#dinner at parsons manor

[book-lover-forever101]

* Zade having dinner with Adeline, Sibby and Sibby's henchmen *

Zade: This is nice. We should do this more often.

Sibby: * confused * Even though Mortis has been trying to get closer to Addie all through dinner?

Zade:

Zade:

Zade: * has a brain freeze trying to figure out how to annihilate an imaginary person *

Adeline: * taking a sip of her water* Congrats Sibby. You managed to break him.

#zade meadows #zade #adeline reilly #adeline #haunting adeline #hunting adeline #cat and mouse #cat and mouse duet #zade adeline #damn zaddy #sibby #sibby and her henchmen #dinner at parsons manor #chaotic sibby

[anyarose011]

Emotional Motion Sickness {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: When it's only you, your father, Mary, and Angus left behind at Barton for Christmas, you and the boy (who you were an asshole to, but in all fairness, he was one to you too) decide to get to know each other; whilst sneaking around the school.

Part 3 of ?? (Part 1 , Part 2)

Warnings: Teddy Kountze (but not for long), swearing, underage drinking, mentions of past harassment, mention of pornography, and extremely long monologues that I think would be great audition material because I'm delusional :) .

Come get y'all juice (this shit was so much longer than I expected). This may be part 3 in the series, but this is part 1 of songs that are Agnus Tully/Reader coded. And also part 2 of you guys not being able to escape being an awkward teenager just because this is fanfiction. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7.1k

You didn’t talk to anyone the day after you told Angus Tully he didn’t have any friends (well…of course you talked to your father and Mary, but the boys? No; not even the freshmen).

It was warranted; you punched Teddy in the face, you ignored Jason, and Ye-Joon and Alex were probably afraid of you at that point. Angus had the biggest excuse of them all of course, and while you actually felt bad (to your own surprise), you couldn’t bring yourself to actually approach and apologize at the time. Call it pride, call it cowardice, but you suddenly felt so ashamed you couldn’t even speak to him.

So, save for the talks you had with Mary in preparing meals, the nighttime check-ins with your father, you kept your nose stuck in a book. You ignored Teddy’s glare (while also checking over your shoulder every time you passed by him), only gave slight nods to the younger boys, and Jason didn’t even bother talking to you about what he said the day before. Angus, apparently despite not talking to each other, had perhaps the most civilized of silent discussions with you. You would only make eye contact with each other…but somehow, just somehow, there was a bit of understanding between the two of you.

You also had given him your spare toothpaste along with his payment of chocolates and cigarettes for waking you up because you noticed that he was running low. He gave you this…look. Not one of disgust, but he was confused beyond belief, and you swore he was in his own little world as you talked about your reasoning and all he did was stare at you.

Weirdo.

The day after that, making it the sixth day of being stuck at the school, you were sitting on a stool in the kitchen, reading to Mary as she prepped for lunch. “‘Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and clerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said— ‘Mary, have you ever been in love before?’”

You paused, looking up from your book and watching as the Mary in front of you was doing what the Mary in the book was doing; cleaning the knives. She glanced back at you upon your quietness, giving you the eye.

“And? What did she say?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m waiting for her to answer.”

Scoffing, she turned away. “You’re not that funny you know.”

“Yet you’re hiding your smile.”

“Am not.”

“Well have you?”

“Have what?”

“Been in love?”

She huffed. “I’m too sober for that conversation.”

“There’s some wine in the chapel-.”

Mary turned, pointing a knife at you. “-Don’t you dare.”

“What?! It’s not consecrated!”

“Still, you’re a baby, you can’t drink that stuff.”

“I’m going to technically graduate in a few months.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Sighing overdramatically, you leaned against the wall. “Can you just give me a yes or no?”

She turned and headed back to the counter she was at, looking at you. “Yes, I’ve been in love before.”

“When you were young?”

“Am I not young now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.” She began to chop vegetables.

“Was it scary?”

“Kind of.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It happened later for me than most of my friends, so that’s probably why.”

Before you could ask another complex question, a humming noise caught your ear. You thought you were going insane at first until it had also apparently got Mary’s. After taking one glance at each other, you both followed the sound, and it led you to the nearest window.

Outside, in the sky, a yellow helicopter flew above you.

The next thing you knew, as you and Mary were rushing to the library to ask your father ‘What in God’s name is going on?’, you ran into everyone in the middle of the main hall, including a man you had never seen before.

Apparently, Jason’s father cracked and decided to come pick his son up for Christmas at the ski lodge. He also offered to take the rest of The Boys Left Behind. So, there you were after Mary left, deciding to stand outside with the rest of them as Jason, his dad, and your father sat in the administrative office, calling up everyone and their mother (quite literally).

“So, Hunham,” Teddy asked, his voice so grating you would rather claw your brain out with a fork than have to listen to him. “what’re you gonna do when all of us go skiing? Take some pictures?”

You shook your head, not letting it get under your skin. “No, I’ll probably spend time with Elise.”

“Elise?” The boys questioned.

“Yeah, we met in middle school.”

“Is she anything like you or is she pretty?” Teddy prodded.

Angus rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she’d really want to hang around a cesspool like you.”

Holy shit…he was actually standing up for you? Even after you told him he didn’t have any friends? Perhaps men hadn’t failed you completely (your most famous last words of this entire winter break…maybe not for the most part, but still).

You snorted, crossing your arms while still holding Jane Eyre. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you meet her, Kountze.”

Before he could even attempt a comeback, your father came out through the door, and turned to the boys. “Well, good news gentlemen. I was able to reach Dr. Woodrup and your parents;” He glanced at Angus for a second. “Most of them, anyway. I recommend all of you go pack, have a merry Christmas.”

The rest of the boys, including Jason who exited with his dad, raced past one another; all except Angus. You could see how he tried to hide his growing disappointment and went to the first stage of grief; denial.

“Could you try them again?” He asked your father.

Paul Hunham took a deep breath. “Alright.” He turned to Jason’s father, both men uttering a ‘Merry Christmas’, before yours went back into the office. Leaving you outside with Angus.

He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. Well…this was your chance to try and be nice to him again.

“If they don’t pick up, just tell him to keep calling.” You suggested.

Angus looked at you, shrugging. “Yeah, that was my plan already.”

“I always annoy him until I get what I want. Usually works for me.”

“So why aren’t you in Copenhagen?”

“…You.” There was a silence between the both of you, and to your surprise, you had to bite your tongue not because of anger, but to stop yourself from laughing. You gave him a nod. “I hope you get to go skiing; even if Kountze will be there.”

Not giving him time to respond, you walked right past him to your room in the infirmary. In your mind, best case scenario, everyone would go skiing and you and your dad would somehow make it to Copenhagen; middle case scenario, everyone would go skiing but you’d be left in Barton with Mary and your dad; worst case scenario, you were stuck with Angus…at Barton, over Christmas break.

While he was the one that irked you the least out of the boys your age, you weren’t really in the mood to be with him until the middle of January.

It was as you were sitting on the edge of your bed, reading the rest of Jane Eyre, when someone knocked on your door. Glancing up, you saw Alex. Smiling, you asked.

“You ready to go?”

He nodded, then walked into the room, holding out your mittens. “Sorry I forgot to give them back.”

You took them, standing and smiling. “No, you’re alright. If I’m honest, I would’ve let you keep them while you were here.”

“Are you and Angus going to be okay?”

Giving him a look, you chuckled. “Well, if there’s a god, then hopefully that means he’ll go with you guys.”

At that moment, both of your eyes were drawn to the doorway when you heard heavy footsteps and watched as Angus Tully stormed past.

“Okay, guess there isn’t.” You grumbled, then went back to sweet. “Don’t worry though, we’ll be civil with each other.”

“I think you should be friends.”

Well…that was unexpected. Still, you snickered. “Alex, are you saying neither of us have friends already? And I thought you were nice.”

“No just,” he sighed. “I heard Ye-Joon crying a few nights go, Angus told him friends are overrated, and Ye-Joon told me that Angus had been kicked out of a lot of schools…I don’t know.”

You nodded, completely understanding. “I’ll be nicer to him; I promise you that. Now go have a great Christmas.”

He grinned from ear to ear, unexpectedly hugging you. After freezing for just a moment, you hugged him back before pulling away. You bid each other goodbye, and he went running back to his room to pack. A few seconds later, it was Jason who was in your room.

“Hey.” He greeted.

“Hello.”

He stood there stiffly, almost as if he was nervous for the first time in his life. “Um…I just wanted to say sorry.”

This intrigued you. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Jason fiddled with the bag in his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you; Teddy was an asshole, end of story.”

You gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

The silence between you was different; not one of comfort, but not exactly discomforting either. Though, it was becoming that the more time dragged on.

“You know,” he grinned, and you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or a joke. “if we hurry, I could probably sneak you on?”

You merely kept your face the same; a pitiful, upturned mouth. “Merry Christmas, Jason.”

He nodded, taking the hint, wishing you a ‘Merry Christmas’ back, and left. Not exactly the best apology to receive, but you were more than happy you got one. Also happy that he didn’t call you names for refusing his advances; bare minimum, but welcome to the early 1970s.

Teddy followed soon after him, and he stopped in your doorway, turning his head to you. He only managed to take a breath to speak before you beat him to it.

“I hope you fall of the fucking ski lift, snap your fucking neck, and never recover.”

He only smiled. “I hope your business goes well. Tell Daniel I said ‘hi’.”

And that was the last time you saw him that Christmas break. He did indeed fall off a ski lift and snap his neck.

He didn’t actually, but you wished he did. When he walked past you, Ye-Joon was next, and you both just uttered a quick ‘Merry Christmas’, before he left. Knowing that Tully was still in the room, you decided it was best to avoid him, and went back to your father.

“No luck?” You asked him.

He shook his head. “No luck.”

Sighing, you glanced down at the floor. Great…it was official; you were still stuck with at least one boy who would for sure not have his brain developed until he was thirty at the youngest (or so you thought).

“Do you want to see the helicopter take off?” Your father asked.

You nodded, not knowing what else to do. So, that was how you found yourself, your father, and Angus (who surprisingly crawled out of the room to also watch it take off), in the snowy quad, watching as the ‘Boys Left Behind’ became the ‘Boys Who Are Now in a Damn Helicopter Going Skiing’. You thought the last title had a better sound to it.

Your father sighs from beside you, turning to look at you in the middle, and Angus to your right. “Well, let’s make the best of it.”

He went in soon after that, leaving you and Angus alone together. You wanted to say something, you probably should’ve. Yet, in all honesty, you had nothing to say, and you knew that if you forced yourself to come up with something, it would’ve been bad.

So that’s why you didn’t even look at him when you left. That’s why you avoided him for the rest of the day, luckily being able to spend most of it with Elise and doing nothing but making Christmas cookies with her and miss Crane (even though she’d already made more than enough to give to the teachers. They were…fine when your dad gave you one), and muting channels from the TV and voicing over them.

You and Elise had done that since you were kids…which actually wasn’t that long ago when you were still doing it.

When you got back, you helped Mary with dinner, than all ate in silence; save for your father trying to make conversation about your day since you were truly the only one out of all of you to have an interesting day.

That’s when the four of you found yourself in the teacher’s lounge; you reading Little Women, your father and Mary watching The Newlywed Game, and Angus reading Popular Mechanics in a chair far away from you.

As you were disappearing into your second read of the book, it was Mary who brought you out of it.

“Your daughter asked me an invasive question today.”

You looked up in alarm at the accusation. Paul Hunham sighed, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “And what, pray tell, was it this time?”

“Asked if I’d ever been in love.”

Your father said your name warningly. Of course, you defended with. “We were reading Jane Eyre! If I was reading this,” you held up your book. “I would’ve asked if she ever rejected a man before. I already know the answer, but still.”

“You know the answer?” Mary laughed.

“You probably had to beat them off of you back in the day, you were so pretty.”

“Were?”

“Fine wine, miss Lamb.” You hung upside down, tossing your feet over the back of the couch. “You age like fine wine.”

 “Stop that.” She scoffed lovingly, then asked your father, almost as if it was a joke. “What about you?”

You looked at him. “Oh, I sure hope he’s been in love.”

“Well,” he said your name. “you know, it was purely for economic reasons at first, but then-.” The pillow you threw at him caused him to chuckle before continuing. “Yes, Josephine March, I was greatly enamored by your mother.”

“What was your favorite thing about her?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, come off it.” You rolled your eyes.

“Well then, if you’re going to be like that, then it’s her laugh.”

You sat up. “That’s such a basic fucking-!”

“-Hey!” Both him and Mary started.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Angus smile for just a second. Your father continued. “I’ll tell you why her laugh was my favorite; it’s because she barely did.”

When you thought of it…she really only laughed around you. Were you that funny or did she just love you that much? Either way, you were more than happy about it. Your father continued.

“She announced in front of an entire class that she would more than likely laugh while being stuck in a brazen bull, then listening to my jokes. That was the first thing she said to me, and it’s still one of my favorite memories.”

Mary chimed in. “Not your wedding day?”

You and her shared a knowing look, trying not to burst out in laughter as your father just smoked his pipe, nodding. No time to unpack that.

“But you know, there’s more to falling in love than just with people.” He started soon to clear the air. “Imagine it, like a monk: forgoing sensual pleasures for the achievement of spiritual goals.”

“Spiritual goals, you?” Mary questioned. “What spiritual goals are we talking about? You go to church?”

“Only when required.”

“Exactly.” She mumbled. “Me having to save your daughter’s soul every Sunday since she was a kid.”

You only went because she’d take you and Curtis out to lunch every Sunday.

“When’s the last time you even left campus?” Mary asked him.

He almost looked offended. “I go into town all the time.”

“Oh!”

“For groceries, and errands, and various appointments.”

“Jane Bennett over here can’t drive and she gets out more than you.”

“Okay yes,” he sighed. “I don’t leave campus often. I don’t really feel the need.”

Mary nodded. “Let me ask you something. If you could go anywhere on earth, where would you go?”

“Well, we were supposed to go to Copenhagen…” nearly left your lips, but then your eyes caught Angus again, and looked away soon when his sight met yours.

“Oh,” your father grinned. “Greece, Italy, Egypt, Peru, Carthage, Tunisia now, of course. In college I started a monograph on Carthage. I’d like to finish that someday. A monograph is like a book only shorter.”

“I know what a monograph is.” Mary answered tiredly.

“Why not just write a book?”

That was the first thing you heard Angus say after hours of silence.

Your father shook his head. “I’m not sure I have an entire book in me.”

“You can’t even dream a whole dream, can you?” Mary asked.

If it were any other day, you would’ve laughed. But for some reason (that reason being you staring at Angus Tully), you didn’t. Still, once the two of you made eye-contact, you shot your gaze back to the TV, and then down to your book for the rest of the night.

What a strange person (he probably thought the same as you).

Your father agreed to let you sleep in the free room of the infirmary on account of the fact Teddy and Jason were gone. He made the joke too that you could “Finally sleep” as if you already hadn’t been sneaking out to get sleep. Still, even though you could no longer hear his snores, you found yourself more awake than ever that night.

When you were a child, you used to go on nightly excursions. Those being where you’d walk down the stairs of your old house and see everything in the dark; a familiar place becoming the unfamiliar and realizing just how taller everything was compared to you.

You cried the first time that you did it, and your mother rushed down to comfort you; your father, of course, slept like a rock. You still went on the little adventures though.

So…why not do it at Barton? Surely you were old enough you wouldn’t cry this time?

Tiptoeing through the halls and into your father’s room after throwing on your boots and jacket, you somehow managed to grab the keys and flashlight without him hearing you. Then you saw the bottle of whiskey by his bed; checks out.

As you were exiting through the hall, you passed by Angus’ room. You stopped in the doorway, contemplating. Would he be more pissed at you for waking him up, or for leaving him out? Well…only one way to find you.

In the same way you did on the first night, you shook him awake. He flinched a little when he saw you but wasn’t completely frazzled. “What?” He groaned, more so out of exhaustion than annoyance.

All you did was hold up the ring of keys to him.

That got him to sit up, and you managed to smile, tilting your head back to the door. It still astounds you to this down just how quickly you both could communicate without having to say a single word. He got on his coat and shoes, and the pair of you were soon off, traversing down the halls. Your first stop was the teacher’s lounge.

“I just want to check on Mary.” You explained.

“Why?”

“Because she checks up on us.”

And he didn’t argue; poor, tall child was just happy to have some freedom for the first time in almost a week. So, you both just quickly peered into the teacher’s lounge, and sure enough, she was sleeping on the couch with the TV on. You both tiptoed out of there and into the darkened hallway.

“Turn on the light.” He whispered to you.

“I’m trying.” You felt around for the switch, and then heard a ‘bump!’ in front of you followed by cursing.

“Shit!” Your heart jumped. “What did you do?!”

“Just turn on the light!”

You did, and you saw him hunched over, cradling his left elbow. You made a face. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just maybe turn the flashlight on before going into a dark place?”

Oh, hell no, you weren’t taking that amount of sass. “Well maybe you should stop being so tall and stupid. Jesus wept, you make the ground shake every time you walk.”

He scoffed, though an etching of a smile played on his lips when he knocked on the wall beside you.

“What’re you doing?” You asked.

“She’s not going to wake up. It’s fine.”

“Still, I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Okay,” he shrugged his shoulders. “then could I have the light? Seeing that you can’t handle it?”

Oh, what a little shit. Rolling your eyes, you handed it to him, to which he immediately turned over his shoulder and started skipping down the hallway, making quite a lot of noise.

“Angus Tully, I swear to God!” You rushed after him.

He led you into the kitchen, but you led him to the freezer and the large tub of vanilla ice cream the cooks only used for ‘Special Occasions’. You grabbed spoons off the counter and ate from the tub for a few good minutes without saying a word to each other.

When you were finished, he asked. “Where else were you thinking of going?”

 “I’m not sure.” You then glanced over to one of the ‘Staff Only’ doors. “I got an idea.”

After using the keys to unlock it, the door led down into a dimly lit tunnel. You went down first, the cold hitting your skin and you zipped your jacket up. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Angus still up at the top.

“Well come on, you’re the one with the light.”

That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he walked down the steps.

“How’d you know this was here?”

“That’s for me to know.”

And you just walked ahead of him.

He scoffed. “So, I don’t get to find out?”

“Nope.”

The tunnel was much longer than you initially thought it would be, but when you both got to the first door you’d seen, you were led into the sacristy of the chapel. Instantly, Agnus set down the flashlight and opened up the cabinet, taking out the chalice and jug of wine.

You snorted. “What a faithful altar boy you are.”

“Of course I am.” He responded, pouring the wine into the chalice and taking a huge gulp of it. “Want some?”

You tensed at first but responded quick enough. “Sure.”

He poured the wine into the chalice and took a small sip. It wasn’t as bad as when you first tried it; in fact, it was pretty good. You finished most of it after bringing it to your lips again.

“You’ve never had it before, haven’t you?” He grinned like the little shit he was (still is).

Shaking your head, you handed it back to him. “Just not in a while.”

You both got quickly bored in the sacristy after Angus had another drink of wine and went back through the door into the tunnel.

“Do you think someone died down here?” You questioned.

“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a shitty job at it.” He answered.

“That sounds like something someone who’s terrified of ghosts would say.”

Sooner than you thought you would, and after a solid minute of you two going back and forth about the existence of ghosts, you found another door, which led you up into the auditorium. You’d only been there once for Curtis’ graduation the year prior, and you hadn’t step foot in there since then. Angus immediately went to the piano, sitting down at it and looking out to the sea of seats. You approached him leaning against the grand piano. He brought out a pack of the cigarettes you’d gotten him and a lighter.

“Mind if I have one?” You asked.

He nodded, placing a cigarette between his lips and then handing you one. He lit it for you, and you brought it up to your mouth. Somehow, you hadn’t coughed, and you were proud of yourself; you let your curiosity get the best of you, but it hadn’t killed you yet. Angus pressed a few keys on the piano, and you chuckled.

“You play?” You questioned.

“Not since I was ten. You know how?”

“Nope; all I know is Roman history and how to annoy men, apparently.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can I ask you a question after you do?”

“Sure.”

“Go ahead.”

He takes a puff from his cigarette before asking. “Why the book names?”

Chuckling, you shook your head. “It’s just always been a thing my mom did; they all mean different things. Countess Natalya when I’m being overdramatic, Jo March for my dad, Jane Bennett for Mary, Emma Woodhouse when I’m being stubborn, things like that.”

“Should I call you something then?” He teased.

“I’d prefer just my name from you, thank you very much.” You played along back, walking around the piano and plopping yourself down on the wooden floor. He soon sank down to be at your level, finding it awkward to sit above you. “Okay, my question.”

He nodded. “Shoot.”

