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twfanfiction2021 · 2 years

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How The Story of Us Unfolds

Imagine One - in which you go on a long overdue night out in London and get more than you bargained for

--- ...and all that counts is here and now. My universe will never be the same... ---

It is a truth universally acknowledged that being a couple of years away from turning thirty and a high ranking member of the singleton brigade officially made you the new modern-day Bridget Jones.

But of course that’s all bullshit and in reality you know that. You’re fully aware that you are not defined by your marital status, your sexuality nor the way you choose to live your life - so long as you don’t murder anyone or join a cult, that is. The Twenty-First Century is a time where no set rules apply - you don’t need to find a husband before you turn twenty and be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen for the rest of your days. It’s a time for opportunity, for setting your own goals for happiness; no judgements, no complaints. You know this; you’re fully aware of this… but sometimes you just have to forget all logic and throw caution to the wind.

You swore to have a detox from men to break that unrelenting cycle of boys who seemed nice at first but really were only after one thing. Or the boys who liked to treat their partners like dirt, like something they could control. You had told yourself over and over again to not ignore the red flags but still you found yourself there - and now quite happily five months into your detox, you are embracing the single life and declaring loud and proud that you do not need a man.

Secretly though you still yearn for The One. If such a guy ever existed. But you’ve convinced yourself he doesn’t and so Bridget Jones was sticking around for the foreseeable.

When yet another member of your friend group gets engaged, you plaster that ‘I’m so happy for you but oh my god I WANT TO KILL MYSELF’ smile on your face. Then you let them convince you to join them on the Hen Night in London for the weekend. The last singleton in your group of five so obviously you need to look hot - or at least your best attempt at looking hot. Fortunately the friend known as ‘The Fit One’ will always step up to do your nails and curl your hair, ‘The Sensible One’ will be there to guide you on appropriate attire and the benefits of a push-up bra to accentuate your figure and ‘The Party Girl One’ will put on banging tunes to get you in the mood while you get ready. As your friend who has recently gotten engaged was known as ‘The Baby One’, you have to push that small fact aside so you don’t get depressed and forgo your reputation as ‘The Funny One’.

It wasn’t your biggest ambition to be known as ‘The Funny One’ in a friend group. But such is life.

The best way to get yourself through such a tortuous evening is to get very, very drunk. Of course. Then when you start shouting out that you are simply loving being a Bridget Jones you assume everyone around you fully believes you. And it doesn’t take you long to achieve your goal - margaritas, tequila shots, fish bowls and mojitos are the way forward and you cheer louder and louder every time another round is brought to your table - the furry Hen Do headband complete with male genitalia on springs bouncing violently with your movements. The look you’re going for is a Classy Bird which makes your detox more required - if you actually do manage to attract a guy that evening, they will definitely not be The One you’re yearning for. Not when you have penises on your head.

The Baby-Now-Engaged One had found a great venue that was doubling up as a karaoke bar that night and one by one your friends get up to sing loudly to a roaring audience - actual talent not actually required. Despite your inebriated state you politely decline the catcalls to take your turn on stage, suddenly feeling bashful and declaring you need another drink before you can even think about going up there.

The Sensible One loses her identity after the fourth fish bowl and officially declares in a slur that she’s “pissed out of her skull” and your head rolls forward to land on the table as the room starts to spin around you. “When are you gonna settle down?”, “this detox has gone on long enough, surely?”, “aren’t you missing sex yet?” and “what happened to that guy with all the parrots?” are just some of the multitude of questions thrown at you that evening and you feel like you could scream and storm out. Instead you call out “Bridget Jones fo' life!” and plonk your head back down, squeezing your eyes shut as the drunken mumbling continues around you.

The mumbling suddenly becomes squealing and you shoot your head up straight to find the source of the mayhem. The Party Girl One is fluttering her hands violently in front of her face and chanting “oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” while The Fit One starts clawing her insanely long acrylic nails through her hair extensions - all eyes in the direction of the bar area.

“What the fuck are you-?” You start but The Sensible One answers quickly.

“Max George from The Wanted is at the fucking bar.”

“No he isn’t.”

“Bloody is.” The Baby-Now-Engaged One seems to forget she is in fact engaged as she literally eye-fucks the back of his head. “I saw him walk in. Oh my god he still looks as fit as he did in the band.”

“Don’t you have a fiancé?”

“I can look, can't I?”

“Technically no. Anyway it’s not like you’d have a chance with Max from The Wanted.” You roll your eyes with a scoff; the alcohol clearly already has a bad effect on your filter system.

“Fine.” The answer is curt and you realise you’ve inadvertently offended her. “You’re the last single one - why don’t we try and hook you up with him?”

“Piss off.” You feel your face heat up. “How do you know he’s even single and anyway if you don’t have a chance, I definitely don’t. Plus I’m still on my detox. No men. Bridget Jones loud and proud.”

“I bet we can at least get him to buy you a drink.”

“I bet you’re full of shit.”

“Okay.” The challenging tone knocks you back for a split second and you blink up as your four friends stand and hover over you in your seat. “I bet we can get Max from The Wanted to buy you a drink and when he does you have to go up and sing karaoke. The full works as well - Ed, Camila and Cardi B.”

“No way. It’s not like it’ll work anyway so why bother.” You know your tone is feeble.

“So confident. Why don’t you prove it?”

Your eyes narrow; you’ve never been one to turn down a challenge especially in a drunken state. “Fine because even though he’s not going to do it, at least I can say I’ve met Max George and he turned me down for a drink. Fans will foam at the mouth in jealousy.”

“He wasn’t her favourite member though, was he?”

“No, she liked the curly haired one.”

“That’s Siva isn’t it?”

You ignore them and stand in what you hope is a graceful and smooth movement but actually you manage to bang your hip on the corner of the table and spill a couple of drinks in the process. You grasp your hip and groan at the pain, limping towards the bar before allowing your friends to grab your arms and lead you to one-fifth of your favourite boyband of the last ten years.

Max visibly jumps as your friends call out his name in a high pitched screech that could cause dogs to howl, and suddenly you feel your stomach somersault as you realise this is not a good idea. It’s actually the worst idea in the history of worst ideas ever. What good could possibly come from this? Sure you’ll meet Max George but you are so drunk it’s embarrassing and lord knows what state you look in. Before you can even try and dig your heels in to escape the inevitable doom, you’re paraded in front of him like you’re the special prize speedboat on a TV game show and he looks amused as he tries to take in four drunken girls who were trying to shout louder than the other.

“Alright, girls. Alright.” He holds up his hands to stop them with a laugh. “Calm yourselves! Incredibly flattered as I am, I have a girlfriend, so…”

“No, that’s okay. We just need you to buy her a drink so we win the bet.”

You giggle awkwardly and lower your chin as Max chuckles at you and you’re suddenly very aware you have bouncing penises on your head. Not the best look when you meet a member of your favourite boyband but at least he was finding the whole thing funny. The Party Girl One starts taking selfie after selfie of the whole affair and you don’t know whether to be happy there will be picture evidence you met Max George, or that that very evidence is going to remind you of the mortification until the end of time.

