with zone behind it. Then on third down, they add an extra defender to the rush. They are second against the pass with this formula. Their run defense is solid, coming in at 11th.

This is a defense that can be beaten with speed, so it’s been important for them to get home with their four pass rushers. They struggled at times this season as their schedule got tougher, but they also dealt with injuries. They’ve been healthy of late, and it showed in the playoffs when they shut down the Vikings and Packers.

What the Chiefs do well

The Chiefs are an offensive juggernaut. Led by gunslinger Patrick Mahomes, the Chiefs love to pass the ball with their speedy wide receiver corps and future Hall of Fame tight end Travis Kelce. Unlike the 49ers, the Chiefs have their staples they run each week. They will tweak formations and concepts slightly, but they are going to run their vertical concepts.

The Chiefs’ offensive line has been terrific at protecting Mahomes in the playoffs, and that will be critical on Sunday. Their rushing attack is middle of the pack, but I think it’s been much better recently. Above all else, though, they are a passing team.

Their defense has improved mightily over the course of the season. When you have a new offense, it takes 8-10 games for that offense to get rolling. It appears the Chiefs’ defense has followed this theory as well in Steve Spagnuolo’s first year as the defensive coordinator.

Their pass defense has taken a huge jump in just one season, led by safety Tyrann Mathieu, who can do it all for their defense. He will play in the box, in space, over a tight end of receiver. He’s the engine of their sixth-ranked pass defense. The Chiefs can rush the passer well, but they still struggle to stop the run, a weakness that will need to be strong this Sunday.

Who has the edge in the 49ers’ offense vs. Chiefs’ defense matchup?

The 49ers are going to attack the Kansas City linebackers, and probably right away. I think the 49ers will start the game with multiple play-action pass attempts, finding ways to get their speedy receivers into areas of the field where linebackers have vacated because of the run threat.

Throughout the game, expect the Niners to find mismatches with their running backs on linebackers, including using their fullback Kyle Juszczyk out of the backfield on screens or vertical concepts. The Chiefs have been known to bite hard on play-action fakes, which lets the tight ends or backs be matched up on slow-footed linebackers.

The Chiefs’ defense will need to be stout against the run, because no matter how much Shanahan wants to pass the ball, he will get back to the rushing attack. The Chiefs will need huge games from Chris Jones and Mike Pennel inside, and Frank Clark will need to set the edge. I’d look for the Niners to use some gap scheme, including trap and wham plays, to get after Jones. This would make him a step slower in the run game, as he’d be looking for that next trap block.

If the Chiefs do stop the run, Jones will need to be huge in pass rush. The 49ers’ weakness on their offensive line is their interior, and that is where the Chiefs have an advantage. A wild card for the KC defense, and someone who the Niners will need a plan for, is Mathieu. He’s going to be impactful in the game, but I’m not sure where on the field that will happen. It could be anywhere.

In the end, I think the 49ers’ offense has an advantage over the Chiefs’ defense in both playcalling and execution.

Who has the edge in the Chiefs’ offense vs. 49ers’ defense matchup?

The Chiefs are going to do what they always do on offense. They will use their speed down the field to create issues for the defense. Most expect the San Francisco defense to mimic the Chargers and attempt to take away the middle of the field.

The Chiefs will line up in a 1x3 formation, with Kelce being the 1 alone into the boundary. Most often, with the route concepts the Chiefs use, Kelce ends up facing man coverage. I think Kelce will be a huge part of the game, because like most defenses that face the Chiefs, they’d rather let Kelce get smaller chuck plays than Tyreek Hill get large ones.

The Chiefs will be creative with finding ways to get Hill the ball anyway, like — as suggested by Greg Cosell to me — using him as a running back and putting him up the seam to take advantage of a linebacker mismatch.

The most important part of the Chiefs’ offense is their pass protection. The Niners’ sole focus will be getting to Mahomes, as their secondary won’t be able to handle the Chiefs’ passing attack if Mahomes is given too much time. The 49ers prefer to rush four, and if they can get home with those four, they will win the game.

People have asked me all week how I expect the Chiefs’ offensive line to scheme against the Niners’ pass rush. It’s simple: win your one-on-one matchups. That’s what makes the 49ers pass rush so tough. Their four top rushers can all win their individual matchups. Outside of Mitch Schwartz at right tackle, this would be a concern for the Chiefs’ offense.

The 49ers’ ultimate goal is making Mahomes uncomfortable in the pocket, via any pressure they can generate. But, and almost more importantly, they need to keep Mahomes in the pocket. As a defense, you can live with Mahomes throwing darts from the pocket. It’s hard to deny those are going to happen. The throws that are backbreakers for the defense are the ones where Mahomes is out of the pocket, often hitting a receiver for a big gain. The 49ers must not let Mahomes do that.

