#I don’t even have a proper Yorkshire accent always | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gelfbog · 3 years

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headcanons for the gelfling clans accents !!

As someone who is really interested in languages and linguistics, one thing I always wish AOR did was give all the clans different accents. So, I decided I would do it myself! I’ve basically been researching different (mainland) UK accents and I’ve put an accent to each clan. This is based a lot on my own headcanons, but I’ve taken into account different information we’ve gotten about gelfling accents and languages, as well as the geographical placing of the clan’s settlements, and their clans status and culture. I’ve linked videos with each clan to give you an auditory idea of what I think they would sound like. All under the cut!!

(!! disclaimer !! : I am Irish, not from the UK, so I’m sorry if my description of/videos I have chosen to display any of the accents are inaccurate. I’ve tried my best not to generalize with the accents too much, but I know that a lot of accents change from town to town, so unfortunately I have given just a broad umbrella description of some accents. I’m sorry if I get anything wrong!!!)

Vapra - Queen’s English/Received Pronunciation

I think the Vapra are the only clan to have been canonically distinguished as having a particular accent, but maybe I’m wrong. It’s mentioned a lot in the books about how the Vapra have a very distinct accent, SkekSa even noticing Tae speaking with one, when she was taken over by Tavra. Their accent is “distinct and noticeable” according to the Songs of the Seven Gelfling Clans, and is similar to the Skeksis accent. I think that maybe the normal gelfling of Ha’rar speak with a type of Received Pronunciation, whereas the aristocrats, and the Royal family themselves, would speak Queen’s English. It would make sense that the Vapra would speak in Received Pronunciation, an accent associated with privilege and education, as they are known for.....well, privilege and education. Each word is articulated very clearly, and it is a sharp, almost cold accent - which suits their climate nicely. It is often thought as the “proper” way to speak, and those gelfling who speak with this accent automatically present themselves as a higher class, although other clans may just associate the accent with snobby-ness. Naturally, the Vapra coming from the capital city of Ha’rar, the seat of the All- Maudra, I think Queen’s English is very fitting.

Here are some videos of people speaking Queen’s English/Received Pronunciation!

Old RP

Received Pronunciation (RP)

R.P. ACCENT (REAL EXAMPLE)

Received Pronunciation Dialect Breakdown

Upper-class Accent Examples

Stonewood - Brummy (Birmingham Accent)

I was between Cockney and Brummy for the Stonewood, as I think both accents suit the wood-dwelling clan. However, I think Brummie is better suited, as Birmingham is is situated in the central midlands of England - like how Stone-in-the-wood is “the hearth of the Skarith Land”. The Brummy accent is quite nasally, due to the amount of industry that used to be in the city. Industry is something the Stonewood are known for, with their weapons, tools and instruments their blacksmiths create being well-renowned and sought after across Thra. The accent is sort-of a mix of a southern and northern English accent, which I think this suits the Stonewood well, in terms of their clan status. As much as they are a rough, warrior and battle focused clan, they are of a very high standing, second to only the Vapra. Therefore, the mix comes from Vapra/Skeksis influence, and then their own woodland charm. Although other clans may see the Stonewood accent as brash and arrogant, the warrior clan is proud of their dialect, and don’t try to hide it!

Here are some videos of people speaking with a Brummy accent!

A Brummie Accent

Birmingham "Brummie" Accent (Female) AccentBase File #41

NO F*CKING FIGHTING - Peaky Blinders S03E01

Alison Hammond's Funniest Moments | This Morning

Birmingham: Reputation vs Reality Part 1 @ 2:50 - 5:44

Spriton - Yorkshire Accent (South, West and East)

I have a good bit to back up my headcanon here. The Spriton are a widespread clan, about 1/3 of them living outside of Sami Thicket, some families living over a days journey from the main village. For this reason, I think the different Yorkshire accents suit them very well. Since the Spriton live all over the Spriton Plains, some nearer to Stone-in-the-Wood, some nearer to the Swamp of Sog, and some even living at the edge of the Dark Wood (rip kylans parents), it would make sense that they all have variations of a similar accent. I imagine that it can be hard for other clans to tell each of the different Spriton dialects apart, but the Spriton themselves can hear a clear difference in the voice between someone who was born in Sami Thicket, and someone who was born on the outskirts of the plains. You can see, as we move further south down the Skarith Land, the presence of the posh Ha’rar accent, is slipping away, with different vowels sounds and timbre, even different grammar. The Yorkshire accent often omits words and letters to make speaking faster, which is a practical way of speaking for the busy farmers and soldiers of the Spriton Plains.

Here are some videos of people speaking with Yorkshire accents!

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOOuqHMY-_tXV8t9mcQt4PtF8S3s577NI

School Of British Accents – YORKSHIRE

interview with millen eve - true yorkshire accent!

South : Louis Tomlinson Gets Quizzed On Yorkshire Slang

West : Zayn Malik Sounds Off on Fashion, Fame, and the Meaning Behind His Home Studio | Vogue

East : Best of Jenny and Lee on Gogglebox

Drenchen - Edinburgh Accent

Now, this is a headcanon I will fight for. I will eternally feel that we were ROBBED of the Drenchen having a Scottish accent. I was deciding which Scottish accent would suit them best, and I finally landed on an Edinburgh accent. As much as I think that my favourite swamp dwellers would have a strong accent, I don’t think it’s overly realistic. While they are isolated from the other clans, which would naturally cause them to speak differently to them, I don’t think they are isolated enough to have a drastically contrasting accent. Therefore, I thought that the Edinburgh accent, said to be softer and less intense than other Scottish dialects, would be perfect. They still have a similar tone to the rest of the clans, but their soggy lilt is unique, and is still noticeably different of a timbre to the other clans of the Skarith Land. I also presume that their gills would have some sort of influence on their intonation, another reason I chose the Edinburgh accent, which comes almost from the back of the throat - closer to the gills!

Here are some videos of people speaking with an Edinburgh accent!

Outlander | The Many Scottish Accents | STARZ @ 1:25 - 2:05

Shirley Manson's Guide To Swearing

Sean Connery 1971: The BBC Interview HD

12 Times Professor McGonagall Was a Boss Ass Witch

Ewan McGregor on being recognised as Obi-Wan | The Graham Norton Show - BBC

Sifa - West Country

I think this is a pretty obvious accent to assign to the Sifa, as it’s the origin of the traditional “pirate” accent. They have a distinctive way to say their “r”s , and it can sometimes be a harsh sounding accent, suiting the sometimes dangerous lifestyle of the rogue clan. However, the rounded vowels and somewhat cozy feeling you get from the intonation of the West Country accent, shows the mythical and peaceful side of the Sifa. I headcanon that it’s uncommon for a gelfling to have a truly Sifan accent, due to the influence of other gelflings with other dialects that join the Sifa, therefore with most Sifa ending up with an amalgamation of gelfling accents. However, with families that have sailed with the Sifa for generations, the accent is still very much alive. For those gelfling who run away to the Silver Sea for a while, they always return home with a subtle sea-faring twang.

Here are some videos of people speaking with a West Country accent!

Learn Hagrid's British Accent (HARRY POTTER) | West Country Accent

Learn how to do the West Country accent - Sound like Hagrid from Harry Potter.

Harry Potter - Best of Hagrid

School Of British Accents – WEST COUNTRY

LOTR The Two Towers - The Tales That Really Mattered...

Dousan - Lancastrian English

It took me a while to decide which accent would be best for the Dousan. I wanted an accent that didn’t draw out many sounds, and was spoken quickly, as the Dousan try to preserve as much moisture in the desert air as they can. After looking through hours of footage of different English dialect videos, I decided on the Lancastrian accent. They have shorter vowels than other dialects, and also shorten a lot of words to make them quicker to say. I thought this was perfect for the Dousan, a clan which avoids speaking for long, if they can. It is quite a unique accent, especially in terms of grammar, which makes sense, as the Dousan rarely socialize with other clans, meaning they would not pick up other slang or pronunciation. The Dousan use the Language of Silence, a type of sign language, which is sometimes used in unison with audible speaking. I thought that the unique Lancastrian grammar went well with this, as in The Songs of the Seven Gelfling Clans, it says that “more was being communicated when both hands and tongues worked together”. Perhaps the reason the Dousan grammar is created to be much shorter and quicker to say, is because the Language of Silence allows the Dousan to communicate in full, meaning there is no need to speak with long sentences? Either way, I think the accent is a perfect fit for the nomadic clan.

Here are some links and videos of people speaking with a Lancastrian Accent!

Lancastrian English: Dialectable Episode 4.

Listen to accent of Lancashire England

Lancashire Dialect Poem - Northern English Accent

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOOuqHMY-_tVnuxrODGw0BEdZlC9RNHcw

https://www.mykp.co.uk/learn-lancastrian-accent/ (this breaks down what I mean about the shorter grammar)

Grottan - South Wales Accent

Deet’s tendency to sing often made me think that the South Wales accent would be perfect. It is a naturally sing-songy type of accent, with a musical intonation. This is because the South Welsh accent is heavily influenced by the Welsh Language. I thought that because the Grottan have been isolated from other Gelfling, and rarely go “topside”, they would have very little impact on their dialect from the Skeksis, something their sister clan, the Vapra, have been hugely influenced by. This led me to think that perhaps the Grottan accent would have a lot more in common with the old-gelfling language, giving it that sing-songy and particular lilt. Like the Dousan, the Grottan have their own language, Finger-talk, which is incredibly difficult to learn for non-Grottan gelfling. Maybe the reason it is so difficult, is because of, again, the influence of old-gelfling, something the other clans have slightly lost a connection to. But perhaps, the Grottan accent may also play a part in why it is so difficult for daylighters to learn this peculiar language. As the accent has such musical intonation, with lots of high and low sounds in it’s speaking, perhaps finger-talk is based more on these high and low sounds, and less on the actual words themselves, which is why Grottan find it so easy to learn, as these high and lows are built into their accent regardless. Nevertheless, the South Wales accent is one of my favourites, and it perfectly fits the peaceful and secluded Grottan.

Here are some videos of people speaking with a South Wales accent!

Newport (Casnewydd), Gwent, South Wales, Welsh Accent (Female) Accentbase File #144

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6x7uaw

School Of British Accents – WELSH ENGLISH

Elis James Bad B&B Experience | Alan Davies As Yet Untitled | Dave

https://www.thevoicecafe.net/learn-Welsh-accent-online.htm

And that’s all! I was really surprised by the amount of people that were interested in me making this post, so I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone! I’d love to know what you guys headcanon the gelfling clans to sound like, and whether you think my headcanons or accurate or not. Again, I’m sorry if I got anything wrong about the accents, or generalized too much. I’m linking a few more videos which go through all of these accents, with more examples of people speaking with them, all well as some linguistics background to the dialects. I’ve also linked the Survey of English Dialects, where you can find lots of clips of all these different accents I have mentioned. Thank you so much for reading all of this, I really appreciate it!!

Survey of English Dialects - Accents and dialects

20 British Accents in 1 Video

One Woman, 17 British Accents - Anglophenia Ep 5

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

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Auld Lang Syne (Jack x Rin)

Word Count: 3200

Warnings: None! Complete fluff.

A/N: inspired by @magic-multicolored-miracle winter prompts. New Year's kiss. o one asked for it 🤣 This is a sequel to "I'm A Creep" <-- Found here

She came to this little bookstore as many days a week as time allowed. Maybe it was becoming a bit obsessive, Rin’s constant reasons to spend hours there instead of a library. There was a collection of unread novels piling up on the coffee table of her council flat off the high street. Any excuse to be nearby

With the holidays fast approaching, her catering job kept her busier than ever. The constant flirting and serving and pleasing executives and drunk administratives and book editors and bankers managed to fend off the memories of the last time she ended up in the psych hospital. That and plenty of time made everything slow down and spread out over days instead of the constant hours she once spent. Her senses now and then brought Jack back to her like the waves in his mental pond crashing over her. She would be taken off guard for just a moment or two, but the parties kept them back at bay.

Two months in the psych hospital was all they spent together. A month that seeped into her dreams and waking moments for half a year after Rin was released. How she and Jack never spoke again after that night. He grinned awkwardly in her direction during their next group therapy session. Squinting his eyes like he was trying to place where he knew her from, but that was part of her gift. Sometimes, they woke up from a dream and forgot she was ever apart of them.

Before Rin could blink, Emma had come to take Jack home. Emma who smiled fondly at the “barking” girl with scarred hands who carried the flame of hope from her heart to her brother. At least that's what she communicated to Rin as they brushed fingertips on the way out. Jack was safe. He was loved. Emma would make sure he could handle the world without messages and the dead people who plagued him for so long. A few more days, and Rin was dropped back out in the world too.

Still, as the song goes, she learned to muddle through somehow. It had been a rather peculiar stretch of time Rin had gone without thinking of his unearthly eyes or that mass of dark curls on her neck and chest as they.. A bell over a door she didn't remember stepping in broke her out of the reverie.

Rin found herself inside a small shop with shelves eight or nine feet high. That musty smell of tangible books invaded her nostrils and she inhaled deeply. With eyes closed, she put her hand on the first row she could find and melted into the memories imprinted on them. She was struck by an unexpected wave, but instead of drowning she rode it to shore. There was a squeaky creak that often accompanies a wheel and just knew someone was on one of those ladders that glided across the shelves.

“You alright, loov?” that Yorkshire accent filled Rin’s ears and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” he chuckled at a joke he felt only he understood.

He was a few feet above her when she finally opened her eyes. He dipped precariously from the ladder like he was swinging from a rope on a pirate ship. Those eyes shining brightly as they reflected the white lights decorating the store. Rin didn’t need to touch him to know he was happy. She could see it on his face as he smiled in her direction. Even in hospital she never knew he had dimples.

“Jack,” it came out before she could help herself.

He arched an eyebrow curiously in her direction. Head tilted in thought. Then looking down at his name tag he puffed air out of his nostrils “Right,” he tapped it “Forgot I was wearing this.”

Rin’s shoulders sagged in defeat, then unexpectedly “Have any Dickens?”

What the hell, she chided herself.

“Do we also have tea in the Queen’s country?” he teased. Rin’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. “sometimes we forget all the books we've read. I've forgotten loads since I was sick a few years back. Lived rough then was in hospital while. Dunno why I said that.”

“I think we tell strangers our secrets because we’ll never have to see them again,” Rin spoke softly.

“If you never come back, I was a bad salesman. Always looking for repeats.” Was.. he flirting? “Any Dickens will do?”

“Oliver Twist?” Rin signed and closed her eyes. Her face was on fire. You've had sex with this bloke, and he's got no bloody clue.

“Oi! I like Edwin Drood best. Old man dropped dead right in the middle of it all. Never got a proper ending. Ever been on one of these?” Jack gestured towards the ladder. Rin shook her head so he opened an arm. “Hop on with us then!”

“You give all the girls a ride?” Rin found her voice. She climbed up and settled herself against Jack’s body. Her naked hand closed over his; she felt a jolt go through his chest which tensed in response.

“Not- Not usually?” he stammered and tightened his grip around Rin’s waist as they slid along the shelves. “Do we know each other from somewhere? You just feel familiar. Dunno why I'm thinking of a bird.” Jack spoke more to himself.

“Well, actually, name is Wren-”

He cut her off, “But your brother couldn't say it right, so everyone calls you Rin.”

Jack’s body relaxed into the young woman’s. Maybe it was reflex, but he cautiously buried his face in her hair and inhaled.

Rin swallowed a smile, and found little ways to touch him that day. Little ways to touch exposed parts of Jack everytime she visited the store. Innocent explanations for their hands lingering when he handed her the twentieth book she didn't need. To flirtatiously brush the curls away from his forehead as he leaned over the counter when they talked.

And almost every single time Jack leaned into it. Reciprocated. Started remembering little parts of Rin from their time in section. Not the big messy memories, just bursts from time to time. She was ok with that. She would take him anyway she could.

Now here she was, two days before Christmas with her hands on the ornaments in the shop window. She had something wrapped in brown paper in her purse and was biding her time as Jack helped the customers buying last minute gifts.

Soon it was her turn, and Rin placed the gift on the counter simultaneously with Jack doing likewise. There was unexpected laughter, the way Jack's tapered off into a giggle from a loud outburst. Infectious as it was, Rin joined in.

“If we got each other identical presents, you're coming to mine for New Year’s,” it wasn't a question. “Emma and her partner know you somehow. Must be from around the visitor’s during..” His voice trailed off.

“Our time in the nuthouse?” Rin offered.

Jack leaned over and brushed his nose against Rin’s cheek out of the blue. They lingered momentarily, before he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I've done that before,” another assertion as his verdant gaze settled on Rin’s lips.

Picking up the package, Rin shoved it playfully into Jack’s chest so that he was forced back. “Open your gift!”

“Fine!”

Jack mimicked her tone as he tore into the wrapping paper at the same Rin dove into hers. They both held up books simultaneously and fell into a fit of giggles.

“OLIVER TWIST!”

“EDWIN DROOD?!”

In unison: “FIRST EDITION?!”

“I can't believe I never knew how much you loved books,” Rin was blunt.

“I'm not sure how much we spoke for you to find out.” Jack hugged the book tightly to his chest. “I'm not sure how much I spoke to anyone outside of group and therapy.”

Rin took one of her million chances when she placed the palm of her hand against Jack’s cheek. He relaxed into the touch, eyes closed and sighed contentedly. Under the surface he was warm and bright like the Christmas lights. She wouldn't let herself pass any further than the happy memories. Impassioned ones of mouths and hands and fingertips and hugs.

Perhaps it was the particular sensation Rin spread out from herself to Jack that triggered a reaction. One of him leaning across the countertop to bring their lips together in a chaste kiss that lingered longer than it should have.

Jack recovered and righted himself before apologizing. He was compelled in the moment out of gratitude. “Meet us here on New Year’s, yeah? So we don't have to be alone.”

“You've got family, Jack.” Rin reminded him.

“So we don't have to be alone for the New Year,” he only repeated. It was a date.

------

Rin took the early shift on New Year’s Eve so she could tear out and get ready. The nerves coiled in her stomach as she scrambled to fix hair that wouldn't fall right or apply make-up that made her resemble a street walker. She sighed, defeated, and told herself this was all she could give.

Still Jack threw a large grin in her direction as he closed up the shop. He wolf whistled and Rin felt her face catch fire.

“Aren't you a stunner?” he pecked her cheek and gave the woman before him a spin. She loved the way it came out sounding like “stoonah.”

“You got a big date or something?” he teased before taking her by the hand.

“I needed extra money for the holiday so I thought I'd hang around a street corner. Fifty quid and a warm cot, I'll do whatever you like” Rin shrugged and winked coyly.

Jack rolled his eyes, but his demeanor changed as he traced the network of scars on the back of her hand so delicately Rin felt tears in her eyes. She swiped at them swiftly hoping he thought it was the chilled breeze.

“Dunno why I did tha,” he dropped the hand abruptly and buried his own in a jacket pocket. “Not my place to touch (tooch) you when you didn't ask.”

Uncomfortable silence.

“does anyone else work here besides you?” Rin gestured towards the store as they started walking, she assumed, to Emma’s house.

“Sometimes Emma and Billy. Only when I get too overwhelmed.”

Rin linked her arm with Jack's to break the weird tension. “Do you manage it?”

“I own it. Why need a job? Maybe a bit of a conflict if the boss has a bit of a flirt with the shopgirl innit?”

“OWN IT?!”

Jack laughed, “Not bad for a nutter who talks to dead people and was not long for Big Issue. Why do I say this shit to you?!”

“I'm like a truth serum?” she offered.

They wound their way through a lovely neighbor with houses no one Rin knew could afford. She remembered Jack’s brother-in-law was a lawyer. He told her his sister left him not long after he got out. Had to be spousal support and a settlement, but she didn't prod.

“I helped someone a while back. Someone kinda connected. Well-known, I guess? I tried to sort out his missus when she tried suicide.”

“It didn't work in the end.”

“At first. It's how I got sectioned. The voices. His voice. She was ok for a bit. His family sent me letters. They figured I knew something. What I knew got them a conviction. I got a reward. Doesn’t always feel like one if everyone’s dead now does (dooz) it?”

It was Rin’s turn to lace her fingers with Jack's. “You helped someone's family find peace. Sometimes that's enough even if you kinda lose yourself in the process. Look I let what I can do almost kill me. That’s what put me in hospital.” She held up the gashed scar along her wrist. “But that gave me yo-” Rin swallowed the word. “I got to use my gift one last time. And he's happy! Even if he forgets who I am.”

“Who could ever forget you, love?”

They were quiet the rest of the journey.

-----

Rin sat on the edge of the pool as her feet dangled in the bath warm water. Her brain flashed back to the lake where she experienced Jack drowning in his own mind. Bogged down by medication he didn't need while the dead clung to him. Then they had surfaced, she nearly torn apart by the ghosts Jack fought with. Bellowed that he was no longer their messenger. They tried to take her as compensation.