You need to leave this place before you can embarrass yourself and Max any further. Stepping away slowly from the fray, you squeak out in shock as you feel yourself fall backwards over somebody’s foot but very quickly you’re folded in a pair of arms and brought back upright. “Oh my god!” You call out, grasping onto the shirt in front of you as you try and regain your footing. Your hands find biceps, shoulders… and then suddenly your mouth drops two feet as you meet a pair of bright blue eyes. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Hey! It’s the curly haired one!” You hear in the distance.

He nods towards the voice but doesn’t let go of your waist. “Yep, I’ll take that. I’ve been called worse, I guess.” He looks down at you and you tell yourself to close your mouth before he can look in and discover the contents of your stomach. “Are you okay?”

“Um.” Your mouth is dry. A bucket of water being thrown over you would be most welcoming right now. “I-I’m bloody marvellous,” you finally reply, squaring your shoulders. You can be cool. He may look as gorgeous as you remember him looking but that doesn’t mean you can act like a total fangirl in front of him. He smiles at you and for a moment you feel like you’re the only two in the whole bar - until your friends start pulling on his arm demanding pictures and autographs. You turn and see the look of relief on Max’s face as suddenly focus is shifted away from him but as he turns back to you he holds out a shot glass.

“I hear your singing is astronomical. Apparently it’s worth buying the shot to hear.” He’s the cheeky Manc boy the fangirl you from ten years ago knew and loved and you can’t help but accept the drink despite the consequences. “Bird, she’s gonna do a karaoke number for us.”

“Really?” He looks sceptical and you raise an eyebrow and stick out your hip, grimacing when the aches reappear. You bruise like a peach and that will not look pretty tomorrow. “You’re gonna sing karaoke? Can you even stand straight?”

“Yes,” you slur, poking him in the shoulder. “I learnt all by myself, don't you know. Can walk and everything.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why thank you.” Hands on hips; in your mind you look suave and sophisticated. The portrait of utter perfection. The Sensible One has run up to the stage to put in your request - South of the Border - your party trick. Two-fifths of The Wanted are about to be incredibly impressed by your stunning rendition. You tip your head back and down the shot, puffing your cheeks out as the strong liqueur hits the back of your throat. Shaking your head, you look back at Jay McGuiness and know exactly what you want to say… only your words and filtering system seem to be on the blinker.

“You… you were my favouritest.” You watch as he laughs under his breath and tries to look nonchalant. “Like I had a poster. Well it wasn’t a poster - it was actually a really small picture of you that I kept on my fridge when I was at Uni.” It sounds so cool in your head. “It was only a small picture but I had it laminated.”

“I love the commitment. I’ve never had a girl laminate me before.” His hands are hovering near your waist; you don’t realise you’re swaying from side to side and he’s reaching out in preparation to catch you again.

“And I had all your albums but I’ve never met you before. Oh and I voted like all the time on Strictly. You were sooo good! Your Paso Doble…” You drift off and close your eyes, trying to form words on a level to really highlight your appreciation. “There was a flaaaaaame; it was that hot.” Your arms start moving erratically as you try to re-enact the routine. Max is coughing behind his hand and your friends are clearly cringing in your direction. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m coming across here very well. I am normal, I swear. Kinda normal. Ish. Just a tiny bit weird.”

“No, no.” Jay’s grinning widely and reaches up to flick at your headband. “I’m loving the penis headband, by the way. Very classy.” He leans in close to whisper in your ear and you feel the shiver rippling through you as he does. “So can I have your name, or…?”

“You don’t want my name.” You slap his shoulder lightly, shoving him slightly away as you go all bashful. “You just like my penis headband.”

“If that were true then I’m totally in the wrong kind of bar. Although it's pretty impressive.” He flicks it again. “Looks exactly like mine except mine is miniscule.”

“Oh, Bird, no.” Max groans and shakes his head in despair. Jay blushes automatically in response and goes on the defensive.

“What?”

“That is officially the worst line I’ve ever heard from you. Ever. No wonder you’re still single.”

“Oh, it just came out - I didn’t mean…” He runs his hand through his hair and shuffles on his feet. You smile lazily and find yourself being drawn in… then in a split second you’re pulled away from him and dragged by The Fit One and The Party Girl One towards the stage where the DJ is calling out your name to a cheering crowd. You fold your arms over your stomach and suddenly feel like you want to hurl and you spy Jay moving slowly through the throngs of people towards you.

“Aww fuck.” A microphone is thrust into your hand, your so-called friends join you on stage as the music kicks in and you go into fight or flight mode. You lock eyes with Jay and he gives you an encouraging grin as you lift up the microphone… and do a god-awful rendition with a terrible fake deep voice as you start to sing Ed’s part.

Your confidence grows as you jump straight into the chorus, your swaying getting more and more dangerous though you fully believe you are dancing perfectly to the beat. Jay reacts in a nanosecond and jumps up as you fall forward and he catches you once again. You laugh as he tilts you back up straight and Camila’s verse kicks in.

Naturally you sing this extremely high in a key that hasn’t yet been heard by the human race. “…I saw you lookin’ from across the way and suddenly I’m glad I came, I - oh my god! TW reference! Did you hear that?!” Your excitement makes him dissolve into laughter which only spurs you on further. “I amo… Uh… I don’t speak any Span-ish… la la la la la lando… mmm… green eyes, taking your time, knowing that we’ll never be the same.” He’s looking at you intently and you think you must be bloody alluring in that moment to have someone as gorgeous as him giving you those eyes. Maybe drinking makes you sound better than what you actually do. “…don’t wake up this love is like a dream.”

He grabs the microphone and tilts it towards his face, his fingers gentle over yours and subtly caressing. “So join me in this bed that I’m in, push up on me and sweat darling…” You’re momentarily transfixed as he sings to you, his other hand pressing to your side to ensure you don’t sway too far to the left. It is a possibility - you’re definitely about to swoon.

Only then Cardi B’s rap kicks in and you decide to impress him with your mad rap skills complete with hand gestures Eminem would be proud of. Jay blinks in surprise and grins at you as you take on a deep tone, attempting to sound gangsta. The crowd cheers and applauds your efforts, and Jay has a hand over his face as he tries to suppress hysterical laughter. That really isn’t what you were going for but it doesn’t stop him leaning back into you and nervously requesting your phone number once the song comes to a close.

“You don’t want my number. I have penises on my head for fucks sake.” You whisper back, feeling his breath on your cheek and you close your eyes at the sensation.

“I really do.”

“But I’m on a detox from men. I’m The Funny One and the last single one for a reason. No one dates The Funny One for real and I’m not up for one nighters.” You feel your knees buckle as your body leans in, unconsciously seeking out his warmth. Jay reaches up and takes a hold of your fingers, squeezing gently. “You’ll only break my heart anyway.”

“And what if I promise you I won’t?”

#the wanted #the wanted fanfiction #jay mcguiness #jay mcguiness fan fic #jay mcguiness fanfiction #original character #fanfiction #fanfic #tw imagine #twimagines #thewantedmusic #thewanted

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thewitchblogsworld · 3 years

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#imbolc

☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️

Imbolk marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring.

Imbolk was an entirely pagan festival,

Brigade honors the Celtic goddess of fertility, fire, the midwife and youth.

The name Imbolk is derived from the Old Irish word meaning "womb" or alternatively "eves milk".