There are two ways the 49ers can rush the passer. The first is the “patient” rush. They constrict the pocket from the inside, while the edge rushers go high, then back inside to the level of the quarterback. This rush keeps Mahomes in the pocket, and it allows for secondary reaction by the defensive linemen to get to Mahomes. It also requires the defensive backs in zone coverage to hold up, which is the weakness for the 49ers against the Chiefs’ speed out wide.

The second way is to attempt to win now, and whoever doesn’t win understands they need to clean up if Mahomes is missed and heads into the space vacated by the rush. I believe this will be the 49ers’ preferred method to rush the passer, because it’s the best way to avoid having the secondary protect for a while. When the 49ers rush this way, I’d watch for middle linebacker Fred Warner to sit in the middle of the field and spy Mahomes, making sure to add late to the rush to keep Mahomes from making out-of-the-pocket plays.

For the Chiefs, who will be trying to slow a pass rush, running screens and draws is useful. I’d expect Andy Reid, who’s always got screen tricks up his sleeve, to get creative.

My final prediction

Assuming turnovers don’t become a theme of this game for one team, my head tells me that the 49ers are better equipped for this matchup. They are better on defense and control the line of scrimmage. However, my heart is screaming Chiefs, who have the best player on the planet right now in Mahomes under center.

Since the first three drives of the Texans, the Chiefs have scored on 13 of 16 drives, if you exclude kneeldowns to end the games. That’s amazing.

Mahomes is locked in right now and the Chiefs are excellent off a bye with Reid. They will leave Miami as the Super Bowl winner.

Score prediction: Chiefs 38, 49ers 34

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allthevmff · 5 years

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Danse Avec Moi

by Heavenli24

Neptune, California, February 1985

"C'mon, Grandpa, tell it again." The excited, wide eyes of his young grandson look up at him pleadingly the boy tugs at his sleeve. "Please?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You really want to hear the same old, boring story again?"

"Please, Grandpa?" his ten-year-old granddaughter pipes up from her position on the floor. "And it's not boring, it's romantic."

"Romantic, huh?" he smiles, tilting his head to one side in thought. "Yeah, I guess you could say it is."

"So, will you tell it?" seven-year-old Matthew asks again.

"Okay." He fakes a long-suffering sigh. "I'll tell it."

"Yes!" Laura punches the air, jumping up from the floor and settling herself beside him on the sofa.

Matthew follows suit and curls up at his other side, and as he wraps an arm around each of them, he smiles.

"All right, then," he says. "Are we all comfortable?"

"Yes, Grandpa," the kids chorus in unison.

"Right then. It all started in the summer of 1942…"

A small village in France, not far from Paris, July 1942

The small, rural pubic house was filled with locals, drinking and laughing in an attempt to forget that a war was raging outside. In the corner of the pub was a young woman, sitting alone, a glass of red wine placed delicately on the table in front of her as she flicked through the pages of a well-worn book. She was very pretty; blonde, petite… and American, though she didn't advertise that fact, which was helped immensely by the fact that she spoke fluent French with barely a hint of an accent.

In fact, only one person in the pub was aware of her foreign heritage—the young bartender named Pierre who had accidentally stumbled across her mumbling to herself in English as she scribbled in her notebook last week. She'd shown up in the village about three weeks ago, looking for a room in the guest house attached to the pub, and she'd been here ever since. She'd claimed she needed a break from her busy Paris life, though ever since Pierre had discovered she wasn't French, his suspicions over her real reason for being here had been growing steadily.

Glancing over at her now, her legs crossed, one heeled foot bouncing as she read, Pierre was tempted to approach her, maybe offer to buy her a drink, see if he could find out anything about her. His thoughts were cut short, however, by the sound of shouting from outside.

The door burst open then, revealing a gasping, young Mathieu—the landlord's son—sweaty and out of breath.

"Come. Come quick," he said breathlessly, gesturing to the occupants of the pub. "There's been a crash."

"A crash?" Mathieu's father, Jean-Claude stepped out from behind the bar, as Pierre took a step towards the door. "What do you mean?"

Mathieu leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. A moment later, he straightened up. "A plane's gone down a couple of fields away. It's on fire."

"Merde!" exclaimed Jean-Claude. "Any survivors?"

"I don't know. But we have to help."

"Okay." Jean-Claude took charge. "Anna, look after the bar," he told his wife, then turned to the room. "Guillaume, Mathieu, I need you to hook up the hoses. Pierre, fetch the first aid supplies."

"Of course, Jean-Claude." Pierre nodded quickly and turned to head out to the back.

"We'll meet outside in five minutes."

An hour later, the blaze from the plane was under control, and several volunteers with torches were spread out, looking for any sign of survivors.

"It's no use," sighed Guillaume after several long minutes of searching. "It's too dark. Even if someone is out here, we won't find them in this light."

"No, we need to keep looking," insisted Pierre. "If anyone is here, it might be too late by morning."

He shone his torch across the field once more, not expecting to find anything, but then he saw it: a flashing light.