Now false water filled Rin’s lungs as a fake grin spread across her cheeks. The chlorine and tropical air made her nauseous, ready to vomit. Of all the things Jack could have suggested they do, swimming at 11pm would not have ever crossed her mind.

“There was a kid, lived here before Emma, died right. Mean little bastard too. Suppose dying like that might get a kid angry as long as he was tied to it.”

Jack stood on the pool’s edge, toes curled around the stone. His face went a bit dark as he narrowed his eyes in the direction of something Rin couldn't see in the opposite corner. He clenched his fists. She knew it was a silent standoff between Jack, and most likely, the dead boy.

It was only a flash of his old self before Jack snapped to. He grinned like the Cheshire cat as he undid his jeans and tore his sweater off. Then headfirst into the deep end leaving Rin to squeal.

“WHAT are you doing?!” she yelled as he bolted towards her underwater.

“Dunno fancied a swim. It's rather lovely water considering it's January. Plus,” he pointed towards the ceiling, “Look up.”

Rin followed his finger and gazed upwards. A large glass window spread the night sky before them. Millions of stars shone through, stars she never really bothered searching for. She was overwhelmed by other people's emotions, literally, that she never had a quiet moment to herself so that she COULD look up.

“Don't you wanna to join me?” Jack’s question was rather coy as he side-stroked back and forth.

Rin shook her head, “I'll sit here and watch.” She glanced down at the wine bottle she nearly forget, “And drink.” So they did.

Now her anxiety was churning her stomach. A coat of alcohol warmed her further than just the temperature of the pool room. Her chest was tight with lack of oxygen as she struggled to not cry. So she focused on the long, thin body completely relaxed on the water's surface. What a lovely distraction it was.

Jack floated along lazily on his back, boxers leaving nothing to the imagination. That secret part of him Rin had not seen in two years clearly visible. Now her face grew flush with desire and the memory of how good it felt for once to be touched by a man because he cared about her. How they made each other sing.

Jack must have sensed something because he righted himself and swam towards her. Those hands on her calves and knees to part them slightly so he can stand between them. He was silent as he reached for the bottle of wine.

“Rin, be honest,” his voice filled the silence of the room. “Can you swim?”

Rin's heart pounded so loudly in her ears that Jack was muffled. The way he looked at her, desire emanated from him. There was a disconnect between his brain and body. Those hands on her thighs remembered exploring her but the rest of him didn't. They lingered between innocence and the verge of obscenity. If he wanted, Rin would have sex with him while a houseful of people partied and danced within ear shot.

“i can swim!”

Jack pushed off the wall and splashed her in the process. “Do you think I'm sexy?” he was drunk. Head tilted as the wet curls clung to his face.

“A blind person would think you're sexy. You're taking the piss because I won't get in.”

“Of course I am! Come on. I'll hold you?” he raised an eyebrow. “It's almost midnight. I want to be with you when it is.”

“We're together enough, Jack”

“No!” he waved his hands. “I want to hold you.I don't know why, I know I have before? I feel like there's just this.. Ever since you came to the store it’s been like trying to remember a dream I had once. And some part of me is saying you know how to help because you've done it before?”

Realization spread across Jack's face, “Rin, am I the one who forgot you?”

“It happens sometimes. I think.. I think my abilities shut off a part of people who no longer need me or want me?” she shrugged it off.

“How could I not want you?”

It was such an innocent thing to ask. One Rin had asked herself every time someone used her. Her parents turned her into a sideshow freak for their religion. Men and their sick desires that she tapped into. Even she didn't want herself most of the time.

But Jack had been alone. Left to his own devices and literally haunted. Rin never needed to touch him to know how sad he had been when he first was sectioned. It emanated from him. He knew about self isolation and mistrust. And especially about gifts that would ruin you if they could.

There wasn't a thought left. Spurned on by the purity of his question, Rin hurried out of her clothes and eased herself into the pool. She swam as quickly as her body allowed before throwing herself in Jack's waiting arms.

Their arms and legs tangled together in the water. Rin wrapped herself around Jack's hips, her arms draped across broad shoulders. She twisted her fingers up in his hair and let her body meld into his.

Jack held Rin's head in his hands. Their foreheads pressed together as he nudged the tip of his nose along her face. Careful, at first,

to only brush his lips on her cheeks and eyelids. Then the countdown started.

Everyone in the house started counting down excitedly, and Jack stopped being cautious. It was cliché how their mouths found one another hungrily as the guests screamed Happy New Year! How Rin's empathic touch sent a wave of electricity that visibly shocked Jack's body as they began to sing. As if she plugged his body into his brain and there was a spark that brought him to life.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

For days of Auld Lang Syne

They relaxed into one another. Their kisses became languid but no less passionate. Everyone stormed the pool around them, splashing and laughing and hollering. Emma drunkenly interrupted the couples’ warring lips and tongues.

“Took you fucking long enough,” she teased her baby brother. “I kept hoping this would happen.”

Rin buried her face in Jack's chest as he held her tight. That bright fire that flowed from Emma to her and Rin to Jack back in hospital took root again in this house and pool.

“Me too.”

We’ll take o cup of kindness yet

For days of auld lang syne

#robert sheehan #jack #the messenger #robert sheehan character fics #jack x rin

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spaceokase · 3 years

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OC Voices

I’m an absolute coward and I’m not gonna post me speaking, but I thought knowing various character speaking mannerisms, accents and so on might be interesting, SO

Zephrine: Vaguely French™, slightly higher pitch, and tends to have two different ways of speaking. In casual conversation, she has a very lilted way of speaking, with her sentences tending higher towards the end, or getting even higher as she gets more emotional. When she’s being more authoritative/serious however, her voice gets more even-keeled, and almost monotone, as she’s trying to get her point across clearly and concisely.

Swears a little, but not a lot. Mostly “shit” or “what the fuck”

Danyla: Southern US accent, but more subtle than you’re probably thinking. Veers more towards Southern Belle than Redneck. Has a somewhat low, smooth and even way of speaking, and doesn’t tend to get too riled up. Almost lackadaisical, but she has her moments of intensity, though she never really loses that even keel to her voice.

Swears a bit in casual conversation, but not excessively so. Says “damn” or “ah shit” more than anything

Kajra: Lower pitched, Generic American accent. Always sounds like he’s vaguely annoyed at you, probably because he is. Gets higher pitched when he’s upset or you’ve really piqued his ire lmao

Only swears when he’s really, really upset. Most likely to call you an ass.

Seraphi: Low and smooth, very monotone, not very emotive. Has an air of authority to her, everything she says is said with absolute certainty. American accent b/c I’m American so that’s my default lmao.

Doesn’t swear. She’s too proper for that.

Lhoril: Very proper way of speaking, rather smooth. Speaks gently while still conveying some authority. Not much else to say other than she’s a refined lady with the background of a soldier, so her mannerisms reflect that.

Doesn’t really swear, though she’s more likely to if she knows you well enough.

Neralya: Basically my casual speaking voice, but sassier. Fairly down the middle as far as range/octave/whatever goes, veers between monotone and very emotive. Is very casual, even in situations where she perhaps shouldn’t be.

Swears like a sailor lmao

Threnn: Still sorting her out b/c she’s new, but she will speak the Queen’s English if I don’t get too embarassed lmao. I’m going for... very proper, surprisingly proper, if condescending, but we’ll see how it goes

Sunni: Tentatively welsh. Haven’t figured out her voice much otherwise, but it is lower than expected for a kobold and she can be very sing-song.

Therila: I don’t voice her b/c she’s not technically my character, but I find it worth noting that she has a Yorkshire accent :)

She’s kind of a fun mirror to Zephrine in that she’s originally a city girl that speaks like a country girl, while Zephrine is a country girl that speaks like she’s from the city

#dnd #caerllon #oc lore #zephrine #danyla #neralya #lhoril #therila #kajra #seraphi #threnn #sunni

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dailytomlinson · 5 years

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It has been a hard few years. Tomlinson’s mother died in 2016, just as he was about to launch his first solo single. In March this year, his 18-year-old sister was found unconscious at her flat in London and couldn’t be revived. We will come to that, but, professionally, Tomlinson was struggling too. One Direction – that supernova of a boy band – broke up in 2015. Or announced they were taking a break. Or “‘hiatus’ or whatever word we use”, he says with a smile.

At the time, Tomlinson, now 27, was finding his place as a songwriter. “I wasn’t singing a lot, I wasn’t the frontman. Without being a sorry little bastard, I thought: ‘How do I do better, how do I make something of myself, an identity?’” In the last 18 months of One Direction, he says, “I felt like I knew who I was in the band, and I felt a real worth for who I was.” The break up, he says, “rocked me. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt like I was getting to be a better songwriter, singer, a more confident performer, and all of a sudden, when I felt I was finally getting some momentum …”

We meet at a bar in north London. Tomlinson greets me with a hug as if I am one of his fans (I am not, particularly, although I am by the end). He seems open but not vulnerable, and more self-aware and modest than you would expect from a man who was once part of the biggest boy band in the world. He is friendly and relaxed, dressed in a black tracksuit, with a beer in front of him.

Tomlinson’s personal tragedies also meant his solo career has had a bit of a stop-start quality, but now it looks as if there is focus and momentum. He released his single Kill My Mind earlier this month; an album will follow next year. Kill My Mind is an indie-pop delight, not so huge a departure as to alienate his fanbase, but it sounds like the music he grew up listening to – Oasis and Arctic Monkeys – and his South Yorkshire accent brings more than a hint of Liam Gallagher-style northern vocals. He sounds confident on them, more so than on the previous singles he put out, a couple of fairly forgettable collaborations. “I think, in hindsight, that was me trying to find my place in the industry and making music I thought I had to make to get on radio.

“I had this epiphany when I was thinking about the music I grew up with,” he continues. “I kind of had a bit of a word with myself and worked out what I want – to be happy and proud of what I’m doing. I love those early singles, but I never really felt proud of them, because it didn’t feel too true to me.”

As a child, growing up in Doncaster with his mum Johannah, who raised him alone until she married Tomlinson’s stepfather, he loved performing. “I liked to be the class clown, I liked to make people laugh, to show off, all that.” When his younger twin sisters were cast on TV dramas, he would sometimes go along as their chaperone, earning £30. “Where I’m from, we don’t have anyone who’s been on TV or anything like that, so it was super-exciting,” he says. He ended up picking up work as an extra. “The pinnacle of my acting career was one line on an ITV drama. I don’t even know if they used my scene,” he says with a laugh.

When he was 15, he joined a drama group in Barnsley, which his mum would take him to when she could afford it. “I think I was confused, thinking I wanted to act when actually what I wanted to do was perform.”

At school he joined a band, where they sang Oasis and Green Day covers, and when The X Factor came up, he made it on to the show in 2010 on his third attempt. He queued from 3am to make sure the producers wouldn’t have audition fatigue before they saw him, and he got his goal – to get in front of Simon Cowell “and just have a professional opinion on how I am as a singer. I was so flustered. Going from school performances to performing in front of professionals, TV cameras, a 3,000-strong audience. I wasn’t present. I sang terribly. I remember coming away from it thinking: ‘I wonder if I’ve got through as one of those lads who looks all right but isn’t really a good singer.’”

Yet he ended up in One Direction, the band the show put together in its 2010 series. For six years they sold tens of millions of records, broke America and each made a rumoured £40m-plus fortune. Their fans, Directioners, are another level of devoted. I don’t know how he coped with the attention, or the pressure.

There were really only a few times when it got too much, says Tomlinson. They were in Australia and a local news station had got a helicopter and a photographer was trying to get pictures of Tomlinson in his top-floor hotel room. “I think I was naked, or just in my boxers, and even in my hotel room there was no escape. I could feel the pressure.” He tweeted about it – “your standard bratty celebrity tweet” – and was attacked. “At times it did stress me out but never was I allowed to whinge, allowed to be a human and say: ‘Today has got too much for me.’ I found that difficult at first.”

But he is keen not to sound as if he is complaining. “There was much more positive that outweighed that.” And he never blames the fans for their intensity. Theirs is a special relationship, he says. “So many people have bullshitted about what they feel about the fans, but they’re like family to me.”

Even when Directioners have got a bit too ardent – there is a conspiracy theory, for example, that he and his bandmate Harry Styles have long been in a secret sexual relationship – he seems more bemused by it than annoyed. Although he is wary, he says, of adding “fuel to the fire” by talking about it. “I know, culturally, it’s interesting, but I’m just a bit tired of it,” he says. The HBO drama Euphoria recently showed an animated sequence of Tomlinson and Styles together, as imagined by a smutty fan-fiction writer. Was it annoying that a show had taken something fairly niche and given it new mainstream life? “Again, I get the cultural intention behind that. But I think …” He trails off, trying to work out what he wants to say. “It just felt a little bit … No, I’m not going to lie, I was pissed off. It annoyed me that a big company would get behind it.”

Why does he think he never went off the rails during the band’s heady period? “My mates and my family, really. It’s from my upbringing and where I come from. If I went back to Doncaster and I was dripping in Gucci or whatever, I’d probably get whacked. I’m always very conscious of not acting too big for my boots. It’s the people around me who keep me sane and normal, because they give me insight into real life. Some celebrities, in pop in particular, only surround themselves with amazingness, and all they see is good, good, good, which is lovely, but you don’t understand the real world then. I have the luxury of my mates around me, just reminding me how fucking good I’ve got it, really.”

The day of One Direction’s final concert in November 2015, Tomlinson and his bandmate Niall Horan sat together “and had a little cry, because it was such a journey we had been on. That day in general was so poignant. As much as you try and prepare yourself, it’s a whole other thing when it comes.” Because they had worked so much with few days off, he assumed that a break would be exciting. “But it wasn’t like that. When you’re used to working however many days, it’s all that more evident when you’re not doing something. Especially in the first six months. My life became –and I don’t mean this to sound derogatory – very normal, from being a life of pure craziness.”

At the same time that Tomlinson was trying to work out what to do with himself, his mother, to whom he was intensely close, had been diagnosed with leukaemia; she died in December 2016. He performed his first single on The X Factor just a few days after her death, then seemed to half-heartedly continue with his solo career, releasing another single in 2017. It would be another two years – during which he became a judge on The X Factor – before he released Two of Us, a raw and beautiful (and under-rated) song.

“After I lost my mum, every song I wrote felt, not pathetic, but that it lacked true meaning to me,” he says. “I felt that, as a songwriter, I wasn’t going to move on until I’d written a song like that.” He knew he needed to get it out of him, but there was a lot of pressure – he felt he should be an experienced songwriter before he attempted it. Two songwriters he worked with played him the chorus. “It was like the song I always wished I’d written. I went in and put my personal touch to the verses. It was a real moment for me in my grief, and as part of the creative process, because it felt like it was hanging over me.”

Earlier this month, an inquest found that his sister Félicité had died of an accidental overdose; she had been taking drugs, including anxiety medication, since the death of their mother. He has been through some terrible times, I say, which must put a perspective on a pop career. “Exactly,” he says, a little quieter than before. “That whole dark side I’ve gone through, it sounds stupid to say, but it gives me strength everywhere else in my life, because that’s the darkest shit that I’m going to have to deal with. So it makes everything else, not feel easier and not less important, but, in the grand scheme of things, you see things for what they are, I suppose.”

His fans have been crucial, he says. “I’m sure every artist says this, but I do believe it. We’ve been through some dark times together and those things I’ve been through, they carry a weight, emotionally, on the fans as well. And I felt their love and support. I remember really clearly when I lost my mum, that support was mad.”

What have the experiences of loss he has been through taught him about himself? He thinks for a second. “I keep going back to it, but I don’t know if it’s a combination of where I grew up and my mum’s influence, but I just have this luxury of being able to see the glass half-full no matter what.” He is the oldest of his mother’s seven children, which is grounding and means, he says, “there’s no time for me to be sat feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been to rock bottom and I feel like, whatever my career’s going to throw in front of me, it’s going to be nothing as big or as emotionally heavy as that. So, weirdly, I’ve turned something that’s really dark into something that empowers me, makes me stronger.”

He gets up to go to the toilet, which I think is his polite way of asking me to move on, although when he gets back he says, by way of a final word on the matter, “I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. That’s not how I feel for myself. Somehow it fuels me.”

One Direction will get back together one day, he believes. He still speaks to the others. “We’re not texting each other every day, but what we do have, which will never go away, is this real brothership. We’ve had these experiences that no one else can relate to.”

Styles has become quite the superstar. The others seem to have steady solo careers. Tomlinson says he’s embarrassed to admit that, when he first went solo, he would have been devastated had his album “only” reached No 3, so used is he to everything he did with One Direction going to the top. Is it hard not to measure himself against his former bandmates? “Oh, naturally,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I’ve never been competitive like that, but, naturally, you think: ‘If they’re getting this then I deserve that.’ I think, the longer time goes on, I can see it for what it is and just be proud of them.” And success means something else to him now. “It means I’m happy with what I’m doing.”

#louis tomlinson #pop and rock #one direction #music #the x factor #press #240919 #kmm press #the guardian #Guardian Life & Arts #tw death #stunt mention

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arthurjdrake · 4 years

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A chance bonding experience over pie, tea and haunted tape recorders with @damn-fine-cup-of-tea

“February twenty-ninth, it is 9.30am. The air still reeks of fish although I could swear that it has gotten better since I first got here. I still haven’t managed to get the name for those beautiful pine trees they have here. I was told they had moose. I must see a moose before I leave this town. I’m going to the bakery. Carol, if you ever get up this way, the apple pie at the diner is to die for. I must find out if they make it themselves, or if it is the same as the one from the baker. They don’t have proper tea here, and I had to go to Bangor to get my hands on tea leaves. Remind me to tell you how much that was. The people here are quite lovely, although I will have to notify the ATF and possibly the NSA about some of the inhabitants.” The agent stood still in the office they had given him at the police station. A tape recorder in his hand, Javier glanced and nodded politely at a police officer passing by the door before he went on : “I had the strangest dream last night. One of the deceased, a woman called Catherine Brissaud visited me in my dreams and kissed me. She looked beautiful but there was something off about her voice, she spoke gibberish. Then, she opened her mouth and a man’s voice came out of it telling me that it would kill again. There was this music in the back I cannot get out of my head, Carol. This is all very upsetting. I still have no clue on who could possibly have done it, why, or how? None of the victims showed wounds, and still, their entrails are all missing. All of it. I might need to stay here a bit longer than we imagined.” Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, the man decided to head to the bakery by foot, his thermos of tea in his hand. At last, a good proper cup of tea. Pushing the door to the bakery, he waited in line, glancing around the shop, searching for something, anything that would possibly catch his eye. That man in the corner with a cockatiel pattern on his tie surely seemed interesting.

With the recent keying of his car, Arthur had taken to walking places. Better that than risk further damages to his property from Freyja’s vague and self-serving ire. The very thought of everything that had happened online was enough to send him stir crazy if he stayed inside any longer. No, he needed a trip out to one of the few places he found some peace in this mad place. There was also the current issue of sorting out Nadia’s identity and Adam’s current curse from that blasted chalice. Jobs and side-tasks were stacking up faster than he could keep up with but in a way he was thankful for the distractions. Explaining how he ended up joining the queue tapping out a couple of quick replies to several of the emails in his inbox. With those sent he tucked his phone away and he could turn his attention to a few of the other patrons of the quiet bakery and associated coffee shop. He looked at the display case and hummed in thought unsure what to get - he never had been very good at making decisions. “Sorry,” he said to the man in front of him hoping it wasn’t a real bother “excuse me, I’m rather stuck on what to go for… Do you think the apple or the passionfruit one is better?”

“No harm done,” Javier turned around and gave the man a thorough look, his eyes travelling all across him before he gave him a pat on the arm. “I think, and this is only my opinion, that there is nothing better than a good, old fashioned, properly made, apple pie,” he released the man’s arm to point his finger at the pie behind the glass. “And this, looks exactly like a good, old fashioned, properly made, apple pie.” The crust/filling ratio appeared to be nearing perfection, as did the cooking of the apple, or the color of the dough that covered it all. And, this was really the cherry on top of it all : the pie was decorated very tastefully. Maybe this would help him forget about the town’s apparent aversion for a proper cup of tea. “You are British, aren’t you?” Javier was sure of that, but it never hurt to ask. “What do you think of the tea situation in this town?”

Arthur was quite accustomed by now to being inspected by strangers, and in a town like this his accent tended to make him stick out like a sore thumb. He didn’t mind, so he waited and smiled politely taking in the other man’s appearance in kind, at a guess he seemed of an age to himself - at least physically. The greeting was friendly in kind, which settled any initial concerns that he might have bothered this stranger with his question. It was a nice change considering it seemed a majority of those he’d met significantly younger. At least beyond Carrington but that was another dynamic entirely and gave merit to the fact that you could hardly tell people’s actual ages from initial observation. “I think you might be right,” Arthur found himself agreeing tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully “especially with this wintery weather.” The cold hardly bothered him but it hardly meant a warm treat every now and then wouldn’t go amiss. “I feel like I haven’t had a good apple pie in ages,” baking hadn’t been the highest of priorities on his list lately but it was something he was keen to get back into. His smile grew a tad wry at the stranger’s next question, “damn, what gave it away?” he asked in light jest. “Definitely not the accent, was it my fondness for weather discussions and freshly baked goods?” His grin turned to a mournful look though the humour remained in his tone, “oh gods it’s atrocious. Don’t even get me started. I turned up for my first day and asked where the kettle was - they didn’t even have one. They microwave it.” He shook his head in mild disbelief over this “have to get people from back home to send me yorkshire brew or else I’d lose my mind.” He glanced at the thermos, “I’m guessing you feel the same?”