There is a small reason why this holiday is celebrated by young people who worship the goddess of fertility, fertility and Bridget. It starts on February 1st and continues until the next day.

According to Irish folklore, the goddess Brigid was born with a fire in her head, and Eves grew up drinking milk,

Following the introduction of Christianity into Ireland, the goddess Bridget was nicknamed St. Bridget.

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

The implication here is that the fertile womb of Mother Earth is ready to give birth to new life as the piglets explode and the small buds turn towards the sun

With the winter light shining through the darkness, this fresh season is a new beginning in spring, a time for sowing seeds and making plans.

Therefore, it is customary to plan all the good deeds of the year during the special ritual on the evening of February 1st.

I will bring those details in another post,

Let's start life a new then

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dollsome-does-tumblr · 3 years

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3, 8, 12, 18!

characters you would marry in an instant? I always find this a hard question to answer because I am so shippy-minded that I just want the characters to be with each other and for me to have nothing to do with it, but here are some characters I find to be PEAK MARRIAGE MATERIAL by my standards:

Henry Higgs from Selfie (THE PERFECT ROMANTIC HERO! I! am! so! mad! this show! got canceled!)

Will Cooper from Single Parents (THE OTHER PERFECT ROMANTIC HERO! I! am! so! mad! this show! got canceled! Hey wait. Does the universe hate perfect TV comedies with strong romcom elements?)

Ron Weasley, which I know is a weird answer because we only see him as a child in canon, but I was also pretty much the same age as him as the books were released, and technically, the dude was born in 1980, so! I’m standing by it! I feel like Ron Weasley was very formative for me re: the level of hilarious snark I demand from a life partner.

Catherine from Reign. Not a good idea, but I Love her, I would follow her to my ruin, and it would be swift.

Lord Castleroy from Reign, but not the s4 version that’s like “Greer, thanks for standing by me, I’m dumping you for a literal KAREN!”. We’re talking old school Castleroy only. PEPPERCORN STYLE.

Jonah from Superstore, MY NPR ENTHUSIAST SOULMATE

Inventor of modern chivalry, TED LASSO (but plz marry Rebecca instead, sir)

Ann Perkins. I just think she’s neat and also perfect!!!!

A Mr. Knightley who magically shifts between being the Jonny Lee Miller version and the Johnny Flynn version, just based on my mood that day.

Tara Maclay!!!!!

MARK DARCY, in original perfect Bridget Jones’s Diary condition. (The sequels really complicate things!)

Gwen from Merlin. I barely remember Gwen because I’ve all but blocked Merlin from my psyche, but I would trust her w/ my life and also she’s perfect.

OWEN FROM BLY MANOR. But then I would nobly trade myself for another Hannah, Hannah Grose, and they would finally get to go to Paris and live happily ever after.

Donna Noble, because I think it would be a fun life.

Patrick from Schitt’s Creek, because he reminds me a lot of my boyfriend and it tickles me. (I am basically David but with a really disappointing shirt collection.)

ANYONE PLAYED BY MY #1 CELEB CRUSH MARC EVAN JACKSON! Except maybe the horrible demon from The Good Place (was his name Shaun?), but who knows?????

do you prefer happy, bittersweet, or sad endings?

Answered here! Spoiler alert: HAPPY.

if you could change one ending to a book/show/game/etc, what would you change about it?

I am going to cheat and have two answers, because of course, but I feel like my approach here is different and therefore valid:

I would give Reign a proper series finale, rather than what they thought was a season finale with a series finale ending tacked on, because even though this show was ALL OVER THE PLACE, I think it always did a really good job with End of An Era episodes (3.05 and 3.15 in particular), so I would love to see what an actual series finale episode of Reign would be like. Probably everyone I love would be dead, but that’s okay!

For the Gilmore Girls revival, I would have Logan break things off with his fiancee and propose to Rory during the big ol’ Life and Death Brigade sequence, like I thought was happening when I first watched it (SIGH!), and then I’d have Rory’s pregnancy declaration to Lorelai at the end be a happy event rather than a The Scream Emoji one. And then my soul would know peace! My relationship with Gilmore Girls is very much in the vein of Taylor Swift’s song “Peace”, in that it is constantly singing to me, Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? and I’m like, “Sighhhhhh, yeah, I GUESS you’re forever my favorite television program of all time.”

characters you want to wrap in a blanket and tell them they’re going to be okay?

Answered here! But you know what? I will also throw in Judy and Jen from Dead to Me, because DANG! May they cuddle in the same blanket and get some gosh darn rest.

#dollsome's deep thoughts #chainofclovers

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scarlettrhettelizabethrichard · 3 years

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Chapter 4. The Boutique Robillard, my GWTW fanfiction

Atlanta, May 1876

Scarlett stood on the pavement, checking the wrought-iron sign that had just been installed above the freshly painted storefront. "The Boutique Robillard", a simple name, a French touch, easy for the customer to remember. She had set her sights on this building, whose vast spaces had just been vacated. With its large display windows, ist Corinthian columns separating the exhibition areas, and four small private fitting rooms, the shop was reminiscent of the splendour of a plantation reception hall of the past. The lighting was provided by beautiful gilt bronze wall lights with cut crystal tulips. Three large, finely chiselled bronze and brass arms with gas spouts hidden under crystal cups, surrounded an impressive white milk glass lampshade. They enlightened the cream burlap-covered walls and made the flamed mahogany veneer of the shop furniture glisten. Elegance and femininity, that's the atmosphere Scarlett wanted to create in her new business. Clearly, the gamble paid off. "Mrs O'Hara, could you tell me where the fans should be placed? "Emma Whising interrupted Scarlett in her contemplation. This dynamic young widow was delighted to have been hired. Another saleswoman, a seamstress, a retoucher and a delivery man completed the staff brigade. "The three glass cabinets are for fashion accessories. Place fans, umbrellas and parasols in the first cabinet. Highlight silk gloves and mittens. Hair accessories, brushes, silver combs, hairpins should also be displayed there. Devote an entire display case to leather purses, pearl reticules, and embroidered ball pouches. The largest glass cabinet is for hats, bonnets and capelines." Scarlett sighed with contentment. What a rebirth in her life since that fateful day in November 1873! She had decided to stop dwelling on the past. A few minutes of introspection would be enough for her to sweep away almost three years. First the shock of the divorce. The clean and frank break with Rhett, the love of her life, well, of her old life. It is true that he had greatly facilitated her task to turn the page: by crudely mocking her physical appearance deteriorated by lack of appetite, alcohol abuse and the absence of her husband, Rhett had brilliantly succeeded in making her feel ashamed. She, Scarlett O'Hara, had become uglier than the least of the whores, he had made her understand. "What the hell !" The affront had to be addressed. Solange Robillard's little girl was going to straighten her head, and quickly! The day after Rhett left, she ordered Dilcey to throw out all the liquor bottles in the house, the wine cellar and the kitchen. A strict schedule of meal times in the dining room with her children was put in place. Breakfasts, lunches and dinners were calibrated to ensure balanced meals with fresh vegetables and fruits. As in Tara during the war, there was no question of leaving the table before finishing one's plate. This had always been the rule for Ella and Wade. To the surprise of her children, this was now also the rule for their mother.

