The Chat Chat

[freedom]

@ellette-giselle @rae @savannah_grace2009 @keilah-h @elishavet-pidyon @koshka @godlyfantasy12 @anyone-else-idk

 

I love them y’all😭🫶

 

So much had crumbled.

So many lives had been lost.

Leo sank against the wall, fists clenching and unclenching, every breath heavy, tears blurring his vision.

Dietrich…Fin…so many lives had been lost.

And Ezekiel had been taken, left to the mercy of his Nazi captors, whom had very little mercy for a man deemed as a traitor for speaking truth and fighting for the innocent.

Who else would be lost?

What more could they lose?

What was the point when their efforts seemed so useless? Why did it matter when for every life they saved, many more were slain?

How much longer could they hold on?

How much longer could they fight?

How much longer could they stand as everything around them crumbled?

“Ezekiel won’t be in that prison much longer.”

Leo lifted his gaze, his back up against a cold concrete wall. “…What are we supposed to do, Riker? Do you really want to put more lives at risk?”

Wolfgang sank further into the couch he was sitting on, tears coursing down his pale, freckled cheeks. “Why can’t everything we do save everyone?”

“Because it can’t, Wolf,” Jakob retorted, almost bitterly, “that’s just how it works.”

Seated beside Wolfgang, Jezyk released a quiet sob and covered his face with his hands. “Then what’s the use?”

“Ja,” Wolfgang’s fists clenched, “why don’t we just give up?”

Riker crossed over to the couch; he crouched slightly in front of the sixteen-year-old’s, meeting their tear-brimmed gazes with his own. “…Because the second we give up is the second we’re all doomed,” he gripped their shoulders, “if we give up now, so many more will be lost. If we give up now, maybe no one else will fight. If we give up now…then what were all of our efforts even for?”

gone for the foreseeable future✌🏻✨ might come back one day

[Ellette Giselle]

@freed_and_redeemed

*squeak of delight*

YAY!!! SECTION!!

 

Aw, so sad. 😭

 

Really good! Is this from book 3?!?!

I can’t wait to read it!!!!

 

caught two typos.

left to the mercy of his Nazi captors, whom had very little mercy

Should be “who”

 

and

he crouched slightly in front of the sixteen-year-old’s, meeting their tear-brimmed

“sixteen-year-olds”

 

 

Other then that, this is so good!!!!! Can’t wait to read the rest of the books!!!!

 

 

Fires will rise to testify that 2+2=4. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in summer

[freedom]

@ellette-giselle hehe thank youuuu🤭

and no, this is actually a section from The Bois’ book🫶😂

 

(and I’ll fix those typos, this was completely unedited, so😂)

 

tho I could share a snippet from Book 3 if you wanted👀

gone for the foreseeable future✌🏻✨ might come back one day

[Ellette Giselle]

@freed_and_redeemed

Oooo! Fun! I can’t wait to read it!

 

YES!!! YES SHARE IT! SHARE IT!!

Fires will rise to testify that 2+2=4. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in summer

[freedom]

@ellette-giselle hehe, ok then🤭

(not a finished scene btw, but a snippet)

The Schind family looked exhausted, barely awake.

Not that Leon doubted that he probably looked much the same.

Thoughts of Germany had reawakened thoughts, memories, and even nightmares that plagued his sleep and sometimes even his waking moments.

He shifted on the wooden pew, his Bible laid flat on one of his knees, Albert leaning close to his side so he could read the words.

There had to be another way to show Elias and Lily that they could at least be kind to each other.

He could just tell Isaiah and Miriam that something else had come up, that he couldn’t take off work, that he couldn’t…couldn’t…and yet that would be lying, wouldn’t it?

He inwardly groaned.

Good thing the service would soon be over.

He needed to get away somewhere where he could do something.

He didn’t desire time spent alone with his thoughts.

Though it probably sounded horrible to be glad for a church service to end.

He sighed.

Albert glanced up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

Leon smiled and shook his head.

There was no need to concern his kids.

Joshua Baumann bowed his head behind the pulpit, and Leon did the same, listening to Joshua’s simple prayer that soon finished with a chorus of ‘Amen’.

Leon opened his eyes, lifted his head, and stood.

Isabel, Albert, and Elias quickly left the pew, making their way to close friends and other kids in the church, and Louisa soon followed, making her way over to talk to some of the older women.

He stood and closed his Bible, slightly adjusting the cuffs of his white undershirt and his outer jacket.

“Good afternoon, Leon.”

Great, just what he needed.

He turned on his heel to face the blonde that had approached his pew, a smile plastered on her face, green eyes bright. She was a few years past thirty and seemed to live in dread of never marrying and being labeled an “old maid”.

He only wished he hadn’t become the target of her desire to get married, and as soon as possible.