“Why did you and Teddy get into a fight at the beginning of break?”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes. “Asshole stole my family picture and I knew it but he kept denying it; might’ve said some shitty things to him, but it’s not like they weren’t true.”

“What’d you say?”

“That he was a sociopath, and his family didn’t want him around.”

You almost choked on your cigarette but laughed. “Damn, that’s brutal.”

“Smith had to pull us apart, it was apparently that bad.”

Scoffing, you said. “You and him had to hold Teddy back after I punched him.”

“Asshole.” He muttered.

“Asshole.” You repeated.

Silence passed by the both of you for the hundredth time that day, and that was when you spoke up.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a jerk these last few days.” He arched his brow, and you just went on. “To be honest, you have been too, but I’ve been a bigger one; especially today. I wanted to say something before but…I didn’t want to be more of a bitch than I already was.”

He shook his head. “You’re not; I was kind of a dick when I first met you.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, a lot.” He admitted. “It was honestly stupid luck I got that question when you first showed up at Barton, and I got carried away with bragging.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” You repeated his words from a few days ago. “You’re actually the smartest out of all of them.”

“Really?”

“Not even close to me, but still.” You held out your hand. “Friends of some sort?”

He shook it. “Friends of some sort.”

You both pulled away, and after taking another drag of your cigarette you said. “I actually don’t know jack shit about you.”

“That a fact?”

“Yeah, and since we’re going to be stuck here for a while, I think that should change. How about this?” you scooted closer to him. “We ask each other questions. Simple at first, but more and more, we go a little deeper. How does that sound?”

He huffed. “Sounds like a regular conversation.”

“We get to refuse to answer one question.” You added. “Everything else after is free game. Sound more exciting?”

Angus nodded. “Alright, what’s your favorite color?”

“Pass.”

“Are you serious?”

“Fuck no.” You laughed, giving him your favorite color then asking him. “Favorite book?”

He responded much faster than you thought he would. “Catch-22.”

“Ah, a man of culture. Thank God, I thought I’d have to stop talking to you.”

Angus shook his head, chuckling. “If you could be an animal, what would you be?”

Ah…a bit of a stranger one, but you like that. You thought more on it, then gave him your answer. He nodded.

“Yeah, seems like you’d be one.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” You answered in a dead pan, and broke character the second you saw his face fall. “Just messing with you. Favorite childhood memory?”

He paused at that but didn’t show any sign of discomfort. Hesitance, yes, but he was taking more time thinking about your (frankly bizarre) question. Then, he answered.

“My dad took me on a fishing trip when I was twelve. Just for the weekend out in the woods with a small cabin. Talked to me about what it meant to be a man, telling me what he was like as a kid…I don’t even like fishing.”

The short story, even though it wasn’t yours, brought a nostalgic smile to your face for a moment. “I tried fishing once; not really my thing either.”

“Mr. Hunham took you fishing?” The look on his face made you laugh.

“Oh god no.” You shook your head. “Curtis did.”

Angus blinked upon the name. “Mary’s kid?”

“You’ve already asked a question.”

“What?”

“I just asked you what your favorite memory was as a kid, you asked me if my dad took me fishing. It’s my question now. Technically, I can ask two in a row because you just asked me what I meant.” It was your turn to have the shit-eating grin.

“I…” He tried not to laugh, unable to believe it. “So, our friendship is basically transactional?”

“Huh?”

“You’re having us say that if one of us asks two questions in a row, even if one isn’t really about getting to know the other-.”

“-It was about getting to know me; you asked if my dad took me fishing.”

“That’s a transactional relationship, not really a conversation.”

“Are you trying to explain to me what a conversation is, Tully?” You furrowed your brow, stomping out your cigarette. “Do you really believe women are that stupid?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, considering how you just asked three questions in a row.”

Never in your life (at least recently) had something thrown you off balance so drastically. You counted on your fingers, jogging your memory, and yes, you indeed answered three questions: freeing him from yours. You both made eye contact, and with the same, unspoken language, you both laughed. It took you a bit longer to recover, to which you then asked.

“Okay, and you can ask me two questions, do you genuinely think women are stupid?”

Angus shook his head, his cigarette on its last leg. “Everyone’s stupid in their own special way.”

“How poetic of you.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“Shut up and ask me a stupid question because you’re so stupid.”

He threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out before turning to you. “Craziest thing that happened to you?”

Your face dropped for a moment at the question, before it soon morphed into a nervous smile. “It’s what made my dad start homeschooling me.”

Angus raised his brows. “If it’s not a fun memory than-.”

“-No it’s alright.”

“If anything,” you thought to yourself. “it’ll make me see who you really are.”

You set the scene. “You’ve been in eighth grade, right?”

“I though you said I could ask two questions-?”

“-For fuck’s sake, Tully.”

“Yes,” he grinned. “I’ve been in eighth grade, surprisingly.”

“Well, you probably remember how much we thought we were hot shit at that age, right?” You didn’t give him time to respond. “My friend Elise is Miss Crane’s niece, Miss Crane the secretary.”

“Yeah, I know who she is.”

“Elise only comes to live with her during winter and summer breaks. I met her when we were like twelve, and we were immediately inseparable. Summer of eighth grade going into high school, she takes this theatre summer camp hosted by some kids at Ridgeway.”

Angus scoffed. “That fucking shithole? My roommate had some of his friends over who went there; assholes.”

“Oh, that’s not the half of it.” You rolled your eyes. “So, one of the counsellors, I don’t know I think her name was like…Gloria, or something, really liked her, and invited her to a party she and the other theatre kids were having. She told Elise that she could bring anyone that she wanted. Elise thought that other campers were being invited, so she asked me because…okay shoot me, I liked theater growing up. Now Elise wasn’t going to Ridgeway for high school, but I was, so she thought it’d be great for me to meet the people. That’s what she told my dad and her aunt; that it was a part of the camp. God, we spent hours getting ready, I look at pictures that Miss Crane took of us, and we didn’t even look that good,”

You and Angus paused to relish your chuckling before continuing. “but what mattered was that we were excited. Miss Crane drove us to the house at seven, said she’d pick us up by ten, and then left. The only people there were us, Gloria, and two of the other counselors; one being her boyfriend, Bobby fucking Nolan. So, it was awkward for the first hour because, of course Gloria wasn’t supposed to invite two eighth graders, but it’s fine because she said ‘Elise is cool, so her friend’s probably cool’. I wanted us to call someone to take us home because there was a misunderstanding, hell, the counsellor that wasn’t Gloria’s boyfriend even offered to, but Elise said she wanted to stay. I wasn’t leaving her behind, so I stayed too. It actually got fun after that. It was more than obvious I was uncomfortable, so they asked me to pick a board game for us to play when waiting for other people, and I picked Clue. It went on for a while, and people started showing up, so it was really just me, Bobby fucking Nolan, and another random kid playing with us because the others, including Elise, left. Bobby said that I was purposefully hiding my cards because he assumed some things weren’t adding up. He did this the whole game, and he’d try to be teasing, but he always sounded like he was accusing me of murder. Which, okay, a part of the game but you know what I mean. I got fed up with it, so I told him a bit more aggressively that I wasn’t lying. This asshole reaches over and squeezes me here.”

Scooting closer to Angus where your face was just a foot away from his, you pointed to the base of your neck where your clavicle is. “So I freak out of course, and he just started laughing, saying he found out that’s a ticklish spot for everyone. My stomach started feeling weird, and I…a year before that, my dad told me that if I ever started feeling sick out of nowhere, whether it was because of a person or situation, than I’d leave. Doesn’t matter what, I’d just go. So, I say I have to go to the bathroom, get Elise, she sees that I’m starting to freak out, and we try to find Gloria, her friend, or just anyone who’d want to take us home. Bobby finds us instead, he’s lit, and he won’t let us out of his sight. He was joking at first, and I’m fucking terrified at this point, so Elise has to tell him we’re going home. He’s getting pushy now, and it takes him calling her a ‘bitch’ for people to notice. So, thank God, some of the others pull him away to calm him down because he looked like he’d start swinging, and one of the girls took pity on us and drove us to Elise’s house because we were supposed to have a sleepover. I was crying at this point, so I begged Miss Crane to call Mary, not my dad, she picked me up, I told her everything, she brought me home, told my dad, and the next day I told him everything I told Mary. He said I did the right thing in leaving and was pissed at the school. So, he called them, got most of the kids there in trouble; all except Bobby fucking Nolan. Because Bobby Nolan’s mom was screwing the principal, and technically besides underage drinking and minor harassment, he didn’t do anything wrong in the school’s eyes; so, he just got a few days’ worth of detention, but even then, that was probably wiped from his records…He was a freshman going into sophomore year, so if I went to Ridgeway, I’d be stuck with him for three years…everything else checks out.”

The silence was deafening. Angus had a face you had never seen on him before. “I…shit, that’s fucked up.”

Just like with everything else you did when things became too serious (because it was only then you realized that you just told him something that was somewhat traumatic and not funny), you made it funny.

“Oh fuck, you asked me about the craziest thing that happened to me. Sorry, I forgot to say that I was like a little tipsy throughout all of that.”

“What?!”

No one ever said you landed the punchline all the time. Still, you tried.

“Now I know that sounds bad-.”

“-It is bad. You were like what, fourteen?”

“…Thirteen.”

“Oh my god.” He groaned.

“How old were you when you first drank?”

“Sixteen.”

“That’s like three years.”

“It’s about maturity.”

“Oh,” you snickered. “and you have a lot of that?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe I do."

Rolling your eyes, you said. “Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Ask your other question. No, that one doesn’t count, I’m actually tired of the rules I set up.”

He was still, understandably, thrown off about all that you told him. Still, he went. “How’d you know about the tunnels?”

“Curtis Lamb. We were friends for a while, and he told me he and some other kids would explore them. Mary never found out somehow.”

“Why’d you stop being friends?”

You shrugged. “We didn’t, he just died. Did your mom and dad get a divorce or…?”

You were always a hardball when it came to being blunt.

Angus tensed. “Pass.”

“Okay.”

“Can I ask about the letter?”

Oh…oh…

Well…what a spot you put yourself in…

“Pass.” You said without hesitation. Had he said that to get back at you for asking a stupid question or did he actually want to know?

Still, he respected it. “Your turn.”

And you decided to be slightly less bold, but not back down completely. “Have you been kicked out of school before?”

To your surprise, he wasn’t angry when you asked. A bit smug even. “Oh, who told you?”

“Alex.”

“Figures. Yeah, three.”

“Why?”

“‘Unruly behavior, instigating fights, stealing school property.’” He rolled his eyes. “If I get kicked out of this one, it’s off to military school.”

You nodded. “So maybe don’t then.”

“Seems like a plan.”

“When did your mom marry your stepfather?”

“Just last summer; that’s why they’re taking their honeymoon now. She’d only been with him for six months.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Just lonely I guess.”

You furrowed your brow. “She had you.”

He didn’t say anything, he stopped looking at you too. Well, new tactic now.

“What you did was nice a few nights ago.” Like Pavlov’s dog, he looked up at you. “Helping Ye-Joon out.”

His eyes drifted. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything to him and it meant something to me. It meant that you’re not a complete asshole you try to be, and I don’t know why you try to be one, but you’re not.” You saw right through him, and you both knew it. Still, to save face a little while longer, you added. “I’m sorry too about saying you didn’t have friends.”

“It’s fine-.”

“-No, it’s not, because I felt like shit as soon as I said it, and it’s a shitty thing to say to anyone.”

He stared at you the same way he did when you gave him toothpaste, and it unnerved you even more. Had anyone ever apologized to him?

“Thanks.” Was his reply, and the two of you stopped asking questions. You both sat in the auditorium for perhaps a small moment’s silence when he said. “I uh…we should probably get back.”

You nodded, getting up. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you tried to make it seem like you’d never been there and made your way back down into the tunnel. The walk seemed much longer than it had previously, the two of you not seeming to have anything to say until Angus went-.

“I threw out the skin mag.”

Well…the actual last thing you thought you would hear from him that night.

You stopped in your tracks. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you as he confessed. “I stole Kountze’s cigarettes to trade for it and practically waved it in his face the first few days. I know it’s none of my business, but after he read the letter…I just felt bad about it.”

What on God’s green earth were you supposed to say? Apparently, after a few moments of stunned silence, you knew.

“…Thanks? On behalf of all women, I guess?” He nodded, still not looking at you, which only added to your anxiety. “We’re good, right? Still friends of some sort?”

“Yeah.” He finally met your eyes.

You nodded. “Nice.”

And you walked ahead of him as if trying to outrun the light. You both tiptoed through the halls, setting the keys and flashlight back in your father’s room in the infirmary, and went into your own separate rooms.

As you laid down to sleep, the strangeness of the whole evening played in your mind. You had been so vulnerable with him, and he hadn’t thrown it back and spat it in your face; he let you talk about it for so long.

He didn’t blame you for what happened.

You never told anyone about that besides the people involved…

But he didn’t do the same. Yes, your friendship (of some sort) didn’t have to be where each of you dumped a lot of baggage on each other…but you still felt odd doing so.

You felt something in your stomach the more you thought about the whole night; being alone together and exploring the school as if you were both main characters in a novel, telling secrets in the dark…

You didn’t feel sick though; at least, not like when a boy touched you for the first time.

#angus tully x reader #the holdovers #paul hunham #mary lamb #angus tully #Youtube

[bedofthistles]

The Little White Horse: Loveday and Benjamin and the Geraniums 

The fight between Loveday Minette and Sir Benjamin

TL;DR

First of all, Loveday and Benjamin are first cousins. Yes, you read that right, First Cousins. And Robin and Maria? Second cousins. 

Yeah I don’t like it either. 

“My father and Sir Benjamin's father and your grandfather were brothers," said Loveday. "There were only the three of them, and each of them had only one child; Sir Benjamin, myself, your father; and so now the Merryweathers are a very small family, just Sir Benjamin and myself and you."

When Loveday was orphaned at the age of ten, she moved to Moonacre Manor with her Aunt, and her Twenty-Five year old First cousin Benjamin. 

Let me repeat that: HER TWENTY-FIVE YEAR OLD FIRST COUSIN. 

So Sir Benjamin is a predator. 

Heavens above, anyway. 

When Loveday comes to Moonacre Manor, all she has are the clothes on her back and ten pots of geranium cuttings. Salmon Pink Geraniums. Now, despite how silly that is, these flowers matter to Loveday because they were the “pride of Cornwall”. They are the only thing she has to remember her home and parent’s by. These aren’t just flowers to her, but the final mementos of her family. 

Sir Benjamin’s mother's hatred of pink and geraniums leads to Loveday’s inability to wear pink, or keep the geraniums anywhere but in her room. Loveday tells Maria that her aunt was severe and strict. Loveday loves the color pink, and she loves her geraniums, but Loveday is restricted by her Aunt do wear what she wants to wear freely, and keep something that she views as a representation of her parents and family, private. 

“When I was a child of ten he was a splendid young man of twenty-five, and, as I said, he was kind to me and I loved him; even though he shared his mother's dislike of pink geraniums. For he was not like his mother, always talking about the things he disliked; he just kept his mouth shut and did not mention them.”

A couple of years pass, Sir Benjamin (in his early thirties) and Loveday (still a fucking teenager) are engaged to be wed in springtime. In winter, his mom dies, but they don’t move their wedding date and still plan on getting married in a few months. Despite the fact that you were expected to mourn for at least a year, I imagine the mourning period would also include not getting married, but I digress. 

It is also made very clear how Sir Benjamin feels in regards to the women in his life: 

“I cannot tell you how much I loved him, Maria. And he loved me, too, though he loved his mother more."

Now, I’m sure that your synapses are just firing off, that your reading skills and critical thinking abilities are great and you know what’s coming next! 

“And then, Maria, one spring evening just before our wedding day, I did a very stupid thing."

We really only get to see this story from Loveday’s perspective, and not from Sir Benjamin’s, I’m sure Goudge is expecting us to find Loveday a reliable narrator, and I’m sure Loveday isn’t lying, but it would have been nice to at least get Sir Ben’s perspective.

The night before their wedding, or just about, the Merryweathers are having the Parson over for dinner, for what I imagine is similar to an engagement dinner, rehearsal dinner, and wedding counseling for us. While Sir Benjamin is out on a horse ride, Loveday decides to take all of her Salmon Pink Geraniums out of her room and decorate the house with them.  At this point, her room was overflowing with pink geraniums, and there was simply no more room for them in her chambers. So, what I find to be very arrogant, Loveday takes all the geraniums out of her room, wears a pink dress, and greets both cousin/fiance and Parson at the door. 

Of course, Sir Benjamin is furious (and in my opinion, I do think Loveday, up to this point, is in the wrong. As far as I’m concerned this is a clear lack of communication, and very disrespectful to her mother-in-law/aunt/the woman who took care of her most of her life) but can’t do anything because the Parson is there, and he has to be sociable. 

“When Old Parson had gone he told me exactly what he thought of me. He has the Merryweather temper, you know, even though he is so sunny and genial, and when he was a young man he could behave like a roaring lion. And he raged and stormed that night until his anger nearly lifted the roof off. He said that I had insulted the memory of his saintly mother and that I was not worthy to follow in her footsteps. And he said other things that made me very angry, so that I said hard things too. Among other things I said that his mother had not been a saint at all but a very wicked woman to be so severe with a little girl as she had been with me over my love of pink. And no saint hates geraniums, I said. Saints love all the flowers that God has made, especially the salmon pink geraniums of Cornwall, because God never made lovelier flowers than those. And at that Sir Benjamin picked up all the pots of geraniums within reach and flung them out of the window into the rose garden."

So Loveday runs away and marries a lawyer out of pure spite.   

“And the son of the house [she was working in], a young lawyer, fell in love with me on sight, and I married him as soon as it could possibly be arranged, because he was kind and I liked him, and in my pride and anger I wanted to put it beyond Sir Benjamin's power to get me back again."

Now I would like us to take a look at the fight that happens in the Secret of Moonacre. 

Sir Benjamin is not insulted by her choice of floral arrangements, he is angered by the fact that she is the daughter of his enemy. He believes she came and tricked him into loving her, that she was using him to find the pearls. 

Loveday lies to him about her name to protect herself. While we are not given her reason as to why - it could have been that she was trying to find the pearls, and didn’t want his wrath and anger, so donned a false name; it could have been she was sent by her father to find the pearls but fell in love with him nonetheless - we know that she did truly love him, and chose him over her own family. 

Either way, the fight Loveday De Noir and Sir Benjamin have is much more nuanced. It is reasonable for these people to be upset. Sir Benjamin is angry that he was lied to, and Loveday is upset because he could not look past her name and love her regardless, that he would not listen to her as she tried to tell him that her love for him was genuine. 

Also, Loveday De Noir doesn’t go off and petty-marry a lawyer so he can’t have her. 

The fight that Sir Benjamin and Loveday Minette have in the book is childish and moronic, while the fight Sir Benjamin and Loveday De Noir have is nuanced and devastating.

Edit: my sister mentioned that Loveday was treated very harshly as a child, and felt free to express herself for the first time and was treated harshly for it. I don’t think this changes my stance on Loveday being in the wrong (they both are) as a couple, they lacked communication, which is a cornerstone for relationships. However, that does make me more sympathetic for how Sir Benjamin treated her

Conclusion: they miscommunicated, but Sir Benjamin is a grooming pedophile, so he’s definitely in the wrong

Prev | Next

#the little white horse #the secret of moonacre #benday #loveday #sir benjamin #TLWH dissertation

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

DEAR READER

this fucking song!! I took a class on Jane Eyre in college and we spent DAYS talking about the moments when the narrator uses the phrase “Reader”. They are very rare in the book, and the last one is at the very end and this is what it says:

“Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and clerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said —

"Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning." The housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having one's ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment. Mary did look up, and she did stare at me: the ladle with which she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire, did for some three minutes hang suspended in air; and for the same space of time John's knives also had rest from the polishing process: but Mary, bending again over the roast, said only — "Have you, Miss? Well, for sure!"”

So there are implications here! Which are very very cute ahhh #toeforever. But I think the important part is this sentence: “The housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having one's ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment.”

The other important thing about Charlotte Brontë is that she published Jane Eyre under a man’s name, Currer Bell. Because sexism.