Thanks to this diet cooking, her graceful curves started to be restored and her figure slowly sculpted. To gain back her skin's elasticity, Scarlett took a daily walk with her children. Ella Lorena was reluctant the first few days, not being used to long walks. But soon the outing was a time of discovery, play and laughter. The O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy family was coming back to life. The two children's faces were slightly tanned by the sun. Scarlett took care to bring an umbrella to preserve her pearly complexion. Her cheeks were flushed with physical exertion and fresh air. How sweet it was to take care of one's body again! The relaxing scented baths were followed by the application of regenerating creams and ointments. The texture of her skin became softer and smoother. The beautiful hair that Rhett used to like to wrap around his neck at night at the beginning of their marriage had become dull, the tips brittle. It took Prissy's careful handling to untangle the long tresses and massage them with castor oil. Her nails were treated in the same way to strengthen them. The physical discipline she had been practising for many months was eventually rewarded when, on a sunny morning, Scarlett gazed at her reflection in the large mirror in her bedroom. The young woman in front of her radiated health and beauty. Her first battle was won!

"Mrs O'Hara, should I sort the clothes by colour or size? "Emma asked. "Choose one of each item from the display shelves. You will carefully arrange the other sizes inside the drawers of the counters. Above all, don't forget to protect each piece with tissue paper. » Emma set about her task, marvelling at the quality of the interior design of the furniture, which was covered in bird's eye maple veneer. The rich purple hues of the sideboards and wardrobes contrasted beautifully with the golden sheen of the wood inside. At first glance, the clientele was assured of the presence of luxury in every detail. Scarlett resumed her rambling. Her biggest battle, of course, had been to fight the infamy of divorce. News of the Butler couple's scandalous separation had spread like wildfire through the good society of Atlanta and the surrounding counties. How could they not be offended? It was the first divorce to occur in this Georgia city. Two camps were facing each other: the ladies of the Sewing Circle - headed by Mrs Merriweather, Mrs Meade and Mrs India Wilkes - had welcomed Captain Butler's decision. „The good man had loved his little Bonnie so much! For years he had endured his wife's disgusting attitude towards Ashley Wilkes without flinching.“ "Serves her right," said Mrs. Easling. "This will bring the arrogant, pretentious Scarlett down from her pedestal. » These well-born ladies agreed that, sadly, her offspring could no longer be invited to their grandchildren's parties and birthdays. "It's a shame about poor Wade Hampton Hamilton and Elena Lorena Kennedy, but it's all about the goodwill of our society. » Yet a minority had sided with Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy. How could such a boor as Butler dare to abandon his wife and children? All of Atlanta knew of this vermin's degrading association with Belle Watling, the most notorious brothel keeper in the state of Georgia. If Ellen and Gerald O'Hara had been alive, they would never have accepted the misalliance of a Robillard with a banished man from his native Charleston. The first to be scandalised by the news was, of course, Scarlett's solicitor who had to deal with the formalities of the divorce. Henry Hamilton, Wade Hampton's great uncle, was incensed that this Scalawag could jeopardise the future of Charles Hamilton's heir by damaging his mother's reputation. A divorcee's son! How was this brave little boy going to endure the offence? "Butler gone? Good riddance! "Ashley Wilkes was the first to think so, and to say so loudly. He had taken the time to analyse his cowardly behaviour when India had created the scandal on his birthday. Instead of defending Scarlett and assuring everyone that nothing had happened between them two at the sawmill, he had taken refuge, as usual, behind the fragile figure of his wife. Melanie had proudly protected her dear sister until her last breath. Since the war, Scarlett had bravely helped the Wilkes family. When his beloved Melly died, she took charge, as she had in the past. She organized a funeral worthy of the greatest lady Atlanta had ever known. Today, it was up to him to protect 'his' delightful Scarlett who had had the misfortune to meet this sad sire at Twelve Oaks. Scarlett, so full of passion, whom this Butler had broken. Ashley's support warmed his childhood friend's heart. She had been delighted to find that he had defended her against her sister India at a meeting of the ladies of the sewing room in his house. "This is my home, India. In my presence and under my roof, I forbid anyone to criticise the sister my Melly loved so deeply. "His unexpected tirade and determined tone had stunned those present at the meeting. His words were widely reported among their friends and acquaintances. What had hurt the former Mrs Butler most was the disastrous impact of the divorce on Wade and Ella. „Divorce". It was a word Wade had already heard spoken in hushed tones around him, like a threat hanging over Peachtree Street. More than once, the young boy had had to raise his voice at a classmate who had made fun of his mother. He had even come to blows, much to Scarlett's dismay. For Ella Lorena, the word 'divorce' meant nothing. She just noticed that her friends Bridget and Karen had not invited her to their birthday parties. Above all, they missed Uncle Rhett. He had always told them that he considered them his children. Finally, he had abandoned them, without any explanation, simply by bringing them presents in November. As if the two children were no more valuable than two packages. This drama brought the mother and the two children together. A valve had fallen off. The little girl with the red curls was no longer afraid to tell her mother about her daily activities and games, without her mother scolding her for being too noisy. As for Wade, he tried to anticipate his mother's every wish. He would bring her a glass of water before she asked for it. He would carry her parasol when she didn't need it in the street. And above all, he would hug her tenderly. In gratitude, his mother would stroke his hair gently, sometimes slipping a kiss in. Yes, the divorce was finally good for their family. For her children's sake, and because Scarlett O'Hara had never given up in the face of adversity, she put all her newfound energy into her "redemption" with the Old Guard. Oh, how hard it has been! The Merriweather ladies and other paragons of virtue blocked her first gestures of peace. Scarlett pretended not to notice. Remembering her past experience in Bonnie's time, she was aware that her money would not be enough to secure their good graces. She volunteered to buy and transport the raw materials needed to distribute meals to the needy affected by the financial collapse of 1873 which was beginning to distress the middle classes. She made a point of sharing the Old Guard Ladies’ long embroidery sessions to supply the charity stall at Christmas. Magically, some debts pending at Kennedy's shop disappeared from the shelves, 'through accounting errors'. At other times, prices of items coveted by the ladies were abruptly lowered, 'due to end of stock'. This was never openly mentioned.

Scarlett's good deeds combined with an apparent less stormy behavor slowly began to bear fruit. Until one day, a blue hand-decorated cardboard card invited Ella Lorena Kennedy to share the Merriweather grandson's birthday cake. The child was overjoyed. Her mother had tears in her eyes. Her biggest battle was won!