“The weather is quite something,” Javier commented, idly tapping his finger on top of his thermos, in tune with that song he had heard in his dreams. God, that thing was stuck in his head. “Talking of which,” it may have not smelled like fish in the shop, and in fact, the whole place smelled very nice, but the agent had to ask about that damn smell. “Does it always smell like fish in this town?” It seemed odd to him that people would ever decide to settle and live in such a place. He kept a stern look on his face, although there was always a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he spoke. “Then you must have a slice of apple pie. Maybe you can sit with me. I’ll share the tea,” he offered. It would be a great opportunity to discuss with the locals, who, even if they were not connected with his case, helped him draw a better picture of the town and what could possibly be insidiously corroding, gnawing it. “I will say, that the accent sold you out, and the talk of weather and pastries confirmed my doubts,” he politely replied, glancing over the man’s shoulder to have a look at someone who had just walked in. Their socks did not match. He wondered if this had been done on purpose or not. “Funny.” He said, turning his attention back on the British man. “Of course they would. I have had people tell me that tea in bags was not so bad. It’s atrocious !” He shook his head, clearly disapproving of that kind of affirmation. “You are the third person who tells me they have to order tea from across the sea. I’m sure there’s a lot more of upset tea lovers in town.” Something had to be done about this. As it was his turn to order, the agent turned toward the saleswoman with a bright smile. “I will have a slice of pie, please,” he glanced at the man. “And the man after me, will have another one of those.”

Arthur had become relatively accustomed to the smell, but at least it had stopped raining fish. Small mercies. Yet, as the other man asked after it he shrugged. “I have no idea honestly… There was some weird meteorological event… Raining fish. Whole town was covered. But it’s definitely been getting a damn lot better since that stopped.” He didn’t mention the chest, or the fact that since he’d heard through the grapevine that it’d been opened that the weirdness had stopped. “How can I deny an offer like that?” he smiled, genuinely grateful for the offer this stranger extended out. “Then at least let me buy you some of the apple pie to say thank you for the kindness of sharing the tea,” it was the least he could do. The laugh that was drawn from him was light, “ahhh, guilty as charged.” It wasn’t entirely true, but true enough for this lifetime that he’d subscribed to the general notion. “Heathens, the lot of them. I’m telling you.” The disapproving look the stranger got was rather amusing overall. “Oh, most definitely. We should start a club.” They moved up and Arthur let the other man order for them both, taking his card out to cover the payment “I’m Arthur by the way, I didn’t catch your name mister-?”

Raining fish. It must have been a local expression, a derivative of it’s raining cats and dogs. Although, Javier could imagine that a storm could cause fish to end up in the atmosphere and rain down on a coastal town such as White Crest. There was nothing too weird here. “That’s funny,” he let a thin smile tug the corner of his lips upward. The town seemed to be rather normal, but the people here were a bit odd. The man he was talking to seemed quite normal, compared to the rest of them, although it was a bit early to be certain about that. “That is a very kind offer,” he nodded politely and moved aside to let his new tea friend pay for the pie. Javier wondered whether he should be introducing himself as an agent or as a citizen. It was unlikely that this person would have anything to do with his case, or he was truly the luckiest investigator this town had ever seen. “Javier, I’m Javier Sterling,” he had made his choice. Little did he know that he would not be able to be just a citizen for long, or that his tape recorder had developed a mind of its own and decided to record his conversation with Arthur. Sitting at a table by the windows, Javier walked back to the counter to ask for cups. If he clearly disapproved of paper cups, he did not comment on it as the saleswoman handed him those, and he walked back to the table to pour them each a cup of tea. This one had been advised by one of the people he spoke to online, and he had high hopes and expectations about it.

“You think I’m joking?” he glanced at the man, and the look on his expression earned a momentary thought of ah, of course you do. A majority of the cod and salmon had been cleared away from the streets, but Arthur still noticed the occasional one dotted around down. One had even been on the spear of a statue in down, talk about being skewered. “Least I can do,” Arthur said pleasantly as Javier stepped aside and he could pay for the two slices of pie. With the introduction Arthur offered an extremely warm hand out for a polite greeting “Arthur Drake if you’re going for full formality.” Once they were cut and served on plates with a couple of forks, Arthur picked them up and carried them over to the table. “So, what brings you to White Crest?” he queried as he slid into one of the seats at the table pulling one of the two plates over as Javier sorted out the tea “I mean, beyond the picturesque scenery and excellent apple pie? Somehow you don’t strike me as the small town kinda guy.”

Javier looked at the man with a perplexed look on his face, trying to figure out if this was some sort of elaborate joke. The puzzled look on his face did not really fade away until Arthur held out his hand and Javier shook it firmly, hoping that this conversation about the falling fish would stop now. “Drake. El dragón,” he commented, before he turned his back on the man. Sitting at the table, he took some time looking outside, although there was nothing special that caught his eye this time. Getting his coat off of his shoulders, the agent unbuttoned his suit’s jacket to get more comfortable. Besides, nothing looked worse than a man sitting with a closed jacket. “What brings you to White Crest?” The question was repeated, with echo, the chatter of the bakery amplified. Javier had just opened his mouth to reply, but the sound did not come from his mouth, but rather from his coat. The agent frowned, glancing at the piece of clothing. Could he have both pushed the record and play buttons by accident? There was a sound of rewinding tape for a couple seconds before the tape recorder started saying : “ get out of my head, Carol. This is all very upsetting. I still have no clue on who could possibly have done it, why, or how? None of the victims showed wounds, and still, their entrails are all missing. All of it.” When Javier got his hands on the tape recorder, he realized that none of the buttons were pushed, and still the tape played. Great, the damn thing was broken. “Excuse me,” he said, ejecting the tape and putting it away in a case. “I’m here with the FBI,” he sighed.

Ah well, he would learn soon enough. Arthur was hardly here to blow the man’s mind, so left him to his ignorance for the time being. “Indeed,” the translation that Javier picked up on was just part of the irony of each name he picked. Though most tended to overlook the fact. Pulling the cup towards him he first took a sip and hummed quietly in appreciation. Just the right strength. He waited on Javier’s response to his question, but what happened next had Arthur furrowing his brows in confusion. Victims, wounds, entrails missing? He looked to the coat in question suspiciously and then at Javier frantically fiddling with it once he’d pulled out the apparent recorder. “Uh…” he blinked a little caught off guard while Javier dealt with his screwy technology “sure…” Though he couldn’t help but frown a little with the clarification that Javier was with the FBI, “I see…” he caught himself and sat up a little straighter already having a suspicion this man was here for more than just the apple pie “well, seems like something important brought you to town.” He tilted his head in mild curiosity, “a case?”

Javier pursed his lips. Putting the tape recorder next to his cup of tea, he grabbed the latter and took a sip of it before he answered Arthur's question. Judging by the look on the man’s face, it was necessary for Javier to explain himself. He idly snapped his fingers, staring at them as he focused on what he would tell him. “A case.” He repeated, grabbing his fork to take a bite of the apple pie. His eyes shut closed as a pleased expression erased any trace of worry the tape recorder had given him. Groaning happily, the agent snapped out of it after a few long seconds. Right, the case. “We have five people with their insides missing,” he added, having swallowed his bite. “That apple pie is, excuse me, fucking amazing,” he stared at his place with the most delighted look on his face. “What about you? Where do you work?”

Arthur couldn’t entirely help how his eyes flickered to the tape recorder, a paranoid part of his mind wondering whether their conversation had been recorded. Were there others in town like him? Did that mean that other people might’ve been recording and documenting things? It was a slight worry inducing thought and he couldn’t help the slight tap of his foot. He’d forgotten about the apple pie in his minor moment of paranoia, but as Javier began to explain why he was here he felt some of the knotted tension ease. Well, at least they weren’t here for other reasons… At least not yet. “Sounds rather suspicious…” he remarked as he thought on the roster of things that might be capable of such violence or potential feeding habits, though admittedly he didn’t know them off by rote “but… the recording said there were um-- no wounds did it say?” It was only at Javier’s remark that Arthur remembered that he too had some, picking up his fork he cut through the pie and had a bite pleasantly surprised at the explosion of cinnamon and sugary apple that hit his palate. “Damn… You’re right.” He took another bite, but at Javier’s question Arthur swallowed and took a sip of tea to clear his mouth. “Ah, just up at the college... I lecture in the history and mythology department.”

Javier pointed at his face, his round cheeks suggesting that he was in the middle of eating another bit of that superb pie. Chewing slowly, he took his time to finish his bite as it took more than a discussion about missing guts for the agent to lose his appetite. “No wounds, nothing in common between the victims, no traces of effraction. It’s as if a ghost murdered them all,” picking up the paper napkin to wipe at the corner of his mouth, he glanced again at the tape recorder. He could have sworn that he had seen it move. He did not recall pushing any of the buttons, and yet the pause button was pressed in. And now the stop button, without him touching it. “Well that is odd,” he took the machine in his hand, inspecting it closely. “I’ll have to order a new one,” he thought aloud, putting it away in his coat. "That sounds fantastic,” he gave the man a thumb up, picking up his cup to take a sip of tea. “I find both of those subjects to be absolutely fascinating,” he explained. Javier was delighted that he had had the chance to run into a teacher as he believed that this was one of the most generous professions one could have.

He didn’t particularly wish to rush the pie as it was exceptionally good, so he took to sipping on his tea mulling over the tidbits of the case this agent was working on. This was hardly the first time he’d discussed weird and gruesome things over food so he wasn’t particularly put off by it. “Strange, is there any sort of similarity between the victims? Gender, ethnicity, age?” Most killers had some sort of profile that they worked to, Arthur might not have been in the service in this lifetime but he knew the protocol. Had stuck to it himself in recent lifetimes. As Javier picked up the tape recorder that had seemingly pressed its own buttons, Arthur narrowed his eyes a little suspicious of the little device that seemed to have developed a mind of its own. “Can I have a look at that?” Javier had taken the tape out so Arthur hardly saw any harm in asking to have a closer look. The thumbs up earned a humbled smile, “ah, they certainly are that. Though the FBI seems like a fascinating job. Serving your country and keeping people safe, I’m sure there’s nothing else quite like it.”

Javier rubbed at his chin for a moment as he thought about the different victims. They had nothing, truly nothing in common, aside from being found dead, with nothing left inside their abdomen. Thinking about this reminded him of his dream and that woman he saw. Catherine Brissaud. Shaking her out of his mind, he sipped silently on his tea. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. Ethnicity, age, gender, hair color, fragrance, occupation, hobbies. I have been looking at their whole lives and nothing is similar so far,” he explained. He had not expected that Arthur would find his tape recorder to be so interesting, and now that there was no tape in it, what wrong could it do. He handed over the device, not sure what the man could probably do to fix it, although maybe Arthur had a few other skills up his sleeve. “It is an amazing job. I do not think I could really make a change any other way.” Javier had considered working as a police detective a long long time ago, but travelling and working on cases like this one was a lot more gratifying to him.

“Well… That sounds both horrifying and utterly perplexing,” Arthur couldn’t help but be equally fascinated and terrified by the thought of something like that. “And you’re certain it’s the same…” he caught himself from saying thing “person… doing this? What about location? No apparent circle theory?” Arthur knew a little about psychological models of criminal behaviour, having studied history of different eras it was pertinent to have some understanding of how criminals behaved and acted in their attempts to avoid capture. As Javier retrieved the tape recorder, Arthur slid it over and turned it over thoughtfully inspecting the buttons. Pressing one to let it play though no sound came out (as he expected) considering there was no tape. He tested each button individually, finding nothing out of the ordinary about it. Interesting. “I suppose most people think of the police or the army when they think about serving their country, but the FBI is pretty darn impressive.” As he spoke, Arthur ensured all buttons weren’t pressed or locked and set it back down on the table in front of him mostly to keep an eye on it. “How’d you come into that field? Not something you just walk into surely? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”

“The way of killing is too specific to be done by several people, unless we’re looking at a cult, of course.” Javier rubbed his fingers against his jawline for a moment. “Considering the murders have been taking place in the same town, there is not a lot we can do to establish a possible location for the culprit’s home.” Obviously whoever was doing this must have been from White Crest, but drawing a profile for them was nearly impossible. “I expect that they’ll make a mistake. They always do,” serial killers were not very original, but how long it took them to start being reckless, to start playing with the press, or law enforcement, was never a set number of days. If only it had been so simple. Javier watched Arthur inspect his tape recorder. He remained quiet, although he still wondered what it was the man was trying to achieve, pushing buttons and staring at them. There was no judgement in his eyes, and he looked at him with marvel in his eyes. “People tend to forget that we also serve our country and not just the Bureau. We have to thank television for this,” looking out the window, his eyebrows raised as he saw a familiar silhouette standing on the other side of the road. Once again, they disappeared the moment something blocked his view. “I’ve always wanted to work in law enforcement. Back when I was a child, we used to hear about the FBI a lot on television. I started sending letters to the FBI director that summer.”

“Not something you could rule out I suppose,” Arthur remarked as he mulled over the few bits and pieces that Javier had provided regarding his reasoning for being here. “I mean if it’s in the same town then surely the culprit has to be living within the vicinity of the town? So, it narrows it down at least in that regard…” He looked out the window towards the street, watching as a couple of people walked by unassuming. How many people could this case put at risk? Too many. Perhaps it was a good idea to offer assistance and simply observe this agent’s progress. Putting such a creature away would likely benefit everyone, but there was a small concern in the back of his mind that innocents could equally incriminate themselves considering the… special population variation that White Crest possessed. “Perhaps, but how long do you wait until that happens?” Arthur completed his inspection and frowned, turning his attention to Javier with his remark. “Yes, television provides a great many unhelpful stereotypes. Perhaps success will make some think differently at least?” He could understand the draw of law enforcement. It was a noble profession. “That’s quite a direct approach, I guess you made quite an impression if that’s how you got into the business,” Arthur grinned wryly at the thought of a young boy writing to the FBI asking to join them one day. It was rather endearing in a sense. “And you’ve been with them ever since? That’s rather impressive.”

“It has not been ruled out.” Javier had, over the years, specialized in working on crime related to those sort of organizations. All these grotesque deaths, however… Those didn’t happen all too often. Usually with them, it was rituals that ended up in an accident, or, a human sacrifice. This seemed different. There seemed to be nothing that indicated a freak accident or a sacrifice. There were no signs, sigils, drawings, books. He took out his notebook and wrote himself a memo to have a look at all the books in the victims’ homes. A chore, but one that he would do anyway. “Maybe they’ve already done it,” he looked up from his notebook as he closed it, putting it away. He probably had missed something, a detail, when he went to those crime scenes. He would have to be more thorough. “Well, I only joined when I finished training at the academy,” he scoffed. The thought of 11 years old him running around with a cardboard badge after his older brother came back to his mind and he laughed some more, shaking his head. Boy, did he bore his brother to death with his stories back then.

“How long has all this been going on for?” he asked curiously “no symmetry with calendar dates or lunar cycles?” There was always some sort of pattern that came with things like this, or at least there tended to be. It was simply a matter of finding it that was the issue. Arthur lightly drummed his fingers on the table in thought. “Are all the crime scenes in town? Perhaps there is something that might have been overlooked?” While he had no particular investment in assisting, a part of him couldn’t help but be curious as to what might be responsible for these murders. “Perhaps you need another set of eyes aiding you with the case?” In a past life this had been the exact same sort of work he’d been employed to do. To locate and track moving targets and attempt to pinpoint their location, admittedly on a larger scale than a single murderer or cult potentially responsible for such things. “Was there any sign of forced entry at the properties?” Of course, he knew Javier had no particular reason to divulge any information regarding the case at all but it never hurt to ask. Did it?

“There is some sort of regularity to this,” it had nothing to do with the moon, or with a day of the month in particular, but there was indeed a pattern. More or less every three weeks, a person died. This comforted him in his idea that he was dealing with a cult. They killed when they needed to, no more, no less, taking only what was necessary. The agent finished his slice of pie and wiped his mouth with a lot of attention before he replied. “There is no doubt that we missed something. Either that, or we are dealing with a ghost,” he shook his head and sighed. Rubbing at his face, Javier looked at Arthur through his fingers for a moment, entirely still and silent. “We’ll see. We don’t usually ask our consultants to inspect crime scenes. But if you find something interesting, I might have to make you tag along,” his hands dropped down onto his lap. He shook his head at Arthur’s next question, a thin smile appearing on his face. He could tell that the man was interested, but Javier wondered if his interest would falter as he found out that there was, so far, no way to identify the killer, or even start drawing a loose portrait of them.

“Oh? And what’s that?” considering they were already discussing this at length he didn’t see any harm in asking. It was only in the interim of discussion that Arthur chose to look down at the tape recorder and frowned a little at how a couple of the buttons he’d unpressed earlier were now pressed and the little cogs turning inside of the machine. Interesting. “You know, in this town I wouldn’t say that too loudly… Some people might really believe you if you said you were dealing with a ghost… Lots of folks believe in that around here, maybe it’s why your killer is getting away with things so freely hm?” he smiled a touch wryly at the agent, more in good humour the man sat opposite him was painfully human in his limited mindset. It was unfortunate really, he wouldn’t catch anything with that sort of mindframe. Arthur reached for a napkin which he unfolded and set on the table on top of which the recorder was placed. Next, he took one of the salt shakers and carefully unscrewed the lid and made a ring of salt around the device. A rite was spoken under his breath, and a grey cloud of something intangible shot out of the little speaker of the device. With this done, he picked up the recorder and inspected it once more. “I know you don’t,” Arthur said in simple understanding, he knew the protocols perhaps not the modern day ones but things hadn’t changed all that much in a century. The objective was still the same, gather the relevant evidence and hunt down the killer in question. “But, and correct me if I’m overstating - but I’m not sure the typical means of case operation will solve this mystery and I think you might’ve already begun to realise that… Plus, if I find something - it gives you a lead. If not…” he tilted his shoulder a little “no harm done. So, what do you say detective?” The question was posed with the offering of his tape recorder back - likely in fully functioning condition now if what Arthur suspected had been inhabiting it was right.

“I think it will happen again. In a week or so,” Javier replied, picking up his cup of tea and frowning at it. Lukewarm. Wrinkling his nose, he looked away from Arthur as he emptied a salt shaker on the table, too busy pouring himself a new cup of tea. If could see what he was doing from the corner of his eyes, it was not until he had put his thermos away that Javier looked at the state of the table then up at Arthur’s face. If he remained completely silent, you could tell from the look on his face that he disapproved of this. Picking up the napkin carefully, he wrinkled it in his hand so as not to make a mess, and put it in his plate, making sure that not one bit of salt would fall to the floor or on the table. “There was no need to pour out the salt shaker. I better not start mentioning folklore monsters that require being stabbed to you,” not that they had cutlery that could cause a problem, but Javier had already been stabbed with a fork in the past, and knew that this was far from pleasant. “So, people think ghosts are real then. What else?” Vampires, fairies, Big Foot, el Cuco? Having spent quite some time near New Orleans, Javier was used to people believing in weird stories, or telling them to their children to traumatize them (which was a custom Javier did not understand). Having taken care of this salty mess, the agent took his tea cup and listened to the professor’s explanation. It was not an unexpected offer, and on other occasions, he had been given the same one by other men and women before. All he needed to know was whether or not Arthur would pose a problem in the future. He did not seem like someone who would get in his way, or do dangerous things for the sake of helping him. First taking the recorder back from Arthur’s hand, he nodded quietly before explicitly replying : “Alright. I suppose we have an agreement here.”

His point made and task completed, Arthur looked slightly amused at the disapproving look Javier fixed him with. “Just trying to make a point at the strange thing people will do if you mention stuff like that around here.” The act was both meticulous in its layout and answered certainly enough what he’d suspected about Javier having no clue about the truth of this town. “Actually, most folklore indicates that beheading is usually the best course of action against most of those tall-tale beasties.” But he tipped a shoulder as Javier mentioned about ghosts, “I’ve actually found the people here believe in a lot more than just ghosts…. You’ll see soon enough.” He clasped his hands in front of him on the table waiting quite patiently, Javier didn’t have to take him up on the offer but it was there regardless and his interest was quite plain to see. “Very well,” he took out his wallet and fished out a simple black card embossed with his details in calligraphic silver script which he slid across the table with his index and middle finger. “Contact me a time that suits, I’ll be happy to come and offer any assistance I can that might be of any pertinent use.” He stacked the plates and cutlery, picking up the spare cup. “Thank you again - for the tea and the company. I look forward to hearing from you,” with a polite dip of his head Arthur delivered the plates to the counter to save the waitress from collecting them, collected his bag and made for the door.