In conclusion- Taylor is a bad ass lit babe and deserves a place in history right alongside other great romance writers and we should absolutely read between the lines of her art (also she’s married to Joe and also likes girls but shhhh no torrents of wordy wonderment pls)

#Jane Eyre #currer bell #Charlotte Brontë #taylor swift #dear reader #gaylor #bilor #biphobia

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 24 October 1832

9

11

no grubbling last night she was ssore fine morning F63° at 9 - Had Parsons junior - Dr B- came at 10 - breakfast at 10 ½ - out with Miss W- at 1 - shopping - called and sat 20 minutes with Mrs Henry Belcombe - went to see the museum on the manor shore and at the minster at 3 20 till 4 - then again shopping and came in at 5 - I off at 5 ¼ for ½ hour to the Duffins and the same with Mrs Anne and Miss Gage and home at 6 ¼ and dinner at 6 20 Dr B- came about 8 ½ - tea at 9 and came upstairs at 10 – fine day

[missameliep]

Somewhere In Time - Desire & Decorum (Modern/Time Travel AU)

Book: Desire and Decorum Pairing: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth Foredale (OC) Characters: Elizabeth (OC); Prince Hamid; Briar Daly; Edmund Marlcaster; Earl of Edgewater (Vincent); Maria (OC); Dowager Countess Dominique; Countess Henrietta; Annabelle Parsons; Harry Foredale. Rating: M  Warnings: mentions to death (non-descriptive); minor characters’ death. Word count: 8k

Summary: If you had the chance to fix the past and allow someone else’s happiness at the possible expense of your own future, would you do it? Elizabeth faces this dilemma when she wakes up one morning and realizes she is no longer in 2019. How will her actions impact the future?

Notes:  * All characters belong to PixelBerry, except OCs. * English is not my first language. * This is my submission to CFWC Nerd Week - Prompt: Day 2 - Time Travel. Thank you for hosting this event @choicesficwriterscreations​ and congratulations on the blog’s 1st anniversary!

December 24th, 2019.

Calmness had settled over Edgewater manor.

Marking the passage of the hours, a centuries old pendulum clock stands like an imposing guard at the foyer, ticking regularly, reminding time do not stand still. The smaller hand points at eleven. Ticktock. And the bigger one approaches the three.

One could mistake that for any ordinary night and even forget Christmas would be celebrated the next day, if not for the greenery and fairy-lights from the elegant decorations and the persistent smell of cinnamon from the rabanadas[1] Elizabeth prepared with Briar and Mrs Daly’s aid and were eagerly devoured by some and eyed with suspicious or disgust by others – and by others I mean Countess Henrietta, Elizabeth’s step mother.

Once, Christmas’s Eve used to be more festive at the manor with friendly gatherings, singing and children’s anxiously inspecting the pile of presents under the decorated tree at the drawing room, guessing the contents of the boxes wrapped in colourful papers and tied with perfect bows. However, those days are in the past and the Earl of Edgewater’s daughter never partake in any of those joyous celebrations for a myriad of inexcusable reasons.

Except for the two couples at the living room, cosily snuggling in blankets, everyone else had retreated to their rooms after dinner. Most of the staff was dismissed by the Earl to celebrate the holidays with their own families, and the few employers working that day were given the night off. Only the Countess complained about it. For Elizabeth and Hamid, this was a chance to have the kitchen entirely to themselves.

Before the four started binge-watching Outlander, Elizabeth prepared popcorn and brigadeiro[2] with her boyfriend’s help, which consisted mostly of handing packages and distracting her with teasing kisses on her neck while she stirred the mixture in the pan and begging to taste it despite being too hot. On their turn, Briar and Edmund took all the time in the world retrieving bags of chips and cans of soda and beer from the pantry next doors.

The soft yellow glow from the fairy lights of one of the many Christmas’s trees decorating the house was the only other source of light besides the television. A bowl of popcorn on her lap, Elizabeth has her eyes glued at the large screen, despite having watched the series before. Amused, Hamid throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer. The woman smiles and nestles on his chest, earning a kiss on the top of her head.

“How do you like it?” she asks him softly.

“The series?” Hamid says, “It’s good.”

“I cannot believe you guys never watched Outlander…”

“Better late than never…” Briar says and leans closer to Elizabeth, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, “By the way, does it make me a horrible person that I was totally turned on by that whipping scene?”

Elizabeth chuckles at the unexpected remark, but the man massaging Briar’s feet is not as amused.

“I’m right here, baby,” Edmund complains.

Scooting closer, Briar wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.

“I love you, Eddie, and no one else, but I have functioning eyes. Just like you.” The blonde’s eyebrows raise almost reaching his hairline, at the knowing look his fiancée’s throw at him.

A chuckle rumbled into Hamid’s chest, and Elizabeth playfully shoves more popcorn into his mouth before he can say anything, and the others’ hushed conversation soon die down replaced by remarks about the series’ plot.

“Can you imagine how cool it would be going back in time like Claire?” Briar asks excitedly.

“Not cool at all,” Elizabeth replies. “Why would I go back to a time when there was no potable water or basic sanitation? People did not know about germs.”

“People smelled,” Edmund adds.

“Don't forget the rotten teeth,” Hamid points at his white smile before retrieving a spoonful of brigadeiro.

“No heating.”

“No antibiotics or vaccines.”

“Gosh! You guys are no fun!” Briar raises her hands in the air with exasperation. “How can you not see how amazing this experience can be? She can prevent horrible things from happening!”

Without missing a beat, Edmund states, “Two words: butterfly effect.”

“I need more elaboration on that, Eddie…”

“It’s a theory. Changing one event in the past, even a small one, can impact the future and even erase people’s existence. And it doesn't necessary mean whatever she is doing will make the future better.”

“And sometimes an isolated fact seems bad on its own,” Hamid pondered, “but it actually is part of a greater picture and contributes to other events and the overall consequences are positive.”

“True. Without World War II there wouldn’t be the United Nations nor lots of treaties on Human Rights,” Elizabeth adds, “I remember a passage from one of Hannah Arendt’s books when she was analysing the –” Elizabeth stops talking, acknowledging Hamid’s grin and the adoration in his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I love when you talk nerd.”

Hamid kisses the tip of her nose, and she giggles. The faint light concealed the way her cheeks still blush at his attention.  

Another episode starts and the group shares impressions about the impacts of Claire in the past.

“Will she make it?” Briar whispers her question to Elizabeth.

“If I tell you that, I’ll spoil the show… for you and everyone else.”

“Alright,” she concedes and looks around. “I can’t believe you guys wouldn’t risk changing anything to make the present better…”

“I have played many games and watched many movies to consider that a good idea,” Edmund states.

“Lizzy mentioned World War II… Picture this: someone goes back in time and prevent Hitler from killing all those people. Imagine the lives that could have been saved! Is it not worth the try? Even if things get a little messy…”

“You mean killing Hitler?”

“There’s plenty of ways to stop him without actually killing him, Eddie…”

“The time traveller could help him become a successful artist. Maybe he would be less frustrated and murderous… Who knows?” Hamid suggests with an amused smile.

“See!” Briar says grinning. “An easy solution. No murder. Totally doable. Just buy the man’s crap paintings and no war.”

“And what about the others?” Elizabeth ponders, “Hitler never acted alone… and there was Mussolini too… and all the others… it was not a one man’s thing.”

“Alright, maybe we need to work some more on this one…” Briar sipped the beer and started over. “But consider this, don’t you think it would be amazing to help at least one person. I bet Lizzy’s great-grandma would be pleased if someone helped her with that Duke thing… With our knowledge we could totally prevent her from getting engaged to that git and it would not blow on our faces!”

Elizabeth gnawed at her thumbnail, pondering. “Maybe time travelling could work in particular situations like that… What you think?” she asked, looking at Hamid, but it was Edmund who spoke up.

“If Lady Clara does not get engaged to the Duke,” Edmund points out, “she would not learn about his schemes. Therefore, she would not prevent the coup he was orchestrating… Which means there is a chance he and his group could overthrow the monarchy in the end… Imagine all the outcomes.”

Hamid agrees. “And perhaps, changing that, Lady Clara and the Prince could marry earlier, and could have other children, affecting the Foredales’ offspring and Liz could not be here now.”

“Oh! I do not like that alternative!”

“Neither do I,” Hamid agrees and kisses her hand.

“Alright. Got it. Not messing with Lizzy’s great-grandma either… But I still think there are things we can change that could make things better and not erase our friends or blow up the entire world,” Briar mused.

“I think we should focus on the present,” Hamid muses, “That’s the only time that actually exists and when we can improve the future…”

“You’re so wise sometimes, meu amor[3]…”

“I know.”

“Baby, can we go to bed?” Edmund says softly, nuzzling against Briar’s neck. “I’m tired and Christmas’s day always starts very early in the morning. Despite us all being adults, lady grandmother still expects us to get together and open presents… And did I mention I’m tired?”

“I hope not too tired,” she teases, and he whispers something unintelligible that makes her laugh.

Switching off the television, the group bid goodnight, and each couple withdraws to their chambers.

After brushing her teeth, Elizabeth changed into her pyjamas, while Hamid was lying in bed, playing a game on his mobile. His eyes followed her, lost in her thoughts, slowly walking back to the room. The contemplative look he was too familiar with.

When she pulled the covers to get into the bed with him, he smiled at her and immediately put the mobile away.

“You don’t have to stop,” she says softly, kissing his cheek.

“I was just killing time until you came...” He tilted his face, capturing her lips for a kiss. “And I’d much rather do this!” When she smiled against his lips, his mouth trailed a path down her neck. His warm breath giving her goosebumps.  

“Are you enjoying your first Christmas?”

His response was a hum against her sweet-scented skin.

“I have brought you a present. It’s under the tree.”

“Really?” Her voice raised with surprise, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”

“You’ll see it in the morning.”

“Please…”

Still peppering kisses on her collarbone, he mouthed, “No.”

“Why did you have to say it? Now I’m curious and won’t stop thinking about it...”

“I’m confident I can provide a better distraction to your mind…” His hands travelled down her body and a soft pleased moan escaped her lips.

“So, I was wondering, do you think there are things we can change about our past that would not impact other people’s lives?”

His head tilted up and his dark eyes met hers. “Your dirty talking is getting weirder…”

She chuckled, and her fingers delved into his soft dark hair.

“Indulge me,” she pleaded, with the puppy eyes he cannot resist.

Hamid pondered for a moment until a playful smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Our past shameful haircuts.”

“What?”

“Think about it. Fixing horrible hairstyles can’t possibly have lasting results other than improving ones’ own life and confidence... Imagine going back and helping your past self, preventing revolting nicknames that would follow you for years… It would be worthy telling ten-year-old Hamid to not let Hande cut his hair. One Youtube video is not enough to turn a girl with a scissor into an accomplished hairstylist, despite what that girl with the purple hair said.”

“Your ten-year-old self was already too cute and self-confident,” Elizabeth says, caressing his cheek. “That bad hair-cut was essential to help build your character.”

Both laughed at their silliness for a while, until Hamid gave in to his curiosity.

“So, what are you thinking about changing?”

“Why do you think I want to change anything?”

“Because I know you, hayatım[4],” he replies, propping an elbow and looking her straight in the eyes. The green eyes he adores. “Is it a test you want a do over?”

She hits his arm playfully. “My life is more than my studies… you know that.”

“Is it about me?” he teases, “I know you wanted to kiss me that day in my flat…”

She propped on her elbow too and faced him. “I wanted to kiss you many days in your flat, Hamid…”

“Ooh! Miss Foredale, that’s quite a revelation!” he quips, “But not grand enough to avoid my question…”

“Well… If I could, I would have been honest with my father. About my mother’s disease. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I regret not telling…” she says, voice cracking while she blinked away the tears blurring her vision, “If I were given a do over, I’d do that… I would give them the chance. Maybe they could have been happy.”

“Even if it could impact your own future?”

The tips of her fingers traced random shapes up and down Hamid’s shirt, while she organized her thoughts and formulated an answer.  

“I guess so… And… I don’t know… Maybe there could be a way to save Harry too…”

The flow of emotions completely blurred her vision, before the tears streamed down her cheek, and she averted her gaze. Immediately, Hamid pulled her flush to his chest, whispering soft comforting words against her hair. Despite her silence, he was aware the holidays prompted her to revisit too many memories, and the conversations earlier were just the last straw...

“I’m sorry. That’s silly. I’m being silly –”

“You are not,” he assures, and she sniffs.

“– I should not be sad over this…”

With her palms, she wipes the tears from her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine…” She lied through her teeth, and tries to change the topic of conversation from herself, “Would you change anything? Besides your hair?” 

“About my past? Never. All I am, all I did made me who I am and brought me here and to you, so no. I’m absolutely satisfied with my life.”

They went silent for a moment, and Elizabeth nestled on his chest, while Hamid stroked her curly hair.

“Do you think we would have fallen in love if we met under different circumstances, Hamid?”

“If I was to live a thousand lives, I would fall in love with you in each and every single one of them.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. My heart would just know you were out there, and I would travel the entire world to find you.”

“Aww that’s sweet…”

“That’s the truth.”

The light filtering through the curtains invaded the room and her dreams. Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open, and she flinched at the unexpected brightness for a winter’s morning.

A few seconds and realization dawned on her.

“Oh, no! We overslept!” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Grandma will be so angry.”

Sitting on the bed, she was about to call Hamid when her fingers retreated at the touch of the fabric covering her body. Instead of the grey stripped duvet, her hand pushed away a light summer blanket in lavender that wasn’t in her bed last night.

“Hamid, did you –” she interrupter herself when she reached for Hamid but did not find him beside her, which was an odd occurrence considering he rarely woke up before her or his alarm. His mobile was not by the bedside table, and she noticed she was not in the same room. The walls were covered in a pastel pink wallpaper with a delicate floral pattern, and there was no sign of her books over the desk.

Oh, God. Where am I? Do I sleepwalk now?

She got up and stared for a moment at the pink slippers waiting for her feet. A pair she hasn’t seen in years.

Is it a prank?

“Hamid?” she called him, but there was no answer and not a sign of him or his belongings anywhere. At the en-suite bathroom, a single bath towel was hanging and one toothbrush over the sink. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she froze and stared at the reflection. Her curly hair was longer, with golden highlights and her jaw dropped revealing the braces attached to her teeth.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! This is impossible!”

Running back into the bedroom, she found her mobile with its Yoda case over the side table. Had she not sit on the bed, the device and herself would have hit the ground when she read the date on the screen: July 3rd, 2013.

She googled the date, then the news, confirming the impossible. Her body fell back on the bed and she stared at the ceiling. A million questions running through her mind. Her heartbeat raced, and she rubbed her moist hands against the bedcovers.  

Am I fourteen again or have I been dreaming everything else, including Hamid?

Her stomach sunk at this hypothesis. Reaching for the mobile, she googled his name and there were a few magazine articles from 2011 praising the looks and intelligence of the handsome teenager son of the Turkish ambassador at the United States. A sigh of relieve escaped her lungs.  At least he is real, but this information does little to help her understand what is happening.

Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply. She pinches herself in the arm again and again. The pain is real, and she does not wake up.

Mobile in hand, she goes through her latest texts and finds the ones exchanged with her mother. A lone tear escapes her eye, and before she remembered the ocean between them, her fingers pressed the picture and the phone dials. It rings a few times before the husky voice speaks in Portuguese:

“Hello?”

“Mamãe[5]?”

“Liz, my dear, is something wrong?” her mother asks, her voice carries more worry than sleep.

“Nothing,” Elizabeth dismisses her concern, her throat tightening at the sound of her voice. Not even the videos feel so real. “I just wanted to tell you I love you. Sorry for waking you up for this –”

“I love you too, sweetie,” her voice was tender. “If you need to talk –”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

Her body was shaking when the happy tears stopped streaming down her cheeks. Another deep, calming inhale, and she got up. Even if it is merely a dream, she will not pass the opportunity to speak or see her mother.

Going through the wardrobe, Elizabeth picks one of the several fancy summer dresses her grandmother provided her every year and tied her hair in a single braid.

On her way downstairs, her eyes inspect it all. The house looks the same, yet so different from last night as if she is walking into an old movie or picture.

The sound of voices and the clinking of cutlery attracts her. At the terrace, like they do every summer, the family is gathered for breakfast. Her father, the Earl of Edgewater has his back turned away from her, sitting at the end of the long table filled with delicacies. The man’s hair is darker, less grey streaks pepper his head. Calmly, he spreads butter over a toast while chatting with Lady grandmother, who looks exactly the same, as if not a single day has passed. Henrietta sits across from her, sipping tea. By her side, on his usual chair is Edmund, who still had his cheeks tinted rosier by acne. By his side, hiding his mobile under the table, is Harry.

Elizabeth fails to hold a gasp at the sight of her younger brother.

Without a second thought, she runs and hugs him tightly. Startled, the boy drops the bagel he was taking to his mouth and it hits the ground.

“Eliza,” he squeals. “My bagel!”

“Vincent!” Henrietta roars, “that girl is attacking my son!”

“Sorry about that,” Elizabeth mutters under her breath, but leans again and kisses the boy’s cheek and hugs him more gently. “But I missed you so much!”

“What are you talking about? We played videogames until 2 in the morning…” he grumbles, trying to extricate himself from her embrace.

Finally, she lets him go and every pair of eyes stare at her.

“I – Sorry. I had a bad dream.” She grabs another bagel from the tray and hands it to Harry.

Taking her place at the other side of the table, besides her grandmother, she cannot stop staring at her brother.

“Two days to your birthday. Are you excited, Eliza?” Vincent asks,

“I could not be more excited, dad.”

Noticing the persistent stare, Harry makes a face at Elizabeth.

“Do not forget, after breakfast, we’ll go to Moorfield for the final fitting of your dress,” her grandmother says, and explains every little detail about the schedule for the next days, just like she remembers.

The entire day goes by and she cannot shake off the sense of déja vu. With every passing hour, certainty grows that she is living this same day again. She can predict everything that’ll happen.

Outside the store at Moorfield, the same dalmatian puppy runs loose after he escapes his owner. The man screams for people to get out of the way, and the dog bumps against Elizabeth’s leg on his way down the street until he enters a restaurant, its leash entangles around the legs of the waiter and he stumbles, dropping a tray of food with a loud clatter.

While her grandmother looked horrified at the scene, Elizabeth realized this could be the second chance she dreamed for so long.

Later that same day, as promised, she called her mother and asked about her health, just to be sure. The woman stifled and went silent for a long moment.

“Liz, you promised you would respect my wishes and not tell your father...”

“Don’t you think he should know?”

“I – Darling, it is probably nothing…” she paused, “Cancer is not a death sentence anymore.”

Her words carried her smile, like they so often did, and Elizabeth swallowed hard, knowing how this story ends.  

The evening before her birthday, pacing in her room, Elizabeth considered her options. She will tell her father about her mother. Should he know about Harry too? Perhaps she should not tell him that…

At the hallway, she peeked inside the Earl’s study. Her father was working on his computer, and when he saw her at the door, he greeted her with a smile and noticed the worry frown in her face.

“Is something the matter, my dear?”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” he replies, and immediately raises to his feet.

Elizabeth closes the door behind her and joins her father at the small sofa.

“I have something important to tell you,” she says, trying to muster the strength to not stutter or abandon this task.

For the next ten minutes, she speaks without interruption. The man’s jaw drops, and his fingers delve into his hair, raking it back repeatedly. 

When her mouth stops, it is his time to speak and he asks when Maria died.

“June 10, 2018.”

“Five years.” His hand covers his mouth. His shoulders droop and he leans forward as if suddenly his body gives up at the weight of her words. The man’s eyes return to his daughter’s face, and he asks, seeking a confirmation, “And we never talked about it?”

Elizabeth shook her head, and Vincent rubbed his face.

“Harry was such a skilled skier… so confident…” incredulity filling his tone. “When?”

“2018. The accident was on January 14, and he died two days later…”

“My God…” he sighs, and Elizabeth considers if this was too much to throw at her father.

She reaches for his hand, and gently squeezes it. “It sounds crazy. I sound crazy. Trust me, I know…”

“But how did it happen? How do you -”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I don’t know if I dreamed it all, or if I am dreaming now… I keep expecting to wake up any moment now… But at the same time, if it is happening for a reason, I wanted us to have another chance… I needed to fix this… even if it changes the course of everything else.”

He stared at her for a moment, and her lips rolled inside her mouth.  

“You don’t have to believe me, dad.”

“I believe you.”

From that day on, the Foredales’ lives took an unexpected turn.

When Elizabeth went back home to Rio de Janeiro at the end of the month, Vincent accompanied her. At the airport, Maria was surprised to see him. For the first time in years, they talked. Frankly. It wasn’t pretty to watch, and Elizabeth actively tried not to listen to them talking in her mother’s room.

They stayed there for hours, revisiting painful memories and broken promises. However, in the end, they reconciled and decided to give themselves a second chance.

Surprising everyone, the Earl of Edgewater took a licence from Parliament, and convinced Maria to move to London to seek a better treatment plan. The news rekindled the paparazzi’s interest, and they followed the couple and their daughter everywhere. Her disease become known to the public while they visited many doctors.

This time, the Earl stayed by Maria’s side at the hospital and Elizabeth could not hide her happiness while both took turns watching over her mother.

With every passing day, she was certain she did the right thing.