"Hello?" he called out, making his way towards the light. "Is someone there?"

This time, there was a weak, muffled shout, and Pierre broke out into a run, following both the light and the sound. He stopped abruptly when he came across a man lying in the grass. He was wearing a flight suit and aviation goggles, and a parachute was tangled around his body. There was blood trickling down his face and he was wincing as he tried to move.

"It's okay," he said, kneeling down beside the man. "We're here to help. Can you tell me your name?"

The pilot just looked up at him in confusion and bewilderment, before muttering in halting, hesitant, heavily accented French, "Je ne comprends pas." I don't understand.

"Is okay," Pierre switched to the small amount of English he knew. "We will help."

"Merci." The pilot managed a jerking nod before his eyes slid closed and he passed out.

Pierre looked up at the group of people gathered around them. "Let's get him back to the guest house."

The pilot woke with a groan, his eyes blinking open slowly, as his surroundings came into focus. As he tried to move, his shoulder twinged in pain and he looked down to see his arm in a sling. What the hell happened?

Lifting his head, he took in the flowered wallpaper, the thick, velvet curtains and the metal-framed bed he was propped up in. What the fuck? This isn't base camp.

"Where the hell am I?"

"Ne vous inquiétez pas, vous êtes en sécurité," came a voice from the other side of the room. Don't worry, you're safe.

He looked over to see a young man standing in the doorway, gesturing towards him.

"I'm sorry, I don't…" he stopped, trying to remember the limited amount of French he'd been taught before being sent here. "Uh, désolé… je ne… parle pas français. Je… suis …Américain." Sorry, I don't speak French. I'm American.

"Je vois," said the man with a nod, before switching to English. "My English is not so good. I am Pierre."

"Where am I, Pierre?" he asked, wracking his brain for the right phrase. "Um… où.. suis-je?"

"Le Meux," said the man.

He nodded. "And what happened to me?"

Pierre shook his head, holding out his hands in an uncomprehending gesture.

"Right." The pilot let his head fall back against the pillows. "You don't understand me. Shit."

Pierre's expression turned lost then, as if he didn't know what to do now, but then he straightened, his eyes lighting up like he'd just had an idea. Holding up a finger in a 'wait right there' signal, he ducked out into the hallway, leaving the injured pilot alone in the room.

"Right. Okay, then."

Thinking quickly, Pierre rushed down the stairs and into the main bar area, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the person he was looking for. Crossing the room quickly, he slowed as he approached the blonde, a little nervous about what he had come to ask her.

"Uh, excuse me, mademoiselle?" he asked in French.

She looked up from the notebook she was scrawling in and then smiled kindly when she saw him. "Ah, good morning, Pierre. How are you today?"

"I actually…" he stumbled over the words. "I have a—a favour to ask of you."

"A favour?" She frowned, looking a little guarded. "What kind of favour?"

"Well, you see… you know about the plane crash last night?" started Pierre. She nodded. "Well, we found someone. The pilot. He was still alive, so we brought him back here."

"Okay…"

"Well, the thing is, he doesn't speak French, and my English is terrible, and so I was hoping you might be able to translate for us?"

"Translate?" Her voice didn't give anything away, though she raised an eyebrow. "And why would I be able to do that?"

"Look…" Pierre slid onto the chair on the other side of her small table, glancing around the room to check no one could hear them, before leaning in. "I know you're American."

"You, what?" Her eyes widened, glancing furtively around. "But I haven't… how did you find out?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I may have overheard you talking in English in the courtyard last week."

"Shit," she muttered, looking to him urgently. "Does anyone else know?"

Pierre shakes his head. "No. Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

She visibly relaxed at that.

"So, will you help? With the pilot?" he asked, tone almost pleading.

She looked for a moment like she was going to refuse, but eventually, she gave a slow nod. "Okay. I'll help. What do you need me to do?"

"Thank you." Pierre smiled, standing from the chair. "Come with me?"

As she followed Pierre up the stairs to the guest house bedrooms, she wondered what she was getting herself into. This was supposed to be a deep undercover assignment. No one was supposed to know she was an imposter, that she wasn't a normal French girl just trying to escape city life during the war. But now Pierre knew she was American, and she was about to offer up her translating services for an injured, English-speaking pilot.

You couldn't make this up.

Pierre stopped in front of one of the rooms.

"He's in here," he told her, gently opening the door and gesturing for her to enter.

As she stepped inside the room, the occupant of the bed—a young man, maybe early-20's, with his arm in a sling—startled, obviously not expecting to see her, before groaning in pain and slumping back against the pillows.

"Who are you?" he demanded to know, his accent American. "What's going on?"

"Mademoiselle is here… to help you," said Pierre then.

She took a step further into the room, pasting a smile onto her face. "Hello."

His mouth dropped open in surprise. "You speak English? Oh, thank God."

"I do." She nodded. "Pierre asked me to translate for you. I'm Veronica."