#chatzy #p: javier

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hlupdate · 5 years

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Louis’ full interview for The Guardian - 25/09/19

After Louis Tomlinson’s recent show in Madrid, some fans got the chance to meet him. One girl wanted to talk to him about his song Two of Us , which he had written after the death of his mother. The girl had lost her dad, and wanted the singer to know how much his lyrics had meant to her. He’d never had that in his band One Direction, he says. “We wrote cool songs, but they were love songs. It only goes so far, and to have someone say that I could help them with my …” He pauses. “It blows my mind, that shit. I was proper proud.” It has been a hard few years. Tomlinson’s mother died in 2016, just as he was about to launch his first solo single. In March this year, his 18-year-old sister was found unconscious at her flat in London and couldn’t be revived. We will come to that, but, professionally, Tomlinson was struggling too. One Direction - that supernova of a boy band - broke up in 2015. Or announced they were taking a break. Or “‘hiatus’ or whatever word we use”, he says with a smile. At the time, Tomlinson, now 27, was finding his place as a songwriter. “I wasn’t singing a lot, I wasn’t the frontman. Without being a sorry little bastard, I thought: ‘How do I do better, how do I make something of myself, an identity?’” In the last 18 months of One Direction, he says, “I felt like I knew who I was in the band, and I felt a real worth for who I was.” The break up, he says, “rocked me. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt like I was getting to be a better songwriter, singer, a more confident performer, and all of a sudden, when I felt I was finally getting some momentum …” We meet at a bar in north London. Tomlinson greets me with a hug as if I am one of his fans (I am not, particularly, although I am by the end). He seems open but not vulnerable, and more self-aware and modest than you would expect from a man who was once part of the biggest boy band in the world. He is friendly and relaxed, dressed in a black tracksuit, with a beer in front of him. Tomlinson’s personal tragedies also meant his solo career has had a bit of a stop-start quality, but now it looks as if there is focus and momentum. He released his single Kill My Mind earlier this month; an album will follow next year. Kill My Mind is an indie-pop delight, not so huge a departure as to alienate his fanbase, but it sounds like the music he grew up listening to - Oasis and Arctic Monkeys - and his South Yorkshire accent brings more than a hint of Liam Gallagher-style northern vocals. He sounds confident on them, more so than on the previous singles he put out, a couple of fairly forgettable collaborations. “I think, in hindsight, that was me trying to find my place in the industry and making music I thought I had to make to get on radio. “I had this epiphany when I was thinking about the music I grew up with,” he continues. “I kind of had a bit of a word with myself and worked out what I want - to be happy and proud of what I’m doing. I love those early singles, but I never really felt proud of them, because it didn’t feel too true to me.” As a child, growing up in Doncaster with his mum Johannah, who raised him alone until she married Tomlinson’s stepfather, he loved performing. “I liked to be the class clown, I liked to make people laugh, to show off, all that.” When his younger twin sisters were cast on TV dramas, he would sometimes go along as their chaperone, earning £30. “Where I’m from, we don’t have anyone who’s been on TV or anything like that, so it was super-exciting,” he says. He ended up picking up work as an extra. “The pinnacle of my acting career was one line on an ITV drama. I don’t even know if they used my scene,” he says with a laugh. When he was 15, he joined a drama group in Barnsley, which his mum would take him to when she could afford it. “I think I was confused, thinking I wanted to act when actually what I wanted to do was perform.” At school he joined a band, where they sang Oasis and Green Day covers, and when The X Factor came up, he made it on to the show in 2010 on his third attempt. He queued from 3am to make sure the producers wouldn’t have audition fatigue before they saw him, and he got his goal - to get in front of Simon Cowell “and just have a professional opinion on how I am as a singer. I was so flustered. Going from school performances to performing in front of professionals, TV cameras, a 3,000-strong audience. I wasn’t present. I sang terribly. I remember coming away from it thinking: ‘I wonder if I’ve got through as one of those lads who looks all right but isn’t really a good singer.’”

One Direction in 2012 (from left): Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne and Harry Styles. Photograph: IBL/Rex Shutterstock Yet he ended up in One Direction, the band the show put together in its 2010 series. For six years they sold tens of millions of records, broke America and each made a rumoured £40m-plus fortune. Their fans, Directioners, are another level of devoted. I don’t know how he coped with the attention, or the pressure. There were really only a few times when it got too much, says Tomlinson. They were in Australia and a local news station had got a helicopter and a photographer was trying to get pictures of Tomlinson in his top-floor hotel room. “I think I was naked, or just in my boxers, and even in my hotel room there was no escape. I could feel the pressure.” He tweeted about it - “your standard bratty celebrity tweet” - and was attacked. “At times it did stress me out but never was I allowed to whinge, allowed to be a human and say: ‘Today has got too much for me.’ I found that difficult at first.” But he is keen not to sound as if he is complaining. “There was much more positive that outweighed that.” And he never blames the fans for their intensity. Theirs is a special relationship, he says. “So many people have bullshitted about what they feel about the fans, but they’re like family to me.” Even when Directioners have got a bit too ardent - there is a conspiracy theory, for example, that he and his bandmate Harry Styles have long been in a secret sexual relationship - he seems more bemused by it than annoyed. Although he is wary, he says, of adding “fuel to the fire” by talking about it. “I know, culturally, it’s interesting, but I’m just a bit tired of it,” he says. The HBO drama Euphoria recently showed an animated sequence of Tomlinson and Styles together, as imagined by a smutty fan-fiction writer. Was it annoying that a show had taken something fairly niche and given it new mainstream life? “Again, I get the cultural intention behind that. But I think …” He trails off, trying to work out what he wants to say. “It just felt a little bit … No, I’m not going to lie, I was pissed off. It annoyed me that a big company would get behind it.” Why does he think he never went off the rails during the band’s heady period? “My mates and my family, really. It’s from my upbringing and where I come from. If I went back to Doncaster and I was dripping in Gucci or whatever, I’d probably get whacked. I’m always very conscious of not acting too big for my boots. It’s the people around me who keep me sane and normal, because they give me insight into real life.” He lives with his girlfriend, Eleanor and his best friend, Oli. “Some celebrities, in pop in particular, only surround themselves with amazingness, and all they see is good, good, good, which is lovely, but you don’t understand the real world then. I have the luxury of my mates around me, just reminding me how fucking good I’ve got it, really.”

With his mother, Johannah, in 2015. Photograph: Dave J Hogan/Getty Images The day of One Direction’s final concert in November 2015, Tomlinson and his bandmate Niall Horan sat together “and had a little cry, because it was such a journey we had been on. That day in general was so poignant. As much as you try and prepare yourself, it’s a whole other thing when it comes.” Because they had worked so much with few days off, he assumed that a break would be exciting. “But it wasn’t like that. When you’re used to working however many days, it’s all that more evident when you’re not doing something. Especially in the first six months.” He spent time in Los Angeles with his son, who was born in 2016, after his relationship with a stylist, Briana Jungwirth. “My life became -and I don’t mean this to sound derogatory - very normal, from being a life of pure craziness.” At the same time that Tomlinson was trying to work out what to do with himself, his mother, to whom he was intensely close, had been diagnosed with leukaemia; she died in December 2016. He performed his first single on The X Factor just a few days after her death, then seemed to half-heartedly continue with his solo career, releasing another single in 2017. It would be another two years - during which he became a judge on The X Factor - before he released Two of Us, a raw and beautiful (and under-rated) song. “After I lost my mum, every song I wrote felt, not pathetic, but that it lacked true meaning to me,” he says. “I felt that, as a songwriter, I wasn’t going to move on until I’d written a song like that.” He knew he needed to get it out of him, but there was a lot of pressure - he felt he should be an experienced songwriter before he attempted it. Two songwriters he worked with played him the chorus. “It was like the song I always wished I’d written. I went in and put my personal touch to the verses. It was a real moment for me in my grief, and as part of the creative process, because it felt like it was hanging over me.” Earlier this month, an inquest found that his sister Félicité had died of an accidental overdose; she had been taking drugs, including anxiety medication, since the death of their mother. He has been through some terrible times, I say, which must put a perspective on a pop career. “Exactly,” he says, a little quieter than before. “That whole dark side I’ve gone through, it sounds stupid to say, but it gives me strength everywhere else in my life, because that’s the darkest shit that I’m going to have to deal with. So it makes everything else, not feel easier and not less important, but, in the grand scheme of things, you see things for what they are, I suppose.” His fans have been crucial, he says. “I’m sure every artist says this, but I do believe it. We’ve been through some dark times together and those things I’ve been through, they carry a weight, emotionally, on the fans as well. And I felt their love and support. I remember really clearly when I lost my mum, that support was mad.” What have the experiences of loss he has been through taught him about himself? He thinks for a second. “I keep going back to it, but I don’t know if it’s a combination of where I grew up and my mum’s influence, but I just have this luxury of being able to see the glass half-full no matter what.” He is the oldest of his mother’s seven children, which is grounding and means, he says, “there’s no time for me to be sat feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been to rock bottom and I feel like, whatever my career’s going to throw in front of me, it’s going to be nothing as big or as emotionally heavy as that. So, weirdly, I’ve turned something that’s really dark into something that empowers me, makes me stronger.” He gets up to go to the toilet, which I think is his polite way of asking me to move on, although when he gets back he says, by way of a final word on the matter, “I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. That’s not how I feel for myself. Somehow it fuels me.”

1D face the fans: the band’s last performance was in 2015. Photograph: Sportsphoto Ltd/Allstar One Direction will get back together one day, he believes. He still speaks to the others. “We’re not texting each other every day, but what we do have, which will never go away, is this real brothership. We’ve had these experiences that no one else can relate to.” Styles has become quite the superstar. The others seem to have steady solo careers. Tomlinson says he’s embarrassed to admit that, when he first went solo, he would have been devastated had his album “only” reached No 3, so used is he to everything he did with One Direction going to the top. Is it hard not to measure himself against his former bandmates? “Oh, naturally,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I’ve never been competitive like that, but, naturally, you think: ‘If they’re getting this then I deserve that.’ I think, the longer time goes on, I can see it for what it is and just be proud of them.” And success means something else to him now. “It means I’m happy with what I’m doing.” Kill My Mind, by Louis Tomlinson, is out now on Arista. His debut album will be released in 2020

#tw death #tw drugs #stunt mention #louis tomlinson #250919

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louistomlinsoncouk · 5 years

Link

Louis Tomlinson on loss and love: ‘The dark side I’ve been through gives me strength’

The One Direction singer has had to battle a series of personal tragedies while launching his solo career. And it’s his fans and friends who have kept him going.

Why does he think he never went off the rails during the band’s heady period? “My mates and my family, really. It’s from my upbringing and where I come from. If I went back to Doncaster and I was dripping in Gucci or whatever, I’d probably get whacked. I’m always very conscious of not acting too big for my boots. It’s the people around me who keep me sane and normal, because they give me insight into real life.” “Some celebrities, in pop in particular, only surround themselves with amazingness, and all they see is good, good, good, which is lovely, but you don’t understand the real world then. I have the luxury of my mates around me, just reminding me how fucking good I’ve got it, really.”

The day of One Direction’s final concert in November 2015, Tomlinson and his bandmate Niall Horan sat together “and had a little cry, because it was such a journey we had been on. That day in general was so poignant. As much as you try and prepare yourself, it’s a whole other thing when it comes.” Because they had worked so much with few days off, he assumed that a break would be exciting. “But it wasn’t like that. When you’re used to working however many days, it’s all that more evident when you’re not doing something. Especially in the first six months.” “My life became –and I don’t mean this to sound derogatory – very normal, from being a life of pure craziness.”

Kill My Mind, by Louis Tomlinson, is out now on Arista. His debut album will be released in 2020.

#louis tomlinson #press #kmm: the guardian #kill my mind promo #25sep19

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commanderlestrange · 4 years

Photo

I JUST TOOK A DNA TEST TURNS OUT I’M 100% THAT BITCH

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“He did not give me flowers. Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness, and did dark things. I liked them.” { x } ”You don’t know the power of the dark side! I must obey my master.” ~ Darth Vader, Return of the Jedi. ”War means fighting and fighting means killing.” ~ Nathan Bedford Forrest “I’m at the top of the food chain, and you’re the food.” ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon.

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Bellatrix Elladora Lestrange NICKNAMES: Bella, to be used only by those Bellatrix has approved of. AGE: 28 BIRTHDAY: 30th October GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: She/Her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Druella Black (nee Rosier). Fourty-seven. FATHER: Cygnus Black. Fifty. SIBLINGS: Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks (disowned and estranged).

𝖕 �� 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Phoebe Tonkin BUILD: Slender. HAIR: Long with manageable curls. HAIR COLOR: Dark brown. EYE COLOR: Hazel. SKIN COLOR: Pale. DOMINANT HAND: Right. ANOMALIES: The Dark Mark on her left arm. No other anomalies - the daughter to the House of Black is perfect. SCENT: Expensive perfume, coconut shampoo. ACCENT: Standard English, although the longer Bellatrix lives in Yorkshire the more she is picking up on some of the Yorkshire colloquialisms. ALLERGIES: N/a DISORDERS: N/a FASHION: Bellatrix lives exclusively in black. The day Bellatrix wears bright pink is the day she is buried. NERVOUS TICS: Bellatrix Lestrange does not get nervous. QUIRKS: Fingers clenching into fists as violence is always the answer, being covered head to toe in knives, her wand always only inches away from her hand. Violence is always the answer.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Lestrange Manor. BORN: Black family Manor. RAISED: Black family Manor, 12 Grimmauld Place. PETS: The Beast - a feral rabbit that Bellatrix does not own but has made its residence amongst the grounds of Lestrange manor and will not leave despite their best efforts.

CAREER: N/a EXPERIENCE: N/a EMPLOYER: N/A

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Death Eaters BELIEFS: The Dark Lord is the Wizarding World’s messiah, and will lead them into a new age. MISDEMEANORS: Many. But you can’t provide it. FELONIES: Even more. DRUGS: No. SMOKES: Bellatrix took up smoking after Andromeda betrayed their family as a way to relieve some stress. She has quit a few times over the subsequent years, but always seems to pick the habit up again. ALCOHOL: Bellatrix is a heavy wine drinker, but would drink whiskey if a good vintage was not available. DIET: Varied, but very rich.

LANGUAGES: english and some french.

PHOBIAS: Her own death, the death of the Dark Lord. Bellatrix also has mild claustrophobia, but is working on training herself out of that. HOBBIES: Reading, flying, TRAITS: { + }: Devoted, Driven, Quick-Witted { - }: Cruel, Bigoted, Ill-Tempered

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: The parlour of Lestrange Manor, curled up in front of the fire with a book. SPORTS TEAM: Bellatrix supported the Slytherin Quidditch team but has not kept up with the sport since. GAME: Wizards chess. MUSIC: Classical music. MOVIES: Bellatrix doesn’t know what a movie is. FOOD: Bellatrix is fond of a proper British Roast Dinner accompanied with a Yorkshire pudding. BEVERAGE: Any form of wine, but she prefers red. COLOR: Black.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Slytherin. WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 12 and three quarter inches, Walnut wood, Dragon Heartstring core. Unyielding. AMORTENTIA: Burning candles, roasted garlic, spices, fresh coffee, fresh blood. PATRONUS: Bellatrix is unable to cast a patronus. BOGGART: Her own corpse.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil. MBTI: ENTJ MBTI ROLE: The Commander ENNEAGRAM: Type 8 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Challenger. The Challengers see themselves as strong and powerful and seek to stand up for what they believe in. TEMPERAMENT: Choleric: Taking the lead, hard-working, strong-willed, passionate, excellent strongwoman of the team, determined, goal-oriented, and thriving under criticism. WESTERN ZODIAC: Scorpio CHINESE ZODIAC: Dragon PRIMAL SIGN: Jaguar: Powerful, regal, and solitary, those born under the Primal Zodiac sign of Jaguar have a powerful attractive quality that others can’t help but notice. Often eccentric and always proud, members of this sign are capable of great achievements as long as they can remain in control of themselves. TAROT CARD: The Hanged Man, The Empress. TV TROPES: Ax-Crazy. Big-Screwed Up Family. The Dreaded. Lady Macbeth. Torture Technician. Undying Loyalty. Would Hurt a Child. SONGS: you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish. Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Lorde. One Woman Army - Porcelain Black Closer - Nine Inch Nails

IDEOLOGIES:

Believes that the Dark Lord is the only one who can bring radical change to their society and put the pure back where they belong.

Is very against keeping pets as she thinks it’s childish, but cannot remove The Beast from the grounds.

Believes that muggle-borns have stolen their wands from rightful wizards, and they must be purged in order to return magic to its proper place.

Carrot cake is the best cake, and she will not hear otherwise.

Tea is better than coffee, but there is nothing like a good coffee to kick her adrenaline into gear.

#dulcetask #development

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gingerbreton · 5 years

Text

about the muse meme

tagged by @apostatetabris thank you!!

- your muse’s name:

Ysabelle (Izzy) Sophia Dryden

- a favourite picture / faceclaim of your muse:

This is Izzy in DAO vs DAI, plus her face claim is Christina Hendricks - that’s my favourite pic for when I’m trying to give people a proper impression of my girl. She actually has very green eyes and some freckles as well, but that hair is perfect for her!

- two headcanons you have for your muse:

Izzy spent the first 14 years of her life travelling with her father’s merchant caravan across Ferelden, mostly along the northern coast. This resulted in her accent being a mix Coastlands/Highever (Northumbrian) and Amaranthine (Yorkshire). Even though her accent has softened after 10 years in Denerim, during moments of high emotion or when she is around her family, she always slips back into her regional accent. Plus she’s never stopped calling everyone ‘pet’ or ‘love’! (This HC is born of so many discussions with @laurelsofhighever about regional accents around Ferelden - thank you for so much inspiration!)

If anyone is wondering where Anders is during DAI, he is travelling west with Izzy in search of the cure. After the whole Kirkwall business Izzy managed to get him safely back to Ferelden and away from searching Chantry forces. When she’s exhausted all hope of finding the cure in Thedas’ know regions, it’s Aedan, Anders and Nathaniel who join her as she travels west.

- three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

reading: Izzy loves to read! She is absolutely amazed by the library at the circle when they go there - even with all the demons! Don’t even get her started on the Palace library. If ever Alistair can’t find her, he knows that’s his best bet.

knife tricks/training: it reminds her of her time back in Denerim when one of her father’s friends trained her to defend herself properly - at her dad’s request as she was sent to Denerim after the caravan lost a lot of people to bandits. It was the only thing that stopped her feeling abandoned back then and it still brings her comfort now. She loves learning new skills from Zev!

music: she loves listening to music and, it’s not like she sings like Leliana, but there is always a tune on her lips, especially when she is distracted. When she’s feeling relaxed enough she will sing duets with Leliana in camp.

- seven people your muse loves / likes:

Alistair - it took her a while to get her shit together but she loves that boy more than life. The daft lad even married her! Morrigan - they clicked unexpectedly almost instantly, naturally feeling able to trust one another. It breaks Izzy’s heart when she leaves after the final battle. Aedan - her baby brother not by blood. She was asked to look out for the devastated young Cousland by her old warden mentor and they ended up like family (arguments included). Levi - her cousin who practically raised her after she was sent to Denerim. It was his words to Duncan that got her recruited rather than executed. Anders - they share the same jaded view on the world combined with a real love of life. They got on from the instant they met. Nathaniel - Nate is her right hand warden during her Amaranthine days. He is possibly the only truly responsible person she holds dear. The poor man puts up with a lot during awakening! Zevran - they bonded over their occasionally dark humour and an appreciation for the roguish arts. When Alistair searches for Maric, it’s Zev who keeps her appraised of what happened, at least within Antiva. And when she travels west, it’s Zev who she trusts to keep an eye out for Alistair yet again.

- a phobia your muse has:

Spiders. Izzy is not good with them at all! Her first run in with giant ones was just her and Morrigan outside Lothering, and i think most of Lothering probably heard her scream. The Deep Roads were not her happy place!

Tagging @magpiesandmabari @laurelsofhighever @weirdnproudofit @allisondraste @daydreamingdragonage @dickeybbqpit @gothkimmyschmidt and anyone who wants to! Just tag me, I’d love to see your muses!

#ysabelle dryden #my oc #dragon age

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Get Inside You, Boy

Author: Culumacilinte

Year: 2008

Rating: R

Pairing: Howard/Spirit of Jazz

Asleep in his bed, Howard Moon shifted fitfully, rolling onto his side and bunching up his pillow under his head. His lips moved imperceptibly, muttering nonsense syllables. In the cold moonlight filtering through the window, a sheen of sweat glimmered on his forehead, making damp curls stick to the skin.