By the end of the year, the Earl and Henrietta were divorced. And during the process, and the scandals that followed, it took a few weeks and a lot of Vincent’s patience for Harry to speak to him again.

Three months later, the Earl married Maria at the chapel at Edgewater in a small private ceremony, that only Elizabeth, Edmund, Harry and Lady Dominique witnessed. Maria had just left the hospital after a surgery, and the long sleeves of her dress covered the IV marks, but nothing – not even the tears rolling down her cheeks – could conceal the joy overflowing her heart.

And Elizabeth knew it was worth it.

“Fuck the butterfly effect,” she muttered under her breath outside the chapel, breaking her rule of not swearing, and lady grandmother chided her for being ill-mannered.  

The months went by, and her days had fewer dèja vu. She still talked to her friends at Brazil, and video called them, but she settled on her new routine and slowly made new friends.

During the celebration of Easter in 2014, the Parsons were amongst the families invited to lunch at Edgewater, and Elizabeth and Annabelle finally met.

“Annabelle! It’s so good to see you,” Elizabeth blurted out when Harry introduced them, and their eyes widened at the effusiveness of the usually shy teenager.

“That’s the first time someone gets so excited to meet me,” the other girl laughed, sharing a knowing look with Harry, who rolled his eyes.

“My sister was not properly socialized,” Harry teased, “and she does not know how to interact with people.”

Elizabeth slapped Harry playfully, and addressed Annabelle. “Sorry. But Harry talks so much about you that it just seems like we are already friends…”

“I’m not complaining, Elizabeth.”

They shook hands, sealing the beginning of their good friendship, and the trio was inseparable ever since, despite Harry’s initial disapproval on sharing his friend. 

With time, Elizabeth and Annabelle grew even closer.

For the second time, instead of Oxford, Elizabeth chose to stay close to her mother at London and went to King’s College Law school.

Eventually they met Briar – and this time around, Elizabeth had to put an extra effort for this to happen, since her friendship with Annabelle changed a lot of things, including the habits, routines and the circle of friends Annabelle had at uni. 

And since the first day, she wondered what would it take for Briar and Edmund to fall in love again.

The years passed and not a day went by without her sparing a thought - or plenty more - about Hamid, wondering where he would be or what he would be doing.

On a notebook concealed in a bottom drawer, she wrote down everything that she remembered about him and could matter someday: tales from his childhood and stories about his scars, the names of his sisters and family members, and more practical details like the probable date when he moved to London, or when he started working with her father, his mobile number and e-mail address. From time to time, she would pick it up, and read it all, afraid she could be forgetting about him.

Sometimes, when missing him was unbearable and her heart ached inside her chest, she would take a look at his Pictagram. The sight of his pictures, specially the ones with his cat Princess Leia – who she missed so much! – often made her smile. And she laughed at the jokes exchanged between him and his sisters, and even got a little jealous of the comments of some of his thousands of followers, thirsting over his physique, even though she had no right to feel that way.

One evening, while watching a movie, she was lost in her thoughts, and picked her mobile to text her mother, but ended up looking at Hamid’s profile again.

Annabelle and Briar shared a knowing look.

“Are you daydreaming about that mysterious mate again, Lizzy?”

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth was startled by the question, and when she met Briar’s stare, she tried to hide her mobile. However, the other gently pulled her wrist to take a better look at the screen.

“Hmmm… Shirtless. Sexy. I like what he has done with his hair, by the way. Why are you not liking his pictures? You definitely should!”

“No!” Elizabeth pulled the mobile away from her.

“Why not?”

“Reasons.”

“Are you ever telling who is he?” Annabelle asked from her seat where she was painting her nails.

Elizabeth sighed, and looked away before she replied. Despite hating lies, there were some truths that were not easy to handle.

“He is just… someone I knew.”

“Really? When did you meet him?” Annabelle asked surprised.  “He seems a little... old.”

“Long ago. It seems like another life now...”

“When are you asking him out?”

“I’m not.”

“So, you’ll keep stalking this mysterious guy online while not dating anyone else?”

“I’m not stalking him…”

“Right…”

“And I don’t have time to date right now. Uni is already too much. And I’ll start my internship with Sinclaire soon… Too much…”

“Lots of people do both,” Annabelle said, and raised her hands in the air when Elizabeth glared at her. “I’m just saying.”

At last, August, 2016 arrived.

By her counts, by the end of the week, Hamid would already have moved to London and started working at the embassy. Just a few blocks away from the house, and she knows by heart all of his favourite places.

Anxiety chastised her nails, which were bitten to its last piece, and she started gnawing at her cuticles and only the metallic taste on her mouth made her stop.

“Sweetie,” Maria called her softly one morning, and took her hands in hers and inspected them. The concerned look she spared at her nails were less about the aesthetic or the wounded cuticles, and more about what prompted that behaviour. She knows her daughter too well to realize when something is going on. “I worry about you, Liz. You have not been eating properly and you seem so absentminded… Do you wish to talk?”

“I’m alright,” she replies, forcing a smile. Maria’s knitted brow indicated she did not believe her words. “Really, I’m just tired…”

“I’m not dying. Not right now.”

“I know,” Elizabeth smiled, and this time she meant it.

“I will not force you to speak, you know that… But if you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I’m leaving now. I’ll cycle at the park.”

“Good. Fresh air will do you good.”

Her mother kissed her on the cheek and Elizabeth felt her chest tightening.

Anytime her heart wishes the sands of time would trickle faster, rushing Hamid’s arrival, it means her mother’s time would be running out faster too. 

One cannot have it all.

That morning, she cycled until the Turkish embassy’s street, and stared at the building from the corner, wondering if Hamid was there.

Almost every day she would walk by that building or by one of Hamid’s favourite places. Some days she would grab a coffee and a sweet and sit by the window at the place he first took her after they met; other times she would ask the drive to circle past the street of his flat, even though he only moved in about six months after he was at London. Illogical as it was, she asked him to do so anyways. Her eyes stared at the windows, as she remembered watching movies together, talking, laughing, eating the dinners he prepared and all they did. Her heart raced at the thought of the first I love you he professed, and she blushed at the reminiscences of their first time.

Weeks went by and there was no sign of him at London.

The tabloids barely posted anything about him lately, which was really odd considering how many articles about him there used to be, focusing on his many adventures and famous affairs with all those gorgeous women.  

October, 2016

By the end of October, Elizabeth was done with waiting and wondering.

For weeks, whenever possible, she would bring Turkey or any related subject to the conversations at the house, hoping her father would eventually speak about Hamid to no avail.

Therefore, mustering all her courage, she decided on a more direct approach. Halfway to the Earl’s study, she questioned her decision.

Peeking inside, she saw her father sitting behind the imposing mahogany desk, where several piles of papers were sitting, while he typed on the computer’s keyboard.  

What am I even telling him?

Growling, she pulled her knuckles away from the door before knocking and gnawed on a cuticle.

If I wait even another minute, I’ll have no more nails left. Or sanity… Sure, this can never be weirder than our previous conversation… I can be smooth…

While Elizabeth debated whether she should go inside or not, Vincent caught a glimpse of his daughter pacing in front of the door, biting on a nail.

“Eliza,” he called, “do you wish to speak to me?”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and peeked inside. A polite smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes.

“I was curious about your work,” she said, wriggling her hands, “but if you are too busy…”

“I’m never too busy for my children. Take a seat.” He pointed at one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. “There was a time you would need no invitation and just come running inside and sit on my lap.” Her father’s face brightened with the memory, and her laughter joined his.

“I must warn you, nevertheless, that it is still as boring as it used to be when you were five.”

“Eighteen-year-olds don’t share the same interests of five-year-olds…” she quipped, “There’s hope I might not sleep now.”

“That would be an improvement.”

For the next minutes, Vincent summarized the bill about medical care he was working to present at Parliament on a week’s time. Despite being proud of her father’s engagement in that subject – the knowledge and experiences acquired these past three years while accompanying Maria’s treatment certainly contributed to that dedication, she was certain –, however none of this would involve Hamid, who only ever worked with her father on commercial treaties between the United Kingdom and Turkey.

“… then Maria suggested a fundraiser to raise awareness and mother is working with her. Their many suggestions include a silent auction; but I’m still considering the options.”

“That is interesting.”

“Is it?” he remarked, noticing how her attention kept shifting to the leather covered appointment book over the desk. “What is really on your mind, my dear? You seem distracted lately…”

“It’s just… I’ve read about the issue with the immigrants and refugees, and I know Parliament will be discussing it soon…”

“That subject truly concerns me as well.”

“Do you have anything scheduled about it?”

“I have a meeting with the Prime-Minister and another one with the Italian diplomats next week.”

“Isn’t there a meeting maybe with another group of diplomats? Perhaps from Turkey?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

The disappointment on her face was unmistakable.

“Let me check if Arthur updated my schedule.” He clicked a few times, eyes scanning the screen, until he finally confirmed there was nothing scheduled with any group of Turkish diplomats, and his daughter thanked him and flashed a polite tight-lipped smile.

The man took off his glasses and placed them on the desk, while her hands occupied themselves with scattered notes that were neatly arranged in piles.  

“I have not failed to notice you took a recent interest on Turkey…” he says, voice soft and an open smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, “There were the trips to Istanbul with Annabelle. Also, the questions about foreign politics recently… Is there a special reason?”

She shook her head in reply, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“Not long ago, you would not hesitate on sharing your concerns with me... What is troubling you, my dear?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Every time you say nothing and that you are fine, it means the opposite.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this…” Her lips rolled inside her mouth, and she stirred uncomfortably in the chair before looking back at him. “…It involves a guy.”

“Oh, are you going to tell me you are dating?” His words were accompanied by an even warmer smile, clearly amused with her coyness.

“It is about someone I knew. From before.”

“I see.”

“And you knew him too. He was a diplomat. From Turkey. By this time, you would be working together on a treaty…” she replies, fidgeting with the notes she was now rearranging. “But so many things changed… I think… that maybe, this changed too… We actually met in 2018… after mamãe and…”

Reaching for her hand, he asks softly, “You love him?” 

“I do,” she admits. “Well, I did. But I fear I’m in love with the idea of a person that no longer exists… Sometimes it seems I will only be able to truly breathe again when we meet…”

“Once you asked me about your mother, and told me that if I still loved her, I should act upon my feelings. Be fearless, because doubts and regrets are not the best companions in life, you said. Perhaps, this could be your turn to take your own advice.”

“But that’s different… What do I even do? We haven’t met!”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t really know… Istanbul, I think.”

“Reach out to him.”

“What would I tell him?” she sighed and her father squeezed her hand gently and smiled.

“How about hello?”

Elizabeth chuckled, then got up and circled the table.

“I’ll let you go back to work,” she says and kisses her father’s cheek. “Thanks for listening to me. And have a good night, dad.”

“You too, Eliza.”

Returning to her chambers after that conversation, Elizabeth sat at the desk and stared at her mobile. Fingers hovered over the screen, and her mind elaborated many excuses to text an unknown man. From complimenting his cat to a cute remark about one of Istanbul’s famous landmarks. 

Fifteen minutes later, however, worries smothered hope and she put it away and went to bed.

Maybe tomorrow.

For the next two days, she would check Hamid’s social media frequently, hoping for news. But there were none. The last picture posted dated from five days ago and was tagged at a restaurant at Istanbul.

One morning, despite her better judgement she liked that last picture with her official and very public profile, and tried not to think about it for the next hours. A mere heart in a photo could not disturb the balance of the universe that much.

When classes were over for the day, she fished the mobile inside her bag and checked the notifications. Amongst unread texts from her mother, Annabelle and Harry, and some missed calls, one particular notification called her attention and her hand covered a gasp. In one of her last pictures, a like from Hamid. A tiny heart that caused her very real one to beat at a similar cadence of the percussionists of a samba school.

After the initial joy, doubt crawled its way and took over.

Was it intentional? Maybe he accidentally hit the button. Or was just being polite.

Just in case, she liked another one of his pictures and waited.

An hour later, a ping and another notification from him. Hamid liked another one of her pictures. Then another when she was still holding the mobile. Her finger hovered over the follow button, then she pressed it. Hamid accepted it and liked yet another picture. This time, it was a picture from her family posted long ago.

Unable to find the necessary courage, she did not message him; however, she liked two of his old photos: one of Princess Leia, and another from his family celebrating Eid. 

The mobile was lying on the desk, when it vibrated with a new notification. Something new on Hamid’s stories, and she clicked on it.

I’m definitely a stalker now...

The video showed Hamid singing the chorus of Your song, one of her favourite songs of all times, and then he changed to Girl from Ipanema, which he sang during their first outing after she told him where she lived. Dumbfolded, she watched the video twice.

That’s too much of a coincidence. Maybe I should DM him…

Clicking on his picture, she started typing. 

After a lot of erasing she sent her messages and quickly regretted it, watching the app indicate he was already typing. 

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Almost the exact same dialogue they had before. Her hands were shaking so much she had to place the mobile down. Her fingers went to her hair and she pulled it back. There was no need to retrieve the notebook; his number never slipped her mind like so many other things, like the equation to calculate the gravitational force had.

Clicking on the small camera to video call him, it rang only once before his face was occupying the entire screen. Her breath hitched at the familiar smiling face looking directly at her. The same cheek-dimpling smile that brightened her days.

“Hamid,” she breathed his name.

“Can you please say that again?”

“Are you not listening to me?”

“You don’t know how I’ve longed to hear you call my name again,” he says softly, and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“You truly remember me?” He nodded, and she took a deep breath and fought the tears pricking her eyes. “Then why didn’t you look for me?”

“I did, but I wasn’t sure you remembered me… And until not long ago, I think it was probably illegal to do so… And butterfly effect.”

There’s a lot of undistinguished noises around him, and a robotic voice speaks in Turkish.

“Where are you?”

“Airport.”

“Where are you going?”

“To meet you.” His face disappeared when he turned the mobile away to film his surroundings and the carrying case resting in the seat beside him, where an angry cat hissed at the camera. “Leia and I are on our way.”

“I cannot believe! How did you –” the words toppled, and she interrupted herself.

“You reached out and I was sure it was the sign I was waiting for. So… here I am. You know I’ll just jump at any opportunity to travel.”

“I missed you,” she sighs.  

“And I you.”

“There’s so much to tell, so many questions…”

“In about five hours we’ll see each other, but I must confess that talking will not be the priority of my tongue…” he winked at the camera, and she blushed, as she always did.  

“You haven’t changed.”

“How would you recognize me if I did?”

They both chuckled and a comfort silence settled between them, as if they have not spoken to each other in years. They simply stared at the screen, and there were tears clouding their eyes.

Hamid’s face tilted with a new announcement at the speaker.

“That’s my flight they’re calling.”

He raised from the seat, balancing the backpack, carrier and the mobile.

“Have a safe trip, Hamid.”

“Thank you, hayatım,” he says softly. “Get some rest, I’ll call you when I arrive at the hotel.”

“Come to my father’s house.”

“Is it a good idea?”

“I told him about you. And I want you to meet my mother.”

“Alright.”

“Hamid!”

“Yes?”

“I love you!”

He took a deep breath, his grin almost reaching his ears, and the words flowed from his tongue as melodic as music, “Seni çok seviyorum. I love you. Eu te amo. Je t’aime – I don’t think I have the time to say that in all the ways that I’ve planned, but I will when we meet.”

The screen darkens, and she lies in bed, letting the mobile fall right next to her.

No more weight in her chest, and she can breathe – she can finally breathe and relief washes over her.

Hamid is fine.

Hamid is coming.

Hamid loves her.

Before she can fight it, slumber claimed her vision and her mind.

When her eyes flutter open, the room is completely dark, and she cannot find the mobile. Stirring under the covers, she stretches her arm to continue the search until her elbow connects with something hard.

“Ouch!” 

Following the painful moan, a husky sleepy voice asks, “Did you hit my nose?”

“Hamid?”

Turning around, she hits the light switch and finally can see his face. The man blinks to adjust his vision to the brightness, and Elizabeth throws herself at him. Her hands cup his face, and his eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Oh, my God! You are really here!”

The man pulls her closer with a similar sigh of relief and kisses her with so much passion that she gasps for air when they part.  

“You cannot imagine the dream I had” she sighs.

“It can’t be as weird as mine…”

“Wanna bet?” she teases. “I was fourteen again. Braces and all. And mamãe and Harry were alive… And I remembered everything of my life, which was so odd, because no one else did… And all those years I didn’t know if I was dreaming and was gonna wake up or if this life was the dream… And I missed you so much and – What?”

His face scrunched, as his fingers scratched the growing stubble on his jaw.

“Is it a couples’ thing? To have similar dreams?”

“Why you ask?”

“I dreamed I woke up at my parents’ home at Istanbul six years ago and I thought I was loosing my mind… Then, I got to read about you at the tabloids, without knowing if you remembered me, which you did, but I didn’t know then… And for years I was just wondering if I would ever have the chance to meet you again… or if I had to move on with my life… And it pained me… Specially when I saw you too soon at Istanbul. I couldn’t risk saying hello, because what if I talked to you and like the butterfly causing a typhoon I just messed everything –”

“You saw me?”

“With Annabelle.”

Her jaw dropped and she couldn’t articulate words while her mouth moved.

“It was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“I guess,” he sighed and kissed her again. “What other explanation could there be?”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and a masculine voice she was not expecting to hear startled her.

“You missed breakfast, love birds! If you don’t hurry, we’ll start opening the presents without you!”

The couple looked at each other and without changing from their pajamas, they held hands and went downstairs. They did not find the owner’s voice on their way to the drawing room, where Elizabeth and Hamid were welcomed by laughter and a soft melody.

Briar and Edmund greeted the couple, and their attention returned to the gifts they were exchanging.

Standing in the center of the room holding a box with a large red bow, Lady grandmother acknowledged their presence with a glare. “I thought you would not join us,” she says without holding back the censure in her tone.

Not missing a beat, the Earl says with a smile, that crinkles the corners of his eyes, “It is Christmas morning, mother.”

“And they are here now.”

Elizabeth’s eyes search the familiar voice, finding Maria behind her father. The woman is sitting on the couch, a blanket covers her legs, but nothing can hide the joy brightening her features. Vincent hands Harry a box, then sits beside her and holds her hand. Both smile at Harry, who is focused on the wrapping paper he was tearing apart.

Elizabeth freezes in place, tears blurring her vision.

Without a second thought, letting go of Hamid’s hand, she presses forward and kneels in front of her mother.

The troubled expression intrigues the woman, who whispers in Portuguese, “Are you alright, dear?”

Without uttering a word, Elizabeth hugs her, and the woman repeats the question.  

“I had a dream... maybe I’m still dreaming… I... Sorry. Are you alright, mamãe?”

“I couldn’t be happier,” Maria replies, her famous open smile curling her lips. “Was it a good dream?”

Elizabeth meets her gaze, and lets her hand gently wipe the tear that streamed down her cheek.

“Excellent.”

“Hamid, don’t you just stand over there,” Vincent calls. “Come join us.”

“Yes, please. I have a present for you too, querido[6],” Maria says and asks Elizabeth to retrieve one of the boxes from under the tree.

Hamid shared a look with Elizabeth, whose expression mixed too many emotions, and did as they told him. As he approached the trio, his mouth curved into a smile that confusion prevented from reaching his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Hamid.” Maria handed the box to the diplomat, who thanked her politely for the token. An elegant watch. “I hope it pleases you, and remind you of the things that matter.”

“I love it. Thank you very much, my lady. However, I don’t think I have bought a gift for you,” he says, sharing a questioning look at Elizabeth who shruggs. "I’m terribly sorry.”

Taking his and Elizabeth’s hands, Maria whispers, “I have everything I could ever want.”

Her words earn a smile from Vincent, and Elizabeth could not agree more. At last, they have everything that matters.

===============

Notes: 

[1] Rabanada – Portuguese word – Sweet traditionally served in Brazil during the holidays, and consists of bread that, after being soaked in milk, wine or sugar syrup, is passed through eggs is fried or baked in oven, and is served sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

[2] Brigadeiro – Portuguese word – a Brazilian dessert made of chocolate.

[3] Meu amor – Portuguese – It’s a term of endearment and means ‘my love’.

[4] Hayatım – Turkish – a term of endearment that means ‘my life’.

[5] Mamãe - Portuguese – term of endearment that means ‘mother, mum, mummy.’

[6] Querido – Portuguese – a term of endearment that means ‘dear’.

