#Favorite Fairy Tales Told in Scotland

[uwmspeccoll]

Woman Writer of the Week

In my ongoing quest to discover the folk literature in Special Collections, I was excited to find a book of fairy tales that were retold as well as illustrated by women! It is always very exciting to find a twofer, and I feel these two compliment each other very well.

The book in question is Favorite Fairy Tales Told in Scotland, which contains six popular retellings by American librarian, writer, authority in children's literature, and collector of international fairy tales for children Virginia Haviland (1911-1988), with illustrations by multiple Caldecott Honor awardee Adrienne Adams (1906-2002). This first edition copy was published simultaneously in Boston and Toronto by Little, Brown & Company in 1963.

This book is from the Favorite Fairy Tales series, which consists of sixteen volumes, each focusing on fairy tales compiled from sixteen different countries, retold in “simple, faithful versions”. Part of Haviland’s reasoning behind compiling these stories was to “make them more accessible for children.” Haviland was considered a pioneer for her work in compiling these tales into dedicated books.

Adams began her career first as a freelance designer of displays, murals, textiles, and greeting cards. After marrying children’s book writer John Lonzo Anderson (1905-1993), she illustrated his book Bag of Smoke that began her career as an illustrator. She became a full-time illustrator in 1952 and illustrated more than thirty books that ranged from contemporary stories to fairy tales. The media for her colored illustrations ranged from tempera, gouache, watercolor, to crayon.

View more Women’s History Month posts.

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- Elizabeth V., Special Collections Undergraduate Writing Intern

[mask131]

A fantasy read-list: B-2

Part B: The First Classical Fantasy

2) On the other side, a century of France... 

As I said in my previous post, for this section I will limit myself to two geographical areas: on one side the British Isles (especially England/Scotland), and now France. More specifically, the France of fairytales! 

Maybe you didn’t know, but the genre of fairy tales, and the very name “fairy tale” was invented by the French! Now, it is true that fairytales existed long before that as oral tales spread from generations to generations, and it is also true that fairy tales had entered literature and been written down before the French started to write down their own... But the fairytale genre as we know it today, and the specific name “fairy tale”, “conte de fées”, is a purely French AND literary invention. 

# If we really want to go back to the very roots of fairy tales in literature, the oldest fairytale text we have still today, it would be a specific segment of Apuleius’ The Golden Ass (or The Metamorphoses depending on your favorite title). In it, you find the Tale of Psyche and Cupid, and this story, which got MASSIVELY popular during the Renaissance, is actually the “original” fairytale. In it you will find all sorts of very common fairytale tropes and elements (the hidden husband one must not see, the wicked stepmother imposing three impossible tasks, the bride wandering in search of her missing husband and asking inanimate elements given a voice...), as well as the traditional fairytale context (an old woman telling the story to a younger audience to carry a specific message). In fact, all French fairytale authors recognized Psyche and Cupid as an influence and inspiration for their own tales, often making references to it, or including it among the “fairytales” of their time. 

# The French invented the genre and baptized it, but the Italian started writing the tales and began the new fashion! The first true corpus, the first literary block of fairytales, is actually dating from the 16th century Italy. Two authors, Straparola and Basile, inspired by the structure, genre and enormous success of Boccace’s Decameron, published two anthologies respectively titled, Piacevoli Notti (The Facetious Nights) and the Pentamerone, or The Tale of Tales. These books were anthologies of what we would call today fairytales, stories of metamorphosed princes, and fairies, and ogres, and magical animals, and bizarre transformations, and curses needing to be broken, and damsels needing to be rescued... In fact, these books contain the “literary ancestors” and the “literary prototypes” of some of the very famous fairytales we know today. The ancestors of Sleeping Beauty (The Sun, the Moon and Thalia), Cinderella (Cenerentola), Snow-White (Lo cuorvo/The Raven), Rapunzel (Petrosinella) or Puss in Boots (Costantino Fortunato, Cagliuso)... 

However be warned: these books were intended to be licentious, rude and saucy. They were not meant to be refined and delicate tales - far from it! Scatological jokes are found everywhere, many of the tales are sexual in nature, there’s a lot of very gory and bloody moments... It was basically a series sex-blood-and-poop supernatural comedies where most of the characters were grotesque caricatures or laughable beings. We are far, far away from the Disney fairytales... 

# The big success and admiration caused by the Italian works prompted however the French to try their hand at the genre. They took inspiration from these stories, as well as from the actual oral fairytales that were told and spread in France itself, and turned them into literary works meant to entertain the salons and the courts. This was the birth of the French fairytale, at the end of the 17th century - and the birth of the fairytale itself, since the name “fairy tale” was invented to designate the work of these authors. 

The greatest author of French fairytale is, of course, Charles Perrault with his Histoires ou Contes du Temps Passé (Stories or Tales of the Past), mistakenly referred to by everyone today as Les Contes de Ma Mère L’Oie (Mother Goose Fairytales - no relationship to the Mother Goose of nursery rhymes). Charles Perrault is today the only name remembered by the general public and audience when it comes to fairytales. He is THE face of fairytales in France and part of the “trio of fairytale names” alongside Grimm and Andersen. He wrote some of the most famous fairytales: Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots, Cinderella... He also wrote fairytales that are considered today classics of French culture, even though they are not as well known internationally: Donkey Skin, Diamonds and Toads or Little Thumbling. The first Disney fairytale movies (Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella) were based on his stories! 

But another name should seat alongside his. If Charles Perrault was the father of fairytales, madame d’Aulnoy was their mother. She was for centuries just as famous and recognized as Charles Perrault - when Tchaikovsky made his “Sleeping Beauty” ballet, he made heavy references to both Perrault and d’Aulnoy - only to be completely ignored and erased by the late 19th and early 20th centuries, for all sorts of reasons (including the fact she was a woman). But Madame d’Aulnoy had stories translated all the way to Russia and India, and she wrote twice more fairytales as Perrault, and she was the author of the very first chronological French fairytale! (L’Ile de la Félicité, The Island of Felicity). Her fairytales were compiled in Les Contes des Fées (The Tales of Fairies), and Contes Nouveaux, ou Les Fées à la mode (New Tales, or Fairies in fashion) - and while for quite some times madame d’Aulnoy fell into obscurity, many of her tales are still known somehow and stayed classics that people could not attribute a name to. The White Doe (an incorrect translation of “The Doe in the Wood), The White Cat, The Blue Bird, The Sheep, Cunning Cinders, The Orange-Tree and the Bee, The Yellow Dwarf, The Story of Pretty Goldilocks (an incorrect translation of “Beauty with Golden Hair”), Green Serpent... 

A similar warning should be held as with the Italian fairytales - because the French fairytales aren’t exactly as you would imagine. These fairytales were very literary - far away from the short, lacking, simplified folklore-like tales a la Grimm. They were pieces of literature meant to be read as entertainment for aristocrats and bourgeois, in literary salons. As a result, these pieces were heavily influenced (and heavily referenced) things such as the Greco-Roman poems, or the medieval Arthuriana tales, and the most shocking and vulgar sexual and scatological elements of the Italian fairytales were removed (the violence and bloody part sometimes also). But it doesn’t mean these stories were the innocent tales we know today either... These fairytales were aimed at adults, and written by adults - which means, beyond all the cultural references, there are a lot of wordplays, social critics, courtly caricatures and hidden messages between the lines. The sexual elements might not be overtly present for example, but they are here, and can be found for those that pay attention. These stories have “morals” at the end, but if you pay attention to the tale and read carefully, you realize these morals either do not make any sense or are inadequated to the tales they come with - and that’s because fairy tales were deeply subversive and humoristic tales. People today forgot that these fairytales were meant to be read, re-read, analyzed and dissected by those that spend their days reading and discussing about it - things are never so simple... 

# While Perrault and d’Aulnoy are the two giants of French fairytales, and the ones embodying the genre by themselves, they were but part of a wider circle of fairytale authors who together built the genre at the end of the 17th century. But unfortunately most of them fell into obscurity... Perrault for example had a series of back-and-forth coworks with a friend named Catherine Bernard and his niece mademoiselle Lhéritier, both fairytale authors too. In fact, the “game” of their “discussion through their work” can be seen in a series of three fairytales that they wrote together, each author varying on a given story and referencing each-other in the process: Catherine Bernard wrote Riquet à la houppe (Riquet with the Tuft), Charles Perrault wrote his own Riquet à la houppe in return, and mademoiselle Lhéritier formed a third variation with the story Ricdin-Ricdon. Other fairytale authors of the time include madame de Murat/comtesse de Murat, mademoiselle de La Force, or Louise de Bossigny/comtesse d’Auneuil. Yes, the fairytale scene was dominated by women, since the fairytale as a genre we perceived as “feminine” in nature. There were however a few men in it too, alongside Perrault, such as the knight de Mailly with his Les Illustres Fées (Illustrious Fairies) or Jean de Préchac with his Contes moins contes que les autres (Fairy tales less fairy than others). 

A handful of these fairytales not written by either Perrault or d’Aulnoy ended up translated in English by Andrew Lang, who included them in his famous Fairy Books. For example, The Wizard King, Alphege or the Green Monkey, Fairer-than-a-Fairy (The Yellow Fairy Book) or The Story of the Queen of the Flowery Isles (The Grey Fairy Book).

# These people were however only the first wave, the first generation of what would become a “century of fairytales” in France. After this first wave, the publication of a new work at the beginning of the 18th century shook French literature: Antoine Galland translation+rewriting of The One Thousand and One Nights, also known later as The Arabian Nights. This work created a new wave and passion in France for “Arabian-flavored fairytales”. Everybody knows the Arabian Nights today, thanks to the everlasting success of some of its pieces (Aladdin, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Sinbad the Sailor, The Tale of Scheherazade...), but less people know that after its publication in France tons of other books were published, either translating-rewriting actual Arabian folktales, or completely inventing Arabian-flavors fairytales to ride on the new fashion. Pétis de la Croix published Les Milles et Un Jours, Contes Persans, “The One Thousand and One Days, Persian tales” to rival Galland’s own book. Jean-Paul Bignon wrote a book called Les Aventures d’Abdalla (The Adventures of Abdalla), and Jacques Cazotte a fairytale called La Patte de Chat (The Cat’s Paw). I could go on to list a lot of works, but to show you the “One Thousand and One” mania - after the success of 1001 Nights and 1001 Days, a man called Thomas-Simon Gueulette came to bank on the phenomenon, and wrote, among other things, The One Thousand and One Hours, Peruvian tales and The One Thousand and One Quarter-of-Hours, Tartar Tales. 

# Then came what could be considered either the second or third “wave” or “generation” of fairytales. It is technically the third since it follows the original wave (Perrault and d’Aulnoy times, end of the 17th) and the Arabian wave (begining of the 18th). But it can also be counted as the second generation, since it was the decision in the mid 18th century to rewrite French fairytales a la Perrault and d’Aulnoy, rejecting the whole Arabian wave that had fallen over literature. So, technically the “return” of French fairytales. 

The most defining and famous story to come of this generation was, Beauty and the Beast. The version most well-known today, due to being the shortest, most simplified and most recent, was the one written by Mme Leprince de Beaumont, in her Magasin des Enfants. Beaumont’s Magasin des Enfants was heavily praised and a great best-seller at the time because she was the one who had the idea of making fairytales 1- for children and 2- educational, with ACTUAL morals in them, and not fake or subversive morals like before. If people think fairytales are sweet stories for children, it is partially her fault, as she began the creation of what we would call today “children literature”. However Leprince de Beaumont did not invent the Beauty and the Beast fairytale - in truth she rewrote a previous literary version, much longer and more complex, written by madame de Villeneuve in her book La Jeune Américaine et les contes marins (The Young American Girl and the sea tales). Madame de Villeneuve was another fairy-tale author of this “fairytale renewal”. Other names I could mention are the comtesse de Ségur, who wrote a set of fairytales that were translated in English as Old French Fairytales (she was also a defender of fairytales being made into educational stories for children), and mademoiselle de Lubert, who went the opposite road and rather tried to recreate subversive, comical, bizarre fairytales in the style of madame d’Aulnoy - writing tales such as Princess Camion, Bear Skin, Prince Glacé et Princesse Etincelante (Prince Frozen and Princess Shining), Blancherose (Whiterose)... 

Similarly to what I described before, a lot of these fairytales ended up in Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books. Prince Hyacinth and the Dear Little Princess, Prince Darling (The Blue Fairy Book), Rosanella, The Fairy Gifts (The Green Fairy Book)... 

# The “century of fairy tales” in France ended up with the publication of one specific book - or rather a set of books. Le Cabinet des Fées, by Charles-Joseph Meyer. As we reached the end of the 18th century, Meyer noticed that fairy tales had fallen out of fashion. None were written anymore, nobody was interested in them, nothing was reprinted, and a lot of fairytales (and their authors) were starting to fall into oblivion. Meyer, who was a massive fan of fairytales, hated that, and decided to preserve the fairytale genre by collecting ALL of the literary fairytales of France in one big anthology. It took him four years of publication, from 1785 to 1789, but in a total of forty-one books he managed to collect and compile the greatest collection of French literary fairytales that was ever known - even saving from destruction a handful of anonymous fairytales we wouldn’t know existed today if it wasn’t for his work. In a paradoxical way, while this ultimate collection did save the fairytale genre from disappearing, it also marked the end of the “century of fairytales”, as it set in stone what had been done before and marked in the history of literature the fairytale genre as “closed off”. All the French fairytales were here to be read, and there was nothing more to add. 

Ironically, Le Cabinet des Fées itself was only reprinted and republished a handful of times, due to how big it was. The latest reprints are from the 19th century if I recall correctly - and after that, there was a time where Le Cabinet was nowhere to be found except in antique shops and private collections. It is only in very recent time (the late 2010s) that France rediscovered the century of fairytales and that new reprints came out - on one side you have cut-down and shortened versions of Le Cabinet published for everybody to read, and on the other you have extended, annotated, full reprints of Le Cabinet with additional tales Meyer missed that are sold for professional critics, teachers, students and historians of literature. But the existence of Le Cabinet, and Meyer’s great efforts to collect as much fairytales as possible, would go on to inspire other men in later centuries, inciting them to collect on their own fairytales... Men such as the brothers Grimm. 

[forest-hashira]

Lost & Found

hiiiii everyone! this is my third entry for @threadbaresweater's "summertime (and the livin' is easy)" collab event! the prompt i chose for this one was shoko + selkies. everyone say thank you to cal ( @dr-runs-with-scissors ) for the idea & for looking it over before i posted it. i hope you enjoy!

also please note this fic takes place in scotland, but shoko still very much looks japanese. i would never whitewash her.

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.9k | cw: gender neutral reader, brief mentions/consumption of alcohol, shoko is a selkie but reader doesn't know that

You don’t remember how old you were the first time your mother told you about the spirits and beings that filled the world, just out of sight from humanity, but you felt as if you’d known about them from the moment you’d taken your first breath. Regardless, you’d always kept a watchful eye out, hoping to catch a glimpse of something – anything – from the stories you grew up hearing.

As the years went on and you grew older, everyone around you seemed to stop believing that any of those stories were more than fairytales and legends, based in fantasy rather than reality, but not you; you were stubborn, and you held steady in the belief that at least some of those stories had to hold some grain of truth. You were vocal about it, too, until you’d nearly come to blows with another student over whether any of those “baby stories” were real when you were about twelve. After that you learned to keep your thoughts to yourself, lest they land you in trouble again.