A voice sifted through his dreams, interrupting a particularly pleasant image of Mrs. Gideon sorting bookmarks while Howard looked on with a fond smile.

Howard Moon…

He whimpered a little and his knees drew themselves up to his chest, his slumbering brain focussing harder on the image of Mrs. Gideon.

Wake up, boy! I’s talkin’ to you.

Mrs. Gideon looked around, the lines of a frown twisting her smooth, creamy brow. ‘Howard? Did you hear that?’

Dream-Howard shook his head nervously and adjusted his monocle. ‘That’s nothing, Mrs. Gideon; nothing to worry your head about.’

Mrs. Gideon gave him a brilliant smile, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Oh, you are so kind to me, Howard. How is your novel coming, by the way? The first draft was absolutely riveting!’

Her approval and recognition, even when it was nothing more than a dream, sent a glow to Howard’s heart and his face broadened in a dazzling grin. Both grin and glow died, however, the instant the voice spoke again.

Shut up, girlie! The voice was more insistent now, and was beginning to sound decidedly irritated. This boyo’s mine. Wake up, Howard Moon; get your fine ass outta them dreams and listen t’me!

Beneath his sheets, Howard trembled, clutching his comforter tight around him, his brow contorted in pig-headed persistence that he stay asleep. The Howard in his dream trembled too, but he had nothing to clutch to him, and so instead put a comforting hand on Mrs. Gideon’s shoulder, trying his best to look manly and confident, a proper son of Leeds. She, however, seemed not to have heard the voice at all and continued blissfully sorting her bookmarks.

‘Go away!’ Howard hissed, ‘Leave me alone! I was having a good dream!’

The invisible voice chuckled cruelly. Leave you alone, boy? That ain’t never gonna happen. You’s mine, baby, and when I call, you’s gonna answer me. Y’ain’t got no choice.

Fists clenched at Howard’s sides, and he stared determinedly down at the ground. ‘I have a choice, sir! I am Howard Moon, Man of Action! They call me Monsoon Moon; I’m a maverick! You try and tell me what to do, and I’ll come at you like a skipping rope! Like a-’

But the voice cut him off.

Mmm, yeah, you’s a maverick, peachy-face; but what kinda maverick, Howard Moon? You know the answer.

Howard’s face fell; there was no denying it now, and both he and the owner of the invisible voice knew it. ‘Jazz Maverick,’ He muttered, defeated. The voice cackled exultantly.

That’s right! You’s the Jazz Maverick, Howard Moon, and when the Spirit o’ Jazz tells you to wake up, you damn well wake!

The last word was almost a shout; or as close to a shout as the raspy voice of the Spirit of Jazz ever got, and Howard shot up in his bed with a yell. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did… there was nothing. Just darkness, and a square of blue rippling across the bedsheets where the moonlight came in. He sagged against the headboard and closed his eyes, exhaling a quavering sigh of relief.

‘Thank god,’ he muttered into his chest.

‘Who ya thanking there, boy? God? He ain’t got nothin’ t’do with it.’

‘Augh!’

Howard’s eyes snapped open. There at the foot of the bed stood the Spirit of Jazz, legs crossed and arms out in that familiar, overly-dramatic pose, white suit and top hat almost luminous in the darkness. His eyes glowed red against the cool darkness of Howard’s room. Howard was swamped with a sensation of complete and utter horror, any relief he had felt at seeing the room empty lost in an instant. A prickle of goose bumps broke out on the skin of his forearms.

‘Missed me, have you boy? Been a long time since I visited you.’

Howard trembled. ‘What are you doing here?’ He asked quietly, ‘Haven’t you already troubled me enough?’

The Spirit of Jazz laughed raucously, baring disturbingly black teeth. ‘Enough, sweetness?’ He echoed, ‘I ain’t never had enough, Howard! And I been robbed o’ your fine self for so many years, after all...’

‘What do you want?’

He had begun to pull himself together, Howard. At least, his voice shook less, and the look in his eyes was calmer, but inside, he was trembling like a tiny little girl from Leeds, albeit a tiny little girl with a moustache. The Spirit of Jazz sneered at him, strangely pink tongue running over those black teeth. He’d been inside Howard Moon; he knew this man, and he could practically taste his fear. He could taste it, and he found himself to be particularly partial to the flavour. He leered at Howard.

‘You knows what I wants, boy! Surely y’ain’t that stupid.’

‘Oh, god...’ Howard’s voice was nothing more than a whimper, several pitches higher than any grown man’s ought to be, and he shrieked and screwed his eyes tightly shut as the Spirit of Jazz swooped down upon him.

‘Don’t kill me, please!’ He sobbed, ‘I’ve got so much to give! I’ve- I’ve-’ But nothing happened, and feeling a slight sense of anticlimax, he unscrewed the left eye slightly. He fairly leapt at the sight that met him, however; the Jazz Spirit was kneeling on the bed, straddling Howard’s legs laid out in front of him, arms propped up on either side of Howard’ torso, skeletal face scant inches from his. At the moment, he was looking decidedly disappointed.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ He said, voice- for once- devoid of delighted mockery. He took a moment, and then seemed to regain his steam, exhaling a harsh rasp of a laugh against Howard’s skin. ‘I wants you, boy! I wants to get inside you, wear you like a soft lady’s glove.’

That tongue flickered obscenely against his teeth, and red eyes went wide and mad.

Howard drew back- or rather, he tried to, but found that the headboard of his bed was rather in the way. He continued trying anyway. ‘If you don’t mind, sir,’ he said weakly, ‘I’d really rather prefer it if you didn’t. Um, that is, there’s a lot of things need doing at the zoo tomorrow, and I need to get my sleep...’

He trailed off weakly, and the Spirit of Jazz shook his head at him, seeming almost rueful.

‘Pathetic,’ he muttered, ‘You’s a jazz boy, Howard Moon, and you’s worried about workin’ at some dumbass zoo? Y’see why I’s here? You needs remindin’ ‘bout who you is, boy.’

A panic was blossoming in Howard’s chest now, but he tried to pull himself up regardless. ‘Perhaps you could hoodwink me when I was a young man, sir, but Howard Moon is a man of action! I’ll not be taken in that easily. I-’ he stumbled somewhat, ‘I suggest you make your exit now, sir; you’ll be finding nothing you want here.’

The Spirit of Jazz chuckled again, and his grin was dark and cruel. ‘Ahh, now see- that’s your problem, boy. You thinks you’s gots a choice in the matter.’

And before Howard could react- could object or say anything- the Jazz Spirit surged forward and crushed his black lips to Howard’s in a brutal kiss.

Howard let out a muffled cry, and the Spirit of Jazz disappeared against his lips, leaving nothing more than a lingering taste of ash and the wail of trumpets in his head. Then, in the darkness, Howard’s eyes flamed red.

His whole body relaxed, suddenly warm and heavy with the feeling of good Louisiana whiskey, and a voice spoke inside his head.

There now, ain’t that better, boy? You’s mine, you’s always been mine, and you likes it.

Howard nodded dreamily as his body slid back down to lie flat, one knee bent lazily. He stared at the ceiling with crimson eyes, and one hand slipped down over the faint convexity of his belly, then up again to toy with a nipple though the fabric of his shirt. He sighed faintly, ‘Yes...’ whispering out in the heavy air, and his voice was tinged with a raspy, Cajun twang.

You wants me, doncha boy? Wants me all up in you? A chuckle, It’s your lucky day, sweet cheeks.

The smell of dead cigarettes and cheap booze consumed Howard’s mind, the scent of the dirt and grime of a hundred people’s lives, accented inexplicably with the chemical tang of lemon cleaner. He recognised that smell- the smell of The Blue Aubergine way back when, when Howard was a jazz legend in Yorkshire. He had a guitar in his hands and his fingers were flying at incredible speeds, the incredible sounds of his jazz stylings carrying to the darkest corners of the pub. The crowd was going wild, loving him, and he was their master-

Just like that, boy...

His hand gripped harder at his chest, fingers digging bruisingly hard into the scant muscle of his pectoral, and he groaned deep in his throat, his other hand tracing with maddening slowness down into his boxers. A breathless laugh, exultant and rapturous, tripped from his lips as a hand stroked down the length of his half-hard prick. Had it been Howard, he would have got things over with quickly and quietly, but this was the Spirit of Jazz, and he was a sadistic bastard. He wanted to hear Howard moan, to see him arch up against the touch of his own hand, to want until he could stand it no longer.

And so he was slow, and in Howard’s head, a wild improvised trumpet solo built to incredible heights.

That’s right! That there’s the power o’ jazz, Howard Moon. Gets inside ya, gets under your skin, makes ya tingly. Don’t nothin’ else make you feel like that, do it? I knows you, boy; you wants me. I’s jazz, and jazz is your lifeblood, ain’t it? You’s beggin’ me for it, baby.

Howard moaned, biting down hard on his lip as the hand snuck lower, cupping hotly at his bollocks, heavy in his hand, and further still to stroke over the tight ring of muscle there. A shudder traversed its way up his spine, and the voice of the Spirit of Jazz cooed in his ear.

Oh-ho! Y’likes that... So you’s that kinda man, hmm, Howard Moon? Y’likes bein’ told what t’do, do ya?

In some far corner of his mind, Howard Moon tried desperately to reassert himself, pulling with all the strength in his Yorkshire bones. He was a man of action, he told himself squarely. A man of means and influence, the kind of man others looked up to; not someone who enjoyed taking orders from anyone, much less a Cajun freak in blackface!

That finger was still there though, rubbing back and forth in the crease of his arse, and when it pushed itself in, just past that first barrier, all his resistance crumbled. He whimpered, straining against the feeling of his own finger inside himself, cool and strange and not nearly there enough.

Y’want me to fuck you, peachy face? That what you want?

‘G-god, yes! Please, yes...’

The Spirit of Jazz said nothing more, just laughed cruelly inside Howard’s head, on and on, ringing in the jazz club as the double bass thrummed in the background and the saxophone soared bluesily above the crowd.

The hand scrabbled on the bedside table for where Howard knew the lotion was, and then one finger, two, three were inside him, and Howard’s mouth went wide and slack, his eyes glazed with pleasure. The angle was awkward, but Howard’s breath stuttered in his chest nonetheless when the Spirit of Jazz curled his fingers tight inside Howard, stretching places deep inside him. When the other hand left off toying with his scant chest hair and slid down to slick itself over his cock, he fairly moaned, his hips bowing off the mattress into the touch of that hand- his, and yet somehow not at all.

The hand pumped, and the fingers inside him fucked Howard mercilessly, curling and stretching, his whole body pretzellling to try and get them deeper, harder. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t good enough, and the Spirit of Jazz growled through Howard’s throat, working him faster.

Oh, yeah… the voice purred against Howard’s ear, That’s what you likes, ain’t it? Ya likes to be fucked hard, Howard Moon, like a little bitch.

Howard groaned desperately. ‘I- no, I-’

Say that so’s I can hear it, bitch!

‘Please!’ He choked out, arching frantically against the Jazz Spirit’s touch. He couldn’t bring himself to say anymore, but the Spirit of Jazz felt it in his body, saw it in his mind, and he ran an invisible tongue across invisible teeth, leering invisibly at Howard.

Whatever you says.

The hand worked him harder, the other twisting inside him, and Howard’s vision fuzzed out for a moment from the sheer pleasure of it, his back arching. He was so close, almost there, almost… there-

The trumpet solo rang out over the crowd, spiralling madly upward, twisting and turning in midair before finally, insanely, hitting a triple high C. There was a hush, and the throng stared; for several slow-motion moments, the note hovered still, high and pure and utterly uncorrupted.

And then Howard collapsed onto his back, mouth wide open and gasping for breath, two lines of white painted across his stomach. The Spirit of Jazz materialised beside the bed, leering down at him, his suit utterly pristine, hat still firmly in place. Exhausted, Howard shook his head, looking away, trying to ignore the presence beside him, but the Jazz Spirit cackled into the night air and settled himself on the edge of the bed, almost daintily.

‘You liked that, boy?’

Howard didn’t answer, and instead pulled the blanket over himself, suddenly extremely conscious of his own nakedness. It was cold in his room, colder than he could ever remember it being.

The Spirit of Jazz crowed with delighted laughter. ‘Oh-ho! And now’s the time for the psychological torment, hey? Oh, baby, you’s a good time, Howard Moon.’

‘Go away,’ Howard muttered into his blankets. It was too late for him to recover any measure of dignity, but he would not further prolong his torment. He would not play along with whatever sick game the Spirit was playing. That laugh scraped over his skin, though, a harsh rasp in the darkness, and Howard could feel the unnatural burn of his eyes.

‘I’s always here, boy! I’ll go away, sure thing- I gots other things t’do- but I’s inside your head, Howard Moon. Every time you listen to one o’ them old jazz LPs you loves so much, every time you falls asleep… I’m a-gonna be there, just waitin’ for you.’

‘Please leave; I can’t deal with this right now. I have… things to think about.’

The Spirit of Jazz let out a bark of laughter. ‘Ha! Sure that’s what you gots t’do. I’ll leave, sugar, but you ain’t seen the last o’ me; you sure’s hell ain’t.’

There was a sound like the last, futile flicker of a dying candle, and when Howard turned over in his bed, the Spirit of Jazz was gone. He couldn’t sleep though, not even now, in the warm, comforting emptiness of his room. Howard knew it was true, what he’d said, and inside his head, the Spirit of Jazz laughed and laughed and laughed.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #the spirit of jazz #spirit of jazz #howard moon #howard moon/spirit of jazz #howard moon/the spirit of jazz

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mcgonneville · 6 years

Text

Jack & Jill Went Up The Hill..

Hello, everyone! I didn't think I'd be back this soon but special thanks to @moonlessmondays (@breakingunbreaking on Tumblr) for convincing me to take part in this #CobertWeek, I love you, big sister!

The prompt, I chose was AU pretend girlfriend/boyfriend, but I went on and changed it the tiniest bit to pretend husband and wife.

I'm glad I took part and even though I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it on time, I did and I'm absolutely thrilled. I honestly wrote it last night without any proper planning so I apologise if it sounds a bit off and has mistakes. I didn't have time to proofread, I'm sorry. I hope you all enjoy and I can't wait to read your feedback!

P.S: I know the name sounds strange and you must be like ??? but you'll understand it when you read it, so yeah...

Happy Reading!

Robert unlocked his phone once again to check the time. He was really late. It was his own fault anyway, he couldn't blame anyone. But it's not like he had planned to go back to London two days earlier. Initially he was meant to return on Sunday, but who can argue with Mama? Apparently dinner at Mrs. Shackleton's house was of 'utmost importance' all of a sudden and his presence was an absolute necessity. Now it was his fault that he couldn't find a flight back home. All planes were fully booked and Mama couldn't even wait until the next day for him to return. Thus he was catching a train from Glasgow to London, which was almost 4 and a half hours of travel.

He had been working hard, really hard for his company; Grantham Properties & Construction. He had attended four meetings back to back in two days and chaired two conferences in Scotland. He hadn't slept properly or had time to catch his breath. He was really hoping to take a day off afterwards and visit his favorite places in Scotland but now he was running to platform number 4, hoping he hadn't missed this train as well. This would be a long ride and probably not a very peaceful one. It was almost time for the holidays and even the trains were booked and he had found the only seat available the last moment, and that too in business class, which meant loads of people and noise thus no chance of sleep. Sighing he reached the platform and located his train.

Carrying his light suitcase up the train he searched for his seat.

"43B, 43B..", he murmured to himself. Finally successful in locating it he put his bag near the rest of the cases placed and slumped down on his seat. He was glad that he made it in time, he knew Mama would be furious if he had missed it. He unlocked his phone to text his sister, Rosamund that he had made it on time when he heard a voice.

"Um, excuse me?" a feminine voice called him.

A beautiful, tall and a dark haired woman who was struggling with a gigantic box of something stood next to his seat.

"I think you're on my seat.." she took out her train ticket and showed it to him.

Robert was completely dumbfounded, being highly distracted with her bright blue eyes.

"It's 43C" she further clarified, looking at him oddly.

Robert shook his head slightly "Yes sorry.." he took out his ticket again and looked at the seat number at the tiny screen above their compartment. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I just saw 43 and I just sat down, I really apologize, Miss"

Robert got up and gave her space so that she could replace seats with him. She dragged her box with her and tried managing her handbag simultaneously, which was dangling off her arm.

"Here, let me help you" Robert offered his help as he took the large rectangular box from her.

"Thank you so much" she said as she sat down "I wouldn't have bothered you but I really wanted to have the window seat" she added with a tiniest giggle, as Robert smiled at her excitement.

Robert gave her box back and sat next to her on the aisle seat. "That's alright, I'm sorry I'm just being very forgetful lately"

The stunning woman, Cora smiled a beautiful smile at him and for a minute Robert forgot all about his tiredness and annoyance. Robert then accidently hit his foot on the box placed against Cora's knees.

"Oh, sorry" Robert said. He thought about how dumb and clumsy he must be looking in front of her.

Cora shook her head, "I know I shouldn't have placed it here but there was no space on the trolley and I really didn't want anyone to put their luggage on it"

"Oh, I..uh, is it something made of glass?" Robert asked, suddenly tensed that he might have damaged something in it.

"No, it's a painting actually and it took me a long time to finish it so I'm just being extra protective" she replied shyly.

Robert raised his eyebrows suddenly more interested in the beautiful woman next to him "Oh, you're a painter?"

Cora blushed lightly, making Robert's heart melt "No, I just enjoy painting a lot. It's one of my favourite hobbies"

"Are you any good?" Robert asked rubbing his hands together. He himself was a big fan of pretty paintings. Although he didn't have much knowledge about art and its history but he always appreciated beautiful things, just as he was suddenly very intrigued by the beautiful creature sitting next to him.

"I don't know, you tell me" she said as she carefully opened the top of the box to slide her painting out. As soon as Robert saw it, his eyes went completely round. He could immediately recognize the place, it was one of his favorite places in the world and he had planned to visit it, before he was ordered to mark his presence at home. But what captured his interest more were the beautiful colors and the careful, very refined strokes. He could easily see himself buying it and hanging him in his office, or even the drawing room. The colors were bright; strokes of greens, blues and browns filled the canvas and he could easily imagine himself standing there that moment.

"This is stunning!" he finally replied.

Cora smiled, "I don't know about stunning.."

"No, I am serious" Robert cut her off "This is absolutely marvelous. You're very good" he exclaimed.

Cora lowered her eyes now and Robert admired her long black lashes, "This is.."

"Loch Lomond." Robert completed the sentence for her.

She smiled a bright smile "Yes, it is!"

"It's one of my most favorite places" he grinned back.

"Really?" her tone was so innocently surprising that he couldn't help but giggle a little.

"I actually came all the way to Glasgow to paint this. I saw a picture and I thought I really had to visit this place" she added

"It's my favorite when it comes to having some time to myself. I was hoping to visit it again this time but couldn't. How long did it take you to paint this?"

"About 12 days" she smiled.

"It's fantastic work" he appreciated once again.

"Thank you. You don't live in Glasgow then?" she raised her eyebrows in question.

"No, I'm actually from London. Technically Yorkshire but I was raised in London" he shrugged.

"Oh, I've never been there" she put a stray of her hair behind her ear.

"Oh, you should. It's beautiful and very peaceful" he smiled at her. "You clearly aren't from Scotland" he smirked.

Cora raised her eyebrows and acted clueless, "Hm, I wonder what gave me away" she replied speaking in her true American accent.

Robert laughed and she laughed with him as their eyes met. Cora felt a real tug, as if her heart just did a backflip. She coughed lightly and could actually see the handsome man's ears turning red.

"I am from Newport"

"Oh"

"Have you been there?"

Robert thought about it for a second, "I've been to New York but not Newport"

"You should, it's beautiful…and peaceful" she mimicked him and they shared another laugh. She really was full of life.

"So what brought you to UK? Loch Lomond?" he asked, laughing at his own dumb joke.

She giggled "Not quite. I study at Oxford. We had our semester break so I jumped at the chance of doing some exploring"

"Oh wow, I graduated from Oxford two years ago. I assume you study art?"

Cora sighed "I wish. But my father really wanted me to study business administration so I could join his business as a proper partner later on, thus I chose that"

Robert closed his eyes for a split second, being able to highly relate to her "I know how that feels." He sighed with her "I always wanted to study psychology but I am the only son which means I have to handle the family business"

"Oh, you're a businessman?" This time her eyes opened wide.

"Yeah. Don't I look exactly the stereotype" He referred to his coat, his always buzzing cellphone and a pen placed on his coat pocket.

Cora smiled "I don't know, you just gave me a vibe that you must be a doctor"

Robert raised his eyebrows again "A doctor? Haha, don't let my mother hear you"

Cora smiled back at him "Parents!" she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, they are the same everywhere, aren't they?" he added "So you're clearly a student"

"Yes" she said as she relaxed back in her seat. "Don't I look like one?" she grinned.

"You look like a teacher too, like a teacher just beginning her career at teaching"

"You know what?" she jumped back up "I always thought I would be a teacher until a few years ago. Probably a sad Monday-Friday 8th grade English teacher" she chuckled.