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. "Lieutenant Echolls. US Army Air Force."

"Well, very nice to meet you, Lieutenant." She held out a hand to him as she took a seat in the chair beside the bed. "Do you have a first name to go with the rank?"

He gave a soft, almost incredulous laugh as he gingerly reached out to shake her hand. "It's Logan."

"All right. Logan." She smiled. "So, can you tell me what happened last night? Pierre says your plane crashed and they found you in a nearby field?"

Logan frowned.

"I remember taking off yesterday evening," he said slowly, frowning in concentration. "Everything was fine, until… well, until it wasn't. I don't know what went wrong, but I was losing altitude fast and I just acted on instinct, pressed the eject button and hoped for the best."

Veronica nodded, then turned to Pierre and translated Logan's words for him.

Pierre nodded. "Tell him the doctor visited last night, when he was unconscious. He has a broken arm, and a concussion… and there's a possibility he might have a leg fracture as well."

"What's he saying?" Logan asked, looking between the two of them.

"He says that the doctor came by to see you last night. Your arm is broken, and maybe your leg too. You also have a concussion. I guess you hit your head when you ejected."

"Well, isn't that swell," he muttered, letting his head drop to the pillows behind him. "So, I'm stuck here in the middle of nowhere, France, huh?"

"Well, it's Le Meux, France, actually," she corrected with a soft smile. "And I'm sorry."

"That's life, I guess." He gave a sigh. "Just my luck."

"Look on the bright side," she added. "At least you're not dead."

The next few weeks passed incredibly slowly for Logan. As it turned out, he had broken his leg as well as his arm, and he'd been going stir crazy stuck in the guest house all that time. At least he had Veronica to keep him company. She was a godsend—the only one in this damn place who actually spoke English well enough to hold a conversation. She mostly left him alone during the daytime, but she always showed up around dinner time with a tray of food—enough for two—and she would sit with him while they ate, then keep him company late into the night.

They played card games, and board games, and talked about a lot of things—like what it was like growing up in Southern California, which surprisingly, is where they were both from, and what their life dreams were growing up—but even so, he still felt like she was keeping something from him.

She knew all about his decision to join the Army Air Force, about how he left to get away from the clutches of his abusive father, and that he wanted to carry on his maternal family legacy, but when it came to talking about why she was here in France, she became uncharacteristically mute. From her reluctance to talk, her insistence that no one else must know she was American, and from the way she flicked through and scribbled in that notebook of hers when she thought he wasn't looking, he could only assume she was undercover intelligence of some kind; perhaps military, but he wasn't sure.

After about a month of being cramped up in the guest house, his arm mostly healed, and his leg not far behind, he was finally allowed to venture down the stairs and into the bar area. Of course, now that he was outside the secretive confines of his room, he couldn't actually acknowledge Veronica as anything other than a fellow bar patron, which also meant he had no one to talk to, other than when Pierre would come sit with him and attempt to improve his English.

Veronica, for her part, played the quiet French girl bit flawlessly, constantly burying her nose in a book and paying Logan no mind whatsoever. So, as refreshing it was to have a change of scenery, he found he could only manage an hour or so sitting alone in the bar before he couldn't stand it any longer and headed back upstairs.

A week later, however, as he was nursing a beer in the bar, he looked up and caught Veronica's eye. She tilted her head in the direction of the door and raised an eyebrow in invitation. He nodded almost imperceptibly and after a couple more minutes, he watched discretely as she stood and headed out of the bar, passing his table and stealthily slipping a note into his hand on her way. Logan gave it two more minutes, before he opened the note, careful not to let anyone see it, and then haltingly made his way into the guest house and out of the back door there.

"Hey." Veronica smiled as he slowly approached the large, wide log she was perched on out in the wooded clearing she'd pointed out to him from his bedroom window last week.

"Fancy seeing you here," he returned, easing himself down onto the log, resting the walking cane the doctor had given him alongside.

"Sorry," she apologised softly. "I wanted to talk to you, and I figured you could use some fresh air."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," he replied. "This… being outside… it's well worth it after being cooped up in there for weeks."

"I can imagine." She nodded.

Folding her hands in her lap, she looked down at them. Logan glanced over at her, taking in her pale green fitted, button-down dress, the long skirt flowing around her calves, and the way her rolled hair fell around her shoulders when her head was dipped. She was wearing bright red lipstick—same as always—and it struck him then how much it suited her.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured.

Her head shot up at that, her eyes wide as she looked at him in surprise.

"Sorry," he apologised quickly. "I didn't mean to—it's just… well, it's the truth. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, both inside and out."

Her lips twitched for a moment, before her eyes narrowed and she muttered, "Wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Come on." Logan reached out, sliding a hand over hers. "Don't sell yourself short."

"You don't know me, Logan," she said, even as she took his hand in both of hers. "You think you do, but you don't."

"So, tell me."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't okay. So, please, just leave it."