#cfwc nerd week #desire and decorum au #prince hamid #briar daly #annabelle parsons #edmund marlcaster #earl vincent #dowager countess #prince hamid x oc #oc: elizabeth foredale #choices fanfic #minor character death

[skgway]

1832 Oct., Wed. 24

9 

11

No grubbling last night. She was sore. Fine morning. Fahrenheit 63º at 9 – Had Parsons junior – Dr. B– [Belcombe] came at 10 – Breakfast at 10 1/2 –

Out with Miss W– [Walker] at 1 – Shopping – Called and sat 20 minutes with Mrs. Henry Belcombe – Went to see the museum on the manor and here, and at the minster at 3 20/.. till 4 – Then again shopping and came in at 5 –

I off at 5 1/4 for 1/2 hour to the Duffins and the same with Mrs. Anne and Miss Gage and home at 6 1/4 and dinner at 6 20/.. – Dr. B– [Belcombe] came at 8 1/2 – Tea at 9 and came upstairs at 10 – Fine day –

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #Shibden Hall 1832

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1828 Wednesday 7 May

6 40/60 11 55/60

At 8 1/2 hair cut by young Parsons - breakfast at 9 3/4 - immediately came in Mrs. and Miss Belcombe - in deep mourning for Colonel Milne, and both much affected - Mrs. B- [Belcombe] obliged to go out and walk about in the garden for some minutes - then Miss B- [Belcombe] obliged to do ditto - the former kissed and received me as usual, and I was attentive to her, but gravely so - Mr. D- [Duffin] observed I did not speak - said I was attentively listening to Mrs. B-'s [Belcombe's] account of their arrival last night - Mrs. D- [Duffin] observed I ate no breakfast, nor did I take 1/2 my usual breakfast - would not take Miss B-'s [Belcombe's] hint to follow her mother into the garden nor did I follow Miss B- [Belcombe] no observations were made when they were gone - very soon after came Dr. H.S.B- [Henry Stephen Belcombe], and staid perhaps about 1/2 hour - He and I, as usual - says Jephson thinks everybody has a liver complaint, that is the worst of him - M-'s [Mariana Lawton's] liver is torpid - her present being not well caused mentally - Dr. H.S.B- [Henry Stephen Belcombe] hardly gone when Ald[?]n Kilby was announced - had taken the liberty of coming with the reverend Randolph Marriott who was in great distress to solicit something from Mr. Duffin! said if one was to attend to every such call...but ended I found (I slank off) by giving a sovreign -

Called on Mrs. Anne and Miss Gage - out - then sat about 20 minutes with Mrs. and Miss Yorke - might have sat longer but Captain and Mrs. Hincks came in - to go to the Yorkes' tomorrow evening - then went over the bridge with Mr. and Mrs. D- [Duffin] and returned to see Mr. D- [Duffin] and Miss S.G- [Sophia Greenup] mount to take a ride! then out with Mrs. D- [Duffin] met the Miss Cromptons - to see them tomorrow - left my card for Mrs. Willey - and for Mrs. and the 2 Miss Bests, looked about the improvements in and about the minster - left my card for the Miss Salmonds, now Mrs. and Miss, and saw their greenhouse then looked about near the Kearsleys they asked us in, and we sat a little while - the house the Salmonds lived in - should have been taken down and the new deanery erected on the site, but Mrs. K- [Kearsley] would not give up her lease of 7 years, only 1 of them expired now - the deanery is therefore close by, and the offices will in future stand where the house should have stood - then to the H- [Henry] Belcombes' - above 1/2 hour there - Mrs. H.S.B- [Henry Stephen Belcombe] wants me to go to her as soon as she has a spare bed - Mrs. D- [Duffin] observed afterwards, she fancied the 2 Mrs. B-s [Belcombes] did not always hit it well together - of course, I would neither know nor fancy so - Mrs. B- [Belcombe] still seeming to wish to seem on the same terms as formerly with me - took a good deal of notice of my little goddaughter - had her on my knee some time - called at Fisher's - not at home then sat some time with Mrs. Gilbert Crompton - made one or 2 shoppings, and got back at 5 20/60 -

Dinner at 5 3/4 - wrote the ends and sent off (at 9 1/4) my letter (begun on Sunday) to my aunt 'Place neuve de la Madeleine, No. [Number] 2, Paris' - mention the following Horner has just lost his daughter - wait a few days - will tell him to send the teeth to Hammersley to be forwarded - must stay till 1 August to execute the deed of sale of the land for the new church - Northgate let 8 years at £84. George Robinson to have a building of 3 stories and 6 rooms estate £150 - shall be glad to be off for £200 - Filling up the square of the Stag's head house and building barn for Hopkin must wait - my father consents to turn the Cunnery into a farm - Washington's estate £400 - should be glad to be off for £500 - to get water for the house at Shibden from a fresh source - Cunnery plantation valued at £70 - replanting with oaks about £50 - getting down the pit hill about £20, or upwards, that the value of the wood will hardly suffice - worst thing, the road to branch off from Mitholm and go just behind or just in front of Lower brea into the new Northowram road - all the coal pulled at willy-hill pit (on account of the turnpike bar set in Godley lane) by which we lose about £30 an acre - all the roads thrown upon the towns - Southowram wants to lead stones down Pump lane, and also down Bairstow - no preventing it - my father and Marian gone yesterday to Market W- [Weighton] on account of the sale there of some of the canal shares - my father would have us come to England - 'climate appears to him a mere nothing' we might do very well at Shibden if we liked - I said the difficulties were greater than he imagined - He will sell the Hampstead if he can get 7 or 6 hundred pounds for it - had thought of selling it without even letting us know, because (he said to Marian) our hands were full enough already - said I would not give £600, and should be glad enough if he could get that price; for the 1/4 of it would be very useful - Mark Hepworth ill - called on Mrs. Kenny and Mrs. Wilcock - Mrs. K [Kenny] delighted with her letter and the porte alumette - her rent for the house E.R- [Eliza Raine] had in Savile row £27 per annum called at the vicarage - 'he is pleasant and gentlemanly enough and she a quiet sort of person who has evidently seen very little of the world' - do not think quite like my father about the tithes - Mr. Eden's money to be paid in October, and got at 4 3/4 p.c. [percent] from a trust - 'She would like to buy the manor' of Market W- [Weighton] thinks the d. [duke] of D- [Devonshire] may sell it, and his property there in the course of some time - It seems they do not clear 'more than £50 a year by the Skelfler Estate' - Marian's illness was typhus fever and infectious so that all were obliged to drink port wine and live well to avoid it -

Thomas brought back my letter - too late - Mr. D- [Duffin] and Miss Sophia Greenup gone to a small party at Mrs. Saltmarshes - Mrs. D- [Duffin] and I had tea at 9 1/4, and afterwards sat talking - she says they have fifteen hundred a year but he seems to give about three hundred a year to his family at his death a hundred a year to each of his two sisters and four nieces for life and in default of issue to revert to his nephews and their issue and in default of that to go his godson and great nephew William Duffin Oxley absolutely and forever the two nephews to have nothing during Mrs Ds [Duffins] life but at her death to share equally her jointure of seven hundred a year her own two hundred and fifty settled upon her brother and his family and the thousand she got lately she will give to Sophia G [Greenup] - a drop or 2 of rain before breakfast - afterwards dullish, but fine day -  

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/10/0156 - SH:7/ML/E/10/0157

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #1828 #york

[camiddletonxox]

Eagerness & Gentility - Chapter 1 - Talking to Father

Synopsis - Lady Charity of Edgewater is the daughter of Earl Vincent and Countess Maria and is slowly learning her place as the heiress to the Edgewater. As she comes of age, her father wants her to explore life and consider courting. When she starts to court the broody Mr Sinclaire, the person she grew up with, the Earl and his mother hope the young heiress is on her way to finding a husband, but will they stand back or will they not be able to help themselves and meddle in her life? And will Ernest be the man Charity expects after a life of devotion and affection at her fathers hands? And what happens when people try to split them up? Can they make it through

Pairing - Ernest Sinclaire x MC - Charity Mills

Warning - General, no warning needed

Series Masterlist here, CHAPTER 1 YOU ARE HERE, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Summary - The Earl and his daughter have a heart to heart, before she goes to see a friend

Word Count - 1583

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

It was one of those beautiful sunny days at the Edgewater estate, the birds sang in a alluring melody, the flowers danced gracefully in the wind, and water of the lake sparkled in the sunlight.

Inside the manor, the Earl of Edgewater and his daughter, Viscountess Charity of Edgewater were sat, having a cup of tea, the young heiress was coming of age, well she was 19 in a matter of weeks, even if it her fathers eyes, she was still his little girl. The Earl had recently noticed the joy and lovesick look his daughter had on her face when Ernest Sinclaire, the son of the Master and Mistress of Ledford Park was around, it brought joy to his heart, thinking that his daughter may be in love.

“We have a dinner with the Sinclaires, Parsons, Holloways and Andersons tomorrow” The Earl commented as his daughter ate a bit of cake, and her eyes lit up slightly.

“I can’t wait to see Ernest” Viscountess Charity commented, making her fathers mouth twitch into a smile as he sipped on his tea.

“You like him, don’t you my dear?” Her father commented affectionately making the young girl blush, shaking her head at her father, he knew her far too well, didn’t he?

“He has always looked after me, father. Ever since I was a small girl, he was always there for me” She had a adoring gaze as she spoke about him.

“He is rather fond of you, my darling” Her father commented, and the young girl looked up, brushing a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear, and she smiled, Ernest was quite fond of her, wasn’t he she thought to herself.

“I’m quite fond of him, father” She beamed and the Earl placed his hand on his daughters hand, and she looked at him.

“One day, if you ever wanted to court him, I would allow it” She looked up to her father, blushing crimson.

“Father!” She exclaimed, would she want to court her best friend? Is it really one of those things that the future Countess of Edgewater was ready for?

“My darling, you are soon going to be coming of age, and when you are ready, I will completely support you in finding someone who can love you the way I love your mother. You deserve to find a partner who will make you happy” The Earl’s words were gentle and loving, and she knew she had her fathers support and at this point in her life, that is all she felt she needed.

“But father, all the love I need I get from you, Mama and Grandmother” She comments and the sweet innocence his daughter had made him smile, she was the most precious possession her father had, he loved her and he never wanted the young girl to feel forced into anything, he was what they call modern in that way.

“I know my darling, but one day, it will be required for you to be married the way I married your mother, its your way to seal your future as the Countess of Edgewater, but please don’t think I am forcing this on you when your not ready” He paused as touched her cheek, running his thumb gently across her cheek. “When you are ready to take that step, my darling, me and your mother will support you” He placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you, father” She whispers and she kissed his cheek.

“You are most welcome, my beautiful girl” The affectionate tone to her fathers voice always made her feel safe and at ease but he sensed something was bothering her and he sat next to her, and one hand rubbed her back.

“My darling, what’s the matter? Has our talk made you feel uncomfortable” He asked concerned and the young girl shook her head.

“No father, its just me and Felicity Holloway do not get on well, she is always making fun of me and saying someone like Ernest would never look at me, and always look down at me” Charity commented and the Earl rubbed his daughter back gently.

“I know she is rather difficult and obnoxious, my darling, but if she says anything out of line, just tell your grandmother or mother” The Earl comforts his daughter.

“Will you speak to them?” Charity asks and her father nods.

“Of course, my darling. I won’t have her making my own daughter feel uncomfortable in her own home” Her father assured and ran the back of his knuckle over her cheek and she smiled.

“Thank you, Father” She smiled and they sat in a comfortable silence before her father spoke up.

“You get on with the Parsons girls, don’t you?” He asks, with a knowing smile and Charity smiles and nods.

“Of course I do father, Annabelle, Cordelia, Constance are my friends” She beamed and he chuckled.

“You sure your not just saying that because Annabelle gave you a puppy?” Her father jokes and Charity beams.

“Of course not” she looks over to the pug who’s ears have perked up and he waddles over, barking lightly and Charity scoops the puppy in her arms, and she sits him on her lap, before she takes a sip of tea.

“Don’t let your mother, grandmother, Mrs Finley or Mrs Daly see you with Pugsly on the table, they will surely have a fit, if i know my wife, mother, our head of kitchen and your old governess well enough” The Earl chuckles.

“Father, Mrs Daly is more than just my old governess, she is Mamas friend and she is the mother of my own best friend” Charity chuckled as she scratched the pug behind his ears.

“That is very true” The Earl agreed and they finished their tea before the ‘bastard’ of the estate, Harry, walked in.

“Father, may I have a bit of your time?” The 13 year old asks.

“I’m going to have a walk around the gardens Father, maybe see if I can see Ernest over the fence” Charity excused herself, picking the pug up as she stood up before she kissed the Earl’s forehead.

“See you at dinner, my darling, if not before” The Earl uttered softly and the heir to the estate curtsied and she left the room, putting the pug down and she walked out the estate, Pugsly hot on her heels as she walked across to the point where Edgewater and Ledford Park met, Ernest was a handsome man, he had brown curls for his hair, piercing blue eyes and a heart of gold, her parents called Ernest her destined to be sweetheart because the two got on so well, and there was already a existing affection.

“Good afternoon, my lady” The Ledford master of horse called out and Ernest turned around, setting his eyes on the brown haired beauty, she had the most beautiful curls in her hair, the most alluring hazel eyes, the brightest smile that could put the sun to shame.

“Good afternoon, Mr Andrews, how are your wife and baby?” The Lady of Edgewater was polite to a fault, she was chatty and she always loved to converse with servants, she was humble, brought up to be humble and down to earth by her father.

“My wife is well, thank you, as is the lass, we named her Natasha” The man beamed.

“What a beautiful name for what can only be a beautiful babe” Charity commented making the master of horse to Ledford Park smile.

“Thank you, my lady. Your a credit to your father” He comments, before looking at Ernest with knowing eyes, “My lady, forgive me, but I must tend to the horses” He bowed his head, pulling the horse gently with him.

“Good day, Mr Sinclaire” Lady Charity beams and Ernest approaches her.

“Good afternoon, my lady. How has your day been?” Ernest asked, basking in the beautiful sight before him.

“It has been rather splendid, I had a horse ride with my brother this morning, then had lunch with my grandmother and then a tea with my father” The young Viscountess of Edgewater commented.

“My father, mother and I are coming across to Edgewater tomorrow evening, i am rather keen to hear you sing” Ernest conversed and Charity blushed.

“As are the Parsons, Andersons and the Holloways” Charity added.

“Ah yes, the Holloways” Ernest shuddered, for some reason, the daughter of the Viscount was rather, how do we say this, unbearable, anyone in their right mind knew Ernest couldn’t marry someone so arrogant and spoilt, and those dear to him knew he only had eyes for Vincent Foredale, Earl of Edgewater, daughter, for she was intriguing like a book, and there was something so endearing about her.

“And the Andersons and Parsons” Charity reminded him, the Andersons were new in the Sinclaire and Foredale social circle but their 4 children definitely were intriguing to the two families, whereas the Parsons were the most dearest friends of the Sinclaire’s and Foredales.

“I cannot wait for tomorrow night, it should be rather acceptable” Ernest commented, still looking at the beautiful young lady in-front of him.

“I shall be sure to dress to impress” Charity immediately regretted saying that but Ernest chuckled, she was really something.

“Till tomorrow night, my lady” Ernest kissed the back of her hand tenderly, making her heart swell and she curtsies before walking back into the estate, in a giddy manner, rather excited for tomorrow night.

Authors Note - Please message me or comment me if you want to be part of my tag list 💕

Tags - @ricapella @drakewalkerfantasy @ao719 @princess-geek @polishchoicesfan @binny1985 @desireepow-1986 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @hatescapsicum @itscassandral @gardeningourmet @heauxplesslydevoted @thequeenofcronuts

#choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #desire and decorum #choices desire and decorum #choices mr sinclaire #desire and decorum mr sinclaire #d&d ernest #d&d fanfic #mr ernest sinclaire x mc #mr ernest sinclaire #ernest x mc

[searchingwardrobes]

Hope is the Thing With Feathers: 3/4

@hollyethecurious and I started this fic as a gift to @kmomof4 for her birthday. Fittingly, it keeps getting longer because I swear Krystal is a muse disguised as a human being. Story banner created by Hollye as well.

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the tiny, quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to get obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the mysterious, handsome man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon discovers that both the castle and the man have secrets that she could never have imagined. For @kmomof4 on her birthday.

Rating: M (yes, I upped the rating. This isn’t smut, but I definitely flirted with the line. All for you, Krystal!)

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Can also be read on Ao3

Trigger warnings: positive portrayal of past Millian

 Tagging: @artistic-writer @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @teamhook @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @let-it-raines @branlovestowrite @shireness-says (for some reason, I have no tag list for this, so I’m flying blind here! Hope I didn’t forget anyone!)

Chapter Three: And On the Strangest Sea

“Get off your ass. You’re taking me on a date.”

Emma Swan bursting through his front door with a demand upon her lips wasn’t how Killian foresaw his evening going. He set the beer he’d been nursing down on the coffee table next to his bowl of evening stew, Emma seemed to take that as Killian not taking her seriously judging by the scowl on her face and the way she fisted her hands on her hips.

“Did you not hear me, Jones?”

Killian lifted both hands in surrender. “I heard you, love, I’m just a bit taken aback by the delivery.”

She shuffled nervously, but the spark of anger remained in her eyes. “Well, I’m here to ask you out, okay. Like to dinner or something.”

Killian arched a brow. “Now?”

“Yes now!” she practically shouted. “So why are you still sitting there?”

He rose from the couch and approached her cautiously. He gave her a flirtatious grin as he fiddled with the ends of her hair. “A man likes to be wooed, love. Why the demand?”

Her brow wrinkled as she searched his face frantically. “Come on, Killian, let’s get out of here and go somewhere.”

“What’s happened, Swan? You were fine when you left here the other day.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Maybe I want to be sure it wasn’t just sex for you. Is it so wrong to ask that you take me out?”

He rubbed her arms up and down. “Of course, but give me time to plan the evening. You can come here tomorrow night, and I’ll serve you the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”

Emma shook her head vehemently, stepping quickly away from his embrace. “No, I want you to take me somewhere.”

He swallowed down the sudden fear that welled up inside and forced himself to smile charmingly. “Perhaps a picnic then, I know the perfect spot -”

“A restaurant,” Emma interrupted firmly, “maybe even a movie.”

He felt the color drain from his face. “I prefer a more intimate setting.”

She stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve done intimate. I want to go out.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed wearily at his forehead. “Emma, I just don’t like being around people.”

“Bull shit. You are many things, Killian Jones, but a recluse is not one of them. It doesn’t suit your personality.”

“Oh, really,” Killian snapped, stepping into her personal space, “you think you know me so well?”

“Actually, I don’t think I know you at all!”

She shouted the words so loudly, it startled them both into silence. He felt a knife twist in his gut as Emma’s face fell into a mask of hurt.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered.

His eyes widened. “What I am . . . who I am . . . you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Killian collapsed onto the couch and rested his arms on his knees. He gestured to his dinner. “Ghosts don’t eat, Swan. Do they?”

She eyed him and then his stew as if she might run out the door any second. “No. I guess not.”

“I’m very much alive.” He winked at her in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Or did you not feel that the other day?”

She huffed out a wry laugh. “So why can’t you leave?”

“You’re quite perceptive, Swan. The best way to explain it is . . . I’m cursed.”

Emma blinked, but didn’t move. “That’s what Belle said, but I had a hard time believing it. You’re the pirate. The one who was Milah Gold’s lover.”

“Aye.”

Emma sank onto the couch, shaking her head in disbelief. “But . . . how? Why?”

Killian stood and paced to the window. “Gold cast the spell first, on Milah, after he learned of our dalliance. He knew it was the only way he could keep her. Milah and I truly loved one another, but she also craved freedom. She longed to travel and see the world.”

“No wonder she fell for a pirate.”

Killian turned to see Emma smiling at him. He nodded. “Gold assumed I would sail away and forget her. He didn’t know how deep our feelings ran.”

“But you couldn’t just give up the sea . . . or did you?”

Killian chuckled, rubbing at his jaw. “You sound like Milah. She wouldn’t hear of me giving up my ship.” He stepped closer to Emma and extended his hand. “Come, I’d like to show you something.”

Emma tilted her head skeptically, yet she took his hand anyway. He searched her eyes.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Emma,” he told her sincerely, squeezing her hand.

She nodded. “I trust you.”

*****************************************************

Emma stood in awe, her hair blowing on the wind gusting up from the sea. The sound of waves breaking on the rocky Maine coast was as soothing as the warm sun beating down upon her face. It was like something out of a movie, this jagged cliff with a pristine view of the sea.

“This is one of the farthest boundaries of my curse,” Killian said softly at her side, “and Milah’s before me. She would watch for my ship from this very spot as often as she could, and I likewise would look up to this cliff as we approached Hopeful Harbor.”

His eyes were wistful as they gazed out at the gorgeous view.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Emma breathed out.

“Aye, the sea can be so calming,” he agreed. Then he gave her a wink. “Yet it can also turn volatile on a whim. Like a woman.”