With a clearing of her throat, Emma allowed herself to interrupt her boss's reverie once again. "Peter arranged the rolls of fabric on the scroll racks. He placed the most precious silk textures high up to protect them from soiling. He did well, didn't he? On the other hand, I arranged the lace rolls, ribbons, buttons and thread spools in the beautiful haberdashery cabinet, as you asked me to. I love its little drawers with glass knobs!" Scarlett smiled at the enthusiasm of her young saleswoman. "Let's hope that she will show the same smiling look to the most reluctant customers!" said the new owner of "The Boutique Robillard". She had been dreaming about this shop for three months. When her body regained its beauty, when her reputation was restored, she finally took the time to think about her future. How could she continue to live without passion? Her bank account was now well filled. Thanks to the terms of the divorce settlement. As soon as the funds were transferred from Charleston, she opened two savings accounts for Wade and Ella. This would come in handy when they decided to embark on life's adventure. „"Uncle Rhett," who always boasted that he considered my children his own, will ultimately leave only a trace in Ella and Wade's lives, dollars to make them forget his abandonment." With her children's financial security assured, she could now move on from the Kennedy shop. It no longer gave her any excitement. Hugh Easling bought it. After many years, and thanks to the constant supervision of his boss Mrs Butler, he had finally learned to manage it properly. To please the Old Guard, she gave him her "first child" with easy payment terms. The land belonging to her first husband Charles Hamilton, including the houses she had built, was also sold at a comfortable price for Scarlett. She also sold the second sawmill. Her first sawmill, Ashley now owned it. It had hurt so much that she had given it up on Rhett's advice. It was her baby, the one that had allowed her to support her family. How long would it take Ashley to destroy what she had worked so hard to build? Poor Ashley, she would always have to be a protective and discreet support. She had promised Melly that. As for Beau, a third savings account was already reserved for him. Scarlett was amused that Rhett would finally contribute to the cost of raising his former rival's son. This money would be managed by Ashley, providing Melly's child with all the comforts a member of Southern society had a right to expect - a pony, Melly had made him promise on his deathbed - payment for his education, his future Grand Tour in Europe. Melly, from Heaven where she was watching her together with her dear Bonnie, could be satisfied. "Of course, theoretically I would not need to work anymore. But will I become a matron devoted to her good works? What a horror! I have to find a new passion that makes me want to fight every morning. » ********************** Fate was waiting for her in Savannah. Savannah, February 1876 In February 1876, she made an emergency visit to her mother's hometown upon learning of the sudden death of her grandfather Robillard. The same man who had broken young Ellen's heart by preventing her from marrying her cousin and only love Philip. Scarlett had no reason to mourn the death of the cantankerous old man who had refused to help her financially during the war, when they were struggling not to starve in Tara. She had visited him several times, accompanied by two of her children - not Bonnie, Rhett wouldn't have wanted her to deprive her of his father, even if only for a week. The meetings between the French aristocrat and the Franco-Irish descendant were... interesting. Two beasts gauging their strengths: Pierre Robillard, full of himself, a master of pithy phrases, scornful of those around him, and amusing himself by persecuting the two daughters he had left, Aunts Eulalie and Pauline. Opposite him was his granddaughter, Scarlett, the eldest daughter of his beloved child, Ellen. Ellen who had betrayed him by marrying an Irish peasant. Indomitable and fierce Scarlett, whose beauty and temperament reminded him with a twinge of his only love, his wife Solange Robillard. After several explosive confrontations, Scarlett had become convinced that her grandfather hated her. In a final "thumbing of the nose", he ended up leaving her his entire fortune - an opulent one - simply by giving his two daughters a comfortable monthly pension that would protect them until their death. This was fair, because until now it had been Scarlett who had supported her ungrateful aunts, even during the war, while she had struggled to keep everyone in Tara alive. Family had always been sacred to this Irish descendant. Pierre Robillard rewarded her for this. This unexpected generosity allowed her to reject Rhett's money out of hand. Her departing husband had carelessly boasted that he would 'generously' give her a pension for five years to thank her for getting rid of her. As soon as the Robillard estate was settled, Scarlett informed Rhett Butler's solicitor of her decision to refuse the pension. The money that had already been paid since the day of the divorce was returned to him in full. "Free, I am free, Rhett, and I don't need you!" The last link between the two former friends - spouses - lovers - was definitely cut. On the last day of her stay in Savannah, she treated herself to a visit to the city's fine shops. The coquettish Scarlett suddenly stopped in front of an ocher painted antebellum shop, with the sign "La Mode Duncan". In the display windows, wooden mannequins wore the prettiest dresses the elegant Atlanta woman had ever seen. She pushed open the sandblasted glass door, engraved with the sign "Duncan Vayton". The manager of the establishment greeted the beautiful young lady with respect, quickly understanding that she was not going to be satisfied with buying a single item. He explained that the owner was a young fashion designer based in Paris, Rue de la Paix. Back in his native South, he had decided to give the Ladies of Savannah the benefit of his best creations. "I am a business owner myself, back home in Atlanta. I have a hunch that the rich people of Atlanta would quickly fall in love with such quality clothing. Would it be possible for me to meet with your landlord to discuss my project? » "With great pleasure, Ms. O'Hara. Mr. Duncan Vayton will be delighted to meet you. » That day Scarlett knew that, eventually, she had found her new 'baby' - a fashion shop. It also marked the beginning of a the relationship between two enthusiasts, Scarlett O'Hara and Duncan Vayton.

"Yes, it has taken courage to get through the past 31 months. There have been many shocks, disappointments, pain and tears too. « I, Scarlett, had to show humility - Rhett would have laughed about it, in another time - courage and resilience. But it was worth it. Almost three years later, I have survived. Rhett, you didn't get me down! Scarlett O'Hara is up and ready to fight! »

#GWTW fanfiction, #GWTW, #Gone with the Wind, #romance, #Savannah, #Scarlett O'Hara, #Atlanta, #roman historique, #écriture, #littérature

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moczothe1st · 6 years

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Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 13: The Invasion of Doucheland

Part 12

Welcome back to Fire Emblem IV. Last week, we crossed the Silesse border into our old homeland, the kingdom of Grannvale. And here she is, right now! Hey there, Valey. You’re looking very invade-able this evening. Let me slip into something a little more militaristic, and I’ll be right with you.

Zaxon Castle has barely fallen, yet before Sigurd can so much as rest, the hordes of Grannvale stand before him at the captured Lubeck Castle.

For Sigurd, to challenge Langbalt is an opportunity to avenge his father, Byron, framed by Langbalt for his crimes. Beyond Lubeck, in the desert town Phinora…

Velthomer Castle, on Grannvale’s border with the Yied Desert,

And in Belhalla, the royal capital of Grannvale, Lord Arvis serves to aid the bedridden King Azmur, while Chancellor Reptor of Freege maintains peace and order in the city. A long road to Belhalla awaits Sigurd… a clash with Grannvale en route is inevitable. Sigurd refuses to endanger the people of Silesse any further in this conflict. He is determined to fight to the end. The year is Grann 760, early spring. The fields of Silesse peacefully rest beneath a deep blanket of snow…

…. Starting with a neutral unit. Not promising.

(Oh, hey Sigurd’s dad. Glad you aren’t murdered! .... Wait, how are you not murdered? Weren’t you framed for Kurth’s murder like a year ago? How are you still... going?)

Byron: No… not until the exalted blade is in your hands…

Langbalt: My ambush may have put an end to Chalphy’s Grünritter paladin brigade, but the survival of Byron alone leaves that utterly meaningless!

Random Idiot: Y-yes, sir… but, milord, Byron is gravely wounded… surely, he has very little time left…

Langbalt: I’ve never heard such naïve drivel! Byron may not be long for this world, but he’s determined to get the holy sword Tyrfing to his son, with the very last of his strength. Do you not understand the threat that Sigurd would pose to us, should he get his hands on that damnable sword?!

(… Well, I do now. Thanks for the heads up, definitely gonna get me that sword.)

Langbalt: Move out and kill Byron, immediately!

Random Idiot: Y-yes sir! Consider it done!