And she wasn’t the only one.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jones.” He replied simply, draping Albert and Elias’ coats over the back of the pew, setting his Bible beside them.

He glanced across the church.

Another woman, a few years Leon’s senior, was looking over at them.

It was the last thing he needed.

“I was wondering…”

“I’m busy. All week.”

Her frown deepened. “But I was just going to ask—”

“I’m sorry, Miss Jones, but I have too much going on,” Leon noticed another single woman, not much older than Miss Jones, heading towards the pew, “and I really should get my family back home.”

But where was he supposed to go with three women heading his way?

He would have to escape…somehow.

Leon ran a hand through his black curls, glancing around the church, sweat beading on his forehead.

There were two different exits.

Maybe he could make it out of one, then slip back in and call for Louisa and the kids to come with him.

Maybe.

Leon clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides.

Would he be able to slip away?

Or had he already trapped himself?

His breaths heaved.

“Excuse me, ladies: I need to talk to Leon for a minute.”

Leon’s head shot up. His gaze landed on Riker, who stood at one end of the pew, one of the other women close by, another coming up on Leon’s other side.

Leon stepped around Miss Jones and followed after Riker, down the middle aisle between the pews, out the front doors.

He stepped out into the fresh air of spring and took a deep breath, muscles relaxing. He glanced at Riker. “Danke.”

The brunette shrugged. “There’s no need to thank me. You didn’t look very comfortable in there.”

Leon glanced away.

Did he dare tell him about Isabel’s thoughts and Louisa’s urging, that even he had considered their idea but still thought there had to be another way?

But maybe it was better to let Riker bring it—“You look exhausted.”

“You should look in a mirror.” He replied plainly, meeting Riker’s gaze.

Riker bit his lip and glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. He played with the cuff of his coat. “You know, I’ve been thinking…about Isaiah and Miriam’s invite…”

“Mmhmm.”

“Maybe it’d be best if we…I don’t know, if we…” Riker shuffled his feet, glancing down at the asphalt of the church parking lot, “…if we went.”

gone for the foreseeable future✌🏻✨ might come back one day

[Ellette Giselle]

@freed_and_redeemed

 

Sorry! I was gone for a minute!

 

YAY!!!

 

Ooo, poor Leon. 🤣

I like this! I can’t wait to actually read it in the book! I’m super excited!!!!

Fires will rise to testify that 2+2=4. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in summer

[Elishavet Elroi]

@freed_and_redeemed

*Indistinguishable sound of joy*

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing! I love them both! They’re both great sections. The second is probably my favorite. Partially for the way it’s paced. It’s active and a great look at their new normal.

And of course Leon is there being the guy I’ve loved from the start, even if he is worn to a frazzle. Thankfully he has good friends. 😉 (Those ladies are scary. I’d be terrified. XD)(I mean, they’re probably sweethearts, but still.)

The first one… I might cry. It’s so sad and bittersweet. *gives everyone hugs* Sweet kids. The world has been hard on you.

You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan

[Three Ducks in a Trench Coat]

@freed_and_redeemed

First time I’ve ever laughed reading one of your scenes. Poor lover boy Leon. XD

MARCIE! YOU MADE EGG SOUP!

[whaley]

@freed_and_redeemed

The hurried navigation through the pews is all too real, lol.

The brunette shrugged.

This is the feminine version of a french word, so unless I’m misunderstanding who is speaking here – I think it’s Riker – this should be brunet. Same difference between blonde and blond.

The exhaustion is strong with this one

[Ellette Giselle]

@whalekeeper

 

I was thinking the same thing, but I thought maybe I was mistaken because the male version wasn’t coming to mind. 😂

Fires will rise to testify that 2+2=4. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in summer

[whaley]

You know story research just got real when you’re contemplating carrying your sister as many times up and down the street as you can, to test the strength vs weight in an escape scene

The exhaustion is strong with this one

[whaley]

The fireman’s carry imo is harder than piggyback. I don’t care what they say.

The exhaustion is strong with this one

[freedom]

@ellette-giselle @whalekeeper @rae @savannah_grace2009 @koshka @keilah-h @elishavet-pidyon @theducktator @godlyfantasy12 @anyone-else-idk

 

Anyone wanna read a little sneak peek into one of my main projects? 🤭🫶

 

It was finally the day that marked exactly a year since Aodhán had perished.

Michael Bréagach pulled at a loose string on the sleeve of his blue-and-gold long coat, seated in a red upholstered chair as men of nobility spoke of things he shared no concern nor patience for.

The men spoke of taxes, of law, of history.

They discussed ideas and plans for how their land could further prosper in the absence of some trade routes and allies that had been long since abolished.

But he cared little for any of it.

What could ever be possibly more important on a solemn day than remembering the murder of his one and only brother, the heir to the throne of Aonaichte?