Even in your silence, you remained hopeful; hopeful the stories really were true, and hopeful one day you’d have proof, even if it was only proof to you. You never stopped searching for a glimpse or a sign from any of the beings from your stories, no matter how much time passed. Over the years, you stopped seeking them out as much, and you ceased your searching entirely when it came time for you to start your university education. Even still, you looked for things out of the corner of your eye anytime you were outside the city.

Your years at university came and went, still without spotting anything: no sightings of kelpies splashing in the water; no Fair Folk, though you were sure you’d spotted plenty of fairy rings over the years; no distant wailing or shrieking of banshees – though that was probably a good thing; not even a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster when you and your friends had gone up for a weekend trip. What you were most disappointed in not having seen any sign of yet were the selkies; the tales of the seal folk had always been your favorites growing up, and you wanted to see one of them in the flesh more than anything. The stories never left your mind or your heart, though, and you were always more aware of things that seemed a little different than anyone else you knew.

Which is probably why she stood out to you as much as she did that night at the pub. 

She was beautiful – stunning, really. Brown hair flowing over shoulders, the skin beneath her eyes washed in purple, as if she hadn’t slept well a single day in the last year, the way she moved across the building to the bar to order a drink, slipping and gliding through people with an ease and grace you were a bit envious of.

“Just go talk to her.”

The sound of your friend’s voice almost startled you, and you turned to face her a bit sheepishly. “Talk to who?” you asked, trying to play dumb and hoping she’d go along with it.

She rolled her eyes, then indicated the woman you’d been staring at with a tilt of her head. “Her, obviously. You’ve been staring, it’ll be better for you if you go up and talk to her before she catches you staring and thinks you’re a weirdo.” Her words were light, and she was clearly teasing you, but you knew she was genuinely trying to encourage you; in all the years she’d known you, you’d never had a relationship that lasted more than a few weeks, and all of them left you feeling dejected and convinced love wasn’t real.

“I dunno. I mean, she’s gorgeous, obviously, but I don’t know if—” The rest of the sentence died in your throat when you looked across the pub at the woman again and found her already staring at you, her expression unreadable from this distance.

“Busted,” your friend teased, then bumped your foot lightly with her own. “Go on, you don’t have an excuse now. She knows you were looking at her.”

With a small groan, you downed the last sip of your drink, then stood from the booth and carefully picked your way across the pub to join the woman who had caught your attention.

Once you were closer, you noticed a few more things about her: she had a small beauty mark on her cheek, under her right eye; despite the bags under her eyes, her gaze was warm as she looked you over; and her expression, unreadable from across the pub, you could now tell was a little guarded, but curious. She was even more stunning up close, with striking features and a mysterious air about her. 

“Well?” she asked, once you’d gotten close enough to hear her over the din of the other patrons. “I hope you have a good reason for staring at me from all the way over there.”

You felt your face begin to burn, worried that you’d let yourself get drawn into a confrontation, rather than a conversation. “O-oh, I, uh, I just… I haven’t seen you here before, and you’re really pretty and—”

Her soft chuckles cut you off mid-ramble, and you only felt more embarrassed. Before you could turn and walk away and attempt to salvage your dignity, though, she reached out and placed a hand on your arm. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, still chuckling softly as she smiled at you. “I’m not making fun of you, I promise. People just usually aren’t so nervous to talk to me. It’s cute.” 

She seemed genuine enough, but a bit of your embarrassment still lingered. “If I don’t run away with my tail between my legs, will you tell me your name?”

There was a glint in her eye when she answered you. “I’m Shoko.”

Her accent was a little more pronounced when she said her name, and it made you smile; made you want to listen to her talk forever, too. Remembering your manners, you introduced yourself. 

“Would it be odd if I offered to buy you a drink now?”

Shoko tilted her head a bit, looking you up and down for a moment before she spoke. “Only if you’ll get one for yourself, too.”

And so you did.

Conversation came much easier than you expected, the two of you talking about a little bit of everything. There were some topics she danced around when you asked about them, but you didn’t push any of them; she was probably just looking out for her own safety, and you couldn’t fault her for that.

You learned that you were half right when you’d assumed she wasn’t from the area, but the only detail she was willing to offer was that she lived “on the coast,” which felt very fancy to you, for some reason. She told you she didn’t get out much, that she tended to stay closer to home, which intrigued you.

“Anything special about tonight?” you asked, only half joking. 

She shrugged, smiling at you over the rim of her glass as she sipped her drink. “Something in the water,” she said. “The weather’s warm, and I figured tonight was as good a night as any to shake up my routine a bit.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled, taking a sip from your own drink. Before you could say anything else, though, Shoko glanced down at her watch and, despite her already fair complexion, visibly paled.

“Oh my god, I’ve got to go,” she said, a bit frantically, though you couldn’t tell if she was talking to you or just to herself. “I’ve got to go, I can’t be late.”

Before you could question her cryptic words, even just to ask if she was alright, Shoko was rushing for the door, her movements still graceful and fluid in a way that almost didn’t feel human. You watched with a frown, then glanced at the seat she had just been occupying; there was a coat draped across the back of it – a rather nice coat, actually, a deep brown that looked like some sort of high quality leather – and you realized it must be hers, despite the warm weather outside.

After checking with the people around where you’d been sitting with Shoko to make sure the coat didn’t belong to any of them, you dropped a couple bills on the bar to cover your tab and grabbed the coat; she’d only just left, maybe you could still catch her.

Your exit wasn’t nearly as slick as Shoko’s had been, and you apologized as you pushed through a few patrons on your way to the door. Once you were outside, you looked around, just barely catching a glimpse of Shoko as she rounded the corner of the building.

“Shoko!” you called, hurrying after her; you weren’t sure why, exactly, returning the coat to her felt so urgent, but it did. “Shoko, wait, you forgot your coat!”

The brunette stopped dead in her tracks when she heard your words, and she whirled around to look at you, wide-eyed. “You found my coat?”

“Yeah, you left it on your seat,” you confirmed, stopping once you reached her. “It looks expensive, and I can tell you wear it a lot from how broken in the material is. Didn’t want to risk someone else snatching it.”

You extended the coat to her, but all she did was stare at it for a moment. Eventually, she blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and she gingerly accepted the coat from you. 

“Thank you,” she said, meeting your gaze again. “You have no idea how important this is to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d gotten home without it.”

“Not a problem,” you assured her. “I don’t want to keep you, though, I know you were in a rush to leave. Stay safe, yeah? I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, offering you a slight smile as she turned away. “See you around.” 

A few days later, you decided to take a walk to the beach. It had only gotten warmer since you’d met Shoko at the pub, and though you hadn’t seen her around again yet, you were still hopeful you would.

It didn’t take too terribly long to reach the beach once you left home, though you kept walking until you found a more secluded spot to sit and enjoy the view for a bit; you weren’t dressed to get in the water, but you knew a bit of sunshine and fresh, if salty, air would do you good.

You stopped when you found a spot that seemed comfortable enough and was mostly shaded, and settled down with a soft sigh. Your gaze wandered over the waves as you sat there, but what you saw when your eyes reached the shore again surprised you a bit.

Pushing up your sunglasses, you squinted a bit as you looked ahead, wondering if you were seeing correctly. There was a small pod of seals about ten meters from you, and while most of them were a familiar grey color, one stood out from the rest; it was hidden in the middle of the group, but when it lifted its head you knew your eyes were not deceiving you.

In the middle of the pod was a seal that was a distinct dark brown color. It seemed to stare right at you for a moment, and though at your current distance you couldn’t be sure, you could have sworn it winked at you before making its way back into the water.

the end of this is intentionally ambiguous in case i ever want to come back to it! i think it's a fun idea and has a lot of potential for more later, but. for now i'm happy with it like this!

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @sugurei @peachdues @ghost-1-y @witchbybirth

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors @enchantedforest-network @benkeibear @threadbaresweater

dividers by @/benkeibear & @/saradika

[omiramotakiart]

Come in, come all, why fear? I don't look like the monster from fairy tales, do I? Well, dearest guests, at my age you stop caring about certain things, though I like to think of myself as a bit of aged wine but that is beyond the point, you came here for stories, didn't you? Well I have all day and even longer, after all, why should I limit myself to obey the laws of time? But… you may have a thigher schedule, granted, none of my stories can be told in five minutes or less, but you already know that, sit down, sit down, make yourself at home, enter freely by your own will and place your trust on my old hands. 

It was about many moons ago when I came across the Moore manor on a small part of Scotland forgotten by God, years, decades ago, an old white house covered by moss and decorated by cracks, dried ivy covering each corner, some spines, some roses of dark crimson color, the windows tinted by dust and fog and the grounds replete of dead leaves that made as much noise as the creaking floors, and on that autumn that I began working for the Moores, lonely people, were they,  all that remained was the son and eldest daughter, see, the mother, Lady Alexandria had drowned when the four kids where but small infants, first, one of the sisters, Henrietta, had the tragic fate of mistaking belladonna for her favorite berries and the youngest, Isabella, was simply stricken by an illness no doctor was able to diagnose in time, may they all rest in peace.

Their father, Barnard, was already on his deathbed and I had no interaction with him, I hope his soul has found peace wherever he is, but his son, Eleazar, he had become my dearest friend during the time I worked as his secretary, akin to a brother, although eccentric and of secretive nature, my friend was a brilliant man and an avid reader that would narrate all his favorite tales with the grace of a shakespearean actor, his sister, Asenath, was of more introverted nature, quite the active lady who more often than not would be seeing riding her favorite horse all over the land and would refuse to talk to anyone but her maid, both siblings shared the same pale green eyes, the eyebags that indicated days of sleep deprivation, black hair and languid demeanor, soon I grew worried that my friend or his only remaining relative were to suffer a fate similar to that of their father however all physicians seemed to disagree.

Lady Asenath locked herself in her room each night, even from afar I could see the thick black curtains of her chambers, and oh, how did she watch over the key that hanged from her neck, so much that staring at it for a couple of seconds would send her into a rage which is one of the few occasions she would break her silence. I asked my Eleazer multiple times and he blamed it on madness, an explanation that was never enough to me, not to this day. She was methodic, performing specific rituals on how she would turn off every candle near her room, how she would lock the door with silver locks, how we would hear her muttering words in Latin near the garden and would read strange books out loud at night.

My friend despised those behaviours, I found myself surprised at the times I had to calm him down and stop him from screaming and trying to break the door. Goodness, the violent impulses must have run through their veins as I saw the same hellfire on the siblings' eyes and how their teeth were more akin to fangs than anything human.

God knows I soon learned to keep my mouth shut as their banther escalated to a real conflict where more often than not they would soon try to harm each other, locking their hands on the other's neck and biting and kicking and screaming as the others servants and I witnesses the cacophony of almost animalistic sounds and pleas, and as the winter came, their fights became more frequent until Eleazer began deteriorating.

I was right. I knew I was right.

My friend soon became as ill as his father, by the time winter had taken over the land poor Eleazer Moore was bedridden and shivering, coughing up blood and losing weight each day, in one night he had aged five years, in two he had ages ten, his hair had begin to turn white and his sunken features soon began to turn his face into a skull, even in the worst days my friend would asks me to bring him his books and once he was no longer able to talk I would read for him and hope I held up to his standards.

I will not justify myself, take this as you will.

As Eleazer grew ill Asenath began to bloom, she became cheerful, full of energy and joy and she would sing and talk and being guests to the manor, throwing away the locks of her door and even smiled at my presence, I had to grudge with her, though I tried to not bring her up near Eleazar, he couldn't even stand to hear her name being spoken.

My poor heart stopped the day a mud track led to his bed, dirt had gotten all over his naked feet and a dried brown substance had covered his hands and sleepwear, with cuts on his arms and face and neck next to what indicated an attempt of strangulation.

Asenath's room presented similar signs, however she had not been found and in her bed.

I never thought I would see my friend cry as soon as he hears the news, he fell onto the grown and for the first time in months, cried out her name, the doctors and investigators had come up with theories from sleep walking to attempts of murder until they found the body of Asenath Moore among the plants she so lovingly cared for, a knife was in her throath with a note whose contents dare not to speak out loud.

Perhaps Eleazer had just tried to stop her with his remaining strength and blocked all memories, that's what we chose to believe. Among the grief, I was overjoyed to see the improvements on my friend's health. I was overjoyed to see him go back to his dramaturgic nature and endeavour in teathrics once more, to see him practice languages from places I could only dream of visiting and receive all sorts of visits.

Eleazer was my friend, he was.

It was on a Christmas Eve, I believe, he never was the festive one from what I've been told and I was happy to spend the holidays with my only friend at the time, we locked each other in his office and drank all the wine we could gather as he enthusiastically read the works of Shakespeare, and oh, how much he enjoyed those books, embodying all the characters and reciting each soliloquy with his heart and soul until he let himself collapse on his prefered armchair.

My friend was still frail, recovering, but frail, and on that night, on that moment, as soon as I heard him caught I knew I saw droplets of crimson liquid on the white of his sleeves.

As I brought that up he grew nervous, calling it nonsense and that perhaps it was just paint, though I do not recall him being a painter. He even blamed the coughs on sequels of his condition.

As time went by I started to notice dots on his neck and cheeks, rashes, red, darkening with time and a strange twitch that increased in intensity by the minute, his hands stopped being steady and his bloodshot eyes only started to water.

He tried holding any sort of conversation yet couldn't focus on one single topic and struggled to produce any sentence.

Soon enough, Eleazer had fainted.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps he had a  bad reaction or I was drunk to the point of hallucination, that is what I thought that night.

Dearest Eleazer was out for mere seconds, before I could run to his aid he jumped from his seat gasping for air as he was drenched in sweat, he grabbed me by the arms with a strength that couldn't belong to a man in his conditions and kept insisting with a grin on his face to continue our small party, I could see the red from his gums starting to lose color and his teeth seemed rotten, no longer pearly white but a shade similar to that of olives.

He dared not to call my name and once I offered help he pushed and held me against the wall as he threatened to cut my throat with the letter opener he had taken from his desks, God, I could smell the rott around him, the stench of a dead animal, I was shaking, I truly was, I could almost feel how my heart tried breaking out of my chest, I could only pray for protection that day, to whoever was listening, I pleaded for salvation.

Eleazer had finally let me go free from his grip and I saw his limping figure of disheveled gray hair scramble upon the multiple bookshelves until he tossed one to me and asked me to read it with that voice of his that simply couldn't have been human. 

And as he said I did. The book was an old tale whose name I had forgotten, of desperate men and desperate actions, reckless actions, reckless decisions, men who came to a different land to craft themselves an empire for family, a man who was their genesis and another who became their downfall, as I spoke the man I called friend would stand up and pose like the heroes of legends, he would speak as if he was any of them and pretend to fight their battles. The book spoke of a powerful family and a reluctant father, a desperate father who made the wrong choice and paid the consequences, of a father that much like his predecessors, had gotten rid of all but his eldest son before he died. He had also failed to get rid of his daughter.

Eleazer let out a cry as I read that part, covering his ears as if it was causing him pain. And yet he told me to continue.

I responded with a story where each firstborn would exchange the souls of their siblings and progenitors to keep receiving luck and fortune after securing more than one heir, in which a daughter broke an ancient cycle to protect herself, a sister who knew too much and fell victim to the only time she fail to conduct the rituals that would keep her brother away and whose death had been passed as an unrelated tragedy.

Eleazer turned around as he yelled the name of Asenath, his slender fingers and yellow fingernails pointed at the door as the room grew colder and the contents of the bookshelves.