Langbalt: For the gods’ sakes, he’s leading the elite Grauenritter brigade! How could it take him so long to put down the Isaachian resistance?! First Lex, now Dannan… why must both of my sons be so worthless?!

Andre: Come now, Lord Langbalt, sir. Don’t worry about a thing. After all, you’ve still got the Beigenritter and I on your side.

Langbalt: I suppose you’re right, Andre. Be sure that your men are ready to join the fray at a moment’s notice.

Andre: Heh… it would be my pleasure, sir.

Langbalt: Duke Ring… may you be at peace…

(Awww, he’s a treasonous murdering lunatic with family values. How sweet. Just a reminder that while Reptor might want to run the country, Langbalt’s motivation can best be summed up as ‘Fuck House Chalphy’. He really has no issues with anyone else. Which kinda makes him worse, honestly, since it means he murdered the prince just to screw with Sigurd’s dad.)

Oifey: I don’t believe so. The Lubeck occupation seems to be pursuing him, so they’re most likely not with them.

Sigurd: I see. Let’s give them a hand. We’ll be clashing with Langbalt’s army sooner or later, so why not make the first move? Move out! Our target is their front lines. Today’s victory hinges on this first strike!

… You know, after we spend hours fighting in the arena. First, though, our three upcoming promotions.

Mmmmm. I also do a little inventory shifting; Ayra gives her bolt sword to Erin, who actually has the magic to back it up, and Azel gives his Magic Ring to Taillte, who needs it more than he does even after promotion. Now, then, time for some gladiatorial combat to remind the world what heroes we are!

Sigurd: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +3 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Arden: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3HP, +3 Strength, +2 Speed, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Lex: Five wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength, +1 Speed

Azel: Seven wins, gained three levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +1 Magic, +1 Luck

Aideen: Seven wins. Actually can’t level up anymore! All that warping and physicing maxed her out.

Midir: Three wins, Gained one level: +1 Speed, +1 Luck. Just… the fuck, dude.

Holyn: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +1 HP, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Ayra: wins, Gained two levels: +2 Strength, +1 Defense

Jamke: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +1 Defense

Dew: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Lewyn: Seven wins, Gained three levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Magic

Lachesis: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +1 HP, +1 Resistance, +1 Speed

Beowulf: Five wins, Gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Defense

Erin: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +2 Luck, +2 Defense.

Bridget: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Speed, +1 Magic, +1 Luck

Taillte: Seven wins, Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

And yes, Arden did so well because he still had the Brave Sword for his attempts, and he promoted halfway through.

The stat bonuses are nothing special, but this is actually a really good promotion. He gains the ability to use spears, axes, and bows in addition to his swords, and picks up for himself the truly obnoxious Pavise skill all those enemy bosses use to ruin your day. I’m pleased, Arden. You don’t get to get married and I will never use you again because this has been a giant pain, but you’re an okay person anyway.

So here’s the map. Our starting position is in the northwest; enemy formations are marked by red rectangles, and Byron is the yellow dot. Our first job is to reach him before he dies. He will not attack enemies (he’s unarmed), so he’ll spend the whole time running, but he’s also wounded and can’t outrun most of his pursuers. You won’t lose the map if you don’t get to him in time, but you will lose access to Tyrfing, which… no. Just no. Not acceptable. So our first, crucial job is to clear out that patch of enemies between us and Byron, and Sigurd has to be leading the charge because only he can talk to his dad, obviously. But we also do need to send a rearguard to the west, to wipe out the enemy unit there and protect the assorted villages from bandits. So looks like we’ll be splitting the army again, I know I love that!

First step, I send Sigurd, Midir, Lachesis, and Beowulf about halfway through their move range, and then have Sylvia run up to Dance them all. This will let them reach the enemy line on their first turn, doing some solid damage before they’d otherwise be able to.

This not only clears a few units, but it gives this enemy brigade a target. They’ll be moving away from Byron, which is key. He can’t take many hits at all, so every enemy you can draw away from him is worth it.

Now, there’s also villages to the north and south of our castle that have bandits right next to them, so I have Holyn and Ayra both take one. They’ll be able to reach them in a turn and have 100% chance of clearing the bandits immediately. Erin begins moving to the one directly east of the castle; it’s on a peninsula so she can reach it fastest by cutting across the ocean. Most of the foot soldiers move west to intercept the enemy there, while Lex, Azel, Aideen, and Bridget move to start catching up with the front line. Why Aideen and Bridget? Because their brother is there, and… well….

Aideen: I… I did. I’ve heard he murdered our father, and later Mahnya in Silesse as well… I can’t believe it. I can barely imagine the evil which would have possessed him to do such monstrous things…

Bridget: … I’m going to kill him. There’s no other way. Whatever the evil is, he has to be stopped. Right here, right now. You understand, right, Aideen?

Aideen: Bridget…

Bridget: Andre’s crimes are House Jungby’s crimes. They’re our crimes too, our responsibility. They reflect on us, even when they really shouldn’t. I know I’ll have his blood on my hands for the rest of my life, but… Aideen, I want you to understand.

Aideen: Of course I do, Bridget…

Well, big sis isn’t having any of that patricide, Andre ol’ buddy. It was nice knowing you.

Ya dick.

End turn.

Hot damn. Beowulf must be sick of being the team joke, because that level was brilliant. Either that or he thinks I’ll fail at saving Byron, have to reset, and lose it. Either or.

(Wait, Belhalla looks like that? And it took us this long to realize they’re evil? Dammit, guys.)

(Hey, Arvis! Long time no see! How’s your hair doing? Still deceptive?)

Arvis: Duke Langbalt and his army stand ready at Lubeck. It’s only a matter of time before their insurrection is suppressed.

King Azmur: Even so… even now, it is almost beyond belief, is it not? That Lord Byron would slay Kurth… or that Sigurd would incite a rebellion…

Arvis: Your Majesty

(Okay, he gets points for knowing the right term.)

Arvis: If I may explain once more… Lord Byron was plotting against the crown in concert with the late Lord Ring of Jungby. His Highness fell afoul of their assault, an act to which our very own Dukes Reptor and Langbalt bore witness.

(“And I mean, how could you disbelieve those faces?” )

Arvis: His Highness learned of their schemes to seize the throne too late, and paid for it with his life. Naturally, Lord Sigurd had a hand in his father’s revolt. What clearer proof is there than how he still harbors an enemy, the prince of Isaach? There is no question. Their treason against the state is grave. I, too, feel this pain as my own, having lost not only a prince but a father-in-law…

(… Oh no.)

Arvis: And in the name of my beloved wife, Princess Deirdre, I will never allow Sigurd’s traitorous rampage to stand!

(HURK)

Arvis: Even if Duke Langbalt fails to defeat him, that is not the end! The elite fire mages of House Velthomer, the Rotenritter, stand ready to stop this rebellion once and for all!

Azmur: I see… if you say it is so, then… perhaps this could never have been avoided…

Azmur: Ah… Deirdre. Bless you… you truly are a sweet child. Even if I have little time left, you give me hope for Grannvale’s future… I can scarcely imagine when Kurth could have had as fine a daughter as you. But there is no doubt in my mind. None outside the royal House Belhalla possess the Brand that graces your brow. Whence did you come, my dear? Where in the world have you been all along…

(“In the woods, mostly. It turns out that isolating me from all men was a great idea and they should have put way more effort into it. I genuinely can’t be trusted.”)