Emma elbowed him, and he gave an exaggerated grunt. “So I take it you found reasons to come back to Hopeful often?”

“Naturally,” Killian agreed, settling down on the quilt he had laid out on the grass. “I wasn’t about to abandon the woman I loved. This was our meeting place.”

“Kind of exposed isn’t it?” Emma asked as she settled down beside him.

He arched a brow. “Makes it sort of thrilling, actually.” He inclined his head towards the tree line. “There was a spot over there in the forest as well, more secluded. We not only made up for lost time with moments of intimacy, we also racked our brains trying to figure out how to break her bloody curse.”

“Belle said you dabbled in magic you didn’t understand.”

He chuckled. “That was an understatement. And those books of her husbands she smuggled out of the manor? They were the very ones the Hopeful parson caught her with that fateful day when everything changed.”

Emma put her hand on his arm gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Killian took her hand, rubbing his fingers over her knuckles. “I don’t know exactly what went wrong. All I know is the curse was transferred to me. And ironically, by freeing Milah, I gave the mob the power to kill her.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Emma took his arm and looped it over her shoulder. He pulled her close against him, pressing his lips to the top of her head. She leaned into him, closing her eyes as she relished the scent of him that enveloped her.

“So you can’t die?” she whispered.

“No,” he sighed, her hair fluttering under his breath, “there was a dark time when I tried to end my miserable existence. To no avail.”

“What about Gold? That had to be some strange karma, his wife’s lover stuck on his property.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye, that was the one silver lining in it, actually. I got my revenge rather spectacularly.”

Emma pulled away, her eyes wide. Not that she was scandalized. In her opinion, Gold got what was coming to him. “What did you do?”

That cocky grin of his filled his face. “I may not be a ghost, Swan, but I do a rather good impression of one. I can haunt people with the best of them. Robert Gold did indeed fall to his death from his third floor balcony, but it wasn’t because he was consumed with grief.”

Emma grinned back. “You didn’t!”

Killian raised both hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t say I pushed the man. Physically, anyway. But mentally? I don’t think he could take my . . . haunting him anymore.”

Emma laughed, shaking her head at his smug expression. Killian lay back on the quilt, crossing one arm under his head and reaching the other out to her. She gladly came to him, settling in the crook of his arm and resting her cheek on his chest.

“How did you . . . live?”

“In the beginning my first mate was my connection to the outside world. He became Captain of my ship, but continued to share a portion of all the spoil. He also brought me provisions. I didn’t spend all my coin, squirreling away as much as I could.”

He fell silent as he ran his fingers through her hair. Emma twisted so she could look up at him. His expression had gone wistful again.

“Then, after Smee,” he continued, “there were others like Belle, like your boy, who had a heart of belief. Each one was a tenuous link to the rest of the world out there.” His jaw clenched and his arm tightened at her waist.

“But eventually they all . . . “ she couldn’t finish the thought.

“Aye,” was all he said. Finally, he looked at her again and flashed her a light-hearted smile. “Then technology advanced by leaps and bounds. Radio, TV, cell phones, the internet. Especially the internet. As time marched on, I withdrew more and more to avoid suspicion.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Until now.”

Emma rolled over, perching her chin on his chest. “It sounds lonely.”

“It was,” he said softly, tracing her jawline with his fingertips, “and I certainly never thought I could love again after losing my Milah,” he swallowed nervously before continuing, “that is until I met you.”

His words made the breath leave Emma’s lungs. Since she didn’t know what to say, she slid forward and pressed her lips to his.

*******************************************************

Killian had been right, there was something thrilling about making love out in the open in broad daylight. Though the sun was now dipping closer to the horizon, and the breeze was a cold gust. Killian had the quilt cocooned around their naked bodies. As she watched the sky turn yellow and red and felt Killian’s hand drawing circles on her back, she couldn’t think of being more content.

“We need to head back,” Killian told her softly, though he made no move to release her.

Emma didn’t move either, running her fingers instead lightly through his chest hair, their breaths rising and falling together. “This project with the manor . . . why is Belle so insistent on it? Won’t it make it harder for you to stay under the radar?”

Killian’s hand stilled on her back, and he cleared his throat nervously. “Belle has this crazy idea that she’s found a way to break my curse.”

“And how is that?”

“Um . . . you, actually.”

Emma sat abruptly, clutching the quilt to her chest. “What?”

Killian sat up too, and Emma tried not to be distracted by the fact that his muscular body was no longer covered.

“You see, the key ingredient in the spell I cast was the crushed wing of a cardinal. A symbol of freedom, or so I thought. And apparently, the other side of that coin is . . . a pure white Swan.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “So this is all about my name?”

Killian shrugged. “Belle thinks maybe it doesn’t have to be a literal Swan. Especially since she sensed a connection between us . . . “

Emma stood abruptly, reaching for her clothes discarded on the grass.

“Emma,” Killian said softly.

“So you what?” she snapped, her hands trembling as she slipped into her underwear. “You seduced me because of my last name? Thinking it might do the trick?”

He leapt up, heedless of his nudity, and reached out for her arm. “No, Emma, of course not. My feelings for you are real. I haven’t felt alive in a hundred years, and then your boy shows up -”

“Don’t bring Henry into this! Or are you interested in him too? Because he’s also a Swan?”

Emma shoved her feet into her boots, trembling all over. She blinked rapidly as she faced him, refusing to let him see her cry. “I trusted you!”

“And you were right to!”

She backed away, both hands up in warning. “I’m leaving, okay. Don’t follow me.”

As she turned away, he whispered, “As you wish.”

#cs ff #storybrooke is hopeful instead #alternate universe #cs ghost story kind of #cs halloween fic #for Krystal

[janeeyrequotes]

Reader, I married him.  A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and clerk, were alone present.  When we got back from church, I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner, and John cleaning the knives, and I said:-- 'Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning.'  The housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having one's ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment.  Mary did look up, and she did stare at me; the ladle with which she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire, did for some three minutes hand suspended in the air; and for the same space of time John's knives also had a rest from the polishing process: But Mary, bending again over the roast, said only-- 'Have you, Miss?  Well, for sure!' A short time after she pursued: 'I seed you go out with the master, but I didn't know you were gone to church to be wed;' and she basted away.  John, when I turned to him, was grinning from ear to ear.

Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

#ch 38 #Jane #Mr. Rochester #Mary #John #Jane Eyre #Charlotte Bronte #quotes

[247reader]

Otilia Thing!

So I finally finished the Grand Otilia backstory!  (Otilia being my character in our Curse of Strahd 5e game).  I now present it below.  Rated T-ish for violence.

Background: Haunted One.  A terrible guilt consumes me.  I hope that I can find redemption through my actions.

[note about the writing process: this was somewhere between fanfic and original writing, which was an interesting balance.  Takes heavy inspiration from The Great God Pan, including one nearly-direct quote, but I also threw in a few references to other works and at one point Otilia also quotes Loreena McKennit]

It was the tail end of a glorious Season.  For Professor Grayson, most surmised, it had been glorious indeed - two daughters engaged, his youngest to a viscount's heir!  For the younger son of a baronet - for such the Professor was, the third of old Sir Henry's boys and uncle to that young Sir Henry who had been the talk of London three years ago - the thought of sitting his little Sarah in Blennox House must have been fine indeed.  And yet it was the second proposal that the old man seemed to recieve with greater joy, when Reynard DuPuis, a former student and now a friend of long standing, asked him for Otilia's hand.

Otilia! She made appearances, still, at dances, and her brothers took her across the floor, but what men had been tempted by her bright eyes and blond curls enough to set aside the rumors - not only pertaining to herself, but those that still swirled around her long-dead mother, beautiful Bona Grayson, of questionable origins and questionable demise - soon sheared away from her strange habit of answering a question before one spoke it, of reciting a poem and then stopping off in the middle; from her three flint-eyed brothers; above all, from a disinterest on the lady's part that was rather more insulting than intriguing.

The Professor had married again, after Bona's death, to a woman of fine and respectable blood but no money, and Otilia had never known another mother but Anne.  She had doted on her young half-siblings, and her brothers had promised her, when it seemed she was destined to the life of a literary spinster, that she and her poems would always have a place in their homes, Thomas offering his tree fort and Robert - her cheerful Robin - the manor he was certain to acquire when he became an admiral; as he was still a midshipman it seemed she would have to live with Papa and Charles for some years yet.

The thought did not bother Otilia, except for the nagging concern that she had failed them, and she set aside her wild dark poems for a few that she hoped would be publishable. She had set one of her step-mother's thousand Orllewin fairy stories to verse, and was drafting another, when Reynard DuPuis kissed her hand and asked her if she would do the honor of becoming his wife.

She said yes. There seemed nothing else to say, but she was not unhappy.  She knew him but little, but he was one of her father's dearest friends, and could be nothing other than a scholarly man of kind character with that to recommend him, for her father was drawn to those most like himself - ever more, they said, since the death of his first wife, the mother she'd never known.

The voices said many things about her mother.  But she was a wife now, Mrs. DuPuis, with an estate and servants to oversee, the hostess and not the guest - and perhaps the voices were things of Otilia Grayson, and would plague Mrs. DuPuis no longer.

Sally - Sarah - the future Viscountess Blennox-on-Trivers - Otilia’s Sally, still, twisted roses into her sister's hair and veil, flapping the servants away.

"What luck Mr. DuPuis is an orphan," said Sally, her face sullen.  "I fear that Eddie's mother hates me." A rose slipped from her fingers and fell.  "She shan't let us marry until I'm nearly twenty!"

Otilia thought of Lord Edward's mother.  Of the nightmare she'd had the night after, and then again after that, a small figure in a curtained bed, pain like fire in her belly, a still white shape in the arms of a faceless man, the wait for a baby's cry that never came.  

"The Viscountess adores you," said Otilia, which was a statement safe enough. "It's Lord Edward's uncles who you must be wary of."

Sally moved forward until her own dark amber eyes met Otilia's gray ones - it was her eyes, her father's oldest friends would whisper, that most resembled poor Bona. "Wary?"

"They want to see him dead," said Otlia, her eyes clouded and distant, as though she did not realize that she spoke.  Not consumption then, the voices had said, taking on a strangely human, too-familiar tone.  More's the pity.

"I won't let them.  I'll warn Eddie -"

Otilia covered her mouth with her gloved hands, heedless of the smeared powder.  Her brothers and sisters believed her, every time. They would be ever so much safer once she was gone, but she would miss them dreadfully.

"Warn him of what, Sally?  That your foolish sister had a nightmare?"

Sally gripped Otilia's shoulder with her small plump fingers.  "I shall watch them, then.  I shan't let them have Eddie!"  In the mirror, Otilia could see her sister's face, scowling and red. She reached up a hand, and laid it on Sally’s.

-

Gilderoy Abbey was a tall, dark house, nestled in the rolling moors.  Reynard DuPuis' grandfather had paid off the debts of its former owners, and in exchange had married the daughter of the house. Someone, once, had planned out elegant gardens and a tree-lined drive, but all, now, was overgrown, cedars bowing down under their own weight, the roses gangly and sparse, the boxhedge maze a thicket.

It was beautiful, Otilia thought, in its own way, wild and strange, but her husband, beside her, apologized profusely.  He had hired new gardeners, and hoped they would be better than the last, and if some things were beyond repair, perhaps she could assist him in planning new ones?

There was nothing that could have delighted her more.  He asked her favorite flowers, whether she like to walk, and what she thought should be done with his father's folly, built to resemble a collapsing Aldor temple but now collapsing in truth.

Planning her first formal dinner as lady of the house was not quite so natural or pleasant as sketching columns, but Otilia, conscious of the debt she owed her husband, threw herself into it with as much fervor as any a general going into battle.  The countryside was sparsely inhabited, with inhabitants of quality even sparser, but the local parson and his wife, and a few far-flung squires, could fill up the table with the aid of a few of Reynard's friends from the capital.

The servants of Gilderoy Abbey all seemed to her eyes to be either nearly children or the oldest of old retainers; the cook was of the latter sort.  Anne Grayson had taken pride, and taught Otilia to take pride, in the food served in her home, but there was little in the fare of Gilderoy to excite the palate.  The best dishes were those of her husband’s mother and his childhood, well-spiced cakes and strange cuts of meat Otilia had never before considered.

She sat proudly in the hostess chair in her best lace gown, a strand of diamonds at her neck, and tried with all her might to ignore that the buttery lumps on her plate had once hopped their owner through the fens.

Mr. Chester, of the West shires, was apparently among her husband’s closest friends, but he had not been one of her father’s.  He was a tall man with a mustache that he clearly thought was very fine indeed, and Otilia put on her most vacant smile and murmured assent to half-understood words.  This was familiar, if not enjoyable, though she felt high and lonely without Charles or Cathy by her side.

“…But that is what they said, is it not?”

Catching herself, Otilia nodded in agreement.  “I suppose it must be, sir.”  People said many things.  The voices in the dark said things, as well, and she awoke some nights beside her husband surprised to be indoors, covered in blankets instead of vines.  It was worse on the nights he didn’t come to her; sometimes then she walked, and sometimes then she didn’t dream at all.

“But Reynard, my man,” Mr. Chester continued, “I still say Wilcox found the sailor’s brother. Poor luck for us that horse, what?”

Otilia smiled distantly.  Even the voices had little to say about Mr. Chester.  In her mind, this was a firm point in his favor.

“What sailor, then?”  One of the men lower down.  He had a forkfull of meat halfway to his mouth, and Otilia reflexively scowled.  

“From the Crescent, of course.”  Mr. Chester gestured with a pale, flapping hand.  “The one who saw poor Bona go.”

Otilia’s voice was very still.  “I’m sorry?”

She lifted a hand to her mouth.  Had she spoken?  Had she meant to?  Bona, Bona, Bona.  

Mr. Chester leant over to her.  His breath was too warm on her bare shoulders.  “Oh, you’d know, of course, wouldn’t you!”  His face bore too many smiles, suddenly, too many eyes and too many mouths.  The voices clung to him, and Otlia could not breathe.  Bona.  “They say he went mad, after – said she walked off the ship – how was it he said?  Called to the sea – or sang, something like that – and it rose to meet her.”  He was smiling, still, and his chin was very large and very smug.

“Chester! I believe you are upsetting my wife.”

Reynard’s hand was on her shoulder.  His voice was a bastion against the world, steep walls against the storm, and she leant into him, desperate and grateful.

The rest of the table was silent.  Finally, the waves of conversation rose again, soft and smooth as though the moment of fear had never been.  Mr. Chester did not speak again, and neither did Otilia DuPuis.

-

They did not speak of the incident at supper again.  Reynard tried, hesitantly and awkwardly, to apologize, and Otilia lifted her fingers to his mouth.  It was a moment better buried.  Mr. Chester did not tarry long at Gilderoy, though Mr. Morley and Dr. and Mrs. Ashwood remained for some time.  They were gray, quiet people, and Otilia was a gracious hostess if not a glittering one.

Dearest Mama, she wrote to Anne, and Dearest Papa.  Sally and Thomas sent her scrawled letters of home, and at the edge of winter there was even a salt-stained envelope from Robin.  She kept them in one of the little black wood chests in her room.

There were several of these, and only two would open.  Reynard had apologized, as he’d apologized for so much of Gilderoy, the house Otilia had determined to love for all its flaws.  The Abbey and its master were hers, after all, and stuck chests and locks with no keys merely inconveniences.  

You should have been there, dearest, when my Horace told Papa that we were expecting a ‘sittle langer’!  Poor dear, I believe he’s suffering more than I am.  You must return to Greenlee in the spring – and tell me, if you can, if it is to be a son or a daughter, and if there is some way I can avoid naming the poor creature for all of Horace’s aunts.

Your most affectionate sister,

Cathy

Otilia clutched the letter to her breast for a moment.  Catherine had been the first of her siblings to marry, to a gentleman of good standing – kind, stammering Horace Lee, one of Charles’ schoolfriends. Otilia and Charles had labored long for the only two creatures who seemed to enjoy a ball less than she did, carrying messages and fending off rakes.  Otilia had danced with more men in Cathy’s first Season than in her own.

Her sister, a mother!  Otilia put the letter down on her desk, straightening out the folds, and then moved to open the letter chest, catching a black splinter of wood to one finger in her distraction. A few drops of blood dripped down the small stack of chests. Otilia sighed, and began to wipe them up with her handkerchief.  At the second swipe of the cloth, something moved.

Otilia lowered the handkerchief, and peered at the desk through her reading glasses. The lock on the lower chest had fallen. Rusted through?

She picked it up. It was tarnished, dark metal, the same as it had always been.  It was simply open, now, as though someone had finally found the key for the strangely-shaped hole on its front. Otilia slipped it beneath her skirts and into her pocket, then turned back to the letter-chest, hands unsteady in her excitement.

Gilderoy Abbey was old, older than the house she’d grown up in, older even than the rambling half-timbered manor that was her grandfather’s, and now her cousin’s, seat. Otilia would have loved it for that alone, but its mysteries, its hiding holes, intrigued her like one of Sally’s novels.  Two weeks ago she’d found a priest-hole behind the east-most stairs, and the smile it had brought to Reynard’s face was nestled, now, in her heart.

They’d spoken of history together, of stories, even Otilia’s poems, and he’d listened and spoke to her just as he would have to her father.  Her words were not valuable because of the voices, because of the devotion her brother and sisters had to what Sally and Thomas still called her magic.  Her words were valuable because he thought she was intelligent, thought she was interesting, listened to her as he would have listened to a man.

She wanted Gilderoy’s mysteries for herself.  But she wanted them, too, to make Reynard look at her that way, and speak to her that way, and kiss her afterwards with a laugh until her heart swelled out of her chest.

She lifted the lid of the box, and it was empty.

-

The next morning, Otilia awoke in the gardens.

The air around her was the shimmering, foggy silver of the mornings.  She could just see the tops of the folly’s broken pillars, and the new wooden scaffolding around them, hazy in the mist.  Bare branches rose like islands in the sea that had swallowed the distant hills.  The ground was cold, damp against the bare skin of her arms, through the thin cloth of her one remaining stocking.  

She allowed herself a moment of despair, to gather her knees to her chest and weep. The walking had not been this bad in years.  Servants had found her, twice, in the hallways of Gilderoy Abbey, but they had never ventured questions, simply helped her back to her room.  One of the little kitchen maids had brought her warm, spiced cider, and that night she’d slept again, dreamless, and woken with the voices quiet, as they so often were at lovely, silent Gilderoy.

Today there could be no such rescue.  She had no dressing gown to cover her nightdress, and as for her feet – one stocking!

Otilia shoved herself to her feet, wincing at the pain.  She’d walked though thorns.  Through thorns, and they hadn’t waked her.  

She’d dreamt of a voice that wasn’t quite her father’s.  Bona, it had called.  Oh, Bona, Bona, Bona! She had dreamt, and she had followed.  Her teeth began to chatter in the cold.

“Otilia!”

She shuddered, slipped, jumped back.  It took her a moment to realize she was hearing the voice with her ears.  

“Otilia!”

Her husband stood at the edge of the fog, his greatcoat hastily thrown over his shoulders. Heedless of the muddy ground, the thorns, Otilia ran towards him, throwing herself like a child into his arms.

His arms were warm, and real, and he murmured half-understood words into her hair.

“I thought we had lost you.”

Otilia pulled herself back just far enough to look into his eyes.  They were a shining, honest blue, and, alone of his features, even Sally would have found them handsome.  But every aspect of Reynard DuPuis, in this moment, was beautiful: his coarse sandy hair and old-fashioned sideburns, the sharp points of his cheekbones and nose, the bony strength in his arms as he held her.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Otilia, and he kissed her hair, and led her back to Gilderoy.

-

He did not leave her side that morning, though he did not speak even to the servants of where or how he had found her.  They lay in her bed, curled together far too closely for daytime or propriety, but when a maid came into the room, Otilia only clutched her husband more tightly. Recognizing the maid, pale and wide-eyed with red hair escaping from her bonnet, Otilia made to ask for hot cider, but Reynard forestalled her before she could speak, and requested mulled wine.

It was a better choice, she allowed, as the warmth filled her.  She drank only when it could not be avoided, but, this morning, she welcomed the soft clouds around her mind.  At her father’s dinner parties, wine had made the voices louder.  Here, with her husband, it stilled them, wrapping them in the fog.

“Cathy is to have a baby,” Otilia said, finally, lowing the empty cup.  She tried for a smile, though Reynard’s face was pressed to her neck and he would have some difficulty in seeing it.

“Oh?”  She could feel something in him tense where he lay against her back.  “And when is the happy occasion?”

“In the spring, she said.  Not for some months.”

“I’m glad of that,” he said.  “Travelling is hazardous here in winter.  It would be a poor thing to lose you in a sled crash so soon after having found you.”