She lifted her eyes, locking gazes with him, and he can't resist any longer. He reaches out, pushing her hair behind her shoulder, before resting his thumb against her cheek, cupping her jaw in his hand.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she swallowed audibly. "Logan, this is a bad idea."

"What's so bad about it?" he wondered. "There's something between us, not even you can deny that."

"No, I can't," she admitted, "but that doesn't mean this is the right thing to do."

"It feels right," he said, leaning in a little closer, until their lips were barely an inch apart.

She sighed, relenting. "Yeah, it does."

Logan smiled. "So, we're in agreement?"

"We are."

"Good."

He didn't waste a moment longer, just closed the gap between them, capturing her soft, lips in a warm kiss. She responded immediately, kissing him back eagerly. He slid his hand around to her neck, up under her perfectly coiffed curls, holding her close. They kissed for what felt like an eternity, but when she eventually pulled back, Logan still groaned at the loss of her touch.

Breathily heavily, Veronica let her forehead rest against his, her hand coming to his cheek. "Logan…"

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "Please, don't ruin the moment."

"I'm sorry," she apologised softly. "I—I have to go away for a while."

He straightened. "Go where?"

She shook her head sadly. "I can't tell you."

"For how long?"

"I don't know," she said regretfully.

Logan nodded on resignation, looking down for a moment, before lifting his head to her. "But you'll come back?"

She smiled then. "Of course."

Veronica was gone for three weeks. Three long, agonising weeks. Pretty much the only upside of her absence was that by the time she finally returned, Logan's body was almost completely healed from his injuries.

It was late at night, and he was sitting in the bar, the place empty apart from Pierre who was sitting opposite him, attempting to hold a basic conversation in French—the man had kindly been teaching him some more of the language in the last few weeks, while Logan helped him with his English—when she finally walked back into his life.

The moment she appeared in the bar, looking as beautiful and elegant as ever, Logan smiled widely, sliding out of his chair, and walking, cane-free, across the room to her.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he greeted, coming to a stop before her.

A bright smile lit up her face. "Bonjour, Monsieur."

"Je suis très heureux de te voir," he said, stumbling over the words a little. It's so good to see you.

Her smile widened, her eyes sparkling. "On dirait que tu exerces ton français?" Practicing your French, I see?

"Huh?"

She shook her head with an amused smile. "Never mind."

"You came back," he murmured, almost in wonder.

"I said I would."

"I know." He nodded. "Just wasn't sure if you actually would, you know?"

"I keep my promises, Logan," she assured him, looking him up and down. "Well, you look great. All better now?"

"Pretty much." He nodded, before lowering his voice. "Tu m'as manqué." I've missed you.

"A moi aussi." Me, too.

Behind them, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor captured their attention, and Logan turned to see Pierre giving them a wink as he picked up a record and placed it on the gramophone in the corner of the bar.

As the first strains of music filtered through the room, Logan held out his hand to Veronica.

"Danse avec moi?" Dance with me?

"Avec plaisir." With pleasure.

His smile widened into a grin as he led her to a space in the middle of the bar floor and took her into his arms. As they swayed to the music, Veronica's arms looped around his neck, rising up on her tiptoes so she could kiss him, he realised in that moment, that this was it. He was going to marry this girl.

Neptune, California, February 1985

"And that's the story of how your grandmother and I met," concludes Logan.

"No, wait. That can't be all of it," protests Laura. "It was just getting good."

"Maybe not," Logan agrees, glancing over at the doorway to the kitchen, where Veronica is tapping her watch impatiently. "But that's all we have time for right now. Looks like Grandma has dinner ready."

The kids scramble off the couch and race into the kitchen, leaving Veronica to call after them, "Don't forget to wash your hands before you dig in."

As Logan gets up off the couch, stretches his aching limbs, Veronica turns back to him and crosses the room, meeting him halfway.

"That was quite a story you were telling there," she says, slipping her arms around his waist. "I think maybe I've heard it somewhere before."

"Heard it?" Logan questions in amusement, his arms coming around her now, mimicking her position. "Baby, you lived it."

"And what a life it was."

"I wouldn't trade it for the world." He brings one of his hands up, running a finger along the neat curls she still wears in her short, greying hair.

"Me either," she murmurs, looking up at him with smiling eyes. "Danse avec moi?"

"Avec plaisir," he replies, "but maybe not right now… we have hungry grandkids to feed. But later, when we have the house to ourselves, we'll dance all night long."

via AO3 works tagged 'Veronica Mars (Movie 2014)' https://ift.tt/2XNwzUV March 20, 2019 at 11:36PM

#IFTTT #Feedly #veronica mars fanfic #vm fic

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anestiefel · 4 years

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Barcelona: 10 tips for staying safe when visiting

‘There are very few aspects of Barcelona that I dislike. I love the beaches, especially in the summertime when the water is as warm as a heated pool. I adore the architecture from Gothic to Gaudi, which reaches back to Roman times and still dazzles me after many years living here. It’s also a pleasure to walk down the streets and hear a jumble of languages representing numerous cultures.