Deirdre: I’m so sorry, Grandfather. I simply don’t remember. Try as I may, I simply cannot recall anything…

Azmur: Ah, forgive me, my dear. I know you have suffered more and longer than any of us.

Arvis: From the moment I found her wandering lost in the castle grounds, it was clear she had no memory of her past. All she knew was her own name. The rest of her past is lost to her. At first I sought only to aid her out of sympathy, as any decent man would do, but before long love took root within me…

(HUUUUUUUUUUUUURK)

Arvis: With all due respect, Deirdre, not once did I suspect that you could possibly be the daughter of our late Prince Kurth.

Azmur: I remember well the day you introduced her as the woman you wished to marry… I simply could not believe what I saw! At first sight I knew, perhaps as only family can. Precisely as I thought, beneath your circlet was the Brand of Naga. Lord Arvis, I trust you understand. Only a full-blooded heir to Saint Heim can rightfully wield the Book of Naga and release its true holy power. And the power of Naga is the only force able to repel the Dark Lord, Loptyr.

Arvis: I am well aware of the legend, sire.

Azmur: The holy lineage of our lord Naga and Saint Heim must never perish! Deirdre, you must bear a son with all due haste!

(… Done. His name’s Seliph, I think he’s pushing two around this point? That was easy! … Oh, wait, you mean a son with Arvis. In that case, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRK)

Azmur: And should your son be so fortunate as to inherit Naga’s power… he shall be Prince of Grannvale, and inherit the throne when I am no more. Lord Arvis, until your son has grown into a man, you shall be his regent. Guide him well to adulthood. I trust you understand… cough! Cough…

Well that was gross. Hurry, everyone, kill some shit to make me feel alive again.

Oh, Ayra, you always know just how to cheer me up. Holyn, you could stand to be more like Ayra. Now, on the eastern front, here’s where things get weird.

The enemy is not a big problem, the battle is almost won here. But Sigurd is not in place to talk to Byron. So what I’m going to try (and if this doesn’t work I shall be so furious) is position him and two other people as a wall.

The idea… and this had better work… is that Byron will get get his turn first and run through my units, where the enemy will not be able to follow him. That jerk in the top corner is just a bandit, he won’t attack anyone while there’s a village to pilfer.

Okay.

End turn!

(… Oh fucking score Byron will talk to Sigurd on his own. I win!)

Sigurd: Father! Come, you mustn’t give in now!

Byron: No… there’s no hope left for me now… listen well, my son. Langbalt was Prince Kurth’s true killer. And Reptor is the one holding his leash… His Majesty must know the truth! I… death holds no fear for me. But I cannot die in peace not knowing if our honor shall be cleansed of these lies.

Sigurd: Rest assured, Father. Our good name will be cleared. I promise.

Byron: Sigurd… I beg your forgiveness. It was my negligence which condemned you to this suffering… Sigurd. Take this. It is Tyrfing… our exalted blade…

Sigurd: Tyrfing… but Father! Surely you will still need this!

Byron: Take it, Sigurd.. use it to… restore… our honor…

Sigurd: Father… please, hang on! Father! … Father… Why… why in the world did he have to… grrr… REPTOR! LANGBALT! Mark my words! You will pay dearly for all you’ve done!

Ouch. But this is much better than not having him talk to Sigurd at all, in which case he still dies and his son never knows and doesn’t get his inheritance. Unfortunately, Tyrfing is useless right now, because the blade is broken; we’ll need to have Sigurd rush back to the castle to fix it on our turn. After, of course, axe jerks!

…. WHY’D YOU EQUIP THE BROKEN TYRFING, MAN?! A broken weapon can still work, mind you, but it will slow the unit down a ton and have a bare fraction of its attack power, so it’s a very dumb idea. Which, you know, makes sense.

Well, nothing else exciting happens on the enemy phase, so let’s start our turn right with some nice rampant slaughter. It does a body good!

I love it when an army comes together. And since Ayra, Holyn, and Erin are now on top of villages that are out of the way for anyone else, I liberate them.

(He was married? … Not to his sister, right? God, I hate that I feel the need to ask that.)

Gossip Girl: His name’s, er… Ares? Something like that. I feel pretty bad for the poor boy. He’s gotta be just three or four years old…

(I feel bad for him because his name is Ares, the douchiest Greek God. And they were all douches!)

Whiner: Argh, how did this world turn into such a savage place…

Info Master: You’ll often find that boys’ll take up their father’s traits more dominantly, while girls’ll be more strongly influenced by their mother’s.

… So did we start playing Pokemon, or something? Was that the secret to breeding a better Lapras? Whatever, the western front still has to fight. Almost forgot them!

Very nice! That little flashing screen there before Taillte finally gets some Magic was her also getting a Lover Critical for attacking while next to Lewyn. It doesn’t show up often, but it’s a thing of beauty when it does. Though, in fairness, Taillte also didn’t need it to end that fight quickly; like Ethlin before her, she’s ended up with weird stats, and one of them is that her speed is enormous. She also has the skill Adept (Chance based on speed to double-attack) since promoting, and so End turn!

Random Idiot: How could you have breached our front lines so quickly?

Well, like that, mostly. Also, holy crap, the Shield Sword and a promotion have done Beowulf great help. He’s gone overnight from the army’s whipping boy to an unstoppable killing machine.

…. Same can’t be said for Claude, though. God, I hate you, Claude. Reset! I mostly recreate the prior turn, though not as well; Taillte decided that Magic growth was a one-time thing, and she gets +1HP and +1 Defense this time. Defense is still good for her, so hey. Now, let’s see if this goes a little better?

… Am I being trolled?

Well, at least Claude survives. He might be bad at 90% of everything, but he’s got some killer Resistance. Now, let’s try to clear out the remaining enemies before something else fucks up.

All right, good start. Also, Random Idiot’s name was Slayder! I genuinely didn’t notice until I was killing him. Good for you, Slayder.

Beige is the most terrifying of colors. To show how scared I am, I have Bridget equip her holy bow and move into their range. Hee. Hee. Hee.

…….. I mean, I was expecting more of a symbolic slaughtering, but all of your archers moving into my melee range and just stopping, is pretty good too. Now, Aideen can’t kill Andre in one turn, so we can actually see him talk to both his sisters. Let’s go!

Andre: Your sins have soiled the honor of my House Jungby, and now, you must make your amends with your very life.

Aideen: Andre… what a pitiful man you’ve become.

(Awwwwwwwwwwwwwyeeeeeeeeah AIDEEN BURN.)

Literally. Bridget, your move!

Andre: No matter what it takes, you – the shame of my house – must be put to a timely death.

Bridget: ENOUGH! You murdered your own father! You, Andre, are the disgrace to Jungby’s honor, and to the good name of the Crusader Ullur!

… Isn’t Scorpius a Power Ranger villain…?

Bridget gains her brother’s power by eating his heart, and the rest of the team is now free to paint over the Beigenritter with a more interesting color. RED.