He yelled the name of Asenath as the furniture was thrown around and his eyes became white, as he retreated towards the window.

Asenath, he yelled as his skin began to sink and take a greyish tone, his hair started to fall and all light from the candles went out.

It was the loudest shriek I've ever heard followed by the sound of bones and broken glass falling to the ground.

Once I managed to light one candle and the rest of the servants came to see the commotion, all that remained was a maggot-riddled smull and dust among clothes and shards from the broken window.

I had picked up the book I was reading from Eleazer, the story written on it's bloodied pages was one of revenge, the word downfall written next to Eleazer's name.

My Dear friend do not judge me too harshly, I said he was my friend though I now side with the poor Asenath who I didn't have the pleasure to know as well as her brother.

It has been fifty years and many who have tried living this very house we are in always leave after their first Christmas Eve. I have remained loyal to the manor regardless of the owner, some say the spirit of Asenath still roams around and others say it is the damned soul of Eleazer Moore, others call it the trapped ghosts of generations that served as sacrifice to God knows who.

Now, dearest friend, can you tell me what are you pointing at?

[mermaidsirennikita]

books (in the time of corona)

PART I: ADULT EDITION

Let’s get real--we’re all going fucking insane.  

Therefore, I’m recommending some books with which you can kill time.  I’m breaking them into categories--the romance category including several subgenres but by and large covering books that focus more heavily on the romance than anything else.  These will all be adult books; I’m doing a separate page for YA recommendations.

I’ll be adding to this list as I finish books that I feel belong here.

ROMANCE

A Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Deveraux.  A young woman is abandoned by her scoundrel of a boyfriend, only to find a literal medieval knight in shining armor.  Pure 80′s cheese, a classic in the time travel subgenre long before Outlander ever happened.

The Circle Trilogy by Nora Roberts.  Six sexy people, three men and three women in Roberts fashion, travel across time and parallel dimensions to fight an evil vampire and her undead army.  Come for three fun romances, stay in particular for the “virgin bookworm queen captures the heart of the formerly evil 1,000 Irish vampire” ship.

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne.  Rival coworkers who’ve always hated each other compete for the same job--until maybe?  They start?  Hooking up?

From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata.  A down on her luck singles figure skater pairs up with the pairs champion she’s always despised... Unless they in fact, in a STUNNING TWIST, do not hate each other?

Pestilence by Laura Thalassa.  A BIT ON THE NOSE RIGHT NOW, but I promise that this tale of a hot virgin Horseman of the Apocalypse spreading his plague and the one woman brave enough to fuck him is WORTH IT.  As is the sequel, War.

My Lady’s Choosing by Kitty Curran.  A literal choose your own adventure novel, but the adventures bodice ripping Regency romance plots!!!

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang.  A sweet and smart woman on the autism spectrum hires a male escort to teach her to be good at sex.  Shit goes DOWN from there.

The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary.  She works days; he works nights.  She needs a cheap place to stay, and he needs a roommate.  So they share a flat and even a bed (sleeping on opposite sides and never at the same time) only communicating through post-it notes throughout the apartment.  What could go wrong?

Marriage for One by Ella Maise.  She can only get her inheritance if she’s married.  Good thing a glacial attorney has offered to marry her out of nowhere, only for paper purposes.  What could go wrong???

The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa.  Lina is a wedding planner who was left at the altar.  Max is the younger brother of the man who left her, and apparently convinced him to do the leaving.  What happens when they work together?

Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert.  Chloe suffers from a chronic illness, which means that she’s never had a life--and so she compiles a list that will help her get one.  On the list?  Meaningless sex.  Which she won’t have with her building’s superintendent, even though he’s really down to help her cross off all the other items, riiiight?

HISTORICAL FICTION

Passion by Jude Morgan.  The dramatic and intense height of Romantic England, told from the perspectives of Caroline Lamb, mistress of Lord Byron; August Leigh, his sister and lover; Mary Shelley; and Fanny Brawne, fiancee of John Keats.

Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier.  Impoverished Griet becomes a maid in the household of the painter Vermeer, becoming his muse after he realizes that she has a natural eye--much to the dismay of his wife.

Snow Flower and The Secret Fan by Lisa See. In nineteenth century China, best friends Lily and Snow Flower follow each other through emotional and cultural revolutions, communicating through the secret language of fans.

The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George.  Cleopatra recounts her life story, from her earliest memory, through her affairs with Caesar and Antony, and her end.

Mistress of Rome by Kate Quinn.  In Domitian’s Rome, a Jewish girl rises from the position of lady’s slave to the emperor’s mistress through wiles and scheming.

The Tiger Queens by Stephanie Thornton.  The rise and fall of Genghis Khan’s empire, as told through the women of his family--from his favorite wife to a clever daughter-in-law.

At the Water’s Edge by Sara Gruen.  A socialite follows her incompetent to Scotland as he struggles to find the Loch Ness Monster and redeem his ancestor’s name--finding herself and questioning her life in the process.

A Year of Ravens.  A collection of short stories by different authors, all centering on Boudica’s rebellion through the eyes of her countrymen and her enemies.

Feast of Sorrow by Crystal King.  A slave becomes a chef in the treacherous household of a social climber struggling to gain the favor or Caesar August.

Fatal Throne.  Six authors tell the stories of Henry VIII’s wives, all from their differing perspectives.

Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid.  The rise and fall of a 1970s rock band is charted through the recollections of its members--as they recall what drove them apart, and in particular the intense relationship between the leader singers.

THRILLERS

The Girl in 6E by A.R. Torre.  A woman with murderous impulses locks herself in her apartment to keep the public safe, making a living as a camgirl.  She’s left torn between morals and impulse when she begins to suspect that one of her “fans” is dangerous.

Little Deaths by Emma Flint.  In 1960s America, a single mother finds her personal life and image called into question when she’s accused of murdering her two young children.

My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite.  A nurse covers up her beautiful sister’s murders, only to be caught between loyalties when the doctor she loves falls for said sister.

The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine.  A plain “nobody” transforms herself in order to steal a high society housewife’s husband, only to deal with more than she bargained for.

The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen.  A woman obsesses over her ex-husband’s new fiancee, leading her to disturbing lengths.

The Other Woman by Sandie Jones.  After meeting her ideal man, a woman must contend with his possessive mother, who will do anything to maintain her hold over him.

Something in the Water by Catherine Steadman.  A couple on their dream honeymoon find something in the water that will change the course of their life together.

The Au Pair by Emma Rous.  The day Seraphine and her twin brother were born, their mother flung herself off a cliff and their nanny disappeared.  Decades later, Seraphine discovers a photo taken of her parents just before her mother’s death--with only one baby.  The only person who holds the key to the mystery?  The au pair.

My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing.  A couple keeps the spark alive through murder.

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager.  A young woman takes a job apartment-sitting in a high-end Manhattan building.  Shortly after she befriends another sitter, the girl goes missing--with everyone else acting like nothing is amiss.

The Wives by Tarryn Fisher.  Thursday is one of her husband’s three wives, though she’s never met the other two.  When she finally does meet the third wife, she discovers a woman far different from what she expected--and covered in bruises.

FANTASY/SUPERNATURAL/HORROR

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier.  Sorcha is the youngest of seven children in medieval Ireland.  When her stepmother curses her six older brothers to live as swans, Sorcha agrees to weave them shirts of painful thistles, all the while remaining silent, to break the spell.

Black Pearls by Louise Hawes.  A collection of dark fairy tale retellings.

The Incarnations by Susan Barker.  A man receives letters from an anonymous source, detailing his supposed past lives throughout historical China.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust.  A dark Snow White retelling, with a stepmother whose goals extend far beyond the princess.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo.  Alex Stern is discovered as the sole survivor of a brutal multiple murder, and is promptly scooped up by a group charged with monitoring the occult societies at Yale.  Now disguised as a university student, Alex must figure out who’s been murdering locals, while also hiding what happened the night she lived.

The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell.  A young widow in Victorian England is sent to her husband’s country estate to wait out her pregnancy, and is not alarmed to discover a “silent companion” (a painted wooden figure) in the house.  But when the figure’s eyes begin following her, she is sucked into a history beyond her imagination.

Circe by Madeline Miller.  The story of the woman who would seduce Odysseus, from her beginnings as a plain witch born of Helios and a mother who couldn’t care less.  A classic rise to power story.

CONTEMPORARY LIT

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal.  Down on her luck Nikki takes up a job as a creative writing class instructor for the Punjabi widows in her West London neighborhood.  It turns out that the widows thought she was there to teach them to write in English--which leads to the class becoming a place for them to share their stories orally instead.  And it turns out that they’re a bit... erotic.

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones.  Upwardly mobile newlyweds Celestina and Roy have their lives upended when Roy is falsely accused of a terrible crime and sent to prison for twelve years.  When he’s released early after five, he returns home to find that Celestina has changed completely, and their marriage is entirely unknown.

Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo.  A young Nigerian couple has always been against polygamy; but after the wife fails to get pregnant, her in-laws show up on their doorstep with a second wife.

NON-FICTION/MEMOIR

Harem: The World Behind The Veil by Alev Lytle Croutier.  An examination of the Ottoman Empire’s harem culture, focusing on the women within.

Love For Sale: A World History of Prostitution by Nils Johan Ringal.  Not really a GLOBAL history of prostitution, but a good introduction starting with ancient times and going into the cases of more recent madams in America, with a strong case for legalization worldwide.

Georgiana: Duchess of Devonshire by Amanda Foreman.  A readable biography of the famously scandalous and tragic duchess, to be read while you kill time rewatching “The Duchess” starring Keira Knightley.

Lucrezia Borgia: Life, Love, and Death in Renaissance Italy by Sarah Bradford.  A fair but none-too-precious assessment of one of Renaissance Italy’s most controversial women, and an analysis of her relationships with her father and brother.

The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn by Eric Ives.  While you’re quarantining, you might as well read the definitive Anne Boleyn biography, yes?  This one is responsible for much of the modern attitude on Anne.

Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution by Caroline Weber.  A fascinating analysis of Marie Antoinette’s political life through her clothes.

The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi.  An analysis of the infamous, unsolved “Monster of Florence” case.  One of the most gruesome serial killers in Italy’s history, the monster’s crimes were pinned on several different men, and even investigated by the prosecutor who botched the Amanda Knox case.

The Forger’s Spell: A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century by Edward Dolnick.  An examination of the case of Han van Meegeren, a painter who forged and sold many Dutch master fakes, and the pretentious art world that let him get away with it for years.

The Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan Rescued His Empire by Jack Weatherford.  A study of the women in Genghis Khan’s family, and in particular those that kept his empire from falling to ruin after his death.  A good companion read with Stephanie Thornton’s fiction novel Tiger Queens mentioned above.

Chasing Aphrodite: The Hunt for Looted Antiquities at the World’s Richest Museum by Jason Felch and Ralph Frammolino.  How did the Getty Museum end up with so many stolen artifacts?  This book aims to find out.

The Creation of Anne Boleyn by Susan Bordo.  A different kind of Anne Boleyn book, studying her portrayal in culture and fiction--complete with input from Natalie Dormer following her portrayal of Anne Boleyn on The Tudors.

Blood Sisters: The Women Behind the Wars of the Roses by Sarah Gristwood.  An examination of the women of the houses of Lancaster and York during their famous, long-running conflict--and how these women had an impact on battles and politics alike.

The Dragon Behind the Glass: A True Story of Power, Obsession, and the World’s Most Coveted Fish by Emily Voigt.  The author delves into why people are so obsessed with the arowana, a rare and exotic fish, to the point that they’ll commit murder--and becomes wrapped up in the fascination herself.

The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy.  Over the course of a month, Ariel Levy watches everything she held true in her life--her financial security, her career, her marriage, and her pregnancy--fall apart.  Levy must confront what it means to live an “unconventional” and “free” life, only for that to become meaningless, and pick up the pieces.

From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to find The Good Death by Caitlin Doughty.  Doughty recounts her global travels to observe and study different funerary and death rituals, recounting and analyzing her experiences with respect and personality.

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer.  A collection of female serial killers, analyzing why they did what they did and the cultural legacy they left behind.

Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found by Frances Larson.  A history of decapitated human heads, and what different cultures have done with them.

From Scratch: A Memoir of Love, Sicily, and Finding Home by Tembi Locke.  Tembi Locke was never truly accepted by her husband’s Sicilian family, as a black American woman.  But when Saro dies young of cancer, she finds herself more deeply entwined her in-laws, as she works to pick up the pieces.  (Warning: one of the most achingly romantic books I’ve ever read; but it will destroy you.)

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 2

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 2 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 2/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

The Doctor and the little girl were falling out of the sky.

The TARDIS was going haywire and the little girl was trying her hardest to hang onto the Y-beam as the TARDIS exploded around her.

The Doctor was currently hanging outside with his sonic screwdriver in his hand as he tried to pull himself back in. He pointed his sonic at the controls just as they were about to hit Big Ben. The Doctor climbed back inside and shut the door behind him. He sat there for a few seconds until the TARIDS lurched again. The Doctor went sliding down the corridors of the TARDIS.

The TARDIS crashed violently and the little girl lost her grip and went sliding after him.

She screamed as she was plunged into cold water. Two hands grabbed her and pulled her up to the surface.

“Are you okay?” the Doctor asked her.

She nodded as they climbed out of the swimming pool. The little girl looked around and realized they were in a library.

There was a swimming pool in a library.

The Doctor started rummaging around looking for something. “Ah ha!” he said, coming back with a grappling hook. He swung it and it caught on something outside the TARDIS. “Can you climb?” he asked the little girl.

She looked up with wide eyes.

“Okay then”. He knelt down and said, “Hop on up”.

She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Now hold on tight”, he told her as he started to climb.

When he reached the doorway of the TARDIS, the little girl carefully climbed out and sat on the edge. Something bright was pointed at her face.

A redheaded girl stood there. Amelia Pond.

The Doctor popped up next to the little Timelord. “Could I have an apple? All I can think about”, the Doctor told little Amelia, “Apples. I love apples. Maybe I'm having a craving? That's new. Never had cravings before”. He climbed out and sat on the edge of the TARDIS next to the little girl.

“Are you okay?” Amelia asked.

“Just had a fall. All the way down there, right to the library”. The Doctor rolled up his sleeves. “Hell of a climb back up”.

“You're both soaking wet”.

“We were in the swimming pool”.

“You said you were in the library”.

“So was the swimming pool”.

“Are you a policeman?”

“Why? Did you call a policeman?”

“Did you come about the crack in my wall?”

“What crack? Argh!” The Doctor fell to the ground.

Amelia stepped closer to him and shined the flashlight in his face. “Are you all right, mister?”

“No, I'm fine. It's okay. This is all perfectly norm…” He was cut off by a breath of golden energy coming from his mouth.

“Who are you?” she asked him.

“I don't know yet. I'm still cooking”. he said looking down at his hands, “Does it scare you?”

“No, it just looks a bit weird”.

“No, no, no. The crack in your wall. Does it scare you?”

“Yes”.

The Doctor jumped to his feet and picked up the little Timelord and set her on the ground. She immediately grabbed onto his hand.

“Well then, no time to lose. I'm the Doctor. Do everything I tell you, don't ask stupid questions, and don't wander off”, he told Amelia.

Amelia gestured to the little girl. “Who is she?”

The Doctor looked down at the small Timelord clinging to his hand. She hadn’t spoken to him yet, so he quickly thought up a name. A normal human name. “Elise”, he said, “She’s my…”

“Daughter?”