"Or art" he added.

"Yeah, haha!"

Neither of them had realized that the train hadn't started yet. Robert suddenly realized that when he looked outside the window. He looked at the time, they were 15 minutes over. He then suddenly heard a pure, thick Scottish accent as they both turned around.

A really bulky, blonde, middle aged woman walked towards them as she talked on her phone.

"I know Billy but we had planned this a month back..I know you can't but still…" she sighed "My sister will be really sad… No, no Michael is coming, he said he'd be there by Tuesday!" her pitch rose. "Yeahh.." she sat down opposite Cora as she continued to talk.

"You know I hate travelling alone and it's almost the holidays….. That's not what…I can't bear them when they act like lovebirds, what am I going to do Billy? We are supposed to be together"

Cora and Robert both just stared at her as she spoke. For some reason her conversation was very interesting, although both of them knew it was bad manners.

The woman looked up at them and Cora and Robert both diverted their gaze. "See, all couples here Billy, all of em. Not one single here. Besides me! I'm even sitting next to one" There was a long pause as Billy ranted on about something on the phone. Finally the train moved and Robert relaxed.

"I'll tell you when I'm there. Give Mr. Simpson a kiss, don't forget to clean the den. Yes..love you, too, you devil" she snorted at the end, that almost made Cora jump.

She put her phone down and sighed again "Sorry about that, eh" the blonde woman apologized.

Before either of them could respond, she spoke once again "Husbands, eh! They're all the same" she rolled her eyes.

Robert raised his eyebrows, suddenly flabbergasted at the stereotype she associated with the role while Cora just stared at the woman with confusion. The woman ran a hand through her neck long, really blonde hair and repositioned her glasses.

"They can be so annoying, I mean they make plans, they promise they'll make it and then they cancel last minute, aren't I right?" she asked as both Cora and Robert continued staring at her.

Cora coughed and sat more properly, trying to reply "Well, um, I wouldn't know..Ma'am I.."

The woman didn't hear her as she cut her off again "They know how to talk..my Billy is an expert, I tell ya"

Robert could see Cora getting super confused so he tried to take the lead so that he could explain to the woman that they aren't married…or even dating. He would date her though, he thought, if he had the chance, though he wouldn't but..Robert shook his head; that was an absolutely foolish thought.

"Actually, Ma'am.." Robert began to speak.

"Do you do that, too, young man?" the blonde questioned Robert and he was taken by surprise that he couldn't think of a reply.

"I..uh.."

"Course you do, you tell me, darling, does he do that?" she asked Cora, who immediately bit her lip. This was such an awkward situation. The woman kept asking them questions but didn't give them a chance to reply.

"Is it just my Billy?" she further clarified.

Cora took a breath "Listen, Ma'am, I think there's a misunderstanding.."

"What? No, there's no misunderstanding, Billy does that all the time" she emphasized with her hands.

Robert rolled his eyes, this was absolutely useless. Was this woman crazy?

"Yes" Robert heard his beautiful seat mate utter this and all hair on his body stood up. What?

"Yes, he does that too" Cora replied to the woman.

The woman bobbed her head in agreement as Robert just stared at both of them. The woman then looked out the window when Cora looked at Robert and squeezed her shoulders, silently gesturing that she wouldn't have shut up otherwise. Robert agreed and relaxed back into the seat, hoping this was the last he heard from the blonde woman.

The woman's phone beeped as her screen popped up a big image of her kissing a man's cheek, which Robert assumed was the famous Billy. Billy compared to the woman was tiny, bald and extremely thin. The woman smiled as she typed back to her text.

"But you gotta love them, don't you?" the woman now looked at Cora with a grin.

Cora who had momentarily relaxed went back into a state of surprise. "Um, what?"

"Marriage is a beautiful thing, though isn't it? I mean yeah they're silly spouses but you gotta love them" she said as she looked back at her screen. She really flipped her button in seconds. "Marriage is great!" she further emphasized.

"Yeah, I'm sure" Cora replied casually, literally having no clue where this conversation was going.

As soon as Cora replied, the woman put her phone down on the table between them and lowered her glasses as she stared at Robert "What do you mean I'm sure? You're not certain? Doesn't he keep you happy?" she asked "Don't you keep her happy, young man?" The conversation escalated quicker than the pace of the train. What had just happened? Honestly what was even going on?

Both Cora and Robert looked at her with blank faces, as if they just got a scolding from a governess for being naughty. Robert felt the sweat under his collar as he saw the woman glaring at him.

Robert put his hands on the seams of his coat and gulped "I uh.." there really was no other option, he just had to play along "Don't I keep you happy.." he then realized that he didn't even know her name and the way he said the sentence, he had to finish it with something, "…sweetheart" he completed the sentence and felt the blush on his face that he could feel spreading on the face of the lovely woman sitting next to him.

Cora gulped and felt a smile creeping on her face. The way he said sweetheart was so awkward and out of force but it was equally sweet and absolutely adorable. She looked at Robert and could feel the smirk on his face. They both were ready to burst with laughter at the whole situation, but Robert very subtly raised his eyebrows as he chewed on his lower lip, signaling that they have no way out. She didn't know him of course, she wouldn't even identify herself as someone who was particularly good at reading facial expressions, but something about this…handsome man's (oh boy! She didn't even know his name!) face was so comfortable and easy to read that she felt she had known him for years.

"Of course you do" she finally replied and then turned back to the woman "Of course he does, he's a good man"

Robert smiled a very satisfied smile and Cora wanted to laugh at how cute it was. The smile was similar to the smile of a boy in class who was awarded with biggest star on his homework. As if the appreciation he received for being a very good husband was genuine and he felt so very proud of his achievements.

Robert tapped his fingers on the table and settled in comfortably. Seeing him relax, Cora relaxed too. This was going to be a long ride. A long and a very interesting ride, since they've given in to the lie, they'll just have to go with it.

Robert looked at his pretend wife and smiled to himself, being happy that she got the hint and isn't offended that he gave in the act and called her sweetheart. She truly was a sweetheart, such a gorgeous person. Though he didn't know her well, although he would've if the blonde woman hadn't interrupted but he wasn't about to complain. They made a really funny team pretending to be husband and wife. And that too without any practice. In his mind, that had to be the best improv ever.

The scenery outside was breathtaking. He had travelled between Glasgow and London several times but mostly by air. It was the first time he actually travelled via train between these two cities and he felt genuinely happy. Although his plans got cancelled and he was highly annoyed with Mama and on top of it all he was tired and lacking on sleep. But still something about the views in front of him calmed him down. Of course the lush green background of his view was absolutely beautiful and so was the foreground, of the beautiful woman who stared out the window with so much fascination. He could see the reflection of her bright blue eyes in the glass, they had to be the most gorgeous shade of blue. After staring at it for a while, it hit him that she could probably see him staring at her through the glass too. He blushed and settled back down.

"So gorgeous!" Cora exclaimed as she continued staring outside, thankfully unaware of all the staring from her partner.

"It's beautiful, ain't it?" The woman spoke up again.

"It is..Ma'am" Cora replied, keeping her attention outside the window.

"It's Estelle, lassie. Estelle Lascombe" she mentioned her name.

Oh so this very interesting woman had a name too, Robert thought to himself.

"But you can call me Mrs. Lascombe, both of ya"

Cora and Robert nodded as Cora continued to look outside the window and Robert popped out his mobile to reply to his emails.

After a few minutes in silence, Mrs. Lascombe spoke again "Ay you see this area, there? Just there.." she pointed out the window as both Cora and Robert followed her finger. "A few miles to the north is where my Billy is from. I met him there about 47 years ago" she smiled at the memory.

Robert smiled at her and then smiled at Cora. Only the smile was really short-lived as another loaded question came bursting out. "How long have you two been married?"

Oh dear! The answers had to be quick.

"3 years" said Cora

"4 years" said Robert

They just happened to say it exactly at the same time. They both looked at each other and felt a panic attack. Cora but her lip again and Robert's eyes went twice their size.

"3 or 4?" Mrs. Lascombe asked scrunching up her nose

"Uh, 3 and a half" said Cora as she giggled in nervousness. She rubbed her hand against her upper thigh and continued "It'll be 4 in mid July" she smiled at Robert then and he took it as a sign to continue.

Already being flushed at the blunder they made, he gulped a few times "Yes, uh..time passes by so quickly, I just lose track" what a dumb reply, he thought to himself.

Cora put a hand on his forearm, a gesture he thought was for him to calm down and even though he was wearing like 5 layers, he could feel the current it triggered "He's being very forgetful lately" she added and then looked at him with a smirk.

Robert lowered his face and felt a smile, but for two reasons. First, her hand on his forearm! He had had many girlfriends before but never, ever had he felt the current he felt just then. And he was wearing 5 layers! And second, he smiled because of how attentive she had been when they talked earlier and he mentioned him being forgetful lately. It was a small detail but it really made him happy.

Cora removed her hand and could feel the blood rushing through it with fast pace. She put her hand on his arm to calm him down because he turned the color of an apple when they made that mistake. And as soon as she had done it, she felt like a fifteen year old with a crush. Gosh, she was being ridiculous. But she covered it up pretty quickly, a trait she learned from her diva of a mother.

"Oh, I see, I see. Still pretty new, eh? Any kids?" she further asked.

Of course, this question was coming. What else do women of her age (which was the age of their mothers) think about!

Cora almost rolled her eyes but then she looked at Robert who had another confused expression on his face. This time he was looking at Cora to reply. Mrs. Lascombe didn't sense the awkwardness as she continued "I have three sons, eh. All married. Big family, I have!"

"Oh" Cora smiled "We don't" she tried to reply very politely and was hoping that Mrs. Lascombe would change her topic. Or better still, stop talking entirely.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't have them too soon, yeah? Don't get overexcited" she said as she winked at Robert and that was it. Robert turned almost crimson at the comment. Honestly, this woman gave him shock after shock.

Cora too, was deep pink at the comment and dug her nails in the leather of the seat at the embarrassment. She couldn't bear to look at the man sitting next to her. Whatever his name was!

Mrs. Lascombe started to laugh, the same snort like laugh she did before and people around them started looking towards them "I'm kidding, eh. It's a joke" she replied "Nevermind, what are your names, I didn't ask?"

Well, they wouldn't tell her in the first place and second they can't, even if they wanted to as they didn't know each other's. Cora looked at Robert and Robert at Cora and through eye contact they agreed that they won't give out their real names. Robert moved his head ever so slightly from left to right and Cora nodded with the same carefulness. They couldn't risk it. What if she found them on social media and started harassing them with friend requests and messages?

"Sorry, what?" Robert asked Mrs. Lascombe.

"Names, dearies"

"Oh, I'm..Jack. Jack Andrews" he smiled with his best poker face.

Mrs. Lascombe now looked at Cora who looked at Robert. Name name name, she thought to herself. When she heard the man's most probably fake name, there was only one name that came to her mind.

"Oh, Jill. I'm Jill" she smiled.

Robert looked at Cora and Cora could see the look of absolute shock on his face. Could it be more fake? Of all the names she had to use the name that was part of the famous nursery rhyme.

"Jack & Jill, eh?" Mrs. Lascombe laughed.

Cora gulped and Robert knew he had to take over "Yes, haha" he laughed and carefully moved towards her and put her arm around Cora "we're meant to be together"

As soon as he did, Cora got a whiff of his cologne and was positively awaken and when he put his arm around her, she looked at him, her face was centimeters apart from his cheek. When Robert said those words, Cora felt her body tingle. She blushed so hard that she had to lower her head. Robert saw this and carefully let her go, equally flushed as she was. They made eye contact again and just smiled through their eyes.

"Sweet. What do you do to make a living?"

"Oh, um I'm a doctor" he said grinning, as he drummed on the table. Well if they were lying already, why shouldn't they go on and exaggerate the whole thing.

Cora just chuckled and subtly covered her mouth. Just because she had mentioned earlier that he gave her a doctor kind of a vibe, he'll of course go ahead and use it.

"Really, yeah My Billy is a doctor too! He's a vet!" Mrs. Lascombe almost jumped off her seat "I tell yeah, he treats animals in a snap. Horses, dogs, chickens, any kind, he's the best, my Billy" she bragged about her husband as Cora just shook her head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

"What kind of a doctor, are ya?"

"I'm…a.." well they hadn't thought this through "I'm a neurologist"

"Ah, I see, I see. You do anything, Jill?"

Cora who was busy trying to digest her laugher, sat right up at the question and sucked on her cheeks for a second to regain her control, "Oh, yes yes, I'm a teacher" she said looking at Robert, who in response smirked as a kid on Christmas.

"I'm an art teacher, I teach the 8th grade"

"I like the 8th grade, yeah. Better than the 9th grade and a lot more serious than the 7th" Mrs. Lascombe replied and Cora found no sense in her logics.

"You two make a cozy couple. Doctor and a teacher. Jack and Jill. Wonderful, I say" Mrs. Lascombe slapped the table in front of her for emphasis.

"Yeah..it's..great" Robert replied, trying hard to control his laughter.

"How did you two meet then?"

Oh of course! How did this question slip their minds? They couldn't mess up this story. Cora put a stray of hair behind her ear and coughed "Darling, why don't you tell this story?"

Robert nodded and gulped. Story story story, yes. "We..met at a conference" he said drumming his fingers on his thighs.

He didn't have time to think so he just crossed his fingers and started saying whatever came to his mind "We went to her school to give a lecture to the students on…on mental health, yes. Afterwards we had a conference with the teachers, telling them the importance of mental health and that's where I met her"

Underneath the table, Cora gave him a thumbs up, at an angle only where Robert would be able to see it and he sat back comfortably at her approval.

"Good on ya, good on ya. Was it love at first sight? My Billy fell for me at first look, that foolish man. He said he knew he'd marry me at the first glance" Mrs. Lascombe blushed at the memory and Cora and Robert looked at each other, only this time without any sense of panic and tension. They looked at each other, this whole thing is their first ever meeting and both of them could feel something. So what was this? And what will be their pretend story? Will it be on the same track as the real one? Or will it just be a funny story on a train with a stranger they once met? They wondered.

After a few moments in silence, Robert looked at Mrs. Lascombe and smiled at her "Well, Mrs. Lascombe, I exactly know how your husband felt because it was love at first sight for me as well" he kept his gaze at Mrs. Lascombe as Cora felt her heart soar with joy. What was going on? She hadn't known the man 3 hours and she was already feeling so attached to him. And boy oh boy, as soon as he replied to Mrs. Lascombe she felt out of breath. She had never felt this before and maybe it was because this whole situation was extremely unusual but whatever the reason, it felt good, it felt exciting, it felt like a beautiful journey.

Mrs. Lascombe put both her palms on her fat chubby cheeks "That make me so happy" she showed off her toothy smile and Cora chuckled and smiled back at her.

She looked at Cora for a response, who was already in a puddle with all this. She gulped and tried to regain her control "Yes, he was the most gorgeous man. He was very nice, very well mannered. And then.." she looked at Robert to help her create the rest of the story "then we went on a few dates, for a few months and then he proposed" they both kept looking at each other and then Robert nodded.

"Yes, I just knew then and there. Just like your Billy, Mrs. Lascombe" said Robert.

"Yeah" she snorted "just like my Billy"

Robert looked at Cora from the corner of his eye and could see her blushing and that made his heart melt. Just to cut the awkwardness, Robert changed the topic "Coffee?"

"None for me thanks, dearie" said Mrs Lascombe, although Robert didn't ask her.

"Um, yeah" Cora nodded.

Robert stood up and then suddenly realized that he didn't know how she liked her coffee and he couldn't just straight off ask her because he was apparently her husband and he would of course know these things.

Suddenly Mrs. Lascombe's phone rang with the most obnoxious ringtone and Robert bet on his life that it would be her husband, Billy. And of course it was.

"Hey, Billy!" Mrs Lascombe spoke as if she hadn't spoken to him in years and both Cora and Robert laughed.

Robert tried to ask Cora in signals as he stood, but Cora was too engrossed in the conversation Mrs. Lascombe was having with Billy. Robert coughed, two times but she didn't listen. He tried to gain her attention and failed but of course some other person caught him.

"What is it, Jack?" asked Mrs. Lascombe putting her phone on hold "Why are you standing here, get your wife her coffee"

Only then Cora saw Robert still standing there.

"Oh, I , uh, I am. I'm just…stretching" he then did some weird actions which were supposedly him stretching and Cora couldn't help but giggle out loud.

Mrs. Lascombe gave him an odd look and then put her phone on again "Hold your horses, Billy!"

Cora raised her eyebrows at him and he tried to murmur the words. Cora couldn't get it.

"What?" Cora murmured back.

Robert then just rolled his eyes and bent towards her that his face was nearer hers. Mrs. Lascombe was busy talking about some jar of jam she left behind.

"How do you like your coffee? Robert whispered to her.

"Oh, sorry" Cora covered her mouth "Cappuccino, one sugar" Cora whispered back.

Mrs. Lascombe gave them a strange look again and they both looked at her as if being caught.

"I, uh.." Robert said.

Cora squeezed his arm that he had put on the seat for support for his leaning body "Oh, he's just being silly" she fake rolled her eyes "Go, on now baby, stop being cute with me" she said and when Mrs. Lascombe still wouldn't drop her look, Cora gave him a flying kiss by joining their cheeks together "Go on"

Robert who was completely mesmerized, wasn't sure if his head was actually twirling with joy or was it just the bouncy train. He gulped and nodded and went off.

After a good five minutes of her talk with Billy about the randomest of things, Mrs. Lascombe turned her attention back to Cora. Robert still hadn't returned yet.

"You've got yourself a gem, Jill" Mrs. Lascombe commented.

"Sorry, what?"

"Jack. He's a good lookin man"

Cora smiled and actually felt happy at the compliment, as if she was talking about her real husband, "Yes, he..he's a very good man"

"That is so rare, I tell you, Jill. To find a man who's good looking and is good to ya. Someone who wants more than just your body"

Cora sighed, thinking back to her old relationships. She had had a couple of serious relationships. She never went through any traumatizing experiences, thank the lord, but she could understand why Mrs, Lascombe said what she did. Her ex boyfriends only got attracted to her because of her good looks and genuinely didn't care about anything besides that.

"I know, I am very lucky" Cora said that and for that moment she wanted to believe it.

Mrs. Lascombe scooted forward, "I see the way he looks at you. He is in it forever, trust me. My Billy looks at me like that" she added

This time Cora really smiled at the reference "Well if Billy looks at you the same way, then that's a good sign"

"Wonderful sign! Jack's a handsome man"

Cora blushed and dug her nails in her palm "Yes, he's a gorgeous man!"

"Ay, and those hands…"

Cora felt a new wave of embarrassment. Mrs. Lascombe had been looking at his hands and thinking all sorts of things. How dare she? But..why was she getting all angry? He isn't your husband Jill..I mean Cora, Cora thought to herself. Gosh, this whole situation was a mess.

Robert returned with two cups of coffee "What are you two talking about?" he asked as he sat back down.

"Oh, just..that you've got a beautiful wife, Jack" Mrs. Lascombe covered up.

Robert handed her, her coffee and smiled "I know, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen" and this time he didn't even say this for the sake of the act.

Cora who was already pink, turned a deeper shade and tried to hide her face behind the cup.

"Oh, I want to hear the rest of the story" said Mrs. Lascombe

"Which one?" Robert asked as he sipped his coffee.

"Of how you proposed of course"

"Oh.." he said.

Cora took a long sip and sat back up properly "He proposed at Loch Lomond"

Robert almost choked on his latte. Of course she would say that, what else. He tried to hide his smile by the froth of the coffee on his lips. He then looked at her and gestured her to continue. Cora smirked at him and giggled.

"So he called me one day and said Jill, I have to show you something and I asked what? He said it's a surprise. So we go on a long drive. We were here in Glasgow already, he had a…" she looked at him to help her fill the gap. "What was it, darling?"

Robert sucked on his cheek "Oh, that German delegation for the…Southern General Hospital" he said the first thing that came to his mind. He only remembered this place because one time when he was here with Rosamund, she managed to twist her ankle and he took her there.

"Right" Cora said snapping her finger "so we went on a drive and we went to Loch Lomond. We went up on the hill, you know the one that gives the full view of the lake?" she said remembering the angles as she had spent days there.

"Yeah, yeah, on the west side, I know that" Mrs, Lascombe answered.

"So he took me up on the hill and I was so engrossed in the view that I didn't see him going down on one knee and take out the ring"

"You must be so nervous.." Mrs. Lascombe asked Robert.

"Oh, I was…I was feeling goosebumps. I was sweating, even though it was really chilly that day." He said and looked at Cora who was so invested in the story, it made him smile "but I just looked at her, and I never felt so right about anything"

Cora blushed and bit her lower lip at the comment.

