#He would have for sure learned it as a child. Even England knew French would have been important
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Idk care if I get sent to fandom jail for this but....America 100% speaks fluent French
#never really got the idea that he somehow can't speak it?#he just likes to fuk with France by speaking Louisiana French#or acting like he can't just like he dose with most other languages#He would have for sure learned it as a child. Even England knew French would have been important#then it was still the lingua franca for a long time#still in the top 10 most common languages spoken in the US#idk i just like polyglot America#kill me#hws america#alfred f jones#nyo america#amelia jones#hetalia#hws england#hws canada#hwd France#francis bonnefoy
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Part One | Chapter Two: Me And My Husband
Greenwich Village, New York
May 1919
Liberty Eagle Elementary lets out earlier than usual due to the heat wave. Parents gather outside the building, looking for their children. I walk out with two students, holding their hands reassuringly, and bring them out to the crowd. When they find their parents, they run to them, embracing as they always do because the 7 hours they've spent separated from one another are just cruel, and cruelly spent learning about things their little minds do not care for just yet.
My class is one of those, a tedious one no doubt, for children between the ages of 9 and 10. French is not an easy language to learn, and while I try my hardest to make the subject interesting, there will always be moments of frustration and exhaustion. The children surely complain about their horrible French teacher who forces them to make sounds they've never previously made, the sound of me echoing, "From the throat! From the throat, mes amies!" in their heads as they fall asleep at night.
The final child leaves and then I do as well, beginning the short walk home.
I do enjoy working with children, even though I complain about it often. Despite not being a very maternal person, I find children fun to be around. Their blunt way of speaking and frustrations are easy to share as an outsider in America. Children, I think, are outsiders after all, just learning to fit into the society of adults through the education they receive in these schools. They learn history, just as I did before arriving in New York, and they learn how to form proper sentences as I did when I was younger, my parents making sure I knew how to speak more than just French.
I'd like to be a close friend to these innocent children, but this may be because it's been a struggle to find my own adult friends during the two years I've been in America. New York, we researched, would be an area filled with strangers and people from all over, coming together to make a new culture, a new identity. Although I'm legally American now, I'm much more European in my ways and manner, the French in my culture.
I did insist when Harry proposed the idea of running away from England that it would take time to get used to a foreign place, but he welcomed the idea like a challenge while I worried at night.
Harry hasn't had the time to properly integrate himself into society yet, having just returned from France on Christmas last year. He was supposed to teach history in a high school just two miles from Liberty Eagle, but he's been failing his wellness examinations.
Harry and I run on a schedule on weekdays. At 7 in the morning, I wake up and get ready to go to school. Harry's normally already awake, eating his breakfast in the dining room. When I arrive downstairs, he'll pick his head up from the book he's reading and nod at the french press with the hot coffee. I'll sit across from him and sip at my coffee. I'll make small talk with him: "How did you sleep?" or "It was quite cold last night, wasn't it?" or "I think I'll be home a little late today." Harry nods and answers my questions and then tells me what he plans to make for dinner. I agree with him and then say goodbye. He follows me to the door and locks it behind me.
Weekends are trickier. I wake up later than usual and lazily move to the kitchen. Harry wakes at his usual time, this time sitting on the couch, reading his book. I make the same small talk, but this time I can't run away from the awkwardness between us. I sit there and try to continue the conversation with him. Then I do that for Sunday.
When I arrive home today, Harry's pacing in the living room, running a hand messily through his hair. It used to be longer than it is now, touching his shoulders, but since he had an evaluation today, he was forced to cut it. I can see his face much better this way and the white scar that cuts through his left eyebrow. His curls are healthy and dark, bouncing back as he continues to mess with them. The sound of the door closing causes him to look up, startled.
"Hi," I say, putting my bag down. I remove my shoes and open the collar of my shirt. "It's very hot outside. They let us out early."
Harry nods. His own collar is open. "It is hot."
"How did your evaluation go?"
"I didn't pass."
He's laid out the papers with the red slashes on the dining table. I pick up one sheet and peer at it, tackling all the red specifically. Harry continues to pace behind me, the wood floor creaking under his weight.
The comment at the bottom reads:
Although Mr. Styles has shown promise in his recovery, the Board of Administrations believes some more time would be suitable before allowing Mr. Styles to return. Mr. Styles' progression is impressive compared to previous evaluations, however, we cannot permit him to return to his post and continue working with children. We will reconvene and reevaluate Mr. Styles August 25, 1919.
I look through the rest of the documents. "They didn't even give a reason?"
"They said there's something off about me," Harry says, taking the paper from me. "Fuck's sake."