Oooooh the terror of the Beigenritter. Now, nothing more to be done until we move on Langbalt directly, so I take a few turns here to let the western front move back over to meet up with the east, letting our whole army move at once. I won’t need them; Lubeck Castle has very little in terms of defense, just three generals and four ballistae, the real danger being Langbalt himself. But dammit all, I put a lot of effort into promoting Arden, I’ll be damned if I’m leaving him behind for the main part of the map that opens after you take Lubeck. Oh, and, I have Sigurd sent home for a moment to visit the blacksmith…

Oh that is beautiful. In addition to having the same high-end offense as all Holy Weapons, Tyrfing gives him a whopping 40 stat points, +10 each to Skill and Speed, and +20 to Resistance, which almost instantly turns him from somewhat vulnerable to mages to one of our best anti-mage units. Plus, it comes with the Miracle ability, meaning he gets a very sizable chance to dodge an attack that would kill him… not that there’s gonna be a lot of attacks likely to kill him while he’s holding Tyrfing.

I love holy weapons.

Now, after we get everyone together again, it’s time to kick some ass on Langbalt. There’s three generals out in front of his castle, and four ballistae to its east; two to the north and two to the south. The southern ones are no issue, but the northern are below a cliff and can only be attacked by Erin (who shouldn’t be getting near ballistae!) or units with a ranged attack. I send Azel and Lachesis up to deal with them, which the rest of the army starts chipping at the generals.

One down! The four ballistae all take shots at us on the enemy phase, but only one hits and Lachesis can take it. And then she gets to counter with extreme prejudice when it’s our shot again.

And that’s the end of the defenders. However, like I said earlier, the real issue isn’t them. It’s this motherfucker.

Langbalt is actually really nasty considering he’s only the first boss of the chapter. His stats are fine, but more dangerously he’s packing Major Neir holy blood and his family’s Holy Weapon, Helswath. Like all Holy Weapons it has 30 attack, but it can attack at any range (so no cheesing him from a distance!) and boosts his defense and resistance by 20 and 10 points, respectively. Combine this with the fact he’s a Baron with the ever-obnoxious Pavise skill and is on a Castle, and he can be a serious pain to do real damage to if you get unlucky. As an upside, at least, It’s a very heavy weapon and slows him considerably, which mostly nullifies his evasion boost from fighting in the castle, but… I mean, he only had average speed to start with. The man has 41 defense and hits like a train, and that’s bad enough.

Oh, and, obviously, there’s some special conversations to be had.

1) I’m getting a little sick of people calling us traitors while they’re literally in the middle of treason.

2) God that combat result is sad. Lex barely scratches his dad.

Maybe somebody a bit more legendary will have more luck. Siggy?

Langbalt: How perfect! I’ll reunite you with your dearly departed father. He ought to be lonely by now!

Sigurd: Langbalt… LANGBALT! You will pay for what you did to my father!

… Better, but still kind of sad. This is our uber-sword. The top sword of all swords. And we got a little under half his health.

Okay.

Time to stop fucking around.

Lewyn, Bitches. So cool he doesn’t need good levels anymore. From here, all that’s left is to take the last few villages:

Oddly Happy Man: But the people of Isaach ain’t givin’ up hope. Prince Shanan’s still out there, and they know someday he’ll lead ‘em to freedom!

Okay, first of all, that day won’t be for awhile since he’s like 12, and second of all… where are we? I know they mentioned Lubeck Castle was conquered by Grannvale pretty recently last chapter, and certainly this village is oddly chipper about Grannvale not being able to fully pacify one of their conquests, but it doesn’t seem to be part of Silesse either. There’s no snow or pegasi.

Oh, screw it. One more village to go.

Captain Obvious: All they ever do these days is set their army on every country they can get their hands on. Prince Kurth’d be utterly ashamed to know what’s become of his beloved Grannvale… you have to do something! I’m begging you… go to Grannvale! Take the country back from the wicked folk who are perverting all it holds dear!

Well. I mean. Considering we are the army they set on two of those countries, I think we have to. Let’s take Lubeck and call it a week.

(I hope not! I think only Langbalt himself actually hit us more than once, unless you count Claude getting axed. And you should never count Claude.)

Sigurd: Listen, Oifey, I need to ask something of you.

Oifey: Of course, sire. What is it?

Sigurd: As I recall, the territory of Isaach should be very close to the north-east of Lubeck. From what I’ve heard, ever since Grannvale won the war, Isaach has been governed by Danaan, Langbalt’s eldest son. But I’d wager his influence has yet to reach much of the country, so…

Oifey: I beg your pardon, sire?! Are you seriously asking me to abandon you for safety, now of all times? No! I refuse! I will not leave you, sire! I’m here for you no matter what, till I draw my last breath!

Sigurd: Oifey, listen. I know this is a huge imposition, but please, hear me out. I… I don’t want to lose Seliph. He isn’t even two years old! I can hardly fight with an infant in tow. Please, Oifey. Take care of Seliph. Take him and find refuge from this blasted war. I know I can trust you, Oifey. You are my only hope.

(Heehee. Help me, Oifey-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.)

Oifey: Sire… I… very well. I’ll take Lord Seliph. I’ll protect him, no matter what happens. That said, you have to promise me. Promise you’ll come for us as soon as the war is over. I won’t leave if you can’t promise that.

Sigurd: Of course. I swear it.

(Yeah, well, you also promised Sigurd you would look after Deirdre, and you fucked that up, so forgive me if I don’t put a lot of weight in your promises.)

Shanan: I won’t hand him over to anyone, not even Oifey, until Deirdre says I can!

Sigurd: Calm down, Shanan. I know you’re still hurt about losing Deirdre, but it’s okay. He’ll be fine with Oifey.

Shanan: No! I need to protect Seliph! … And you’re forgetting that the people of Isaach won’t exactly be happy to see more Grannvaleans! Oifey along won’t last a minute there, but if I’m there it’ll be okay. Who better to protect Seliph in Isaach than the prince of Isaach? Please…

(Sigurd: Outwitted by a ten year old.)

Oifey: Now that he mentions it, sire, I would be a tad more at ease if Shanan was there as well. I know you’re reluctant to involve someone so young in something so dangerous, but I think we can agree he’s become a talented warrior.

(… He has?)

Oifey: Not to mention, I’ll need Shanan to secure the people’s support.

Sigurd: Hm… I’m sorry to burden you more, Shanan, but please… take care of Seliph for me.

Shanan: Leave it to me! I’m gonna keep getting stronger, and nobody’ll ever hurt Seliph! I’ll teach him all about Deirdre, too, but… I wonder how he’ll take what happened…

Oifey: I… suppose we should set out, then. Farewell, sire. Take care of yourself. I pray victory and clemency find you as soon as possible.

Sigurd: Thank you, Oifey. Be careful out there.

Oifey: Yes, sir!

Sigurd: Seliph… I’m so sorry. Please, grow up safe and strong.

Well. It only took us... I think the game timeline has been three years so far?... it only took us three years to realize we shouldn’t be bringing children to war, and so I think we’ll call it a week here. Check in next week for when someone brings some children to war.

Resets: 19. I hope you’re proud of yourself, CLAUDE.

Part 14

#Let's play fire emblem IV #let's play fire emblem #LP #let's play #Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War #fire emblem 4 #Let's play genealogy of the holy war #my writing #dammit claude

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