The announcement interrupted the wonderful moment "Virgin Train will make a stop at Crewe and then proceed to our final destination; London Euston"

Only then Robert realized how much time had actually passed. They had completed more than three-fourth of the journey and it didn't feel like that at all. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that this day would turn out like this. He would meet the most enchanting woman ever and would pretend to be her husband for hours on.

The train stopped and a bunch of teenage girls jumped on the train, in their party dresses chatting loudly to each other. For the next 20 minutes, everyone else on the train was quiet besides the large group of girls chatting about things. One of them talked about her best friend's cousin engagement ring which was apparently the most beautiful ring ever.

Until this point Mrs. Lascombe was absolutely silent and then another question popped up in her head.

"Ay, Jill, where is your wedding ring?"

Oh shit! Yes, Jill, where the hell is your wedding ring? Cora thought to herself.

"Oh, my ring, yes.." she smiled, taking time to think about it "It is gone for resizing and polishing" she said as she twisted her ring finger.

Mrs. Lascombe made a strange face "I'm so used to mine, I never take it off. Never. Now I can't.." she snorted again "My fingers are so fat now, it's stuck" she showed her bear looking hands and truly her fingers have gotten quite large and her wedding ring seemed to be stuck on it.

Robert raised his eyebrows just thinking how uncomfortable it must be for her when he became Mrs. Lascombe's next target "What about you, Jack, where is yours?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

Robert gulped again, he had no idea what to reply to this. He just stared back at her dumbly when Mrs. Lascombe said "Not good, son. My Billy never takes it off. You should wear it" she added, suddenly displeased with the whole situation.

"Oh, I.." Robert started but couldn't find the right words.

Cora looked at him and chewed on her lip, clearly seeing that her intervention was needed.

"Oh, don't worry" said Cora, taking Robert's hand on the table in front of him "You left it on the bedside table, Jack. We were in a rush this morning, you forgot. Don't worry, I packed it in the case. You haven't lost it"

She covered up quite nicely and Robert felt blood circulating in his body again "Oh, thank god!" he said, wiping his brow "Jill, you're an angel, thanks" and she really was.

She smiled at him and then added "I told you, so forgetful" she said to Mrs. Lascombe and made a funny face.

Mrs. Lascombe snorted and both Cora and she laughed at him.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Lascombe excused herself and went to the restroom and for the first time on the whole trip, Cora and Robert sat back down comfortably.

"God what a day!" said Cora slapping her forehead.

"I still can't believe this is actually happening" said Robert slapping on the table.

They both started laughing at the whole thing and Cora put her head down on the table. When Robert recovered, he started talking.

"Hey, listen. Do you want to make a run for it?"

Cora looked back up "What?"

"I think, the kind of a person that she is, she will not leave us at the station if we don't give her our address and phone numbers. I bet she has planned on sending us Christmas cards every year"

Cora laughed at this "By this point, it could be anything"

"Yes" Robert leaned in closer to whisper "She'll be back soon and we're 5 minutes away from the station. I say as soon as the train stops, we storm out. Not giving her any time for goodbyes"

Cora bit her lip and then put a hand on his forearm "Can we do that?"

"Yeah, I mean why not" he shrugged his shoulders "Otherwise we'll be forced to attend her family functions and imagine more of her"

"No, please" Cora jumped up, suddenly realizing that it might actually be true. She shook her head "No, we're going with your plan. We're running off!" she ended with a laugh.

Robert laughed back and then looked behind her "Here, I'll take your painting. You take your purse. Do you have another bag?"

"Um, yeah" Cora pointed behind them at the trolley "The brown one on the top"

Robert looked at it and nodded "Good, I'm glad it's not a roll on"

"Yeah, I was well aware that this was going to happen to me one day and I'll have to run off. I always come prepared" she joked and they both laughed.

"Alright, can you manage that, is it too heavy to run in?" he asked

He was being so sweet "Um, no it's not heavy, I can manage"

"Okay, I only have this small bag so I can manage your painting and this. Right then"

"Aye aye captain" she said and smiled at him

Mrs. Lascombe came back from the restroom as she saw majority of the people standing up and grabbing their luggage. They were almost at the station.

"Oh, we're almost there then" she commented and went to the trolley and grabbed her cheetah printed bags that gave Robert a headache.

Cora and Robert along with a few other passengers stood near the exit door and Mrs. Lascombe joined them with her horrible bags.

"You were right, Jack. Time passes by so quickly" she sighed

Both Cora and Robert were now just yearning for the sight of the platform so they could just run off as soon as the train stops. He signaled Cora with his eye that be ready and she nodded.

"You'll be glad to meet my sister, Jill. She's full of life, she talks so much though, and it gives you a headache" she snorted.

Robert wanted to laugh. If she thinks that she doesn't give other people a headache, she was absolutely clueless. And boy, if someone gives her a headache, he wondered what kind of a creature that must be.

Cora just smiled and tapped her fingers on the bag in anxiety. Robert saw this and lightly put his hand on top of hers to calm her down. She looked at him and he squeezed it to reassure her. He was truly, genuinely the kindest man she had ever met.

He then raised his eyebrows as they entered the station and the announcements went off as they had arrived at their destination. Cora too looked at the platform and smiled. She had never been happier to see a platform before.

"..you don't know what the younger generation are on about. My grandson talks of such strange things, he has me worried. Hey, Jack, you're a neurologist, can you check if his brain's alright?"

"I'm sure it's fine, Mrs. Lascombe" Robert replied half listening to what she was saying.

"No, he keeps me up at night, he doesn't play, what kind of a kid is he? I'll tell Johnny to bring him to your clinic.." she continued talking as the train came to a halt.

The doors opened and Robert nodded to Cora who nodded back.

"I'll get my sister to make an appointment, are you open on Thursday, Jack?" she said as she moved behind to grab her bags.

The passengers in front of Cora and Robert exited the train and both of them stood on their toes to make a run.

"Hey, Jack, can you take my makeup bag?" Mrs. Lascombe shouted bending down to assemble all her things.

That was it, it was their turn next and as soon as she said that Robert jumped off and gave Cora a hand to get off.

"Hey, Jill listen my sister would love you…" Mrs. Lascombe said as she turned around and saw Jack and Jill exiting the train.

"Hey Jack, wait for me.." she said as Cora and Robert stormed off. They started running as fast as they could, bumping into people.

"Jill.." they heard Mrs. Lascombe's voice from behind and Robert took Cora's hand and they both started running at the same pace. It was also easier in case they both lost each other. This was nothing sort of the panic the McCallister family felt in Home Alone.

They ran and ran and ran until they reached the exit and by that time they were completely out of breath. Robert put his hands on his knees to catch his breath as Cora held the railing behind her to do the same.

They looked behind and saw no trace of Mrs. Lascombe and then looked at each other and burst into laughter. They started laughing so loudly that people around them gave them strange looks. Robert felt tears in his eyes and Cora felt that her legs were about to give away from all the laughing.

"Oh, my god" she said.

"OH MY GOD" said Robert.

"I can't believe we did that" said Cora wiping away her tears from her face.

"I can't believe this actually happened"

"We did it!" she said grinning and put out her hand for a high five which was well received. He high fived back and grinned.

"Oh, yes we did it" he replied.

Cora adjusted her bag again and looked at the people exiting the platform "What if she finds us here?"

Robert looked behind them and nodded "Yeah, let's not stand here" and they continued to walk.

"Never have I ever ran as fast as I did today" said Cora still mesmerized by the whole thing.

Robert laughed and nodded "I bet neither of us have even lied as much as we did today"

"And with that smoothness! I mean we should be applauded"

"I know" said Robert and Cora laughed at it.

Cora looked back and smiled "I do feel kind of bad though"

Robert scratched his head "Me, too"

Cora laughed again "What if she goes searching for a Jack Andrews in hospitals"

Robert's eyes popped out "Oh, dear god" Cora laughed again. "I just hope there isn't one" Robert thought back on the whole thing "By the way, Jill? Seriously?"

Cora covered her face in embarrassment and Robert thought she looked adorable "I'm sorry, I panicked. That's the first name that came to my mind"

Robert grinned back as they reached the final exit to the station and felt the chilly London air on their faces. It hit him that the beautiful day really came to an end and he wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet.

"So, Jill…" he started

Cora giggled "Yes..Jack"

"May I..uh, know your real name?" he asked shyly.

Cora smiled "I was hoping you'd ask" and that gave Robert encouragement "Cora. My name is Cora Levinson"

Cora, he thought. What a unique name. Cora. It perfectly fit her.

"Cora..I'm Robert, Robert Crawley"

Cora blushed and looked down "Well, lovely to meet you..and Jack, Robert"

Robert laughed "Yes, likewise"

They just stared at the concrete ground, wondering what to say next. It was strange, that even after all the drama they felt shy with each other.

Robert took a deep breath and gathered his courage "So, I got to know Jill very well. Is there any chance I can get to know Cora, too?" he asked, holding his breath.

Cora smiled a stunning smile and Robert knew that he just wouldn't let her go "I'd love that"

Robert didn't want to let her go, ever. He didn't want to say goodbye just yet but he knew he had to be home and mark his presence in front of Mama and only then he'd have a peaceful night out.

"Are you, uh, free tonight?"

Cora thought about it for a second "Yeah, I'm free. I'm free. How about we meet here at 7?"

"Great, I live in Belgrave Square and its pretty close. But uh, but I can pick you up…if you're okay with that?" Robert added immediately, in case she got offended.

"Yeah um, but I live all the way in Chiswick in my friend's apartment and that'll be a lot of trouble for you"

Robert smiled genuinely "That's alright. No problem" he said as they continued walking "And besides, I better be husband of the year" he smirked and Cora laughed out loud. Her cheeks pink and her red lips puffed out balls of smoke.

"Oh yes, definitely"

They came across the main road and exchanged items. Robert took out his phone and gave it to Cora "Here you go" and Cora did the same. They exchanged numbers and then prepared to say goodbye, if only for a few hours.

"Alright then.." Cora said "I'll see you in a bit"

Robert nodded and then moved towards her with all the strength that he had. He moved closer and planted a soft, quick but a sweet kiss on her cheek which made Cora close her eyes.

"Bye, Cora" Cora looked into his eyes and felt dizzy. The feeling that she felt was so beautiful.

"Bye, Robert. I'll text you my address" she said, gulping.

He called out a taxi for her and made sure that she got in safe and waved her goodbye. And so did she, through the back window.

Robert spotted his chauffer and sat back down with a smile. He had just met the most wonderful woman ever. Christmas truly came early for him this year. There was something about her that was so captivating, pure and beautiful that he wished he could just wrap her in a blanket and protect her from all harm.

He opened his phone again and laughed at what he say. Cora had saved her name by Cora Levinson and in the bracket she wrote 'Jill' and had put a ring emoji next to it. She was truly the cutest girl ever.

The radio played 'All I Want For Christmas Is You' and for the first time ever, Robert could actually relate to the song.

So there we go! And can I say, BASED ON A TRUE STORY! I'm not kidding. I actually travelled from Glasgow to London this August and I actually met a woman exactly like Estelle Lascombe. She kept asking me and my sister questions the whole journey and also had the funniest laugh ever. She was a woman full of life but a little too much, haha. And in the end, we switched trains from Crewe to save time, and she followed us, lol and we actually made a run. Although not as obvious as this one, of course this is an exaggerated account but we did, lol. Don't worry by the way, this is not her real name and there was definitely no Billy in her story, that is all made up for the sake of this story.

Well, anyways, I hope you like it. Please, let me know what you think, I'll be thrilled to hear your feedback! I'll be posting the picture of Loch Lomond that I took when I visited it on the same trip and that is the picture, I imagined Cora painted. I'll post it on my Tumblr/Instagram (@mcgonneville) so if you're interested, you can check it out.

All my love,

Zaibi.

#Cora Crawley #robert crawley #cobertweek #cobertweek2017 #hugh bonneville #elizabeth mcgovern #mcgonneville #downton abbey #downton #otp #scotland #loch lomond #glasgow #london

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hereayourmirrors · 4 years

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Secret Garden

I know, I know, it's an assignment book, but I will still include it in my reading log, and I do this because while reading this I had all sorts of questions. So let us dive into our small Q&A session

Q.#1 Why does the author dislike Mary so much?!

It is not really hard to figure out that the author hates Mary at least at the beginning. This poor girl has ALL the qualities to be disliked and even hated by the reader. Almost at the beginning of the book, we get a pretty explicit description of Mary:

So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. [1, p. 2]

It seems like the author doesn't miss any chance he gets to accentuate how ugly and disgusting she is in every way possible. She has no manners, she hits people, she waits for everybody to do everything for her and doesn't even think to say please or thank you. Nobody really likes her, and the author seems to coerce the reader to despise her, but I rejected that position. Why do I have to hate the poor girls, who got half-raised by Indian servants and never truly belonged to anybody? Why do I have to hate Mary for her lack of obedience and manners if she has never been taught how to behave?

I don't think I have an answer, although there is an assumption. The book was written in 1911, and at that time, the didactic influence on children's literature remained relatively strong. Deborah Stevenson, in her article "History of Children's and Young Adult Literature" states:

Didacticism remains a strong element of contemporary children's books ostensibly designed for pleasure.[2, p. 180]

So there we have it, Mary is designed to be disgusting at the beginning of the book because children who do not behave cannot be good. They have to take a spiritual journey, understand how to be a good member of society, stop being disagreeable. Only then they can be worthy of pleasing adjectives.

Interestingly enough, Marina Nikolajeva in her article “Did you Feel as if you Hated People?” states, that Mary is depicted in that way, because the author doesn’t want readers to relate to characters, to merge with their personality.

The “just-like-me” assessment of characters, frequently adopted by novice readers, is restricted by the readers’ experience and does not foster empathy [3, p. 101]

Nevertheless, the author admits that most of Marry's problems are a consequence of the complete absence of her family:

If she had been an affectionate child, who had been used to being loved, she would have broken her heart, but even though she was "Mistress Mary Quite Contrary" she was desolate, and the bright-breasted little bird brought a look into her sour little face which was almost a smile. [1, p. 23]

In this context, the word "desolate" caught my attention. Having looked at the Online Cambridge Dictionary, I discovered the meaning - "extremely sad and feeling alone".

So Mary is not "ugly", she is not "quite contrary", not "fretful". She is just desolate and unjustly deprived of the basic human need - the need of a family, the need for being loved and cared for.

Q.#2 Is Colin really different from Marry?

Well, no.

That would be the simple answer and the most evident one, as the author tells us more than once, that Colin and Marry are equal in how horribly they behave towards other people. Nevertheless, while reading, I couldn't help but notice how different author makes us feel about them.

Colin, who is another unfortunate child without a proper family, never gets to be called something as ugly or fretful. He is shown to be pretty egoistic, but from the author's perspective, it doesn't look like he needs to go on a spiritual journey to become "a good child". Moreover, not only once is he described as a beautiful boy, even though he often has tantrums and never goes outside.

He was a very proud boy. He lay thinking for a while, and then Mary saw his beautiful smile begin and gradually change his whole face. [1, p.129]

Now, maybe he is portrayed like that because most of the time, we see the world from Marry's perspective, and she evidently fancies him. That is why, despite him being a "brat", he has a beautiful appearance.

Q.#3 Is the book really racist?

Well, yes.

Although, that answer, just like the previous one, would be the shallow one. Let us dig deeper.

As I already mentioned, we see the world from Marry’s perspective, except only for two last chapters, where we see robin’s and Mr Craven points of view. She is the one who encountered Indian people, and she is ultimately the only source of information about India that all the other characters possess. So, being a spoiled little girl as she is, is it any wonder that she talks about Indian servants in such a humiliating way? I bet she would speak like that about any person who served her, no matter the race or nationality. There was also an interesting dialogue between Martha and Marry:

“Eh! I can see it’s different,” she answered almost sympathetically. “I dare say it’s because there’s such a lot o’ blacks there instead o’ respectable white people. When I heard you was comin’ from India I thought you was a black too.”

Mary sat up in bed furious.

“What!” she said. “What! You thought I was a native. You—you daughter of a pig!”

Martha stared and looked hot.

“Who are you callin’ names?” she said. “You needn’t be so vexed. That’s not th’ way for a young lady to talk. I’ve nothin’ against th’ blacks. When you read about ’em in tracts they’re always very religious. You always read as a black’s a man an’ a brother. I’ve never seen a black an’ I was fair pleased to think I was goin’ to see one close. [1, p. 15]

From this passage, we can see that Martha has nothing against black people. In fact, the notion of “respectable white people” comes out of her lack of proper education and the absence of intercultural communication.

In the world 21st century, it is tough to say something without enraging certain people. I dare say, the silencing imposed on the Internet speech came to the point, that you are afraid to state your opinion without being condemned (Twitter campaign with hashtags RIPJKRowling as the most recent example).

The same thing applies to the books such as Secret Garden that cannot fit into modern cannon. Should we ban them? Where is the line between book propagandising the racism and the book that has racist characters in? Should we simply deny the existence of such people? And if yes, wouldn’t this denial be more dangerous than just putting the reality of the world out there for children to see? How do we insert that kind of people into a book and at the same time show that what they say isn’t quite right?

These questions are not part of our Q&A session, because, sadly, I don’t have the answer. I doubt that anyone does.

Q.#4 Why would author put that Yorkshire accent in the text?

That is a question that I asked myself pretty frequently. Actually, I wondered about it every time I struggled to read and understand it... so, every two pages more or less.

When I first encountered it, I instantly remember the books of Stephen King. In almost every one of his books, some people speak a southern American accent, making it hard to understand them. Reading those books, I didn’t bother wondering, what was the point of that kind of speech. Still, in the case of Secret Garden, the answer came to me quite quickly - it is actually a great author’s linguistic attempt to make the reader feel like Marry.

She comes to a place totally different from what she knew all her life, and even though people speak her language, she still struggles to understand them. It definitely helped me to relate to Mary, because, let me tell you, the Scottish accent is not an easy one to understand! So, I felt (and still sometimes feel) very awkward keeping asking people to repeat what they just said, just like Marry.

Q.#5 Is “The Secret Garden” anti-feminist?

It is not that hard to see, that "The Secret Garden", although started as an Entwicklungsroman, where the main character is supposed to develop and mentally mature, suddenly lost its point. The focus just shifted to Colin, and Mary was not even at the end of the story, discarded as a redundant character. While it may be seen so, there is an interesting article by Linda Parsons "' Otherways' into the Garden Re-visioning the Feminine in the Secret Garden" [4] where she argues that this novel is feminist in its core. Therefore, the author points out the fluidity of the gender depicted in the book. She gives an example of Ben Weatherstaff and Dickson, who are both caring and close to nature, something that is considered to be feminine qualities.

Also, she argues that the shift of the focus from Marry to Colin is justified. From her perspective, the author's intent to show that Collin is expelled from the Garden. Therefore, it is still Marry's story, because she matured and grew as a person, while Colin, even though healed physically, couldn't reach her emotional level, so he has no place in the Garden. I accept her interpretation, although I would point out, that I can't entirely agree with her last statement "I rejoice that Mary remains forever in the garden" [4, p. 267]. The fairytale-like endings that include nouns such as forever cannot be perceived as positive. The characters should evolve, both mentally and physically, but staying in one place forever would prevent Mary from doing that.

So at first, it was tough to understand Martha and Dickson, but with time it became more comfortable for Marry as well as for me. She even started speaking in Yorkshire sometimes, and that is a way of the author to show us one of the small but significant changes in Marry. Not only she becomes more kind towards other people, she genuinely wants to learn how to speak their language. Even Colin starts to master it, I guess, this skill he acquires after his magic ritual.

Interestingly enough, in the retold version, characters don’t speak Yorkshire anymore. I think although it makes it easier for children to read it, the book itself loses a valuable lesson of acceptance of other cultures and the assimilation. I would even argue that it’s one of the most important ones, as in our age of globalisation being acceptant of different cultures is a vital skill.

___

References:

1. Frances Hodgson Burnett “The Secret Garden”, The Project Gutenberg, accessed on: 07 Oct 2020: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/113/113-h/113-h.htm

2. Deborah Stevenson. 19 Oct 2010, History of Children’s and Young Adult Literature from: Handbook of Research on Children’s and Young Adult Literature Routledge, accessed on: 12 Oct 2020: https://www.routledgehandbooks.com/doi/10.4324/9780203843543.ch13

3. Maria Nikolajeva (2013) “Did you Feel as if you Hated People?”: Emotional Literacy Through Fiction, New Review of Children's Literature and Librarianship, 95-107 pp.

4. Linda Parsons “’Otherways’ into the Garden Re-visioning the Feminine in the Secret Garden”, Children’s Literature in Education, Vol. 33, No. 4, December 2002, 247-268 pp.

#secretgarden

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feuillesmortes · 6 years

Text

Academic life got in the way of this fic, but here we are! This chapter happens just one day after Henry and Lizzie’s day trip to Richmond. I’m tagging my mates @harritudur and @queenbessofyork, who have been incredibly supportive of this fic.

As always, you can also read it on Ao3.

Henry, London Borough of Camden, 2:04 p.m.