And the food and wine? Don’t even get me started on how much I love it!

But no place is perfect. That’s just not how life works. There’s a difficult side to even the sweetest destination. We’ve talked about a few of the negative aspects of Barcelona before, but I believe that the most annoying aspect of Barcelona is the petty theft and occasionally more aggressive forms of robbery that take place.

However, don’t let these minor safety issues discourage you from visiting this wonderful city. Instead, keep safe with these Barcelona safety tips.

Barcelona safety tips to follow for your next vacation

By following these Barcelona safety tips, you can have a better chance of avoiding any risky situations.

1. Watch your luggage

I’ve never seen it happen, but I’ve heard of luggage thieves on the AEROBÚS, the bus that connects downtown Barcelona to the airport. You don’t necessarily need to sit with your bag between your legs, and in some cases that may be seen as impolite, especially if the bus is very full. The AEROBÚS has a luggage rack; you should store big bags there.

My advice is to sit as close to the luggage rack as possible so that you can keep an eye on your belongings. Of course, laptop bags, purses and cameras should all go in your lap, not on the rack.

Graffiti in Barcelona alerting tourists to stay alert. Photo: Mr. Thor

2. Keep purses close

Never place your purse on the floor in a public place. If you are in a restaurant, your purse should be on your lap, not strung across the back of your chair. I’ve seen multiple robberies where a purse was slung over a chair or placed in an empty chair. The thief comes by your table running, snatches the purse and keeps going. You are too flabbergasted to react, plus you have a mouthful of patatas bravas, making it difficult to sound the alarm. You may try to run after him, but he’s faster, knows shortcuts and is long gone in seconds.

I did see this exact scenario go down in an outdoor eatery once. The victim screamed and three men jumped up from a neighboring table to run after the thief, eventually catching him and returning the purse. She was lucky. You might not have three track stars lunching beside you.

3. Be alert when shopping

You should keep an eye on your purse in clothing shops, too. For example, if you take off your jacket and purse in order to try on something without going into the dressing room, you’ll want to make sure that your purse is nestled snugly between your feet, not left unattended on a chair or on the floor. Thieves lurk in shops looking for an opportunity to snag a bag.

4. Choose the right neighborhood

Some areas of the city are safer than others, especially at night. The safest zones are those with few tourists because crime follows the jet-lagged, unaccustomed traveler. The safest areas are L’Eixample and Gràcia. The least safe are El Raval and the Gothic Quarter.

This does not mean that you shouldn’t stay in El Raval or the Gothic Quarter. In fact, they are both vibrant hoods with some of the city’s top nightlife and restaurants. But if you choose to stay in these areas, you need to keep your wits about you or travel with friends.

Related: Is it safe to stay in the Gothic Quarter?

Avoid carrying around large amounts of cash in Barcelona. Photo: Images Money

5. Be careful with cash

It’s best to take money out of an ATM in the middle of the day when lots of people are about. Avoid withdrawing large sums at night from desolate ATMs when no one is around. Also, avoid carrying lots of cash. Instead, leave most of your euros in the safe in your hotel room, and carry only what you need for the day. You will want to have some cash on hand because not all shops and restaurants in Barcelona accept credit cards.

Keep your bag in front of you like this rider on the Metro. Photo: Mathieu Marquer

6. Be aware of pickpockets on the Metro

Unfortunately, many a trusting tourist gets robbed on the Metro. The worst scenario is a packed car when everyone is squished up against everyone else. It’s hard to know in this situation if the tug you feel is a thief opening your bag or just the guy next to you trying to breathe in the cramped space. Keep your purse in your hands or held against your body and keep your wallet in your front pocket. If it’s really crowded, keep your hand on it.

Be aware when getting on or off the Metro. One trick thieves like to play is to grab a bag and hop off, just as the doors snap shut. They have your bag and all of your credit cards on the outside of the Metro, and you’re stuck inside. By the time you get to the next stop and find a police officer, the thief has enjoyed lunch on your Visa.

Another thing to keep in mind about the Metro is where and when you ride it. Late at night avoid the fringe lines. You will be fine at night on all lines in the city center, and there are usually many other revelers around. However, it does get a little wild on Fridays and Saturdays after midnight. Expect teens and college kids sipping booze, smoking joints and cigarettes, and singing off-key in a joyful haze. Mind you, none of this is legal (apart from the singing), but that hasn’t stopped anyone.

Before you run into the water, make sure someone is looking after your belongings. Photo: Mihai

7. Bring a buddy to the beach

The beach is best with a buddy. If you go alone, you won’t have anyone to look after your stuff while you swim. On a crowded day at the beach, ask the closest trustworthy-looking person to keep an eye on your things while you go for a dip. While you are sitting on the sand observing the waves, musing about the previous night’s wild Metro ride, make sure your bag and belongings are in front of you. Visitors make the mistake of setting their bag to their back, which makes an easy invitation for purse-snatchers.