“Uh yeah”. He turned around and walked straight into a tree.

The two girls looked down at him.

“Are you all right?” Amelia asked him.

“Early days. Steering's a bit off”.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They went into the kitchen.

Amelia walked up and handed the Doctor an apple. She offered one to Elise who shook her head. “If you're a doctor, why does your box say Police?”

The Doctor bit into the apple and then spit it back out. “That's disgusting. What is that?”

“An apple”.

“Apple's rubbish. I hate apples”.

“You said you loved them”.

“No, no, no. I like yogurt. Yogurt's my favorite. Give me yogurt”.

Amelia went and got him a yogurt cup from the fridge and handed it to him.

He poured it into his mouth and then spit it out like he did with the apple. “I hate yogurt. It's just stuff with bits in”.

“You said it was your favorite”.

The Doctor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “New mouth. New rules. It's like eating after cleaning your teeth. Everything tastes wrong. Argh!” The Doctor twitched violently.

“What is it? What's wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? It's not my fault. Why can't you give me any decent food? You're Scottish. Fry something”.

Amelia got a frying pan out and started to make bacon as the Doctor dried his and Elise’s hair with a towel he found. Amelia placed a plate of bacon in front of the Doctor.

“Ah, bacon!” Again, he took a bite out of it and spit it out again.

Elise was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him. What happened to the man who saved her? He had been so sad and this one was so happy and hyperactive.

“Bacon. That's bacon. Are you trying to poison me?” the Doctor asked.

Amelia heated up a can of beans.

“Ah, you see? Beans”.

The Doctor took one bite and spit them out in the sink. “Beans are evil. Bad, bad bean”.

Next, Amelia spread some butter on toast.

“Bread and butter. Now you're talking”.

The two girls watched as he got up and threw the plate out the front door. “And stay out!”

Elise watched as the Doctor came back into the kitchen and started pacing. She was getting rather hungry now, but she didn’t know what she wanted. She’d never been to this planet before, so she didn’t know what she liked here.

“We've got some carrots”, Amelia told the Doctor.

“Carrots? Are you insane? No. Wait. Hang on. I know what I need”. He walked over to the fridge and opened the freezer. “I need, I need, I need fish fingers and custard”. A few minutes later, the Doctor was dipping his fish fingers into a bowl of custard.

Amelia made Elise some as well, except Elise was eating her fish fingers and custard separately.

“Dip it in the custard”, the Doctor told her.

Elise shook her head.

“It’s really good. Just try it��.

Elise shook her head again.

“Okay then. You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” She reminded him of Donna. He could only imagine what would come out of her mouth when she finally talked to him. The Doctor finished his custard and fish fingers and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Funny”, Amelia told him.

“Am I? Good. Funny's good. What's your name?”

“Amelia Pond”.

“Oh, that's a brilliant name. Amelia Pond. Like a name in a fairy tale. Are we in Scotland, Amelia?”

Amelia sighed. “No. We had to move to England. It's rubbish”.

“So what about your mum and dad, then? Are they upstairs? Thought we'd have woken them by now”.

“I don't have a mum and dad. Just an aunt”.

Elise felt sorry for Amelia because she knew how she felt. Elise was technically an orphan, but the Doctor (instead of leaving her on her own) had taken her in and was treating her as his own. She would be forever grateful to him for that.

“I don't even have an aunt”, the Doctor told her.

“You're lucky”.

“I know. So, your aunt, where is she?”

“She's out”.

“And she left you all alone?”

The Doctor would have never left a child on their own. It was part of the reason why he had taken Elise in. Because without him, who knows what would have happened to her.

“I'm not scared”.

“Course, you're not. You're not scared of anything. Box falls out of the sky, man and girl fall out of a box, man and girl eat fish custard, and look at you, just sitting there. So you know what I think?”

“What?”

“Must be a hell of a scary crack in your wall”.

[womansart]

Illustration for the folktale “Assipattie and the Giant Sea Serpent” in “Favorite Fairy Tales Told in Scotland” (1963), retold by Virginia Haviland and illustrated by Adrienne Adams.

Ms. Adams (1906 - 2002) illustrated more than 30 children's books ranging from texts by contemporary authors to the fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm. She worked primarily in full color, using tempera, gouache, watercolor or crayon.

[tothemattresses]

2020 Reading Challenge - E-Book Edition!

According to Amazon, I have exactly 294 e-books currently sitting in my Kindle library. 

Granted, some of these books have been read and are being saved for a second (or third, or fourth) re-read, but when it comes down to it, that number is around 40 books, give or take. 

Which means I still have over 250 books that need to be read. 

And it’s not like I haven’t tried! There are plenty of titles that, when opened up, will go to the last place I left off - that being chapter 5, or maybe chapter 10. But sometimes life gets in the way. Or a sudden interest in another author. Or a new season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. But whatever the reason may be, it’s over 250 books that haven’t been read. Challenge accepted! 

For 2020, I commit to not buying any new books to add to my Kindle library (checking out books from the library is ok, because you’ve gotta support your local library!), and instead focus on the books I already have. So no addition of 99 cent books, or Kindle Unlimited books, or books that are suddenly 75% off. Only the books that I currently have. 

As the reading commences, and after the book is finished, I’ll update my list to indicate what has been completed, along with the date purchased, and a short review (or a reason I just couldn’t finish it at all). 

Below is the list for future reference - and to clarify my what my favorite genre is. Spoiler: it’s romance novels. 

Here we go!

Adulting: How to Become a Grown-up in 535 Easy(ish) Steps – Kelly Williams Brown

An Affair with Mr. Kennedy (Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) – Jillian Stone

All About Love (Cynster Book 6) – Stephanie Laurens

All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess: A Lords of Vice Novel – Alexandra Hawkins

Almost a Scandal: A Reckless Brides Novel (The Reckless Brides Book 1) – Elizabeth Essex

Alpha – Jasinda Wilder

A Duke’s Guide to Seducing His Bride (Chase Family Series- The Jewels Book 4) – Lauren Royal

The American Heiress: A Novel – Daisy Goodwin

When an Earl Meets a Girl (Chase Family Series- The Jewels Book 1) – Lauren Royal

The Andy Cohen Diaries: A Deep Look at a Shallow Year – Andy Cohen

Angel in a Devil's Arms: The Palace of Rogues – Julie Anne Long

Angel in Scarlet: A Bound and Determined Novel – Lavinia Kent

Anything He Wants & Castaway – Sara Fawkes

The Astronaut Wives Club – Lily Koppel

At Any Price: A Billionaire Virgin Auction Romance (Gaming the System Book 1) – Brenna Aubrey

At Any Turn: A Billionaire Romance (Gaming the System Book 2) – Brenna Aubrey

At Your Pleasure – Meredith Duran

The Awakening of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 1) – Sierra Simone

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No Mistress of Mine: An American Heiress in London – Laura Lee Guhrke

A Notorious Countess Confesses: Pennyroyal Green Series – Julie Anne Long

Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane Book 2) – Elizabeth Hoyt

Once a Soldier (Rogues Redeemed Book 1) – Mary Jo Putney

Once More, My Darling Rogue (Scandalous Gentlemen of St. James Book 2) – Lorraine Heath

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Wicked Becomes You – Meredith Duran

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Written on Your Skin – Meredith Duran

[eternityunicorn]

The Encounter in the Forest

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Fantasy 

Warnings: None

Note: A sequel/companion to The Miracle in the Forest. 

——————————————————————————————————

There are legends and mythologies throughout the world. Most of them are false, stories only passed down from generation to generation. Some of them are told for personal gain, to become famous, strike up tourism. Others are told to frighten people, to keep others at bay, which can work, but a lot of times has the opposite effect. People like a good ghost story or a good myth or legend. 

In one part of the world, there is a legend of a healing forest, a legend had been birthed after two boys entered the forest of Scotland, seeking a miracle. Now, it was public knowledge because said boys couldn’t keep their mouths shut and spread the word that there was something supernatural n the forest on their rich uncle’s property. Though really, even if they hadn’t spread their experience to the masses, it would have came out anyway. 

After all, the younger boy, Nick, had been terminally ill, but came back their uncle’s care completely recovered, like a miracle of supernatural origins. There wasn’t any way around it. The miracle had to be told. There wasn’t any escape, anyway to hide it. The boys attended a local public school and everyone they encountered would want to know just how a terminally ill heart patient became completely healed without surgery or medical attention of any kind. So they didn’t even try and come up with a cover story; though that didn’t mean that specifics had to be told. They could speak of their experience, but leave what was out there in the forest a mystery.

It had been the boys’ uncle Jack had told them to tell them that there was something special in the forest, but not to say exactly what that something was. “Give em somethin’ to gossip about,” he had said to them with a laugh, as they were leaving the house for school, after the younger boy’s healing. 

So, that was what they did and soon, the news of the miracle spread. Yet, none realized what the consequences of said miracle would be. How their lives would be turned upside down, forever warding off reporters from around the world, curious locals, and tourists. There wasn’t any sort of peace for the family in the Scottish country.

Now, the boys’ uncle and his magic forest were celebrities. Interview were requested and denied. People from all over came to ask to see the forest, to explore it even, but were turned promptly away. For a while, the exception to dismissal were the sickly seeking help. The boys’ uncle would allow these special cases into the forest, with mixed results. Some would come out healed, while others wouldn’t find anything and would leave disappointed and believing the tales were false - a scam. 

Nobody could explain why some would get the miracle of healing and others would not. It was a mystery and only served to strengthen the debate of whether or not the legend of Jack’s forest was true. It only brought more people to the property. 

Soon, not even the sickly were permitted into the forest. This was because it didn’t take long for scammers to come around pretending to be ill and in need of help, only to gain access to the forest and attempt to steal the source of healing for themselves, whatever it may have been.

Nobody believed it was the forest itself, but everyone had theories as to what it could be. From witches, to elves, nymphs, fae, and wizards they all had their thoughts on the matter. Even dragons were on the table for the source. And the greedy wanted whatever it was for themselves, so that they could profit from it. 

Jack and his nephews did their best to keep everyone away after the corrupted began to circle the place like vultures. They stopped letting anyone come onto the property, even friends and family. They began to fear what would happen to the miracle of the forest, if they continued to let people come near it. The greed of humans was poisonous and could spread like a virus. No, the risk became too much. 

For a long time, they did well in protecting the forest. Over time, people lost interest in the legend and it eventually faded into obscurity, forgotten. Peace had come back to the little family with an extraordinary forest. 

That is until tragedy struck.

Nick, the boy blessed by the miracle of the forest, had been killed in a hit and run accident as the then seventeen year old had been driving around with his friends in town. The driver had been drunk and the young man, riding in the passenger seat of his friend’s car, was killed upon impact. 

It was ironic; saved by a miracle and killed only a few years later in a car wreck.

Devastated, their uncle and his wife, had decided to move away. Unable to bear staying in a place with so many memories of their nephew. They abandoned the property and left it to the tests of time. Where they went, nobody knew, but mostly likely place they had gone was to live nearer to Mark, Nick’s older brother.

It was many years before anyone would return to the place.

Then, a young woman, curious about the old legends of the property came to the derelict property, looking to see if it was true. Her name was Rebecca and she was a grad student with a degree in history. Mythologies and old legends were her favorite things, as was exploring old and abandoned properties. So, coming to Old Man Jack’s place was a special treat for her, as there was both an abandoned property to explore and a legend to investigate. 

The large sized house was like a time capsule on the inside. Everything had been left behind, left in the exact same place as when the place had been occupied. A ghost of the past was this house, with the sounds of the previous occupants echoing off the walls and the furnishings left behind. Their apparitions almost visible on the couches, at the kitchen table. There was a thin layer of dust over everything, paint on the walls had begun to peel, and the stairs to the upper level of the house looked dubious. So, Rebecca didn’t attempt to explore the second level. Yet, despite these signs of neglect, it was as if someone had frozen time.

The outside of the house was in good condition, worn, but not falling apart. The vast landscape that had been part of the property looked like a wild jungle of overgrown grass that liked to tangle around one’s legs as they tried to move through it. That didn’t stop her from going out into the wilderness, heading for the forest in the distance. 

It was midday and the forest looked foreboding, dark and unwelcoming, unlike how it had been described by Jack’s nephews, whom had claimed to others that it had been warm, inviting, and in a constant state of springtime. It looked cold in there now. It didn’t seem like springtime to Rebecca. Yet, she bravely kept going. She wouldn’t be scared away, no matter what. 

She trudged on, entering the forest and found herself correct in her observation that the forest was cold. A chilling breeze, one that would be found in winter and not mid summer, blew around Rebecca, sending icy shivers down her spine. Furthermore, the light of day couldn’t be seen through the canopy above or at the entrance, once she entered. There was nothing but darkness. It was terrifying. 

There wasn’t any sound, except that of her own racing heart and her frightened panting as fear crept in. She wanted to run. Every instinct told her to. Yet, she remained where she was, paralyzed where she was.

Then an idea came to her and she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. Shaking it, she activated the flash light and brought light to the spooky forest. It didn’t help doing that, not like she thought it would. In fact, the light of her phone only seemed to make the shadows around her bigger, making the forest even creepier. 

What the hell was this, she thought to herself. The legend she had read had been light and full of hope, like a fairy tale. This forest was evil, like something out of a monster movie. Was some demon going to jump out at her? It was possible, at that point. Had the legend been wrong? Had those boys lied about the miracle of the forest that had healed a dying boy? It wouldn’t have been the first time a myth or legend she was exploring came out as nothing more than a story.

Disappointed, Rebecca made the decision to leave the creepy forest as quickly as she could. Yet, just as she turned to go, there was a loud sound of a twig snapping and a rustling of leaves near her. She froze, her heart racing even more rapidly as she began to panic. Her heart felt like it was going to leap from her chest and set couldn’t catch her breath.

Was this how she was going to die? In some creepy forest she should have known better than to come alone too? What had she been thinking?

Suddenly, all thoughts stilled as a sinisterly animalistic growl echoed all around her from multiple points. There was something or someone in the shadows, hiding and watching her. She could feel their eyes on her, even though the darkness kept them concealed. 

“Hello?” She called, shakily. “Hello?” 

There wasn’t an answer.

 “Is anyone there?” She tried again. 

Still there was nothing. 

She started to panic more. 

“Come out! Show yourselves!” She finally shouted.

Suddenly, a creature leapt out from their hiding place and landed right in front of her. This creature wasn’t human, whatever it was. It was grotesque and green with leathery skin. It had yellow eyes and sharp teeth and claws. It crouched before her on it’s haunches, balancing himself with it’s knuckles on the ground between it’s thin legs. Really, it looked like some sort of human experiment gone wrong. 

“Oh, a little female human,” it spoke plainly, speaking her language fluently. It’s voice  was gravelly and hissing in sound. “We haven’t feasted upon human female in a long time. Such a treat is this.” It laughed cruelly, hobbling a little closer. 

Rebecca stepped back, trying to keep distance between them. She found herself whispering, “What are you?”

The creature tilted it’s head curiously. A look of puzzled offense dominated it’s features, making it look less threatening; though not much. “Why, I am a demon, girly,” he answered her, as if she were stupid. “Don’t your people still believe in mine?”

She nodded and nervously told him, “Yes, they do. They say you’re evil, the source of all that’s wrong with the world. They claim you’re the Spawn of Satan, in a good portion of the world anyway.”