A twinkle of laughter bubbled up in her throat.  She reached for his hand, pulled it up against her breast and held it tightly. “Greenlee is beautiful in the spring,” she said.  “I cannot wait to bring you there.”

“I’m afraid that Gilderoy on the edge of winter cannot hope to compare.”

Otilia shook her head.  “Wait until the snow falls, then, Mr. DuPuis.”  The smile came more easily.  “The peaks of the roof will look like mountains.  The frost will turn it all to diamonds.  And you, with snowflakes in your hair…”

“You are a treasure, wife.”

“And perhaps, next winter,” she said, quietly, “there will be three of us to see.”

If he had tensed, before, it was nothing to this.  He was suddenly as still behind her as mannequin or a corpse.  “…Have you,” and she felt him gulp against the back of her head. His voice was ragged, and she almost felt guilty for teasing him.  “Have you had …signs?”

She felt another bubble of laughter leave her throat.  “No,” she said.  “Not yet.” The red bird made its perch each month, and her belly was flat.  But Anne Parr had not even been married to Clarence Grayson for a year before Charles arrived, a fat pink face in the nursery for the young Otilia to dote on.  Cathy had followed, right on his heels, and Otilia might have been strange but she had never been lonely.  Even the voices were kinder when there was someone for her to care for and protect.

She wanted a child.  A child, with her golden hair and Reynard’s bright eyes.  A child, with voices whispering around it and a grandmother who had thrown herself into the sea –

It rose up to meet her –

Reynard’s arms tightened around her ribs, pulling her closer still.

“Your child will be glorious,” he whispered.  

-

Winter came to Gilderoy.

Her husband had acquired a new book – or, rather, had pulled down from a little-used shelf a ragged ancient thing, filled with sketches of Tyrrhenian tomb inscriptions made by a nameless scholar.  Otilia adored old books, but something about this one seemed disquieting – perhaps simply that she did not know the language and shivered at the thought of all that knowledge next-to-lost.  She did not linger long in Reynard’s study; she could be of little help to him in his translations.  She missed him, still, in her bed and at her side, but those were the dangers of marrying a scholar.

Determined not to wallow in any more self-pity, Otilia had selected a few other books from the library.  Her High Altor was passable, and her Elline not atrocious, to say nothing of her modern tongues, and there was more than enough to busy herself through the long dark evenings.  

Worse, though, was to come.  Twelfmona had not yet ended before they were besieged by unexpected guests.  A few her husband had invited, a few more seemed merely to appear, victims of the weather or distant cousins who assumed they had a standing right to trespass.  

One of them was Mr. Chester.

Reynard had apologized for each guest as they arrived; for this one, he sat Otilia down on her bed and held her hands.  His eyes were shadowed, his face drawn.  He had slept too little, and she told him so.

He shook his head, with a distant smile that faded in an instant.  “I must beg your pardon, my darling.  I could not have backed out of my obligations towards him without offending his brother as well.  I- “

“It’s all right,” she said, and thrusted her chin forwards.  “I shan’t have you worrying on my account.”

He squeezed her hands.  “If you want him gone, even so, just tell me.  I’ll try to find an excuse somewhere – “

“I will be fine, Reynard.”  She would not be the cause of the shadows beneath his eyes.

They arranged, even so, that Chester would be told that she was ill; this necessitated avoiding the rest of the guests as well, but Otilia could find little to complain of in that.  Her dreams had been monstrous of late, and the fewer strangers, the quieter the voices.

Instead she occupied herself in the favorite pursuit of her youth: her poetry.  Her step-mother had told them all beautiful fairy tales, Orllewin and Norrish and otherwise, and she and her siblings had changed them with her, adding songs and new touches and characters based on themselves – she remembered Robin’s offended insistence that Cendrillon be sent to the ball by her fairy step-sister. She wove these, then, into poems.

Her Lay of the Exiled King took form as snows buried the countryside.  She expected to have an end to it by Spring, but therein had always lain the difficulty when her step-mother had told the tale: Thomas fighting for a happy ending and Charles sitting the boy on his knee while trying to draw in Cathy’s support for glorious tragedy, Sally flinging her arms about as she explained why Thomas and Robin’s hated sad ending was happy after all.

For his daughter was dead and his son was a fool, and the kingdom he’d left would soon fall, but he had climbed the cloudy mountains to his true love’s keep, and love was still the lord a’ all…

It was a new moon, in the depths of winter.  Night came early, and candle smoke teased at her eyes.  She had pled her false illness to avoid hosting dinner; she had not liked, the nights past, how the crowd of faceless guests had seemed to stare at her, eyes crawling on her face only to dart away.

She knew it was all in her head.  Somehow, this did not make it easier.  This was the rest of her life, and she was failing at it already.  Perhaps in twenty years Reynard would have to hide her in the attic, locked away like the maiden aunt she should have been.  He was kind, and that was the worst of it.

Otilia shook her head, fiercely, curls falling in front of her eyes.  Sleep would do her good, she decided.  Sleep, and summer.

-

She was half-dozing at her desk, still fully dressed, when a knock came at the door. Mrs. Sawley, the housekeeper, with two tiny maids at her back like pilot fish.  It was unusual; Mrs. Sawley had seen seventy years if she’d seen twenty, and hadn’t been a chambermaid since her husband’s grandmother’s day.

“Poor dear,” she said, shaking her head, and helped a half-protesting Otilia to her feet. “He ought to have seen you to bed, at least.”

Otilia blushed.

She let herself be helped into her best nightgown.  Mrs. Sawley tucked her into her pile of coverlets as Anne Parr had, or long-suffering Rose, as perhaps Bona had, once upon a time.  She had given up on seeing her husband even before the housekeeper had spoken.  He was likely in his study with the book, or cornered by one of the horde who had descended onto their home.

Mrs. Sawley closed her eyes, looking pained, and Otilia immediately tried to relax her scowl. The old woman patted her softly on the hand in response.

“Drink this, child,” she said, quietly.  

Otilia took the steaming cup.  The taste of the cider seemed muddled, and sickly-sweet.  Mrs. Sawley took it back from her softly, Otilia’s eyes fluttering closed.  Her bed was a drowning mass of warm clouds, white fading to gray in the darkness. The maids closed the curtains, and Otilia, with a small smile, faded off into sleep.

-

Bona, Bona, Bona…

It was not her father’s voice, this time.  It was a woman’s.  Otilia, dreaming, felt herself buoyed up in great arms, music playing at her ears, a choir and an Aldor lullaby.

Anne Grayson sat before her, her eyes redrimmed from tears.  Thomas clung to her skirts, white knuckled and shaking.  A hand stroked his back.  A hand stroked Otilia’s.

“Do you know what is coming, my Lady of Spring?”  Her stepmother’s beautiful low voice wavered as she sang.  “Off in the distance, the funeral bells ring.  And straining to hear them, the –”

Thomas wailed.

“Mama,” whispered Otilia.  For a moment, tear-stained eyes locked on her own, but the moment was gone in an instant. Slowly, slowly, Anne and Thomas faded away.

Vita mia…  Ah, vita mia…

Blood dripped down around her, staining her skirts, bubbling up between her bare toes. It was sharp and strong and cloying in her nostrils, sticky in her hair.  Otilia screamed, and it poured across her face and down her throat.

Otilia woke.

-

Otilia woke, but it was not true waking.  There was a sharp clarity of mind, a taste of blood on the back of her tongue, but she knew she could not be awake, because her body was lying in front of her, and its eyes were closed.

Golden hair, spilled out of its ribbons, fell in curls down the sides of a long wooden table. Otilia stepped forward.  She reached out towards her own face, lighting soft hands upon one pale cheek, and shadows began to form.

Figures of irregular height surrounded her, each in a long black robe that winked with green. Their heads were hooded, and their faces masked with rough clay grotesqueries that might have been taken from some Tyrrhenian tomb.

As she stared, the shadows began to recede.  As if in a painting, long stroke by long stroke, the marble floor appeared, white pillars stretching up to the gloom of the ceiling, distant high windows dripping down the walls.  She knew this place.  Around her loomed the old great hall at Gilderoy, now an occasional ballroom and haven for mice and spiders.

Whispers coiled around her ears, fleeing the low, insistent chanting that encircled the scene, rising and falling like a heartbeat.  The body before Otilia twitched, slightly, hands rising for a moment before going still.  Her breath was warm against Otilia’s fingers.

One of the cloaked men stepped forwards.  He was unmasked, but his hood fell forward to shadow his face.  He loomed over the waking Otilia and the dreaming both, as tall as her husband.  In his hands there was a knife.

It was dark and jagged-edged, an ancient thing, and shined to a perfect mirror.  Two pale faces swam reflected in the blade.

“The bride has come,” said the man with the dagger, and Otilia’s hands jerked and fell away, until she was clenching at her own ribs like corsetbone, mouth open in a silent scream.

“The bride has come,” a dozen discordant and dissonant voices, none worse than the first.

“The bride has come!”  Reynard DuPuis stood above her.

The dagger gleamed red in the candlelight, dancing like fire.  Otilia could not move.  She felt the hard wood cold on her back, the ropes on her wrists.  She was the woman on the altar, she was the ghostly form who lingered at her head.  She was a heart, wrenched and torn, bleeding carmine, bleeding red –

And then the world was still.

Fog rushed in, blurring the hooded figures, the ballroom, even Otilia’s body and Reynard’s knife raised above her, inches away from her breast.  Otilia floated above them, the rising mist catching in her hair.

She closed her eyes.  Is this what it is to die?

“Oh, no, little one.”  It was not a voice, not even one of the bodiless ones that whispered in her ears, and it was not speaking words, not as she knew them.  There were raw and ragged edges to each one, each hitting her in a sudden burst of knowledge, until she knew what was being said as though looking at a painting, and recognizing her home.  “This is what it is to ascend.”

The clouds rushed up around her.  The air smelled of the last snowmelt, full of rot and growing things.

“You hate.”

Otilia gave a raw, short, ragged breath.  Her heart was a burning coal within her chest.  If she peered through the fog she saw Reynard above her body.  If she pulled into her mind, locking every door behind her, she saw worse.  She saw a kind man with a sharp smile, she felt his hands on her body and his lips at her ear, and she saw that she loved him.

“You hate,” the voice repeated, and trees of antler began to rise up from the ground, creaking around her.  “You want to live.  The little ones always want to live.  Hers, Ours, Mine, they want to live.  They want to live.  They want to kill.”

Otilia shook. The winds of autumn rose at her back, the air full of leaf-dust and searing heat.

The knife lowered another inch.

“I can give you power, child.”  The antlers cracked and groaned.  Leaves rose around her, wheat fields black with blight.  “We can give you power, granddaughter.”  There might have been two voices, or there might have been a thousand.

The knife touched her collarbone.

You have power, vita mia.

The world twisted and snapped like a coachman’s whip.  The air screamed, and tore, and a woman walked out of it, draped in pale cloth and black hair.  Her eyes were blank and white, and barnacles clung to her skin.

More power than you know.  A cold, dripping hand reached towards her as the clouds convulsed again.

“Bona,” Otilia whispered.  Bona, Bona, Bona…

Clammy hands caressed her face.  “They sing for you, after all.  I had hoped there was enough of him in you that you could live.”  Her voice was low and rough.  Otilia stared at her, trying to commit this woman’s face to memory, trying to see in it her own.  “I am so sorry, my Otilia.”

“I don’t want to die,” Otilia whispered, tears hot in her throat.

“Then live.” Bona pressed an icy kiss to her forehead.

Then live.

The air began to scream.  Bona turned away, and was swallowed in the shifting shadows.  The drips of seawater shivered into drops of blood, linking together and growing.

Thunder rolled. Lightning singed the air around her, turning it to smoke, and it roiled into a form too close to a woman for comfort. “You want to live?  Then come to me, granddaughter!”

Beneath her, the blood had pooled into an ocean, waves rising and crashing.

“No,” said Otilia, less a voice than a ragged breath.  Her eyes stung and smarted from the smoke.

Otilia looked down.  The antlers rose and tangled, shedding velvet, but beneath them, the waves of blood flooded ever higher, a wild and scarlet sea.

She called to the sea.

And it rose to meet her.

-

Otilia screamed, and her voice was red.  Her voice was red, and her eyes were red.  When it faded, there were only broken bodies, slumped and squirming against the walls.

She took a heavy step forwards, and another.  Her hands were red.  Lightning burned down from her wrists, and it was red.  The shapes it made looked almost like blades.

One of the things in robes was trying to stand up.  She lumbered towards it, feet sliding in the bloodstains on the floor.

There was a bang, and a short feeling of pressure against her leg.  Otilia looked down, her vision strange and triple-shadowed, to see a thin new line of blood against her skin.  Pistol, suggested a distant part of her mind, and she turned to see one raised in a shaking hand.

Dr. Ashwood, offered that same distant place.  Otilia stepped towards him, and the gun rattled.  Her first slash severed his hand.  Her second slit his throat.  The small, distant place screamed.  The rest of Otilia shook into a laugh.

Red, red, red. The world was red.

Something pulled her, again, back to the leftmost wall, back to the creature trying to stand. Red dripped down from his sandy hair into his sideburns, and he stared at her through cold blue eyes.

He was still holding the knife.

“Why?”  She barely recognized her own voice.  A weak voice, a child’s voice, thin and pale.  “Why, Reynard?”

“I found you,” he said.  His voice was a raspy whisper, twisted and tortured, and her hands shook, the red whirling around her and filling her lungs.  “I found you, in that dusty old man’s house.  A child of the Unnamed, and he thought he could turn you human!  I found you, and I saved you, and I think, wife,” a harsh, rasping breath, his eyes a feverish flame, “that your life was mine, to use as I saw fit.”

Blood bubbled up between his teeth.  Otilia looked down, and saw the great, gaping hole in his chest, saw her own hand.  Time twisted and jumped in gashes around her. She watched him slip down, pale and lifeless.

She watched, and she watched.

And she began to scream.

-

The red splintered away, and she was left with herself.  Left with Otilia, pale and shaking.  A spectator might have thought her another corpse, leant up against the wall, her eyes pale and empty and her golden curls turned to a twisting thicket of gray.  

She had killed a dozen men.  She had killed them, and left their broken bodies in the old hall.  That they had been in the process of attempting her own murder seemed meaningless now.  She had killed them, and the wild whispering place inside of her had spilled out of her mouth in laughter.  Around her, Gilderoy was bare and silent. No servants came to investigate the screams, and Otilia did not dare lift the masks from the bodies before her and see just who they had been.

The candles guttered.  The silence hung.  When she could bear it no longer, she ran.

The corridors were dark.  She stumbled more than once on an uneven floor, ripping her nightgown and bloodying her knees.  Each time, she scrambled to her feet, and hastened onwards, uncertain of her destination, knowing only the deep and primal need of prey to flee.  What predator pursued her, she could not say, only that somewhere past the darkness lurked the thing that had called her granddaughter.

She was a monster.  She was a murderer.  She would be hanged.  Tears spilled from her eyes, bloody and red.  She thought of Cathy and her baby, Sally and her Viscount’s son, Robin and his ship.  Her father’s face, and her stepmother’s.  Her steps slowed, and her tears thickened.

The upper halls were red with candlelight, and the air smelled of burning flesh.  Otilia was white mist in the hazy air, some ancient specter, longing for the sunlight to come and burn her all away.  At the end of the hall, past the guest rooms where the Ashwoods had slept, she saw for a moment the antler forest, the grain, the sea of blood.  Eyes seemed to open beneath her skin.  The veil was thin here, she knew.

Live, vita mia.  

Otilia saw the light where it tore, the darkness and snow beyond.

She flung herself through.

#writing #my fic #dungeons and dragons #i was torn between 'and caused my bridal flowers to swoon' and 'the rites of bona dea' for titles #so its a good deal i realized i didn't have to give it one

[the-star--true-journalism]

Ausgabe 002

Katastrophales Dinner endet in Diebstahl des Jahrzehnts

von Horace Cope

Aeramere • Der Abend hätte nicht besser beginnen können: die High Society aus zwei Ländern findet sich friedvoll in den Hallen von Whytlock Manor ein, um den Geburtstag des talentierten Grafen Jennyngs Whytlock zu feiern. Unter den Gästen finden sich Persönlichkeiten wie die Astronomin Daphne Scott und Rosalyn A. Parson, eine bekannte Gelehrte aus der Stadt. Es wurden Gesandte des Grafen Gabb und sogar des Führenden Generals Trystan Berengar gesichtet.

Doch was als pompöser Ball mit wohltätigem Unterton gedacht war, verwandelt sich noch während des Hauptganges in einen Alptraum! Während eines ausgefallenen Dinners treten Illusionisten auf, begeistern mit kompliziertem Violinenspiel und detailreichen Illusionen, die eine Geschichte des Ai'Hanoak - des Waldes der Gesichtslosen - erzählen. Die Erzählung wird schon bald unangenehm, als die Illusionisten ihren Dämon anweisen, auch die Gesichter der Gäste zu stehlen! Das Chaos ist perfekt, als der gesamte Raum in Dunkelheit gestürzt wird.

Einer der Gäste, ein extravagant gekleideter Elf, den unsere Quellen als Eljohn Oloriff identifizieren konnten, löste dieses Problem dankenderweise nach nur wenigen Minuten. Doch die Tat war bereits begangen und beinahe alle Gäste beklagten - neben diversen Prellungen - den Verlust ihrer Wertgegenstände. Um noch einen draufzusetzen wurde auch eine Harpie gesehen, die einer alten, wehrlosen Dame auf brutalste Weise eine Halskette entriss. Einem Insider zufolge handelt es sich dabei um den gleichen dämonischen Vogel, der schon mehrfach über dem Flüchtlingsviertel gesichtet wurde, wie er Leute mit Essensresten bewarf!

Die Aufmerksamkeit richtete sich jedoch schnell auf den offensichtlichen Täter. Nachdem Graf Whytlock seine Gäste beruhigte, trat die Silberwacht unter dem Kommando von Marshall Graf Hester Gyfford selbst auf den Plan, um die Mitglieder des Cirque d'Infini zur Verantwortung zu ziehen.

Einer Insiderquelle nach scheinen die Offiziellen aber nicht die einzigen zu sein, die sich auf sie Suche nach den entwendeten Wertgegenständen machen: fünf Individuen wurden dabei gesehen, wie sie die Feier früher verließen, darunter der zuvor genannte Ellyun Olriss und Gradalis Vagonbrae, Sprössling der wohl berüchtigsten Herrscherfamilie Adryas. Letzterer kehrte zurück und bot seine Hilfe an, doch von Alion Oloref und seinen Begleitern fehlt bisweisen jede Spur.

Mehr dazu in der Abendausgabe.

Erfahren Sie alles über die Outfits, die die Stars und Sternchen zum Geburtstagsball des Grafen überstreifen auf Seite 5!

Die perfekte Unterhaltung für Ihren Ball - garantiert ohne Diebstahl! Lesen Sie jetzt auf Seite 11!

[aion-rsa]

Scary Christmas Stories: A History of the Holiday’s Ghostly Tradition

https://ift.tt/2LtOQF3

“It always is Christmas Eve, in a ghost story” – Jerome K. Jerome, 1891

In the English countryside, dinner had ended, and the company retired to the drawing room. They gathered around the fire as the parson, who sat in a high-backed oak chair, proceeded to tell of goblins and ghosts. The squire, not a superstitious man himself, listened intently  as the parson spoke about the crusader who rose from his tomb for a nighttime ride. The old porter’s wife added to the tale with her own of the crusader’s march on Midsummer Eve, when fairies became visible.

Such was Christmas Night at Bracebridge Hall, England, in 1820.

The story set in the fictional manor was written by American author Washington Irving, and published in 1820 in the fifth installment of The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. This was less than three months before the world was introduced to the Headless Horseman in “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” prior to the start of the Victorian era – and when Charles Dickens was only seven years old.

Twenty-three years before Ebenezer Scrooge changed his ways on the holiday in 1843, and 143 years before Andy Williams first sang about the most wonderful time of the year in 1963, Christmas had already been established as the season for telling scary ghost stories.

Irving’s English countryside story reminded readers of the idea of the paranormal and Christmas connection, but he didn’t invent it by a long shot.

Before it was “Christmas,” it was midwinter, solstice, Saturnalia, Sol Invictus, and Yule. It was the longest night of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. It represented death, and rebirth, and was a time when the veil between worlds was thin. And it took place around December 21. 

Prior to the emergence of what we know as the seasonal mascot Santa Claus, there was Sinterklass, and Saint Nicholas before him. There was the long-bearded Odin who would lead a band of hunters, or fairies, or armies of the dead across the sky during Yuletide on the Wild Hunt of Old Norse and Germanic Pagan beliefs. And much like Odin, and solstice, were appropriated, or enveloped, into Christmas, so were seasonal pagan songs turned into carols.