Related: Best affordable hotels near the beach in Barcelona

In addition, be wary of someone who comes up and starts making small talk. Your first reaction should be to locate your bag, camera, belongings, etc. Thieves often work in twos: One distracts you with small talk while the other makes off with your stuff. The thief will keep you occupied until his friend is safely away, and then he will say his goodbyes.

Be aware at night when walking around less populated streets in Barcelona. Photo: Fernando García

8. Stick to the well-lit streets at night

El Raval and the Gothic Quarter are both fun ‘hoods to spend a night out on the town. Bars, clubs, pubs and concert halls abound in both areas. However, El Raval can be dangerous for women alone, especially down side streets. I’ve known many women who have been harassed in El Raval, and quite a few others who have been robbed in the neighborhood. You are better off if you go out with a group of people, or at least with a friend. Stick to well-lit streets with lots of traffic.

In the Gothic Quarter the same rule about sticking to well-lit areas applies. Another consideration in the Gothic Quarter is just how confusing its winding lanes can be. It is easy to get lost in this ‘hood, particularly in the dark after a few glasses of wine. Be aware of your surroundings, look for street signs and keep an eye out for suspicious characters.

9. Carry a copy of your passport

Make a copy of your passport and carry the photocopy around with you. Leave your passport, one of your credit cards, and extra cash in the safe in your hotel room. Remember that in some stores, like FNAC, you will need your physical passport in order to make a purchase with a credit card — but this is the exception, not the rule.

10. Armed robbery is very unusual but can happen

Most crime in Barcelona is of the petty theft variety. Muggings are rare. Guns are not common in Spain, and being held up at gunpoint is not at all common. However, it would be incorrect to assume that violent robbery does not happen. A friend of mine, who lived in El Born, was robbed violently twice in the course of six months. Understandably, these incidents upset him so much that he moved away from El Born. (And, of course, I have other friends who live in El Born, and nothing has ever happened to them.)

The thing is, El Born is a touristy area. There are many hotels and holiday apartments scattered around the ‘hood, and robbers know this. Both of the times my friend was robbed, it was near his house on a side-street in El Born at night. The first time, a man with a broken bottle approached my friend and demanded his wallet. He gave him what he had and the thief disappeared.

The second time, my friend had just returned from a long road trip to France. He had his luggage all about him on the street and had set down his laptop bag to look for his keys. He was standing right in front of his apartment. The thief came over with a knife, took his laptop bag, and then ran off as my friend screamed. It’s hard to say why my friend was a target, but I think it is probably because he looked like he was an unsuspecting tourist arriving late to a vacation rental.

These stories are infrequent, but that does not mean that they can’t happen. I think if someone comes up to you with a broken-off bottle and a deranged look in their eyes, the best thing to do is fork over your money. After all, you stowed your back-up cash safely away in the safe in your hotel room.

Remember: Barcelona is not dangerous

Despite my friend’s grim story, it’s important to stress that Barcelona is not a dangerous place. Let me just state that again: Barcelona is NOT dangerous.

Rife with petty theft, perhaps. Rife with kidnappers and gun-wielding drug lords, no. Plus, there are always lots of people about in downtown Barcelona. Safety comes in numbers. I feel much safer in Barcelona at 2 a.m. than I would in my hometown of Portland, Oregon, at the same time.

To have a trip free of pickpocketing and harassment, pay attention to where you are and where your belongings are at all times. Be vigilant and, at the end of your trip, you’ll leave town with both beautiful memories… and all your credit cards in your wallet.

Your Barcelona safety tips?

Have a tip about how to stay safe in Barcelona? Share with us in the comments section below!

The post Barcelona: 10 tips for staying safe when visiting appeared first on EuroCheapo's Budget Travel Blog.

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privilege-archives · 7 years

Photo

MATHIEU SMYTHE ➝ THIRD SIBLING

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

❖ FULL NAME: Mathieu Emil Smythe. ❖ PRONOUNS: He/Him. ❖ AGE: 21. (April 13th). ❖ BIRTH ORDER: Third. Triplet to Second & Fourth Smythe. ❖ GRADE: Junior. ❖ MAJOR: Counseling Psychology. ❖ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual. ❖ ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic. ❖ FACECLAIM: Grant Gustin.

I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

[[TW for talk of eating disorder, anxiety, hospitalization]]

With fame and fortune being all he’s ever known, it’s no wonder that Mathieu has never really had to worry for much. His earliest memories are composed of flashing lights and people clamoring for his parents’ attention whenever they were out; although Mathieu wasn’t quite about to tell why things were the way that way, versus the lives he saw his friends and people on TV and movies lead, it wasn’t something he ever thought to question. Of course he knew that his mother and father’s professions meant that people looked on them differently than they did most others, and that – as one of their children – there was a certain amount of fame that came with that simple fact. But rather than wonder what it would be like to live a different life, a quieter life, Mathieu let things be. It was simply the way things were. Growing up, his natural disposition was one of quiet kindness and an insatiable wonder for the world and people around him. Though by no means extroverted, Mathieu was known to have a soft-spoken curiosity, and could often times be found reading to himself or striking up conversations with anybody willing to tell him a little bit about themselves, if only because he wanted to understand any and everything he possibly could beyond a surface level.