The demon looked proud. It grinned widely, which was freaky as all hell. “Well, that’s good” he beamed. “Glad to not be forgotten. Though, I don’t know who this Satan is. He sounds like someone my kind would like. He’s probably a pretty one, all high powered immortals are. Perhaps I should look him up some time.”

“You do that,” Rebecca responded, seeing a chance to go. She turned in the direction of which she had come. “I’m just going to go now.”

The young woman didn’t get far, before the demon gave a warning growl and ceased her walking away. She had taken a few steps and then had turned back around to face the demon. “What do you want from me?” She asked in a small voice, as she noticed other glowing yellow orbs springing up from the shadows around them. “Can’t you just let me go?”

“We’re demons,” the demon replied coolly. “Starving demon, who haven’t had a decent meal in an age. Stuck here in this trap. No, my dear' you cannot go. You must stay for dinner.”

The demon howled loudly before it leapt at Rebecca with surprising speed. The young explorer had thought she was done for, that she was going to die in that instant moment, when the demon made it’s attack. Yet the attack never came.

Instead, a shill and musical whinny sounded and a flash of white appeared before her vision, intercepting the attack. Everything was in slow motion for a brief moment as Rebecca had closed  her eyes and threw her arms over her face in fear of the impending doom that never came. She felt herself bodily pushed to the ground by another body, like a deer or a horse. 

Once she connected with the ground, her hip hitting particularly hard on the unforgiving ground, Rebecca looked up to see just what the hell had pushed her. It hadn’t made sense. How can a deer or a horse come to her rescue against a demon? 

Then she saw her: the strange white beast of old myths and legends: a unicorn! She shone with a shining grace, even as she stood between the woman and the demon. The glow was ethereal, casing a light in the darkness. Her lion-like tail swished agitatedly back and forth, her deer head down with her spiral horn pointed at Rebecca’s would-be attacker. The horn was glowing a bright pale blue and it hummed with what she believed to be power. She stomped a cloven hoof onto the ground, as of daring the demon to attack her.

It was the demon’s turn to quake in fear. It shrank back onto it’s haunches, it’s eyes wide in panic, mouth agape with a silent scream. When the unicorn reared, cried out shrilly again, and then stomped both front hooves onto the ground just inches from the demon, it shrieked and ran away, disappearing into the darkness from which it came. Upon looking around, Rebecca found that the others had disappeared as well.

Once the threat was dealt with, the unicorn gracefully turned to face her, just as she got to her feet. Rebecca didn’t take her eyes off her. She couldn’t. She found herself overwhelmed with emotion, tears pricked the corner of her eyes and threatened to spill over at the sight of the unicorn. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her as well. The force of presence that the unicorn’s shining grace possessed was as wonderful as it was unbearable. 

Rebecca felt a great peace in her presence, but was also unsettled by it as well. She felt beautiful to the unicorn, yet felt ugly next to her magnificent otherworldliness. She felt worthy to be saved by her, yet unworthy to stand before her. 

It was mind boggling, the contradictories she felt. In fact, it left her not knowing what to feel. She was confused and began to feel awkward as they stared silently at each other for a moment too long, before she finally got the nerve to say, “Thank you for saving me.”

The unicorn stood perfectly still. Her long mane rippled down her back like ocean waves. Her large sapphire eyes looked at Rebecca, and it felt like she was peering into her very soul. She didn’t move or blink for a moment longer, making Rebecca’s awkwardness worse.

Then the unicorn finally replied, “You are welcome, but you shouldn’t be here.”

Her voice was sweet and soft. There was a queenly quality to it, regal and full of the same grace the rest of her possessed. She didn’t sound angry, just concerned.

“Are you the miracle of the forest?” Rebecca blurted softly, unable to stop herself. 

It made sense. Unicorn were told to have healing powers. They were also symbols of purity and goodness. Perhaps it had been a unicorn that had healed the Nick kid all those years ago?

The unicorn’s long deer-like ears perked up slightly at her question, but otherwise she didn’t show signs of confirmation that she was the miracle. In fact, she continued to stand perfectly still, like some kind of ghostly figure. 

“You need to leave here, young one,” the unicorn said, though not with any noticeable urgency. “These woods are no longer safe for your kind. You must go.”

“It isn’t your forest?” Rebecca asked, not wanting to go just yet. 

If she could keep the conversation going, maybe she’d get some answers. But really, just talking to a unicorn was enough. Even if she didn’t find out if the legend was true or not, it was enough to speak with her.

“It is not,” the unicorn answered. “It never was. Only a trap.”

“A trap?”

“Aye, for those horrid creatures you had the misfortune of seeing.”

Rebecca inquired, “You trapped them here? But why?”

She had never heard of this in the myths and legends she had studied about unicorns. They didn’t trap evil entities, like demons, in those tales. They simply lived in their forests, healing the water and the injured, and seduced by maidens to be hunted by men. This unicorn seemed different from those legends, like some kind of hero or protector. 

The unicorn sighed, in a surprisingly human fashion, and then explained seeing as Rebecca wasn’t going to give up and leave, “I trapped them because they attacked humans. As punishment, I put them here. Near humanity, a delicacy for demons, to drive them to madness, knowing they will never feed on them again. Though, they nearly did on you, young one.”

“Attack?” Rebecca said.

“Aye,” the unicorn nodded. “It wasn’t a car accident that killed Nick. It was demons.” She spoke unbothered, as if she were talking about weather, but there was an underlining anger in her sapphire eyes.b

Rebecca gasped in surprise. So, it wasn’t a car wreck, but some kind of supernatural conspiracy? She wouldn’t have believed it, if she hadn’t been attacked by a demon and then rescued by s unicorn. “Why?”

“The one called Jack was more than an old rich man,” the white beast revealed. “Once, he was a compatriot, back when he had been a younger man. But as with all mortals, age caught up to him and he had to retire to the country. I was his friend and I liked to visit him from time to time. Also, he made enemies and I felt it was my duty to protect him.”

“So, the story of Nick being healed by the miracle of the forest, that was you!”

“Aye.”

“Then why didn’t you heal everyone that came to you afterwards too?”

“Because I was not always here,” the unicorn responded simply. 

Rebecca couldn’t help herself but to ask, “Then where did you go?”

“Everywhere,” said the unicorn. “There is always a battle to fight; a war to be won.”

The unicorn spoke cryptically. Her answers were simply and vague, as if she didn’t want Rebecca to know. Maybe she didn’t. Apparently, she was some kind of bad ass unicorn, who fought in wars. Old Man Jack too. Apparently, he had been more than some rich guy with a special forest. Rebecca didn’t know what to make of this encounter. It was fascinating and mind boggling. There was so much mystery and she felt compelled to shed light upon it.

“You must go,” the unicorn said again. “While the demons will not come for you with me here, you still need to leave. You don’t belong here. Go.”

“But -.”

“Go!” 

The unicorn whinnied and reared, her hooves coming down in a violent stomp to scare Rebecca off. 

It had the right effect, because she jumped at the sudden action and quickly raced away to where she could see the light of the forest’s entrance. She leapt out of the opening and landed on the ground harshly, but remained uninjured. 

Once she had picked herself up off the ground for the second time that day, Rebecca let what she had just experienced sink in, as she made her way to the front of Old Man Jack’s property.  On the way there, she found herself grinning a little bit at a time with every image of the unicorn that crossed her mind. 

Oh, she was definitely coming back, she decided. 

What sane person, who met a unicorn once, would give up a chance to encounter a unicorn a second time? 

Certainly not her! 

Yes, she would return.

So caught up in her thoughts, Rebecca didn’t see the unicorn standing at the entrance of the forest, just as she has years ago when she had healed Nick’s heart. The unicorn stood perfectly still, her mane blowing in the light breeze. After a moment, her form changed and a snowy colored woman replaced the unicorn, before disappearing into thin air.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

This may sound crazy but imagine Claire went back but said No to Frank and decided to raise Bree in Scotland on her own. After researching and being sure Bree can travel, she goes back but comes at the time Jamie is living with Laoghire.

Jamie sat near the fire examining the head and handle of the broken shovel. He needed to replace the handle shaft which had split while he was digging in the fields. He had the new one ready but first needed to remove the broken halves and then reshape the new handle shaft so it fitted into the iron head.

There was a rhythmic thumping on the table behind him where Laoghaire and the girls were making bread. They didn’t speak, any of them, except for the occasional word of instruction from Laoghaire to the girls that they needed to do it more like this.

Jamie could feel Laoghaire’s eyes on him in those long stretches of quiet. He had dreamed of Claire again the night before and knew he must have cried out… again. He didn’t mean to do it and had tried explaining to Laoghaire that he understood if she thought about and missed her lost husbands––how could she not miss her lasses’ father? It was a natural thing to yearn for and mourn loved ones lost, not something that could be helped. But from Laoghaire’s pointed silence and the glare she’d given him as she walked away from the end of his speech, she appeared to believe otherwise.

But Jamie never wanted to lose that last grip he had on Claire. He stopped apologizing when the dreams came and he woke Laoghaire. He wasn’t sorry for them, after all. Pretending otherwise was becoming too exhausting.

Glancing over his shoulder at the table he briefly caught Marsali’s eye. She quickly looked to her mother and then redoubled her efforts with her ball of bread dough, her mouth pressed to a line, determined to keep her thoughts contained.

He frowned turning back to his work. The lasses deserved better than this awkwardness and growing resentment. There was a decision coming soon and he knew he’d have to be the one to make it.

Joanie made a small noise of surprise.

“Mam… someone’s coming.” She nodded toward the window.

Jamie set his tools aside and rose to answer the door but Laoghaire had already thumped the dough on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and beaten him to the door.

The words “Can I” were already out of her mouth before she’d registered who it was on the other side.

“I thought you’d remember me,” a familiar voice said with amusement and disgust. “Jenny told me I might find my husband here.”

Jamie reached to pull Laoghaire out of the doorway so he could see Claire for himself when a second voice scolded, “Mam!”

Claire found his eyes for a moment before turning to the young woman at her side, taking his attention along with her.

Her skirt was long and dark and she bristled in the restrictive bodice and stays. Her fiery hair was pulled back from her face but not up like Claire’s. She let loose waves of it fall down her back and catch on her shoulders. A light flush filled her cheeks when their eyes met and he realized she’d been standing there gaping at him too.

“Who is she?” Joanie whispered to Marsali behind them.

“Claire?” Jamie asked glancing back and forth between her and the lass.

Claire nodded and Jamie took a step forward, brushing Laoghaire as he moved to pass through the door.

The contact jostled Laoghaire from her surprised stupor. She hurried forward too, keeping herself between Jamie and Claire.

“No!” she said emphatically. “Ye’re no taking another step,” she warned Jamie. “And you,” she glared at Claire, “Ye’re no welcome. I want ye off my property at once.”

“I’ll leave as soon as you return my husband to me,” Claire challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And if he doesna wish to wo wi’ ye?” Laoghaire gambled. “He chose to wed me which is more’n he had when Dougal forced him to take you. And ye’re the one that left him all those years ago––left him to die and think ye were dead too. Why’d he want to go back to a wife who couldna stay to do her proper duty?”

Heat and shame rose in Claire’s face. The girl beside her reached out and rested a reassuring hand on her mother’s arm.

Anger had risen in Jamie along with a drive to act that he had been too exhausted to rouse for some months. He stepped past Laoghaire again and spun to face her, causing her to take a step back.

“That’s enough, Laoghaire,” he hissed. “Ye speak of what ye dinna ken the first thing about. Ye werena there wi’ me in the cave nor did ye follow me to Ardsmuir. Ye were only too eager to let my sister do the work of convincing me to marry ye. I assure ye, Dougal had the easier time of it, by far.”

“I’ve done more for you than she ever did,” Laoghaire insisted. “Where was she through all ye suffered? And her the cause of it.”

“But she was there wi’ me,” Jamie said with a solemn smile. He glanced over his shoulder to Claire and the lass. “She––and the bairn––have been with me every day.”

“Brianna,” the lass said, offering an awkward smile and wave. “The ‘bairn’ has a name and it’s Brianna.”

“For your father,” Claire added quietly. “Like I promised.”

“Then… you knew she wasna dead,” Laoghaire stammered, reaching and pulling hard on Jamie’s arm to make him turn and face her again. “Ye knew and ye wed me all the same.” Accusation and a fresh well of fury flooded her. “Ye bastard!” she exclaimed, hitting him in the chest. “Ye meant to make me a fool, to shame me––”

“I didna ken she lived,” Jamie swore to Laoghaire. “I told her to go when what would happen on Culloden became clear but I’ve spent near twenty years wondering did she get caught by the English as she fled or did bearing the child kill them both. I’m never meant to shame ye and I’m sorry if I have. We’ll find a way to make things right between us, I promise,” Jamie rambled desperately. He wasn’t sure yet what would happen or even what could happen. All he knew was that he wanted––needed––to be alone with Claire and Brianna. He needed to know what had happened, what had their lives been like and why were they here (and why now).

“I ken well now what yer promises are worth, James Fraser,” Laoghaire spat at him. “No a damn thing. Get off my land and know ye’re goin’ to pay for the wrong ye’ve done me. All of ye.”

Jamie bit his tongue as Laoghaire glared at him. He felt Claire’s hand slip into his and closed his own reflexively around it, letting Claire pull him along back up the road, presumably to Lallybroch. He saw Marsali and Joanie’s faces in the window briefly before Laoghaire slammed the door on her way back inside.

“Perhaps this is actually Laoghaire’s chickens coming home to roost,” Brianna said quietly, more to Claire than to him. They settled into a steady pace, none of them sure of what their next step should actually be. “She’s the same one who arranged to have you taken and charged as a witch, isn’t she Mam?”

“She what?” Jamie stopped in the road, fighting the impulse to go back and have another few words with Laoghaire about paying for past wrongs.

“It doesn’t matter,” Claire insisted, giving Jamie’s hand a tug. “Not now we’re finally all together.”

“How?” Jamie asked, starting them on their way again.

“At first… it was too painful to think about anything,” Claire said quietly. “I knew as soon as I saw Frank again that I couldn’t… Well, that it wouldn’t work with him. I needed to raise Brianna on my own terms and I didn’t have it in me to fight with him about it or watch him struggle. So I decided to stay in Scotland. She was born there and I would tell her all about you when she was little… And then one day she told me she didn’t believe me about our story.”

“Can ye blame me?” Brianna said in her defense. “Traveling through time and trying to change history… I wasn’t a child anymore and it wasna the thing to believe so wholly in fairy tales anymore.”

“So I started to look for you to prove it,” Claire explained. The way they talked around and through one another mesmerized Jamie, their conversation flowing rapid and smooth sweeping him away. “I had help looking for records of your having been imprisoned at Fort William and Wentworth but there was a mixup in the request paperwork and somehow they found you on the records from Ardsmuir. As soon as I knew you’d survived…” Claire’s voice hitched and Brianna took the lead once more.

“I ended up helping her look. We found more of where you’d been and how ye’d survived––one of my friend’s favorite legends was the Dunbonnet and it had never occurred to me that it might be about you. Eventually we found record of you at Helwater and… I dinna think we even discussed it at that point. We had to come find ye, I… I had to meet you myself. I’d heard so many of Mam’s stories but seein’ it like I did when we were searching…” Her cheeks flushed again and she looked away, down the road rather than at him. “It made ye feel more real and not just a story. I needed to know you.”