Former heir.

Michael brushed back a few loose blonde curls and sat up straighter, even if only slightly, jaw set.

He would—“My Prince.”

Jarred from his reverie by the cold tone of the oh so pleasant Dargan Ahearn, Michael glanced up at the older man that had been his father’s aide for as far back as he could recollect.

Dargan frowned. “Your father has inquired of you and awaits your response.”

Glancing up at the tall, commanding form of Agnar of Aonaichte, Michael slightly ducked his head. “I offer my sincerest of apologies, father. What was your inquiry?”

“Earl Fergus Cullen has reminded me of all that still awaits you in preparation for your ascension to the throne.”

A conversation he had long since grown exhausted of.

“Father—”

“Michael, I will not and cannot have this discussion with you again,” Agnar slightly adjusted the silver crown atop his gray head, “you know it is necessary.”

It was always deemed “necessary”, but his father had never truthfully explained how, or why, he deemed it so crucial.

“Necessary for what?”

One of the other earls frowned. “Your father cannot remain King forever, much as we would enjoy for such to be so, and you must ready yourself for the days of your own ruling. I highly suggest you first begin to prepare by seeking out a queen fit to rule alongside you and produce an heir.”

Michael’s fists clenched. “But why is it deemed so necessary? Is it necessary so I can waste a day of remembrance discussing law and history and taxes? So I can spend my time that could be used in remembering Aodhán to merely discuss how Aonaichte may prosper, as if his death means not a thing to a single one of you?”

Agnar’s fist echoed on the long, engraved table, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes hard. “It’s necessary because it is, Michael Bréagach, and you will not question me again on this matter.”

Michael flushed, and he sank back slightly.

How dare his father act as if Aodhán’s death meant nothing? And when had his father ever spoken to him in such a cold, harsh tone, and in front of the nobility no less?

How…how…crude.

A prince deserved better treatment—“Lord Dorchadas, you are late.”

  Dorchadas.

Michael’s fists clenched once more.

“I apologize, Your Majesty…it won’t happen again.”

But he had never apologized for…for—Michael’s jaw ticked.

“It best not.” Agnar replied simply, a kind word that carried a small lilt that hinted to a warning Lord Dorchadas would be wise to adhere.

But he deserved far more than a warning.

Acheron Dorchadas deserved public execution for what he had done.

But if Michael spoke his mind on the matter, as he had many a time previously, he wasn’t so sure his father’s patience would last much longer.

So, he bit back his tongue, despite his hatred of doing so.

But he’d make his stance clear as day later if it was so required.

“Take a seat, Lord Dorchadas.”

Acheron obeyed, and Michael glanced over at him but didn’t make eye contact.

He would not dare make eye contact with…with…him, simply.

Rather, his gaze strayed to the man who stood behind and slightly off to Acheron’s left, who stood a head or two taller than the Lord and was at least several years older, whereas Acheron’s face still held the shape one often associated with youth.

Braiding a custom far more common within the kingdoms and lands to their east but a tradition some within Aonaichte had long since adopted, especially those who dwelled in secret or in the mountain ranges near Rígsteal, the man’s carefully braided long hair and thick beard only somehow added to the fierce look of him.

Not that the mace he carried made him look any less threatening either.

But he was a mere retainer, and one to a measly lord.

Michael did not fear those beneath his stature.

“…Many believe he still lives, Your Majesty.”

Who still lived?

Michael’s gaze darted to Fergus. “Who lives?”

The earl frowned at him and stroked his hand through his white beard. “Some within Aonaichte still believe your brother to be alive.”

Aodhán…alive?

There was a possibility his brother still lived?

“Such rumors were begun and spread by those of ill repute,” Agnar sniffed, tears brimming his eyes, “no one with any ounce of sense will listen to such foolishness. I-I watched my son’s death with my own eyes…”

There was a chance Aodhán could still be alive, and perhaps even still be in Aonaichte?

Could his brother still live?

What if his father had given in to despair or else envisioned something that was not there out of his grief?

What if he had believed Aodhán dead when indeed he still lived?

Maybe they were false rumors.

But how could Michael pass up on the opportunity to possibly find his brother alive and well?

~*~*~*~*~*~

“His Majesty’s orders were carried out efficiently, my Lord.”

Tapping tan fingers on the polished arm of the tall chair he sat in, Acheron slowly lifted to his feet. “Did you face any resistance?”

“Not enough to stop us, my Lord.”

Acheron nodded. “Has the man—”

A retainer shifted in the doorway that stood as the only entrance and exit of the small hall, mace gleaming at his side. He crossed his arms over his burly chest, smiled, and raised two curious eyebrows, attentively watching the exchange between Lord and Soldier.

The younger man glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of the man standing in the doorway.