As Christianity spread, folklore incorporated the supernatural with the religious holiday. The anti-Claus Krampus is possibly from a pre-Christian era, but the beast of Germanic and Eastern European origins became a counterpart to St. Nick, and appeared as a hairy goat-like demon with horns and cloven hooves. Written in the 9th-11th century, the Sagas of the Icelanders has some pretty heavy duty spectral action during the season, including revenants. And the underworld race of goblins known as kallikantzaroi emerged in Southeastern Europe in (approximately) late 14th Century with a mission to wreak havoc during the 12 Days of Christmas.

The idea of paranormal stories told during the winter had already been documented in fiction by 1589, when Christopher Marlowe wrote of the season’s tales of “spirits and ghosts” in The Jew of Malta. Shakespeare shortly thereafter wrote of a sad story best for winter, “of sprites and goblins” in 1623’s The Winter’s Tale — nearly two decades ahead of Oliver Cromwell banning, or trying to, Christmas celebrations in 1644 during the English Civil War.

Meanwhile, in the colonies, the Puritans rejected the pagan trappings and revelries of Christmas. Stephen Nissenbaum, author of The Battle for Christmas, writes that from 1659 to 1681, Massachusetts made public celebrations of the holiday a criminal offense carrying a fine. Notably, Captain John Smith of Jamestown celebrated the holiday in 1607, but festivities in America weren’t widespread. Christmas wasn’t even a national holiday until 1870.

By the time Irving came to write of English Christmas traditions, which also involved “mumming” and hanging mistletoe, it was a romanticized notion, and not likely being observed with much fanfare outside the countryside. In the industrial areas, December 25 was just another day of work.

But Irving’s story nonetheless connected with Charles Dickens. In his book Dickens, Peter Ackroyd writes the author had lived an idyllic life in the country until that happy existence abruptly ended, and his father was sent to a debtor’s prison when young Charles was just 12. So Irving’s Bracebridge — a setting familiar to Dickens, and based on the real-life Watt Family at Astor Hall — must have stirred up nostalgia for his childhood lost.

Read more

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In time, Dickens and Irving became friends, and the former credited the American author with influencing his own Christmas writings. A Christmas Carol, in Prose: Being a Ghost Story of Christmas was published December 19, 1843, but Dickens’ previous work The Pickwick Papers had already included a story about a Christmas Eve with ghost stories, reminiscent of Irving’s “Old Christmas.” He likewise introduced a proto-Scrooge in “The Story of the Goblins Who Stole A Sexton” in 1836 as a chapter of Pickwick.

Interestingly, from a paranormal perspective, Dickens’ “ghosts” in Carol are more inhuman entities than traditional spirits of those who have passed. Christmas Past is described as an “it” with a bright flame atop its head; Present is described as quite large with a wreath of holly and icicles; Christmas Yet to Come is the Grim Reaper-esque figure in a black shroud without a discernible face and body. The ghost of Marley is a familiar sort of ghost, though trapped in chains, returning when the veil is thin much like the old pagan tales suggested.

If Irving’s successful Sketch Book reminded English readers of the ghost story tradition, it was Dickens’ blockbuster hit that made it mainstream. Like any good creator, he gave the audience more, and wrote four additional Christmas books, and several essays on the topic – many of which involved supernatural elements, and promoted Dickens’ “Carol Philosophy” and themes of generosity.

After Jesus and Santa, Dickens gets a lot of well-deserved credit for how we celebrate Christmas. He helped remind the urban English population of the good ol’ days of Christmases of yore, and popularized the holiday as a secular charitable observance (and he coined the phrase “Merry Christmas”).

Though Dickens didn’t create the idea of Christmas ghost stories, he helped make it quintessentially British. Victorian magazines and newspapers took to publishing these themed stories for holiday fireside reading, and readers ate it up. Not surprisingly, other authors wanted in on the trend, even if they didn’t echo the Carol Philosophy.

Elizabeth Gaskell contributed the ghost yarn “The Old Nurse’s Story” to Dickens’ 1852 collection, A Round of Stories by the Christmas Fire. The list goes on: John Burwick Harwood’s “Horror: A True Tale” (1861); Ada Buisson’s “The Ghost’s Summons” (1868); Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Markheim” (1885). Even American Edgar Allan Poe set his 1845 poem “The Raven” in “bleak December,” and American ex-pat Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw (1898) begins on Christmas Eve.

By 1891, English humorist Jerome K. Jerome commented on the popular tradition in Told After Supper:

“It always is Christmas Eve, in a ghost story. Christmas Eve is the ghosts’ great gala night. On Christmas Eve they hold their annual fete. On Christmas Eve everybody in Ghostland who IS anybody…comes out to show himself or herself, to see and to be seen, to promenade about and display their winding-sheets and grave-clothes to each other… Whenever five or six English-speaking people meet round a fire on Christmas Eve, they start telling each other ghost stories. Nothing satisfies us on Christmas Eve but to hear each other tell authentic anecdotes about spectres. It is a genial, festive season, and we love to muse upon graves, and dead bodies, and murders, and blood.”

This popularity of ghost stories in Christmas was aided by the fascination with the paranormal, and the rise of Spiritualism in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. As seances and the use of spirit boards became more vogue, so did the holiday trend. When the religious movement faded from the spotlight in the 1920s, the ghost story tradition stuck around even if the English slightly cooled on it during the early-to-mid war-torn 20th century.

M.R. James, the medieval scholar, and one of the best ghost story writers ever, took to telling fireside tales of the supernatural while he served as Provost at Eton College from 1918-1936. In North America, Canadian novelist Robertson Davies would do the same at Massey College, according to bibliographers Carl Spadoni, and Judith Skelton Grant. Meanwhile, American horror author (and racist) H.P. Lovecraft set his 1925 Necronomicon story “The Festival” during Christmastime.

Anecdotally, it seems Halloween now dominates when it comes to the season of the ghost, even in the United Kingdom. But the Christmas tradition has not entirely faded. The 1970s BBC special A Ghost Story for Christmas has returned in recent years, and The Guardian published five such stories over the course of as many days in 2013.  

Contrary to the “scary ghost stories” lyric of classic American Christmas carol “It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” the U.S. didn’t take to the Christmas ghost story in the same way our British cousins did in the late 19th century  (which makes it especially peculiar the song was written by two New York City kids, Edward Pola and George Wyle, and sung by Iowa’s own Andy Williams).

Rather, Christmas in America became especially defined by the jolly (but also supernatural) Santa Claus character presented in the 1931 Coca-Cola advertisement, painted by Haddon Sundblom, and inspired by Clement Clark Moore’s “A Visit from St. Nicholas” aka “Twas the Night Before Christmas.” The folklore of Christmas in America in the early 20th Century was candy cane sweet. Lacking was the ominous spookiness that reminds us to seek the light.

(The indigenous peoples of North America also celebrated solstice, such as with the Iroquois Haudeshaune; the Passamaquoddy tribe’s belief that frost giants returned north during this time; the general idea across different native nations that this time is a celebration of light returning to turtle island (Earth). These traditions were never incorporated into American culture, and were instead purged by colonization.)

Still, America has gradually been making up for its absence of Christmas ghosts and goblins. The angelic 1946 film It’s a Wonderful Life, directed by Frank Capra and starring Jimmy Stewart, espouses enough of the Carol Philosophy of goodwill to make Dickens proud. In Dr. Seuss’ 1957 book, and 1966 animated special, How The Grinch Stole Christmas, the creature on Mount Crumpit is a modern-day Krampus. Rod Serling toyed, somewhat literally in one case, with the notion of magic and ghosts in his 1960-62 Christmas episodes of The Twilight Zone (“Night of the Meek,” “Five Characters in Search of an Exit,” and “Changing of the Guard”).

These days the holiday horror subgenre of film has channeled the scary nature of Victorian tales. Santa -as-slasher is well-tread territory thanks in large part to 1974’s Black Christmas, directed by Bob Clark (who also co-wrote and directed A Christmas Story).  More than ghosts, the monsters of Christmas in American cinema has included Gremlins, Krampus, Jack Frost, Gingerdead Man, and the zombies of Anna and the Apocalypse. And the “real” Santa and his creepy elves themselves become the monsters in the Finnish film Rare Exports.

But perhaps with the exception of A Nightmare Before Christmas, and some of the more effective adaptations of A Christmas Carol, such as Scrooged, the sentimentality of Irving and Dickens is mostly absent from modern holiday tales of the supernatural. Yet they certainly bring us right back to the monsters and undead of the pagan tales.

However, with the seemingly nonstop demand for “content” across streaming platforms — and the seasonal English tradition gaining fresh attention on media outlets — we might be on the threshold of a new age of December-set stories populated with spirits and goblins.

Perhaps once more in the near future, every Christmas Eve will be a great gala night for ghosts.

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The post Scary Christmas Stories: A History of the Holiday’s Ghostly Tradition appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3h5gpAy

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[dailynewswebsite]

Prue Leith and husband selling separate homes as they finally move in together

Prue Leith attends a photocall throughout the Edinburgh Worldwide E book Pageant 2019 on August 10, 2019 in Edinburgh, Scotland. (Photograph by Simone Padovani/Awakening/Getty Photographs)

Prue Leith and her retired garments designer husband John Playfair have lastly put their separate homes available on the market as they transfer in collectively.

The couple met in 2011 and went on to marry in 2016 however retained their very own homes a mile aside within the Cotswolds.

The Nice British Bake Off host has now shared the each of them have put their houses up on the market now they’ve bought one collectively.

Learn extra: Prue Leith had ‘horrific’ hallucinations after taking LSD within the 60s

Writing within the Mail On-line in regards to the historical past of her outdated house, the 80-year-old defined: “My second husband, John Playfair, who’s lastly promoting his home, too, is irretrievably throwing in his lot with me (we’ve famously maintained separate homes all through our time collectively).

Prue Leith along with her husband John Playfair as they attend a reception to mark The Nationwide Literacy Belief’s 25th anniversary at Plaisterers’ Corridor on March 21, 2018 in London, England. (Photograph by Tristan Fewings – WPA Pool/Getty Photographs)

“Our new home (‘Our Eventide Dwelling’, as John rudely calls it) is completely completely different, and planning this can be a nice antidote to keening over the lack of the outdated one.”

Leith bought the manor home again within the 1970s along with her first husband Rayne Kruger, who died in 2002 and whose ashes are scattered within the land’s lake.

She added within the publication: “I believe the lake and backyard are what I’ll miss most on leaving. Rayne’s ashes are within the water, scattered after his dying in 2002, and I’m slightly sorry mine now received’t be.”

Prue Leith (2nd-L), with daughter Li-Da Kruger (L), her son Danny Kruger and his spouse Emma pose after she grew to become a Commander of the British Empire (CBE) at Windsor Fortress on October 5, 2010 in Windsor, England. (Photograph by Steve Parsons – WPA Pool/Getty Photographs)

The couple had lived there with their two youngsters, son Daniel, who’s now a Conservative MP, and adopted daughter Li-Da.

Learn extra: The Nice British Bake Off 2020 semi-finalists

The prepare dinner has beforehand given particulars of the brand new house she and Playfair will share collectively, telling The Telegraph: “It’s fairly fashionable, which is uncommon in the midst of the Cotswolds.

“The council thought the plans had been architecturally distinctive. We in all probability received’t transfer in till Christmas.”

Watch: Prue Leith is a fan of hen chain Nandos

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/prue-leith-and-husband-selling-separate-homes-as-they-finally-move-in-together/ via https://growthnews.in

#Growth News

[camiddletonxox]

Eagerness & Gentility - Chapter 2

Pairing - Ernest Sinclaire and Charity Mills

Warning - None, this is suitable for all ages.

Taglist - @ricapella @drakewalkerfantasy @ao719 @princess-geek @polishchoicesfan @binny1985 @desireepow-1986 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @hatescapsicum @itscassandral @gardeningourmet @heauxplesslydevoted @thequeenofcronuts

Catch up here - Chapter 1

Synopsis - Its the night of the diner and the young Viscountess is nervous to see a certain gentleman. As her father gifts her with a beautiful tiara, can she really impress her guests? And most importantly can Ernest keep his eyes of her?

Note - Below is a photo of the tiara the Earl gives his daughter

Word Count - 1751

💕💕💕

It was the night of the dinner where the Edgewater family would host the Holloways, The Parsons, The Sinclaires and The Anderson’s, this was a fort nightly event, mixing with other families. The Earl and Countess were waiting for their daughter to come down.

“Mother, have you seen Charity?” The Earl asked, concerned.

“Isn’t she getting ready?” The Dowager Countess frowned, as sh walked down the stairs.

“I’ll go check on her” The Countess commented and she went upstairs.

In her room, Charity was looking at 3 beautiful gowns, whilst she paced back and forth, she was nervous to see Ernest, she wanted to impress him, take his breath away even, it was a craving of hers. Oh god was she in love with Ernest?

“Charity, my darling, are you ok?” Her mother asks, knocking softly on the floor.

“I’m ok Mama” She says, no matter how close she was to her father, her mother was the one person who understood her the most, they were incredibly close.

“Are you sure?” Her mothers concerned and devoting voice always made her feel like she could open up to her.

“I can’t decide what to wear” She admits and Maria chuckled, from the conversation she had with her husband she knew the young girl wanted to impress Ernest.

“How about I come and help you decide?” Her mother offered and it felt like a weight had been lifted off the young Viscountess’ shoulders.

“Thank you mama and I am still in my day clothes” She says and the door opened and her beautiful mother stepped into her room, and she smiled at her daughter, her hair was in its beautiful curls with a few pins in.

“Your hair looks stunning my darling, what dresses are you considering?” The mother asks and the young heiress showed her the dresses.

“I like the simplicity and the elegance of the dusky pink one but I love the light blue one” Charity pondered and her mother looked at the blue one, it had a beautiful silhouette, and was long sleeved, with a faint intricate blue lace pattern on the bodice and the skirt flowed beautifully with blue bits of lace dotted all over the dress, and it would be the perfect dress to show their guests the true elegance of the future Countess of Edgewater.

“The blue one is stunning, how about you wear it” Her mother suggested and she nodded and the other helped her daughter change into the dress, tying the corset before offering her a pair of white arm length gloves and she put them on.

“Come on, my beautiful girl, lets show off to your father” Maria chuckled as Charity stared at herself in the dress, she felt so elegant and like she could fly in, together the mother and daughter walked down the stairs to where The Earl was waiting with his mother.

“You look beautiful, my dear” The Earl couldn’t believe his eyes, his daughter really was breath-taking, she was a credit to her mother and she would sure impress Mr Sinclaire in her dress.

“Doesn’t she just?” Her grandmother agrees ad Charity beamed.

“I have a gift for you, my darling girl” Her father speaks and she frowns until he pulls out a beautiful gold, silver and sapphire tiara with beautiful pearls, he showed his daughter it, it glittered under the light of the chandelier, it truly was a breathtaking tiara, and her father was giving it to her.

“I felt since you are the Viscountess of Edgewater and well, your becoming more of a proper Viscountess each and every day, it was only right for you to have a tiara to symbolise your title, and if I my be ever the adoring father, I think this will just make you look even more beautiful than you already do, my darling girl” Her fathers words were nothing short of affectionate and the young Viscountess felt so lucky to be loved and cherished by her father.

“Thank you, father” She says, and he gently places it onto her head, completing the beautiful look.

“We should get ready for our guests arrival” The dowager countess declared and nodded to Maria and young Harry who was hanging around on the stairs and he followed. The Earl and Viscountess looked at one another.

“I spoke to your mother and grandmother, and they have said they will keep an eye on Miss Holloway, they agree with me that she behaves despicably towards you” The Earl assured his daughter as he stroked her cheek, he didn’t want her to feel uneasy at her own home.

“Thank you, father” She smiled and nodded politely, she felt so content having the love and affection of her family as deep as it was.

“And you’ll dazzle Ernest Sinclaire away with your attire, that I have not the slightest doubt about my darling” Her father complimented.

“Vincent, Charity, Harry, the Andersons have arrived” Dominique called to her son, and grandchildren and the three follow her to do door as the Anderson parents, Raymond Anderson and Beatrice Anderson step out, and the Earl nudges his daughter forward.

“Good evening Mr and Mrs Anderson, its a pleasure to have you join us tonight” The Viscountess beamed and curtsied, making her grandmother and father beam with pride.

“Good evening, my lady. What a polite welcome and may I add, you look very becoming tonight” Raymond complimented as the four children, 9 year old twins Mary and Joseph, 12 year boy Leon and 15 year old Janie step out. The Earl and Countess greet the adults and Harry goes to Leon, who he was becoming a friend to as the Parsons carriage pulled out and Charity beamed. Thaddeus and Alma Parsons step out followed by Annabelle, Cordelia and Constance.

“Good evening Mr and Mrs Parsons, I hope you had a good journey” The young Viscountess beams, curtsying.

“We did, thank you, Viscountess Charity” Alma smiled.

“Please go inside and warm up, dinner shall be served soon” The Viscountess replies politely and the parents and twins go inside.

“Who are you trying to impress?” Annabelle chuckled to her best friend.

“I have no idea to what you are on about” Charity replies, and smiles, “my father gave me this tiara, said it’s only right I have one” She added.

“Are you sure your not trying to look good for a certain Ernest?” Annabelle quizzed and Charity blushed crimson.

“It’s not intentional” The young Viscountess defended herself.

“You look amazing” Annabelle grinned to her, “Where is Miss Daly tonight?” She asked, the three girls had a little pact for having a drinking game since Charity and her governesses daughter and bestest friend Briar had come of age to have a drink.

“Ahh, her father and mother and her are spending time together for the evening so she will not present” Charity smiled and Annabelle grinned.

“Looks like the Sinclaire’s are here” Annabelle sniggered and Charity turned around as Mr Edward Sinclaire and Mrs Lydia Sinclaire stepped out their carriage followed by Ernest.

“Good evening Mr and Mrs Sinclaire, its lovely to see you” The Earl greeted and shaked his friends hand and Ernest bowed his head politely, and turned to see Charity in her beautiful dress, that complimented her beautiful eyes and her skin tone perfectly, she had a glittering tiara over her head that shimmered in the moonlight.

“This is my cue to leave you” Annabelle spoke as she rushed inside, damn you Annabelle, Charity thought and turned to Ernest.

“Good evening, sir” she beamed.

“Good evening my lady, may I just say you look absolutely stunning” Ernest gaped, as he fiddled with his fingers, a tingle inside him.

“Thank you, sir, I did promise to dress to impress” Charity commented, and smiled, there was just something about Ernest Sinclaire that turned her weak.

“Well, you succeeded” He smiles, and their parents watch them, Ernest’s father and Charity’s mother were very much on the side of letting any romance between their children happen naturally and if it didn’t happen, they that was ok, where as the Earl and Lydia were sure their children were just meant to be, they had the most amazing friendship growing up together, and Ernest adored being around Charity, looking after her and Charity felt safe around Ernest.

“My dear, come inside now, you don’t have a shawl on and I don’t want you to freeze to death” Vincent called after a couple more minutes.

“But then Holloways” Charity asked politely.

“It’s ok, myself and your mother can greet them, now go and warm up, you too Ernest” The Earl says and they walk into the manor.

“I thought you didn’t like the Holloway’s” Ernest commented, gently nudging Charity, and she rolled her eyes.

“You know I don’t but I thought my father would want me to play the role of hostess and greet them” Charity explained and nudged him back, “and it’s Felicity we don’t like, remember” she comments.

A short while later, when the Holloway’s had arrived after the families all had conversed, Charity was sat with Annabelle, the two girls had a little gossip and Charity looked up to see Ernest watching her adoringly.

“He is rather fond of you” Annabelle commented as she sipped sherry, and Charity smiled knowingly, she was rather fond of Ernest as well.

“I am rather fond of him too” The Viscountess says and Felicity Holloway marched up to Ernest.

“Oh here Felicity goes” The Viscountess murmured but Ernest never broke eye contact as Miss Holloway tried to flirt with him, and he was very clearly trying to ignore her/

“I apologise, Mis Holloway, please excuse me” Ernest excused him and walked over to Charity but before he could say anything, the head butler spoke.

“Please follow me through to the dining room” The butler spoke and the 5 families followed through and Ernest’s mother stopped him.

“You’ll be sitting with the Viscountess” His mother commented and pointed Dominique’s usual chair as Dominique smiled as she sat down

“I apologise, my lady” Ernest apologised to the dowager countess.

Charity sat down, she was at her fathers side at the head of the table, she smoothed her skirt down as she sat before turning to her left where Ernest was sheepishly sitting down.

“That’s Lady Grandmother’s seat” She speaks.

“Actually we thought it would be nice for you to sit with Ernest” Maria smiles to her daughter. Charity’s heart started thumping inside her chest.

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