Jamie let go of Claire’s hand and stepped closer to Brianna forcing them to stop in the road again. “I’m glad yer mam was able… I’m afraid ye’ll have to be the one to tell me about yerself. I’ve had naught but dreams and hopes of what ye might be and the life ye ought to have.”

Brianna closed the remaining gap between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’ll tell ye anything ye want to know. We’ve plenty of time now.”

“Aye,” he stammered, swallowing the words about time already lost and instead letting his arms close around her as his chin rested on her head. He stared at Claire who watched with a prideful smile and tears in her eyes. “And we’ve plenty to figure and plan as well. I dinna ken I’ve seen so many possible futures in a long time.”

“Only one lonely one,” Claire agreed.

“Ye had me,” Brianna objected in a tone that made her parents laugh.

“Yes, and you were the greatest comfort I could have asked for… but nothing could stop my missing you,” she finished with a longing look at Jamie.

“Nor I you,” he confirmed. “Nor did I want to. To stop yearnin’ for ye would have been to lose ye once and for all.”

“All right,” Brianna interrupted. “I’ll go on ahead a bit and you two can catch me up when ye’re done with… with this.” She waved her hands at them.

Jamie had Claire in his arms before Brianna was out of sight, his forehead resting against hers.

“I dreamed of ye last night and I’m no entirely sure I’m no dreaming still,” he confessed.

“Did I do this in your dream?” She raised herself on her toes and brought her lips to his, her arms twining around his neck as he deepened the kiss.

“Aye,” he said breathlessly a moment later. “Ye did that… and more.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it later tonight,” she laughed but it became a sigh. “I’ve missed this––missed you.”

“The wanting ye… it’s never stopped.”

“Even after all this time?” she asked, a deeper question and whisper of doubt wavering in her voice.

“Especially after all this time.”

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Post: Wounded Heroes Anthology by Pamela Ackerson

About Wounded Heroes Anthology: Steam Level: 1 to 5 Wounded Heroes Anthology Five Degrees of heartwarming to melting stories ─ Five stand-alone swoon-worthy heroes that will leave you breathless from award-winning International, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors Pamela Ackerson, Debra Parmley, Teri Riggs, Maggie Adams, and Nia Farrell. * A Rosa for Russell ~ Who in their right mind falls in love with the enemy? ** Two Step, New Steps ~ Wounded cop Len Yardley doesn’t expect to find love while he’s healing from a gunshot wound but the air force veteran can’t help falling for perky Leanne Bobbin who brings out his protective instincts and makes him laugh. *** Bringing Her Home ~ Can Thomas Raintree bring home the woman he loves, but had to leave behind? **** As Time Goes By ~ Blake’s determined to find out who killed his best friend, and his widow holds the key ...not only to the murder, but also to Blake’s heart. ***** Fallen ~ An Army chaplain priest’s faith is tested when he falls for his PTSD therapist. Buy the ebook: Buy the Book On Amazon Author Bio: Pam Ackerson Bio: Wife, mother, international and Amazzon bestselling author, and time traveling adventurer. Born and raised in Newport, RI where history is a way of life, Pamela Ackerson now lives on the Space Coast of Florida where everyone is encouraged to reach for the stars! A hop, skip, and jump from Disney World and fun-filled imagination and fantasy. Non-fiction, WW2, inspirational, self-help marketing and advertising, historical fiction, time travel, westerns, Native American, and children's preschool/first reader books. Debra Parmley Bio: Debra enjoys writing historical romance and writes a 1920's flappers romance series, each book about a different flapper. She also writes contemporary and holiday romance, a dystopian romance trilogy; paranormal romance, fairy tale romance and poetry. She is a professional speaker and a world traveler who often brings home folk tales and music from countries she has visited. Her five favorite things are shooting primitive archery with her Mongolian horse bow, shooting long guns, shooting pool, walking on the beach, and hearing from her readers. Each card and letter is a joyful treasure, like finding that perfect shell on the beach. Teri Riggs Bio: Teri Riggs is a USA Today Bestselling author. As a child, Teri made up her own bedtime stories. When her children came along, Teri always tweaked the fairy tales she told her daughters, giving them a bit more punch and better endings when needed. Now she spends her days turning her ideas into books. She lives in Marietta, GA with her husband. Maggie Adams Bio: Maggie Adams is an international and Amazon Best Selling romance author. Her first book in the Tempered Steel Series, Whistlin' Dixie, debuted in Amazon's Top 100 for Women's Fiction, humor, on November 2014. Since then, she has consistently made the Amazon best seller 5-star list with her books. HerTempered Steel Series has launched the tiny town of Grafton, Illinois, into international recognition with sales in Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Australia and the UK and her follow-up paranormal series, Legends, looks to do the same! She is the recipient of the Dayreader Reviews Best of 2015 for Leather and Lace, the Readers Favorite Award for Something's Gotta Give in 2016, the Indie Romance Convention Romantic Comedy Award 2017 for Forged in Fire and the 2017 New Apple Awards nomination - Suspense for Cold as Ice. Nia Farrell Bio: Author Nia Farrell is a four-times Golden Flogger Finalist, a founding member of the Wicked Pens, and a multi-genre author who is published in nonfiction, poetry, music, articles, and children's books, with one documentary screenplay under her literary belt. She had nine nominations in the 2016 Summer Indie Book Awards; her BDSM MMF ménage erotic historical As Wicked as You Want was voted #1 Erotica and #10 overall in The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, and Pride and Punishment was voted Best Historical Romance in the 2017 Menages Romance Readers Favorites. Follow the author on social media: Learn more about the writer. Visit the Author's Website Facebook Fan Page Twitter Read the full article

[austinausten]

In addition to seeing 25+ shows, 30 scenes from Transmission, plus networking/marketing/last minute revisions for said show, I did manage to do A LOT of sightseeing in Edinburgh.

My solo tourist came out and couldn’t be stopped. Even when my feet hurt at the end of the day or I was tired and hungry, I found a way to go see or experience something else.

But alas, much like when I went to England for my semester abroad, I realized that I will still have to come back to Scotland. There’s so much more to see outside of Edinburgh and even still within that old, literary city.

Here are my highlights:

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Book Lover’s Tour

I was buzzing with excitement and caffeine when I ran out of the hostel for this tour–my first official tourist activity! It lived up to the hype. We walked through Old Town, around Southbridge and the University of Edinburgh mostly, because that’s where a lot of Edinburgh’s literati spent their time. Why? It has been the cheaper area where they could afford to live and work.

I loved seeing where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle went to his medical lectures, the bar where he and Robert Louis Stevenson hung out, the place where RLS met his model for Long John Silver from Treasure Island, and so many more places of interest for these and the two main literary influences from Scotland: Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns.

Our guide also pointed out a few of the notable Harry Potter spots. I went back and found them all on my own, in a spread out, unofficial tour of my own making. I did have coffee at the Elephant Cafe one morning, but hated the over-crowded and tourist-y feel. My brunch at Spoons, the place where Rowling wrote the first few chapters of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, put me much more in tune with my own muse.

One night when I felt lonely, wandering the streets alone while crowds pushed past to find the next Fringe party, I did cheer myself up by finding Rowling’s handprints by City Hall.

Again, I didn’t make it to all the famous spots–like the house where RLS was born, or the Arthur Conan Doyle Society–but it’s worth going back. What other cities have monuments to authors so big and tall as the Sir Walter Scott monument? Not many.

Finally, an unofficial new spot on my writer’s tour was The Brass Monkey. Though it’s a pub, I never had a chance to grab a drink there. I did push through the crowds on my first Saturday there to inquire for a postcard my best friend had left me. The bartenders smiled and retrieved it for me. Letters are still magical.

  Edinburgh Castle and Stirling Castle

View from Edinburgh Castle

Saint Margaret in her chapel

The first I saw at the beginning of my trip on my own. The second, Stirling Castle, I saw with a crew of my Transmission friends at the end of our Highland tour.

Unlike the castles in Germany, these did not feel like fairy tale castles, but much more like forts where important battles were fought. Even in sacred spaces like the 13th century Margaret’s Chapel, it felt like so much history had been hard won both within and without its walls.

In Edinburgh Castle, I’m glad I fought past the crowds to see the room where Mary Queen of Scots hid to give birth to James VI of Scotland/James I of England. Though I must admit a panel beside the portrait of James I’s wife has me more interested in Anne of Denmark’s life. I did see the crown jewels of Scotland but I skipped the war memorial in favor of more time in the dungeons–less to see, but fascinating imagining the many different types of criminals and “criminals” kept there over the centuries–from the Jacobites through to WWII POWs.

Stirling Castle had even more amazing views of William Wallace’s memorial and more of the Scottish hills. Without Edinburgh surrounding it, I found it easier to imagine what it would have been like centuries before. The re-created rooms were much prettier than Edinburgh Castle, especially with the tapestries and painted ceilings.

“Imprisoned” at Stirling Castle

Cecelia Lynn-Jacobs and Margaret Sulc take the throne at Stirling Castle

Day Trip into the Highlands

Stirling Castle was the end of a day-long trip into the Highlands with Timberbush tours. Our day started with a fantastic story-telling introduction from our bus driver–who said I was a fairy because of my purple hair. We drove out of Edinburgh to tales of William Wallace, Robert the Bruce, and other folklore of ancient Scotland. Our first stop included three Highland cows–the cutest farm animals I think I’ve ever seen.

The best part of the day by far was Loch Lomond. An hour long boat tour across this flat, wide, perfect lake felt like heaven on Earth. Though we did snap many pictures–including silly “Jack I’m flying” style ones–it felt less like a tourist adventure and more like balm for the soul. I can see why the Romans called this loch the prettiest one, the one with the best light. It captured my soul for sure. These pictures don’t do it justice.

On the way back, the bus driver told us all the ways that Braveheart messes up history. Thistles, by the way, are not romantic. They are Scottish because they kept the vikings from invading for many years–believe it or not. They are NOT what you’d give to your favorite lad or lass.

View of Loch Lomond

Me on Loch Lomond

Highland cow aka snuggle monster

Nature within the city

When I say my feet hurt from walking, it wasn’t just from the cobblestones. I climbed Arthur’s Seat only once–but I walked so many other places within the city to find the best views and monuments: Calton Hill, Princes Street Gardens, the Meadows, Water of Leith, and the Royal Botanical Gardens.

On my second or third night, Cecelia, Megan and I climbed up the crags near Arthur’s Seat. I tested myself by going near the edge as close as I could get to see both the astounding views of the city’s electric lights going on for the night and down to the heather and thistles on the hillsides. It made me think of the moors from Wuthering Heights–though that of course is in Yorkshire not Scotland.

View from Crags near Arthur’s Seat

Water of Leith

Sir Walter Scott and bagpipes

I was super proud of myself for climbing a tree to write on my first day in the Meadows. Until Cecilia climbed it higher than me. But then she pushed me to take my longest adventure day when we went ranging far into New Town to find the Water of Leith after I’d already spent a few hours wandering through the monuments (and rainbows!) at Calton Hill and climbing up the steps of the Sir Walter Scott monument.

Even though I undertook some of these walks alone, I never felt that way. So many travelers and locals frequented these paths. I could have been annoyed, but instead I felt lucky that these are not forgotten in the hubbub of city life. For instance, one day while strolling through Princes Street gardens, I heard a young man belting out operatic tunes. I couldn’t tell if he was rehearsing or busking, but it was lovely all the same. Performances welcome you into all portions of the city.

View from Arthur’s Seat

Museums

I missed the National Portrait Gallery, Art Museum, and Real Mary King’s Close (must go back!), but I did hit the Museum of Childhood, Writer’s Museum, National Museum of Scotland.

First off: all of these were FREE. How amazing is that? It made walking through them that much more enjoyable.

The Museum of Childhood enchanted and terrified me at the same time. For those of you who have seen or read any part of Raggedy’s Kingdom might know why. The scariest part? Amazingly, not the room full of dolls but the dioramas with life-size mannequins that played sound and lit up when you walked near them. Motion sensored. Megan and I laughed to keep from crying out in fear–or at least I did, while she taped the whole thing. The history of how trains, board games, and even mechanical toys came into being was fascinating and beautiful to trace.

The Writer’s Museum I could do on my own in about an hour. I could have read more of the plaques, but it was enough just to see all of these artifacts of Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, and even Ian Rankin collected in a restored 18th century house. But it was worth it for a bibliophile like me.

Me and the dolls at Museum of Childhood

The Caledonian cross flag, National Museum of Scotland

Pulpit, National Museum of Scotland

The National Museum of Scotland is now my second favorite museum (after the Kafka Museum in Prague) of all time. And I only had time for about 3/5 of the History section–which is probably less than a THIRD of the museum as a whole. They also have three floors on technology, three floors of natural history, and more than three floors on fashion, art, and culture. Over in the Scottish history section, I learned that tartan, while important, was never officially aligned with the different clans until the 19th century. Commercialization at work as always… As a Christian, looking at the history of the church in Scotland was very interesting. Would I fight for my beliefs in the same way?

I wish I could say I’ve cleared up Scottish history timelines for myself, but I’m afraid that’s not true. It’s so interesting and intricate that even after taking a course in Scottish history at Rice, the Highlands tour, plus reading Outlander (fictional so wrong of course) I’m still fuzzy on the details. Just an excuse to keep learning!

Cemeteries

I spent time in at least two cemeteries: Greyfriars and Calton. And oddly enough, I found them to be just as relaxing as the many parks and natural wonders. Maybe I’ve spent too much time thinking through horror plays to find them creepy–but again, I think it’s more the way they are occupied in Edinburgh that made them so welcoming. In addition to the tours going through, I noticed people stopping to write down notes, have a picnic, or sketch.

Greyfriars was a convenient meeting spot, being so close to the main streets but not actually on High Street or Southbridge. I spent a lot of time passing by Greyfriar Bobby’s statue and gravesite. Even if it’s just a legend, I like the idea that a dog could be so loyal and honored–like Hachiko in Tokyo.

Calton Cemetery

Greyfriars Cemetery

Greyfriars Bobby

I may not be Scottish by blood, by I feel so because of my name. While the rest of the tours crowded around the James Potter, Tom Riddle, and other allegedly Harry Potter-related tombs, I found myself marking the many Margarets buried around me. It felt right to honor them and to imagine that my name made me connected to this place.

Especially since so many were marked as wives and mothers only, seeing their names and thinking of the innumerable unmarked graves of women around the world makes me want to make something much more of my life to honor those who were kept silent in any way, shape, or form.

Ceildh and Haggis

I did fit in two very Scottish traditions while in Edinburgh: Scottish dancing and that infamous dish, haggis.

The ceildh didn’t last long enough. Even with all the soreness from walking, I could have hopped, kicked, and spun around that room all night. The bagpipes on the street sounded great, but they never sounded better than when we were splitting the willow or dancing the Dashing White Sergeant in an Irish pub (go figure) in Edinburgh. The best part: a Scottish lad stepping up to dance with me when there weren’t enough partners for the last dance.

Megan, Ellen, and I and our haggis.

Haggis I swore I would not try again on this trip. I’d had it back at Rice when a classmate had made it special and hated it. But as it turns out, having haggis in a traditional pub after a long day of walking, seeing shows, and sightseeing was just right. Plus the mashed potatoes and turnips it tasted like a slightly less moist version of meatloaf. The next day I even ordered it on a hamburger because I liked it so much.