One could think of few things better than spending a bank holiday in North London. The sun was out, the birds were singing. The sound of the rustling leaves coming from the Heath was carried along by a gentle breeze sweeping down on Hampstead Village. That posh neighbourhood, known as the new frog valley of London, where french pâtisseries and crêperies endowed the air with the richest of flavours, was home to François de Bretagne.

In one of the large Edwardian houses that populated the neighbourhood, Henry Tudor attended his boss’s garden party garbed with his best bottom-up and armed with a politely trained smile on his face. It was a great chance to properly catch up with his co-workers and improve his networking skills. Except Henry would rather be anywhere else. Well, not really anywhere else. Certainly not with anyone. He had a very specific person on his mind.

For what felt like the hundredth time, he unlocked his mobile screen to look at her text:

Can we meet today at 7? Spoons would be nice x

Just ten simple words. Not unlike with everything else in his life, Henry found himself overanalysing that line of text. She had ended it with a single ‘x’ instead of a double… Not the most affectionate way to end a text, one could say. Their goodbye the previous day had been awkward enough, yes, but she hadn’t shied away from his embrace. Granted, when walking Lizzie to her flat she had hurried inside the building maybe a bit too fast.

But her invite to the local Wetherspoons was a good sign, wasn’t it? A familiar feeling gnawing at his insides, Henry started to think he might have miscalculated his move. Maybe he should have given her more time… He instinctively touched the pocket where he kept the gift he had bought her ages ago: a gold necklace, paired with a rose pendant. He had bought it as a Christmas present, only at the time he hadn’t had the guts to give her.

“Tudor, are you coming or not? We’ll be running out of gravy soon.”

“Yeah, bruv! Just grab your plate and get in the bloody queue!”

Henry looked up to find his co-workers Ed and Tom waiting for him, both mildly annoyed at his delay. “Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

His colleagues were right to worry about the gravy, though; the queue for the buffet table was incredibly long. It looked like everyone who worked for the company had been invited to the party. The majority of the employees were EU nationals, but Henry’s fellow Brits were increasing numbers every day.

“Oh shit, is that Jane from HR?” Tom exclaimed suddenly. “I’ve gotta go talk to her. Hold my place for a sec, will you?”

A cocktail cooling in hand, Henry watched Tom approach the HR girl with the characteristic sleazy smile he put on whenever he tried to chat up a girl. Thomas Grey, simply known around the office as Tom, looked just like a generic Tom was supposed to look. Small round eyes, rosy face, neither tall nor short. Every Brit knew at least one generic Tom.

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend or something?” Henry turned to ask his other colleague, Edward Woodville. He bore the same last name as Lizzie’s mother, which sometimes made Henry wonder whether they were distantly related or if it was all just coincidence.

“Last time I checked, he had a fiancée.” Henry let out a small oh, taking a sip from his glass. Ed simply shrugged. “You know how Tom is. Always… fooling around.” He turned his gaze to Henry. “What about you? What were you doing back there on your phone? Not bad news, I hope.”

“No, not bad news. Just… me being paranoid, I reckon.”

Ed nodded, turning to scan the rest of the party. “Do you… want to talk about it… maybe?”

“Nah, mate. I’m fine.” Henry looked down at his glass, shaking the ice cubes. The liquid quivered with circular vibrations. Some unspoken rules were just not simply broken.

“Cool.”

“Cool.” Henry repeated, as if those were not his worries they were just trying to discuss. Cool.

A comfortable silence settled over them, lasting no longer than Tom’s return. Looking triumphant, Tom got back just in time before the queue moved too far. “I did it! I got her number! See, I told you I would—”

“Well, well, well! Who do we have here?”

They spun around to find Pierre Laudais, François’ assistant. He sported a mocking smile and an awfully tacky tie as he usually did. He wasn’t particularly popular among the employees, not even the EU nationals working for the firm. As the second in command, Laudais was merely tolerated. Henry let out a deep sigh, bracing himself. Here we go.

“And do my eyes deceive me or it is Henry Tudor, the absolute ledge!” The Frenchman laughed, patting his shoulder. “Isn’t it how you lads say it? Absolute ledge?”

Don’t murder stare. Don’t murder stare. You’ve got this. Don’t murder stare. Don’t murder st—

His colleagues shook their heads, barely concealing their contempt.

“It’s not… It’s not really…”

“It’s not how we say it.”

Laudais was thoroughly amused, though. “Why not? This guy— this guy here, I’m telling you. This guy right here is a legend. The best intern we ever had. Go ask François. N’est-ce pas, Tudor?” Laudais spoke his last name with a strong accent dripping with sarcasm. It all clearly meant: aren’t you a proper boss’s pet?

Henry squinted his eyes at him, fake smiling. “Thank you, Laudais. I only try my very best. But clearly, you already know that for sure.” Just the previous month, Henry had checked a couple of funny reports, counts not matching the system. The error couldn’t be tracked at the time, but Henry had a feeling Laudais hadn’t been much happier since then.

Laudais simply blinked at him for some seconds before turning to his co-workers. “Well, forgive me for trying to blend in with you, heh. You know, after Brexit one does fear about losing his job. No one is safe! Who knows who could be next!” He raised his glass of champagne as a way of goodbye and gave them an ugly smirk, a motion that rendered his face even more punchable. He left them to go straight to the casserole dish stand, jumping the queue and receiving some silent head shakes along the way.

“Connard.” Henry muttered under his breath, gulping down the rest of his cocktail. He could assign a long list of names to that bastard. It was a special pastime of his to get colourful with his french insults: enfoiré, abruti, crevard, quickly turning into trou du cul, face de rat, sac à vin, crétin des Alpes, ironie de la création… It was truly a great pity he could not voice his thoughts with so many French speakers around.

His co-workers beside him, though, were not so subtle.

“Dickhead.”

“Fucking wanker.”

Henry served himself a couple of golden yorkshire puddings, a recent favourite of his. “Don’t mind him. Laudais is just trying to scare me. Honestly, I couldn’t be arsed to care.”

“But maybe you should,” Ed said, stuffing his plate with roasted vegetables. “Aren’t you graduating in a few month’s time?”

“Hopefully yes.”

“It’d be nice to have a job then, don’t you think?”

Henry fell silent at that. It would be nice to have a job. That was something he had to remind himself every time frustration got the better of him, like a mantra. It would be nice to have a job.

The hours dragged, the minutes stretched. Taking rounds around the garden to chitchat with his colleagues was like a personal nightmare come alive. The weather! Where would they all be if not for that particular topic of conversation? Switch to French. Switch to English. Switch to French again. François’ relatives were there too, which meant of course even more fake smiling, fake listening, enthusiastically nodding your head and feigning interest in the most tedious things. The number of times he had to say “how do you do?” that day just couldn’t be measured.

Henry would check his watch every now and then. Shit, only five minutes since last time. It was at that rather depressing moment that Tom pulled out a cigarette pack. “Time for a break. Are you coming, Tudor?”

Ed didn’t smoke, though he would sometimes join them during coffee break. Every time, though, he would complain the smoke followed him around. Henry himself as he was trying to quit gradually stopped joining Tom for a drag.

Henry looked at the pack Tom was shaking in his hand. They were L&B, a popular brand, but too chavvy for Henry’s taste. He forcefully willed himself to look away. “No, thank you. I’ve quit.” He rubbed the nicotine patch beneath his shirt, placed just above his elbow. He knew the day would be stressful enough, so he had to come prepared.

“What, Tudor! Seriously?“

Ed congratulated him by clapping. “That’s the spirit. Good for you, Tudor. ”

“Come on, mate! One fag is not gonna kill you.”

Tom extended a cigarette to Henry, nimbly holding it between his fingers, but Henry turned it down. “I can’t. I promised I wouldn’t.” He had promised other things as well, like getting an appointment with his GP. As if Henry had enough time for that.

By now Tom was lighting up his cigarette. “So what now? You promised your mum you’d stop smoking, is that it? Nancy boy doesn’t want to disappoint his mum?”

“Not my mum, you blinking idiot.” It was impossible not to sound defensive. “I promised a friend.”

“A friend?”

“A girl…friend.”

“Oooh, a girlfriend. Ed, do you believe this fucker? He never tells us anything.”

Edward wriggled his eyebrows. “Is it that girl you fancy, Lizzie? Tom, he won’t say a thing but he’s mentioned her name several times.”

“Lizzie, eh?” Tom took a long drag and let it out in a silvery grey cloud. “Yes, I recall. Have you shagged her yet?”

Henry shot him a deadly, fulminating stare. “That’s none of your bloody business.”

Tom turned to Edward. “I take it as a no.”

Ed suppressed a laugh, but Henry wasn’t amused. "Why don’t you just fuck off, Tom?”

“Calm down, bruv.“ Tom raised his palms in self-defence. "I was just taking the piss. What else are friends for these days?”

Henry wouldn’t exactly call him a friend. Co-worker, associate, colleague, work fellow, ally, a little dot in his social network scheme, but certainly not friend. “I appreciate your interest in my love life. But rest assured, I know how to handle myself.”

Tom didn’t take the hint. "You’re really serious about that girl, eh?”

Henry’s best fake smile flashed through gritted teeth and squinted eyes. “Unlike some, I don’t fool around.”

Tom frowned quizzically, as if trying to decide whether that was a veiled insult or not. Thankfully François came calling before the air turned too foul. “Boys! Ed, Tom, Henri! We’re taking a group picture. Come, all of you!”

Henry had thought the party couldn’t get any worse.

__________________________________________

Lizzie, City of Westminster, 6:53 p.m.

A girl sitting by herself is always a sorry sight no matter the place, that much she had been told. Some lessons took longer to unlearn, so maybe that was why Lizzie was so restless in her seat: one minute fidgeting with the rings on her fingers, the next gripping the menu tight in her hands. It was her own fault, actually, to have chosen the local Wetherspoons to meet him. It was too familiar, too public a place to talk with him. Her anxiousness grew from a knot in her throat and spread to the tips of her toenails like a rope stretched too tight.

From her place at the table, Lizzie watched different groups of friends ordering their rounds. She tried to distract herself by inventing lives for each men. The short one with the funny hat was an architect, she decided. The loudest of them, she kept on musing, was actually the saddest, his hollering and chattering only a mask to hide his— No, it wasn’t working. Her rambling mind kept trailing back to her own doubts and worries. No, it was entirely her fault. She didn’t need to get there so early in advance. Henry was halfway across town and chances were he wouldn’t get to the pub in time.

She took another sip of her pint of cider, an overly sweet Strongbow Dark Fruit. Lizzie had never been one for drinking. She had always been too prim, too proper. A general distaste for beer and a lack of aptitude to handle hard liquor made it all too easy for her to rely solely on sugary booze. But regular cider was something a 16 year-old might pick when illegally drinking with her mates in the park. Lizzie, on the other hand, liked to think a Dark Fruit was a much classier option with its rich royal purple liquid gracing her taste buds.

She kept thinking of what Cecily had said during their last facetime session. Lizzie had volunteered to help her sister improve her grades— she vowed she could help her with anything, anything but maths. But Henry could help her with that, Lizzie reckoned. She knew he would if she asked him nicely enough. Cecily had been all too grateful for the help, but when confronted about her seeing a particular boy while still grounded, Cecily had plunged into a sullen mood.

“Whoever said I can’t see him?”

“Well, for one, mum said that.”

“Lizzie, have you thought that mum is not our boss? Do you let her rule your love life? Do you let her pick your boyfriends for you? No, I don’t think so. I’m sure you can think for yourself. So why should she have a say in who I date and who I don’t?”

That hit uncomfortably close to home. Lizzie looked down at her pint glass. She was on her second pint already. God, what was she thinking? She pushed it away while she still had a clear mind. She certainly wouldn’t like Henry to see her tipsy. It was at that moment that she saw a familiar face walking the place. Lizzie ducked her head, tried to hide her face behind the menu as she realised it was her ex-boyfriend Charles. It was a futile action though, for he had already seen her and was coming her way.

Lizzie let go of the menu, but kept her eyes focused on the ground, refusing to acknowledge him. Yet the feet planted in front of her table weren’t going anywhere, it seemed. Lizzie clutched the edge of the table and slowly raised her eyes.

“Chérie, I haven’t seen you in a long time.” His dark hair slicked to one side, a carefree smile dancing on his lips, and sporting a Paris Saint-German shirt, Charles took the chair opposite hers. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself.” She managed to croak out. “I’m waiting for someone.” Her reply was brief, almost rude, but Lizzie had no intention to be polite with him. He surely hadn’t been considerate of her feelings when they were together.

Something like aggravation flickered in his face before he dismissed it with a scoff. “Waiting for someone? Like what, like a date?”

“Like— Well, I’m…” Was it a date? “It's— It’s Henry! I’m waiting for Henry.”

“Oh!” He chuckled, probably relieved. Lizzie couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to see how pretentious he looked with that smug smile of his. “Henry Tudor, isn’t it? We have some classes together. Your roommate.”

“He’s my former flatmate, as I’ve told you well before.” At the time of Henry’s moving out, Lizzie had repetitively whinged about it to Charles. Lizzie had always suspected he hadn’t listened to any of her grievances; now she had complete proof.

“Yes, yes, ma chérie. I’m sure you did.” Charles made a vague dismissive gesture with his hands, his tone patronising.

I am not your chérie, she thought bitterly. Lizzie wanted to erase that smile from his face, wanted to slap him to see if it went away. If she flung her pint into his face would that be enough? Would it be enough to see it dripping into his expensive football shirt?

“Anyways.” He started again, lounging too comfortably on his chair. “I don’t know why you’re still hanging out with him. Tudor is such a huge nerd.”

“Don’t talk of him like that!” She snapped. “You don’t know him.”

Charles frowned, slightly amused. Maybe she had sounded a bit too defensive. “Wow. PMS is a bitch, hein?”

Lizzie looked straight at him. She didn’t flinch from his gaze— she took all in, saw all of him. His dark eyes, his long nose, his wormy lips. She tried to find what had caught her attention before. Maybe, just maybe, it had been that overbearing sense of confidence he exuded through every pore of his being. Only now she knew it wasn’t confidence, no, it was an absurdly heightened arrogance. Suddenly she felt nothing towards him anymore. Neither love nor hate. Neither affection, nor contempt. Nothing at all.

“It was great chatting with you, Charles.” She stated with an even voice. “But I think you should leave now.”

Charles made no intention to move. “What, leave? Ma chérie, we haven’t even started.”

He moved to grab her wrist, but she pulled her hands into her lap before he could do so. "Just. Leave.”

Charles looked at a point behind her. “Tudor! We were just talking about you.”

Lizzie turned around to see a newly-arrived Henry. If he was in any way displeased by seeing Charles at her table, he didn’t show any of it. On the contrary, he looked every bit dignified. His hair was neatly combed, his button-up shirt complemented his Burberry tailored jacked wonderfully. He was wearing his contacts that day, looking every inch sharp and professional.

“Lizzie.” He greeted her with a warm smile, taking the seat beside hers to wrap an arm around her waist, going in for an open mouth kiss. For a moment Lizzie forgot they weren’t alone.

“Rôôôôh! C'est quoi ce bordel?!” Charles sounded a mixture of gobsmacked and furious.

Pulling back, Henry acted like he did not see him before. “Oh, Charles. Hello there.” Henry said simply, almost like acknowledging his presence was an afterthought.

Charles looked from Henry to Lizzie, eyes bulging. “Tu te fous de moi?”

Lizzie carefully replied, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “Charles, it’s been months since we—”

“You were fucking behind my back, that’s what you were doing!“

She opened her mouth to deny it, but Henry stopped her by landing a hand atop hers, ceasing her fidgeting. "Lizzie, you don’t owe him any explanation whatsoever.”

“I know, but people are looking.”

“All this time!” Charles kept raving, his accent getting thicker by the minute. “And oh my God, you were roommates!”

”Flatmates!“ Their voices corrected him in unison.

"A slut, Lizzie! That’s what you are!” Charles smacked down a hand on the table.

It was at that moment that Henry grabbed him by the shirt, pulling Charles across the table to face him. “That’s enough.” His voice was cold, perfectly controlled. “You will remove yourself from this table and quietly fuck off. Do you understand?” Charles, caught by surprise, could only stare at him. “Do you understand me?” Henry released him with a sneer. “Pauvre con.”

Charles’ face went quickly from white to purple. “Ta gueule!” He stood up, pushing his chair noisily across the floor.

The whole pub watched as Henry slowly stood up from his place. Lizzie tried to grasp his hand to stop him. “Henry, don’t.” She murmured, but Henry had already disentangled from her grip and made his way around the table.

“Ça commence a me gaver là, putain.”

“Ah carrément?” Charles scoffed, giving him a shove.

“Oui, carrément.” Henry pushed him back. Both men grabbed each other’s by the collar.

It was a matter of seconds. Lizzie rushed to get between them, struggled to pull them apart. “Stop it! Stop it! What’s wrong with you?!”

“Take that outside!” Someone shouted at them.

Why are men so bloody stupid? They were acting like she was some sort of property to be fought over. Henry had the grace to look somewhat ashamed, but Charles still looked furious. Thankfully, someone had called the security guard. “Gentlemen, I have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m leaving. He can stay.” Henry carded his fingers through his hair, putting his clothes back in order. “Come, Lizzie.” He took her by the hand, pulling her along. She managed to pick her purse and jacket before she was half-dragged to the exit door.

Charles still had some in him to bite back. “Yes, flee like the coward you are! Dégage!”

It didn’t matter what Charles could say, Henry was still the one who left the place with his arm wrapped around the girl. Henry mockingly waved to him before they crossed the door, but Lizzie could only feel her cheeks burning. She would never be able to step inside that pub again. They had just walked past the corner when she pushed Henry away. “Why did you do that?”

“Excuse me?” He was still jumpy from his altercation with Charles.

“Why did you have to make such a scene?”

“I made a scene?” He scoffed, sarcasm coming out. “Sorry, were you trying to make up with Charles back there? Did I interrupt anything?”

“You know I was not! Don’t even try to play that card. The point is you made it look like we’re a thing. We’re not a thing! We’re not even together!”

At that Henry lowered his head, as if taking a blow. He blinked for a second before replying. “Well, thanks for telling me now. When were you planning to tell me perchance? Today? Next week? Maybe after I brought you a wedding ring?”

“See, that’s not how a relationship works! You don’t get to decide what we do, what we are, before we can talk things through. Just because we kissed that one time—”

“By that one time you mean yesterday.”

“—That doesn’t mean we are together. It doesn’t mean I owe anything.”

“Owe me? What sort of nonsense is this?”

“Look, Henry.” She ran a hand through her long hair, searching for the right words. “I am not ungrateful. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for offering help when my family faced eviction. I truly do! But you don’t get to decide our relationship. I cannot repay you like that.”

“Lizzie, for God’s sake!” He rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, so so very tired. “I’m not trying to buy you!” His voice took a quiet turn then, almost tender. “Don’t you see that everything I do, I do because I care about you?”

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” He looked befuddled, almost hurt.

She looked away. “Don’t come at me like that.” Don’t be soft now, or you’ll make me soft too. “What of what I want? What I think, what I feel? I’d like to have a voice in this too!”

“Of course, Lizzie! But you do!”

“I don’t want it to be like that. Like— Like I’m paying back a favour.”

“But you’re not! I’m not asking for payment!”

“It doesn’t matter, that’s what it looks like to people.”

He caught her wrists then and brought them to his chest, pulling her to him. They were both short of breath, chests heaving. He didn’t kiss her, but she almost wished him to. From that close proximity it was almost unbearable to look at him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses— there was nothing between her and his agitated eyes. They were piercing and blue, and terrible to face. “Lizzie, it’s simple.” He said, very quietly. “Do you want me or not?”

“I…” She faltered. Suddenly it was difficult to breathe.

“Stop with the mixed signals for once. Do you want me…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or not?”

“I…” She searched for a word, anything. “I don’t know.”

He released her then, splaying his hands like she’d just burned him. He stepped back, his expression unreadable “Henry?”

He pulled something out of his pocket and pressed it into one of her hands. She opened it to find a delicate gold necklace, a pendant in the shape of a rose carefully crafted. “What… what is this?”

“A gift. I have no use for it.”

Lizzie felt her eyes swarming with unshed tears. She looked up to find his back to her. Henry was steadily walking away. He is leaving me, the realisation struck her like a dagger. “Henry! Henry, where are you going?”

He didn’t reply. She wasn’t even sure he had listened to her. Lizzie watched as he descended the stairs to the tube station. He wasn’t going back to his flat, that much was clear. He didn’t need to take the tube for that. “Henry!” She called him one last time.

She wouldn’t run after him. Not her, not while people passing by could see her in such an undignified state. She did the right thing, so why did it feel like the worst decision she had ever made? The coldness of the night suddenly crept into her bones. She wrapped herself tight in her jacket, a shiver ran down her spine. She was left alone on that street, alone with her thoughts and the words she should never have said.

#henry x lizzie #henry vii x elizabeth of york #modern au #flatmates au #fanfic #thanks for sticking with me

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