Pushing back the short cape that covered a single shoulder, Acheron waved a hand at the man that remained on his knees on the freshly polished dark floors. “Leave us.”

The young, armored man scrambled to his feet and fled the room, quickly striding past red draperies embroidered with interwoven golden thread, a splash of color in the otherwise dark hall.

“Seems as though he was more than eager to tell you of his supposed success.”

“There is no need to sound so dry, Drasq.” Acheron retorted, flopping back down into his seat, frowning at the older man. “The man stopped an attempt on the King’s life, which is something worthy of praise.”

“And yet the unsuccessful assassin remains alive.”

“It is left to His Majesty to decide the man’s fate. The man is imprisoned and will do no further harm.” Acheron said simply, waving a hand in dismissal.

Drasq frowned and ran a single hand through his full, long, dark beard, glancing at the draperies before settling his cold gaze on Acheron. “He would beg to differ.”

Acheron’s heart pounded.

His hand stopped mid-air

“He ordered for the man to be ended,” Drasq leaned close—he had terrible breath—and sneered, “and you know defying His orders is something neither He nor I can accept.”

“I couldn’t tell the soldier to kill the man when His Majesty ordered for the man to be brought before him. I have already once been blamed for more than enough.”

Drasq scowled and stepped back with a thud, armored boots echoing across the cut dark stone. “None would blame you for the death of a man who attempted to end King Agnar’s life. If they know better, they will be eternally grateful.”

If only it were that simple.

But many had already once blamed him for the death of the older of the princes until he had been proven innocent.

“You don’t understand—”

“You are the one who doesn’t make sense of what is before you, Lord Acheron,” Drasq practically spat ‘Lord’, “nor understand clearly what is at risk as we speak.”

He wasn’t an imbecile nor an idiot.

He understood the risks.

But wasn’t it more proper to obey King Agnar’s orders over…His orders? Albeit obeying King Agnar over Him was far more costly and far less safe.

But how could he risk more disdain?

Did many not already hate him enough?

He ran a finger along the engraved woodwork of his chair and bit down on his bottom lip.

His Majesty King Agnar was far more forgiving than…Him.

And Acheron would be a foolhardy buffoon that had a death wish to disobey His orders any more than he already had in the past.

“Do whatever you desire with the man, Drasq. His Majesty must understand that the attempted assassin refused arrest, and we had no other choice.”

Drasq offered a wide, almost yellow grin. “I will see to it, my lord.”

Drasq fled the room, and Acheron leaned back in his seat.

It had to be done.

For the good of Aonaichte, anyone who attempted to usurp King Agnar deserved justice only in the form of death.

But if it was so right, so true…

   Why did it feel so wrong?

gone for the foreseeable future✌🏻✨ might come back one day

[Ellette Giselle]

@freed_and_redeemed

 

YIPPPY!!!!!!!!!

 

OOOOOOooooooo!!

 

This is going to be a good one!

 

one thing I noticed, you capitalize this mysterious “he” and in my mind a capitalized “He” makes me think of God/Jesus. I know it’s not, but it’s the first thing that came to mind. So maybe lowercase it?

 

Anyhow, this was really, really good! I can’t wait to read it in full! This one is going to be interesting!

Fires will rise to testify that 2+2=4. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in summer

[whaley]

@freed_and_redeemed

I find it really funny that whenever I want something quick to read, there’s always a new scene posted on here. XD

I highly suggest you first begin to prepare by seeking out a queen fit to rule alongside you and produce an heir.

Bro has a schedule, hehe. Do royal homework, get wife, produce baby.

So I can spend my time that could be used in remembering Aodhán to merely discuss how Aonaichte may prosper, as if his death means not a thing to a single one of you?

Is this Michael super attached to his late brother to the point where he isn’t practical (and dismisses his responsibilities), or is this council too dismissive of the grieving period? Both?

Braiding a custom far more common within the kingdoms and lands to their east but a tradition some within Aonaichte had long since adopted, especially those who dwelled in secret or in the mountain ranges near Rígsteal, the man’s carefully braided long hair and thick beard only somehow added to the fierce look of him.

Are you describing Acheron or the man next to him? Either way, I see you’re having fun with the world-building. :p

What if his father had given in to despair or else envisioned something that was not there out of his grief?

I’m not sure if Michael or Agnar is in the right, here, but that’s probably what you want. A person can linger too much on their grief and avoid other things, but they can also try to move on too quickly.

For the good of Aonaichte, anyone who attempted to usurp King Agnar deserved justice only in the form of death.

True, true… not true? Hm.

Note: When you describe your characters, from what I remember, you usually emphasize the hair and eyes. I liked how you included some clothing description here! Loosen up a little, describe the posture, complexion, noses. (Ah, noses. Where would we be without them?)

The exhaustion is strong with this one

[Author]

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