Most of the time I ate from the Fringe tents, but here’s a list of a few other notable drinks and eats I had:

Innis and Gunn Beer Kitchen–great selection and the Scotch egg tasted as good as it looked

The Doric–had my first dram of whisky here, amazing service

56 North–my FAVORITE bar in Edinburgh because it’s filled with so many different types of gin

Frankenstein pub–tourist attraction with meh food, but the animatronic Frankenstein’s lab show and kitschy decor was worth it

Clarinda’s Tea Room–clotted cream and the best scones in Edinburgh

Panda and Sons–my first speakeasy! The cocktails were fantastic, and sometimes very theatrical

  So I’ll meet you again in Edinburgh for Real Mary King’s Close, more ceildh dancing, a Brazilian crepe by the Doctor’s pub, and way more time hiking in the Highlands and hills around Edinburgh–sound good?

Featured image: view from Stirling Castle

Beyond a Travel Review: Edinburgh In addition to seeing 25+ shows, 30 scenes from Transmission, plus networking/marketing/last minute revisions for said show, I did manage to do A LOT of sightseeing in Edinburgh.

[roundtheworldwithtaytay]

Today we are up bright and early because this is the Irish Callaghan version of my Glen Affric, Scotland part of the trip.  as we were planning this trip Tam told me she did not know much about her family other than that they were from Cork.  In Ireland that could mean the city, but I know most likely it meant County Cork which encompasses a large part of the Republic.  

I immediately started researching.  Genealogy and research is a favorite past-time of mine.  I really do like figuring things out.  Some sleuthing through the Callahan name later I discovered her family was likely from a town called Mallow, just about 20 minutes outside of Cork.  There were actually two castles.  Dromaneen Castle, which I will get to and Clonmeen Castle, which about all that is left is the lower foundation surrounded by a cattle farm.  We set off for Clonmeen, which again there isn’t much left of it, but the important aspect of it was that there was a cemetery filled with likely ancestors of Tammy. But first... off though a whimsical trip to Blarney Castle.

The lovely part about where we stayed is that we could have simply walked to Blarney Castle, however since we needed to leave right away, as we have to make our way to Wicklow before night, we loaded up the car and drove over.

Having been there before and fairly early in the line I coax Tammy pretty quickly to get in line for the Blarney Stone.  I know she wants to do it and it gets backed up so if we get there quickly, we can get through the castle and then onto the rest of the grounds.  The ritual goes as the last couple of times that I did it.  Sit down and the man lowers you back and BAM... eloquent as hell.  Or so the tale goes.

We walk around the beautiful grounds including the 7 Sisters and the Dolmen stone.  This place is magical.  Literally.  We continue through the fairy glen, near the witches kitchen and druid circle and then onto my favorite part of the gardens... The Wishing Steps.  Seriously.  I like them more than the actual stone.  The story goes, that if you walk down and back up the Wishing Steps with your eyes closed while thinking only of a wish, that wish will come true within a year. The wish will be granted by the Blarney Witch, because she steals firewood from the Estate for her kitchen. In order to pay for this stolen firewood, she has to grant the wishes of those who walk these stairs.  Now this seems simple, but is actually more simple said than actually done.  The steps are generally wet and are not at all steps as you think of them.  They are carved of stone and no one is like the other.  Also at the very top and very bottom there is nothing to hang onto so falling is possible and seemingly likely.  

I have to say that I did this last year and my wish did manifest but in an even more wonderful way.  I wished more specifically this year.  We see how things turn out.  Finished we get in the car and head to Mallow.

First stop though... Cork.  We drive around.  I find St. Finn Barre’s Cathedral and then we find the main bar I want to visit, the Mutton Lane Inn.  It is fantastic and exactly what the quintessential bar in Ireland is supposed to look like.  We have a few or so beers in Cork... Who’s counting?  And then we head off to find Tammy’s heritage.  

Clonmeen Cemetery!  We went walking around the dilapidated chapel within the grounds before nature called and well... I’ve now peed in a cemetery.  Not my finest work and I made sure to go toward the pasture and away from the graves, but what is done is done.  Can’t go back.  We notice the names throughout... John... Corneilius... and my personal favorite, Honor.  It begins to rain and we get to the car, turning once more to pay respects to the family that brought me my best friend.

Now off to look for Dromaneen Castle.  Dromaneen is located near Mallow on River Blackwater.  I knew that we very possibly would not be able to see this one as it was on private property, but we did try and went off-road up until we hit an impasse.  So we turned around and started our drive back out.  We stop to ask a local man on his mid-day walk if he knew where the castle was.  He pointed in the direction and told us we should go back and knock on the door.  I have no problem with this, but Tammy wants to move on.  The gentleman gently grabs her hand though and tells her of her family and where they are from now before giving us a huge tip about 20 minutes later.  We can see this castle from the highway on the other side.  And so we do.  This kind soul though.  Just on his daily walk.  This is why I love Ireland so.

Next is probably the scariest and most hilarious time that we have.  It is getting dark.  We have to get ourselves in a car too big for these tiny Irish roads, driving stick, on the wrong side of the car, and the wrong side of the road, through rain and fog, in the dark, up a mountain, avoid hitting deer all the while the sides of the road are basically just you driving off a mountain if you aren’t too careful.  How does one go about this?  Deano and Frankie baby!!!  I don’t know why.  Well actually, “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head,” by Dean Martin I want played at my funeral and I’m pretty sure we are about to die.  That however leads into, “That’s Life,” by Frank Sinatra and reminds us of the scene in Licence to Drive where the guy that steals the caddy is making drinks and cutting limes on the dashboard.  We start quoting the movie non-stop while power singing along with Frank.  

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face I just pick myself up and get back in the race That's life (that's life), that's life and I can't deny it Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it But if there's nothin' shakin' come this here July I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball a-and die

We literally listened to those two songs over and over and eventually we had made it to Wicklow.  We quickly get to the restaurant which was suggested by my friend Pad.  Thanks Pad.  Then we have the most delicious meal (just short of the pizza in Cahersiveen).  The lovely lady checks us into our room which is stunning.  Seriously.  It is the Wicklow Heather.  Go.  The night is so dark due to the lack of lights around.  You are in the mountains or for me... heaven.  We drift quickly to sleep.  Tomorrow is our last full day before we head home.

[wierdogal]

Writing Our Own Stories (Chapter 5)

Summary: It’s been five years since Rumplestiltskin was banished from Storybrooke and no one knew what had happened to him. That was until Regina got a call from someone asking how she could transfer the remains of her step-brother from Storybrooke to Scotland. Canon until Rumple’s banishment. [Eventual Rumbelle but towards the end.]

In this chapter, we learn more of what has happened with the people of Storybrooke for the past five years.

Note: Please read the end notes for this chapter because I'm pretty sure everyone will have something to say about what I did.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

[AO3] [FFN]

Chapter 5

New York, sometime during the First Curse

His apartment wasn't great but it was better than the cold alley he had found her in.

He had fridge full of microwaveable meals and instant noodles, not something that you'd consider giving a young girl. Luckily, he still had a box of cereal and milk to offer and the girl was eating slowly and silently on the only sturdy table the apartment had.

He watched her eat and something inside him stirred as he recalled all those times when he and his father did have something to eat besides some scraps...when they did have bread and butter and some water. His father had taught him not to gorge them down but to eat and savor them because they didn't know when they could have food like that again.

Emily was doing just that...savoring the bowl of cereal in front of her. The girl must have thought that he was going to kick her out as soon as she's been fed...well that was something Neal just had to disprove.

Once she was done, Neal offered her his hand and they went to his bedroom.

"You can have the bed," offered Neal with a smile as he fluffed the pillows and yanked the covers so the little girl could climb in. She did so slowly but then her eyes landed on him and she was close to tears once again. "What's wrong?"

"Could-could I sleep next to you?" the girl began, her voice so low that Neal barely heard her request. "I'm...I'm scared of the dark."

Neal's heart clenched and he nodded. "I'll just get ready for bed." He shifted and saw her backpack on the corner. He walked to it and grabbed the first book he could get. "Why don't you read for a while as I get ready for bed?"

The little girl nodded and Neal showered and brushed his teeth in record time. He hadn't noticed the book before but as he studied what the girl was reading, his heart couldn't help but lighten a little...it was a fairy tale book.

"Beauty and the Beast your favorite?" asked Neal as he sat on the bed. The book didn't have the usual depiction of the Disney movie of Beauty and the Beast but seemed to be the original one written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.

The little girl nodded and Neal offered her a small smile. "Belle's my favorite Disney princess too. I mean, who wouldn't love a girl who loves to read and takes charge of her own life."

The little girl smiled and offered him the book. "Would you…"

Neal nodded and took the book from her. "Well let's see then, where are you already?

Emily shook her head. "Maybe we could read it again?"

Neal smiled. "Sure, why not." He shifted the book in his hands and went to the beginning. "'Once upon a time'..."

Belle didn't know why her feet brought her there of all places but she just let herself fall in a pitiful heap on the ground, leaning back on the well where she and Rumple had exchanged their wedding vows.

She had moved on with Will after Rumple had left...well, no he didn't actually leave. She had moved on with Will after she had banished him. Why would she feel like this now? Was it because Will had found a way to reunite with his own True Love and she hadn't?

That wasn't fair to either of them and yet the news hit her hard. Rumple was living a happy life...a life without her.

She had always thought that was possible, especially when Dove came to her about splitting the rent to the accounts Rumple had outside Storybrooke. She always had that idea at the back of her mind that Rumple had grown to hate her so much and decided to never return to Storybrooke.

When Ursula and Cruella had first arrived in Storybrooke, somewhere deep down, Belle had hoped that Rumple had orchestrated all of it, as well as the search for the Author, so that he could have his happy ending.

But when Zelena arrived in town, announcing her pregnancy with Robin's child…Belle had lost all hope of ever seeing Rumplestiltskin again.

Her life in the other world wasn't much different from her real story. She was still of noble family, her mother drying during the Ogre wars while her father asked for suitors. The key difference was she wasn't happy.

In Isaac's world, she was the dutiful daughter of Lord Maurice, who felt her life was wasted each day because she couldn't read as much and couldn't travel and see the world. The clincher was that no one did actually love her there as well.

Her father was the exception of course, but all the other suitors proved to different versions of Gastons. Not a single one of them cared about her or shared her beliefs.

It took Henry and Emma 6 months before they could redo what Isaac and Zelena had done. With Zelena almost killing Regina, only for Henry to realize his role as the Author.

As soon as they all returned to Storybrooke, the Apprentice had proposed to accelerate Zelena's pregnancy so they could banish her back to Oz but Zelena had other plans and manage to kill the Apprentice, steal Merlin's wand and transport most of them back to the Enchanted Forest where she found herself a new ally...King Arthur.

They had mistakenly trusted Arthur when they had first arrived, informing them of Emma's role as the saviour. Arthur had first said that they needed Emma to free Merlin only for them to actually want Emma dead so no one else could wake Merlin from his tree form.

Arthur's other plan was of course for Belle to relinquish Rumple's dagger to him so he could forge Excalibur.

Belle never really figured why she decided to take the dagger that fateful day but she had and lucky enough, Arthur never got his hands on the dagger.

He did however succeed in killing Merlin when Zelena manage to tie the sorcerer to Excalibur and she got hold of Merlin's heart…

That was part of the story that made Belle's heart clench...that ensuing magical battle had caused both Zelena and Robin their child, Merlin managing to transport all of them back to Storybrooke, also leaving Regina the wand.

Things had settled down then...well for a good week or so until the God of the Underworld suddenly showed up in Storybrooke with Zelena in tow. Apparently, those two shared True Love and with one kiss, Zelena had manage to jump start Hades' heart.

Zelena had gone to the Underworld using Dorothy's Silver Slippers to try and bargain with the god about her daughter. When Hades said that he could do nothing except help her get revenge, the two worked out their previous spat and worked together to get what they wanted.

Hades' has transported them to the Underworld and had carved their names on the headstones in the graveyard of what they had deemed Hellbrooke, making them unable to leave...that was until the Apprentice appeared to them and mentioned about saving souls to weaken Hades' power so they could all return home.

The heroes had manage to do just that, albeit after a long period of time given that David's brother, Killian's old love, Belle's former fiancee and Peter Pan were souls that found themselves in the River of Lost Souls. It was some help that the shop was still open and Belle had access to some books that Rumple had, as well as some of his research that he apparently burned in the real shop back in Storybrooke because he had wanted to find a way to communicate with Bae.

Belle had kept an eye open. She made sure to look at the face each person that crossed her path but she did not see a sign of Rumplestiltskin in the Underworld. Snow and David had told her that maybe that was a good thing...that he was still alive somewhere and was not suffering but Belle didn't see that as reassurance at all.

Sure he wasn't dead...but what if he was suffering somewhere in the Land Without Magic? At least finding him in the Underworld would have give her some resemblance of closure.

It was close to a year and a half when they had finally weakened Hades' magic in Hellbrooke and were able to erase their names on the headstones. When they had found their way back to Storybrooke, Zelena and Hades had been busy.

The two had brought more realms to their little town and the heroes found themselves with the likes of Merida and the other residents of Camelot. King Arthur was also present, albeit being held prisoner because Zelena blamed him just as she blamed Merlin and Regina for the loss of her child.

It reminded Belle so much of a dystopian book when they were all sneaking about Storybrooke, planning a rebellion against the God of the Underworld and the Wicked Witch.

Belle had found some of Rumple's old notes about magical artifacts and it was there that she found out about the Olympian Crystal that Hades had. But even with that knowledge they planned carefully how they were going to take back the town.

But no matter how carefully they planned, they still lost one of their own.

Robin had jumped in front of Regina to save her from the Olympic Crystal. The surprise caught both Zelena and Hades of guard and Henry manage to write the crystal to be in Regina's hand instead of Hades and that was how the God of the Underworld met his end.

But no matter how hard she wanted to kill her, Regina could not bring herself to kill Zelena so they had imprisoned her once again only for her to escape and once again steal Merlin's wand and found herself in the Land of Untold Stories where she made a deal with one Mr. Hyde.

With a new partner, Zelena and Mr. Hyde once again wreaked havoc in Storybrooke bringing along trouble that brought some stories that was better left untold.

It was another year before things could finally settle down with the people from the Land of Untold Stories, Camelot and the Enchanted Forest (counting some of Robin's own men, and Roland) returning to their realm with the help of Regina's use of Merlin's wand upon the death of Mr. Hyde.

They had only manage to figure out how they could kill Hyde through again the use of Rumplestiltskin's notes that Belle had found. Apparently the Dark One had encountered the scientist and his other persona before and he made sure to take note of the encounter...and his theory on how to stop Hyde in case they decided to come after him.

It was hard for Belle to not think about her estranged husband when all the time they needed an answer or a way out of their problems, he proved to have the solution in his books and notes. The others would always ask her to take a look at them when Belle didn't want to touch any of them because it hurt to even see his handwriting.

But she still did it, even with the constant reminder from Regina that if Rumple had been with them, things would have been solved and/or fixed faster than what they could manage.

Zelena's fate after Hyde's death was this time left to be decided by the same Council that David and Snow had back in the Enchanted Forest when they were still dealing with a then Evil Queen. It was orchestrated in a trial of some sort with the perpetrator given the chance of explaining her actions and speaking in her defense which Belle was disgusted to see.

Zelena didn't deserve the chance to defend herself. She didn't deserve to have all those chances that was granted to her. She didn't deserve to have any say at all.

But she was given the chance to talk which was one the gravest mistake the Charmings could have done at that point.

When Zelena was charged with the death of Baelfire, Zelena argued that she didn't kill him. She pointed the finger at Emma and that it was her magic that separated Baelfire from Rumplestiltskin. It was Emma's magic that caused Baelfire's death and not hers.