As he grew older, he kept his sense of curiosity, allowing it to blossom into a charm and charisma that was second nature to him. He still retained an air of privacy, preferring quiet and solitude over the loud raucous that seemed to permeate every aspect of his family, but he easily settled into an identity he’d set for himself: one with a fondness for learning and a desire to help. He was content to fade into the background of his family’s fame, though this desire was often times hard to achieve when he couldn’t so much as leave his home without wondering if it could somehow be used either for or against his parents.

It was around this age that he began to really grasp just what it meant to be a child of the Hollywood elite. The media’s eyes were constantly on his family and, by extension, left Mathieu feeling like every little movement he made was being picked apart and critiqued. Just that thought alone was enough to make him unable to sit still, feeling a constant itch under his skin telling him that he wasn’t supposed to be anything less than the absolute best, not unless he wanted his imperfections to be on display for the entire entertainment world to see. It wasn’t long before Mathieu started to crack, desperately trying to hang on to any sort of control he could find in his life. If anyone were to understand the world view Mathieu’s head began to manifest, they would say he had lost himself, and maybe in a way he had. His childhood wonder and curiosity still persisted, except now, instead of driving him to learn about animals, the deep ocean, cultures and laws and everything foreign to himself, it became a restless search for whatever he needed to do to become the best version of himself, lest he give he paparazzi reason to drag his familial name through the mud. Perfect grades, perfect body, perfect self- that was his goal, no matter what the consequences. It took a drastic toll on his body and mental state, both of which have never been able to reach the level they were at before his gradual decline. Mathieu was well aware that his new view towards eating and his own body was unhealthy. Or rather, it would be unhealthy if it were anybody but himself. He needed it though, and every time he looked in the mirror or saw a photo of himself, it only reinforced that thought more and more.

His life came to a complete stop when he was fifteen. One second, he was arriving home after his usual morning jog, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital with doctors surrounding him, using words like ‘malnourished’, ‘dehydrated’, and ‘anemic’. It wasn’t long before a few answers from his parents and an impromptu meeting with a psychologist that it was finally revealed the damage Mathieu had done to his body over the last two years. His parents immediately placed him in therapy, though not before word spread that one of the Smythe children had been hospitalized due to an “undisclosed medical need” and noting that the latest photos of him showed a rather obvious weight loss. There was little speculation that related back to the real reason, a fact that Mathieu found himself quietly thankful for. He did as he was told, hoping to maintain the family image and keep them happy, though with every pound he gained and every meal he finished, he hated himself more and more. By the time he was 17, he was up to a healthy weight for his size, though his attitude towards food and his workout routines were still cause for concern. Nevertheless, Mathieu did everything in his power to keep himself above the water. He graduated top of his class, and after a bit of deliberation about exactly what direction he wanted to go with his life, decided to attend Pacific State with a concentration in Psychology, hoping it would help him put the past behind him and ignore the constant thoughts that still plagued his mind. It also offered him a refuge away from the spotlight, and it was a safe haven that Mathieu’s younger self could have only imagined.

For the most part, being in college gave Mathieu a chance to rewrite his story. That was easier said than done, unfortunately. After receiving the final grades for his second semester sophomore year, Mathieu started to slip again. It isn’t to the point it was back when he was a teenager, when just walking up a flight of stairs, but his habits have definitely become less than ideal. Mathieu believes he has a wonderful control over it and that it won’t end up like before, and has refused to mention that he might be doing poorly again. Letting people find out about it before was what resulted, in his mind, in him starting to lose his control. This time, it’s not something he’s going to let go of so easily. He can control it, he know he can. Really, he has no choice in the matter.

BABY, THERE'S NO OTHER SUPERSTAR

Mathieu has spent the majority of his life finding the perfect combination of comfortable and stylish. Blues and greys are the main colors of his wardrobe, always keeping himself clean cut and dressed to impress, should he be leaving the comfort of his home. He likes to carry himself tall yet relaxed, hoping to give the impression that he is more sure of the world around him than he actually is. He has glasses, though he can often times be found opting for contacts instead. He has a tattoo on his left wrist, the symbol of the NEDA as a reminder to himself, though he puts quite a deal of effort into keeping it hidden either by long sleeves, a watch, coverup, or a combination of the three.

YOU KNOW THAT I'LL BE YOUR PAPARAZZI

Keaton is a crazy successful director, while Sariah is an equally successful actress.

#privmathieu #privsmythe

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