One would think that would have no impact versus all the other things that Zelena had done...but it had an immense impact on one 16 year old boy.

Henry, from what Belle knew, had spoken to Zelena privately, since she had mentioned that she had lived in Neal's apartment in New York for sometime. Zelena told Henry that Baelfire had all these notes and books about destroying magic for all the wrong things it had done to his life. That Baelfire believed strongly that magic needed to be destroyed because everything bad that has happened in his life was caused by magic.

Months later, once Zelena's trial concluded, after much debate with life imprisonment as the ruling punishment, Belle had thought things would finally quiet down. Will had joined Robin's men in returning to the Enchanted Forest, stating that he would make his journey back to Wonderland from there. They didn't really have a relationship to begin with, only managing to spend time with each other when Belle needed another pair of eyes in looking over Rumple's notes.

That was until she heard that Henry had ran away.

She didn't know the whole story...just that Henry had manage to get his hands on the Olympian Crystal, with all of the town's magic infused in it. Henry, along with Violet, a girl from Camelot who had stayed behind in Storybrooke with her father, had headed to Neal's old apartment to look or the notes and books Zelena had mentioned.

Belle didn't know if Henry did find anything, or if they had confirmed Baelfire's desire to destroy magic...all she did know was after months of being away, Regina and Emma had succeeded in bringing Henry and Violet home. But Henry wasn't the same bright, young man that she had known.

He asked if he could work at the shop again and Belle just allowed him to. His eyes reminded her so much of Rumple's and the Author was very much curious about all the different items in the shop.

But even before Henry had asked her, Regina had already talked to her about it. She didn't say much about what had happened in New York and what had happened to Henry but the mayor just said that it would be good for Henry to have something from the father side of his family.

Of course that little suggestion met a lot of objections from one certain pirate. But Killian didn't say another word when Emma had glared at him and said that he had begun the problem in the first place which Belle didn't much understand but just let it all pass.

She shifted her priority then in making sure Henry was ok.

But then Zelena got out again...strengthening Henry's power as the author, making the boy write things that have not taken place yet. Zelena had thought that knowing what the author will write will help her find a way to alter history like she did before with Isaac.

It was Rumple's notes that once again saved them...a potion he was developing of stripping someone of their magic.

It had broken Belle's heart when she had found it. Was he trying to create this potion for himself? For when he found Bae? Was it when Zelena had his dagger so that he could get free?

She never did get around in answering that question. The potion had worked even if Rumple had only theorized it. Zelena was stripped of her magic and returned to her cell.

Henry on the other hand…

Henry spent a lot of time thinking about altering one moment in his life...the death of Neal. The one thing that he didn't want to do when he first learned that he was the author was now slowly eating him up.

He almost did it too...writing a new story where his father was still alive. Belle had tried talking to him but she too was taken aback by Henry's words. He had told everyone off for their so called 'heroic' acts when they were not as heroic as everyone believed.

It was Regina in the end that manage to talk to Henry who, with tears in his eyes, destroyed the pen once and for all.

That was just a couple of weeks ago…

And now they were going to be facing the return of Rumplestiltskin...and Belle didn't know why she was both relieved and worried for what was to come.

Note: Ok, so I know it seems rushed but this story will focus on the events after those five years. I wanted to give an explanation on what has happened canon wise and this happened. I wasn't actually going to dwell on it any further but the story needed a few background information and this is what this chapter is for.

Yes it was rushed, packing a lot of details in a small space but like I said, the story will not focus on that. It focuses on Rumple, his life during those five years which we are seeing in some flashbacks and his adopted daughter Emily and how Neal ties up in everything. It does not focus on the people of Storybrooke and that is why the past five years of their adventures do not get flashbacks.

Rushed yes, but it had to be done. I hope you still liked the update. More to come I promise.

[torentialtribute]

Andy Robertson: ‘I worked really hard to get to where I am today’

Andy Robertson is irritated. Polluted with his own personal saga framed by folk on the outside looking in. I wanted to straighten the story.

& # 39; I know when I don't know what to do, people say I am a Cinderella man that it is a compliment.

Andy Robertson has risen from the lower competitions of Scotland to a second Champions League final "

Andy Robertson has risen from the lower divisions of Scotland to a second Champions League final ['Iappreciatethisbecauseitisnotentirelyhonestthatitisnotthatitisnottrue

& # 39; waved wands in my direction, I did not win any kind of lottery to one of the biggest clubs in the world.

& # 39; The reason why I am a Liverpool player is the same reason why I am the captain from my country: I have finished my b ******* to get to where I am, and by doing so I have been able to get the most out of whatever talent I have. & # 39; Sportsmail reported yesterday that Robertson wanted to lift the Champions League trophy on Saturday night to cover up the pain of missing the past season.

But on the Players & Tribune website, Robertson writes his own story about a broken heart and redemption.

<img id = "i-dc605cba0c8323a3" src = "https://dailym.ai/2J2OwKp /30/00/14126086-0-image-m-52_1559173613441.jpg "height =" 586 "width =" 634 "alt =" Robertson wants to lift the trophy on Saturday to make the pain of missing the previous season dull the trophy on Saturday to cover up the pain of missing the past season "

Robertson wants to lift the trophy on Saturday to make the pain of missing the previous season dull

To have given a final season to sweep away an amateur with Queen & # 39; s Park, earn six pounds a night and do odd jobs to make ends meet.

Or he made Something happens to himself, otherwise he must run away from the game.

Sometimes moving, sometimes downright hilarious, never more than his retelling of surrendering the whole field on his first trip to Melwood, Robertson & # 39; s story it deserves to be heard. Straight from the mouth of the full back, as it were.

Again stressing his lack of patience when he heard that he had a lucky break from the lower divisions of Scotland to a second consecutive Champions League final, the 25-year-old asked: & # 39; Why does this up to it?

& # 39; In fact, it doesn't matter to me as an individual. It probably doesn't matter to my family either.

The defender went from a £ 6 per night amateur in Queen's Park to the opposite Lionel Messi from a £ 6- per night-amateur in Queen's Park to opposite Lionel Messi "

The defender went from a £ 6-per-night amateur in Queen & # 39; s Park to opposite Lionel Messi

& # 39; It only matters because God knows how many little Andy Robertsons are there – children struggling to convince people that their talent deserves a chance.

& # 39; I have, I, you, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, never wanted to be a poster, but if I were to be a poster for everything, this should be this – if you do not give up, and if you continue to believe in yourself when others doubt you, it can make You can show that you are good enough.

& # 39; Now I have two children of my own, who b message is more important than ever.

& # 39; I want them to understand that whatever potential they have, they can only be fulfilled if they set their sights on it. Fairytales? Those are bedtime things. & # 39; We all know the bare bones of Robertson's background story. Issued by Celtic, the club he had worshiped, at the age of 15.

A leader in Barcelona, ​​in a fashion way, he feels like a Liverpool player a side that Barcelona dramatically conquered, he feels like a player in Liverpool "

A leader in a side that dramatically conquered Barcelona, ​​he feels like to the player of Liverpool

Earlier, however, "The pain of that rejection is only spoken of in almost general terms. No more.

& # 39; Mom hated seeing us cry & # 39;" he writes. & # 39; But she saw me shed more than a few tears that day.

& # 39; It was midweek, it was taken to curry my favorite place to cheer me up. Also, I almost never I couldn't even eat much of it, so she knew how much I hurt.

& # 39; n try it again in Queen & # 39; s Park in 2010. & # 39; A bit of a smaller club in Glasgow, to say the least. Life there was different. I was making six pounds a night. It was a working class club and most players came from jobs they worked during the day. It was no different for me.

& # 39; I did all kinds of odd jobs to scrape by. I started with landscape concerts, I cleaned it up after the first team and I even worked in Hampden Park during competitions in Scotland.

& # 39; My parents told me that I wasn't starting to find my game that year, it would probably be best to look at Uni options. So I stopped everything I got better every day.

& # 39; That was real work, real pressure. People always ask me about the pressure to play for Liverpool. And it's there, believe me, I feel it. But there is that pressure, and then there is the pressure to play for your life – knowing that if you can't figure it out, you have to give up everything you love. That is the heaviest pressure I have ever felt.

& # 39; And in that situation I really started to believe in myself – maybe for the first time in my life. I didn't really have a different choice. & # 39; The move to Dundee United was more than deserved, so also the jump to Hull City in 2014. And then …

& # 39; When I was busy modeling and emptying the trash cans, I thought not that I ever

& # 39; It's funny, actually … a few clubs called when I was in the pre-season with Hull in 2017, but I

& # 39; My Missus was pregnant, and we were in the process of getting everything ready for our big arrival – that was our top priority, like any prospective parent.

] & # 39; Then I heard that Liverpool wanted me. Liverpool. If you hear Liverpool that you want, call your agent back in about five seconds. I could not sign the contract soon enough to be honest.

& # 39; However, I quickly got a dose of reality. The medical treatment lasted two days and it was brutal.

& # 39; My diet was weird because the medical staff had so many tests to make sure I was fit and would stay fit. After I passed those tests, I had to go to Melwood to perform the lactate test.

& # 39; I was walking with Danny Ings and after a few laps around the field I felt something going on with my stomach. I knew things would be bad, but what can you do? I just kept running.

& # 39; A few minutes later, I am on my knees and puke my guts on the field of Melwood. This holy ground. This place where all these legends have trained. King Kenny. Rushie. Stevie Gerrard

& # 39; And here I am, some small boy from Glasgow, jumping up for the medical staff of Liverpool

& # 39; When the first appearances count, God knows what they thought about me

& # 39; The next day I met the manager and I heard his smile from a mile away. I have clearly heard of my test.

& # 39; I turn around and he walks towards me, rubs his belly and points at me. The staff behind him are also smiling.

& # 39; Then he gave me a big hug. Then I relaxed a bit.

& # 39; The whole team made me feel welcome that week, but to be honest it took a long time before it started. I was a Liverpool player.

I wore the red shirt. I wore the club training suit everywhere we went. I wore it all over the house. But I still didn't feel like a Liverpool player. & # 39; Inevitably Robertson just worked harder and harder until Jurgen Klopp placed him on the team. Until it became indispensable

A leader in a side that overcame Barcelona in the most dramatic way, he now feels like a Liverpool player. One that aimed to overthrow Tottenham in Madrid on Saturday night. He added: & # 39; It is not lost to any of us what this means.

& # 39; But for me it's also a chance to step back and see the full picture.

From being released by Celtic and sobbing over my curry, to grinding six pounds a night in Scotland, drawing for Liverpool and putting on that red tracksuit, hardly believe in it

& # 39; It feels good to crack again. The most important thing is our destiny in our hands. We know that.

& # 39; And if there is one thing I can guarantee about this team, about this group of players, then it is that we stop for nothing to try to make the dream of our supporters come true.

& # 39; If that doesn't happen, it won't be a fairy tale. It's because we deserve it. & # 39;

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[vicarizona-blog]

I wanted to do a post on my favorite historical eras that I love reading about, but for whatever reason never did. But while I was wandering across Youtube I found a fun Tag by Kassidy Voinche. Which is obviously this one: Historical Fiction Book Tag. Here we go!

Why do you like to read historical fiction?

I love history and to read historical fiction for me is like a sneak peek into the people’s lives in different eras. it’s so fascinating!

What was the first historical fiction book you read?

I don’t remember what was the exact first historical fiction book I’ve ever read but Gone with the Wind was one of the first books I’ve read very very very long time ago.

Where do you draw the line for “historical fiction” and contemporary?

The 70’s are historical fiction to me, but the 80’s and up are contemporary. I think because I was born in the 80’s make it contemporary.

Have you read a book set in each of these eras?

 1600’s and before

Counted With the Stars by Connilyn Cossette – Based on the Biblical Exodus, from a PVO of a young Egyptian girl who is forced due to the circumstances to follow the Hebrew in the desert.

Shadow on the Crown by Patricia Bracewell – The story of Emma of Normandy when she is forced to marry a man she despises.

The Midwife of Venice by Roberta Rich – The captivating story of a Jewish midwife and her journey to rescue her husband from slavery.

 1700’s

The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom – Set in the late 1700’s on a tobacco plantation in Virginia and follows the life of a family and their slaves.

Kit by Marina Fiorato The book follows a journey of an Irish woman as she looks for her disappeared husband.

1800’s

The first image that comes to my mind when I think about this era; Grey streets of London, horse carriages, oil lamps, ladies wearing fancy hats, gentlemen in tailored suits, Scotland Yard detectives. It’s the golden age of romanticism and mysticism!

The Moonstone by Wilkey Collins – The story circles around a cursed diamond that mysteriously disappeared and the investigation to find it.

A Bride in the Bargain by Deeanne Gist  – Alone in the world, the main protagonist must move across the country to find her purpose and love of course.

The Mirk and Midnight Hour by Jane Nickerson – A haunting love story and suspenseful thriller based on the ancient fairy tale of “Tam Lin.”

  1900’s and WWI

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Remarque – This is one of the most heartbreaking stories of soldiers during the horrible battles in France.

Atonement by Ian McEwan – One of my all-time favorite books of love, sisterhood, betrayal, forgiveness, and atonement of course.

 1920’s-30’s

There’s something so very glamorous and fun about the 20’s; Jazz music blossomed, clubs, new modern flapper style for women, Art Deco, telephones, automobiles and cinema, fancy celebrities and movie stars!

Mrs. Houdini by Victoria Kelly – The exciting and mystical story of Harry Houdini’s wife Bess.

The Diviners by Libba Bray – An enchanting, mysterious and sometimes even creepy story of few very different people trying to solve a crime in 1920’s New York.

Water for the Elephants – The emotional, dramatic and tragic love story that takes place in a circus.

Z The Begining of Everything – Zelda Fitzgerald is the personality that perfectly represents the Jazz age to me. Her lifestyle is what made the 20’s iconic.

 1940’s and WWII

Very dramatic and heroic era. There are so many stories about people’s bravery to tell, on all fronts, and I love them all. Whether they told by Polish Jews, American and allied pilots, army nurses, Normandy, Pearl Harbor, Stalingrad, Auschwitz and many more.

The Color of Secrets by Lindsay Ashford – An interracial romance of a British war widow and an American soldier as they struggle during WWII.

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr – Another WWII novel that follows a blind French girl and a German orphan boy.

The Diplomat’s Wife by Pam Jenoff – A love story set after WWII when Martha was rescued from a Nazi Camp by an American soldier.

1960’s-1970’s or later

The Help by Kathryn Stockett – A story of three determinate women who fight for a change in their hometown.

The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah – A story of a family looking for refuge in a small Alaskan town but the solitude life turned out not as they pictured.

What was the last historical fiction book you read?

I’m currently reading the third book in Out of Egypt series by Connilyn Cossette: Wings of the Wind. And I absolutely love it. Never read any book based on the biblical stories. This series follows Egyptians and Hebrew during the Exodus.

What’s your favorite historical fiction cover?

Difficult to pick, I like simple covers that are atmospheric enough to catch my attention.

What’s your favorite historical fiction?

I can’t name one. In fact, every book I’ve mentioned in this tag are the ones I really enjoyed. However, I want to point out Philippa Gregory and her novels of the Tudor epoch, and Surah Sundin who writes about WWII. They’re both my auto-buy authors in this genre.

  Historical Fiction Book Tag I wanted to do a post on my favorite historical eras that I love reading about, but for whatever reason never did.