At first glance, Harry does seem recovered and collected, but when you hear him speak and spend time with him, you suspect he may be on the verge of a breakdown at any given moment. I don't reply, unsure whether or not to show my support of this evaluation. Time off has been good for Harry, I agree, and his condition shouldn't affect how he behaves with children.
Harry itches to return back to work. It's partially because he doesn't like the fact that I'm single handedly keeping our heads above water and partially because he chooses to ignore the impact of his military service on him.
"Annaliese," he says, leaning against the wall connecting our dining room and kitchen. He looks very attractive in his suit as opposed to his normal casual wear. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."
His eyelids are heavy, and he looks tired, shoulders falling from exhaustion.
"August 25 is only three months away," I tell him in an attempt to be optimistic. "You'll be back just in time for the reopening of schools."
"If I pass."
"I know you will." I smile at him, nodding firmly. "I believe it."
His eyes narrow, resting his head back against the wall. "You've said that the past two times."
It's true, but I know he's closer to passing this time. "We'll be alright, Harry. If you're worried about the money, it's not all that bad. We have savings and more than enough to keep us comfortable. That, plus what the government sends us for your service."
Harry pushes himself off the wall and gathers all the papers, tucking them into the manila folder. He sits down heavily and rubs his temple, taking a few deep breaths.
"Sit, Annaliese."
I do, watching him carefully.
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "I want to get out of here," he says, leaning in as if he's telling me a secret. "How about this weekend?"
A getaway? Now? "Harry, you can't keep running from your problems."
"It was your idea to run away the first time, Annaliese," he says dryly with a twitch of his scarred eyebrow. "You wanted to avoid the war."
Irritation pricks at my face. "And you wanted to run from your father."
Harry's jaw tenses as it always does his father is brought up in conversation, but he attacked first, so it's my turn. "I'm not running away from anything. And you'd be there too."
I lean back against the chair, surprised. "You'd want me to go with you?"
"Christ, you think I'd go by myself? Don't be ridiculous."
"Well, yes," I say sharply. "You're the type to do that."
"Maybe before I had a wife I would. So will you come?" He pauses and fixes his impatient tone. "I'm thinking of Atlantic City. You said your friend was there just last month."
My friend he's remembering is the neighbor. Her name is Alexandra, a mother of two, and the most insufferable woman I've ever met, but she's the only one who I've been able to speak to thanks to the close proximity. I always bump into her when she's walking to work in the same direction as me.
"Right, but I'd have to ask her how to get there and you know how much I hate talking to her. My life goal is to avoid her at all costs. Last time I went over for a recipe, she told me about her weird brother who threatened to kill his wife. Now, why the hell would I want to hear about that?"
"I know. I'd go if I could, but we need those directions soon. Pop in and get the directions, and leave."
"You know she's going to hold me hostage, Harry."
"I know. But it's better than blindly figuring it out ourselves. It's Wednesday. Is the weekend too soon for you?"
"No," I reply, thinking about my kids and how they could probably use a lighter lesson on Friday. "I should be good."
"Do you want to go?" From his voice, I can tell he's worried about him being my only company. I wish he'd look at me.
Of course I want to go, and the thought of being alone with just Harry and nowhere to run is exciting, but nerve wracking.
I recall the last time he said to me he wanted to just leave for a few days. It was only 3 years ago after he had a physical fight with his father and came back wounded and blind angry, seething with rage and the need to physically harm something else. After I ordered him to sit still so I could clean the blood spilling from his shoulder where his father's ring had cut him, he demanded we go someplace, just the two of us. It had been our first getaway, our first night alone from his family who I was staying with. Just the two of us, nervous young adults in a hotel room with one bed and barely enough space to pass each other.
This time is different. Instead of deciding for the two of us that we needed to leave our home for a weekend, he's asking. One proper glance at his face tells me he's growing more and more desperate with every passing second I spend not replying to him.
"I do," I tell him sincerely. "I'll go see Alexandra before dinner. Harry, are you sure this is what you want? When we come back, all of this will still be here. This anxiety about the evaluations, the need to return back to work when you're still unable to. It won't just go away while we do."
Harry nods, absentmindedly looking over my shoulder. "I know. But just for two days, I'll be alright."
"Is two days really enough? Shouldn't we work on this fear together? Here? We have to one day."
"Annaliese," Harry says, focusing back on me briefly, nervously messing with his sleeves. "I don't want to. I want to go away and come back with a clearer head. I don't care that it's not a long term solution. It'll help me for two days and that's more than I already get."
That's the thing about Harry: he's stubborn. I love him dearly, but he doesn't budge when he makes a decision until I argue with him about it. These days, we don't argue a lot. Albeit, we don't talk much either, and sometimes I miss those nights where we'd yell at each other, passionately arguing for ourselves and then reaching a common goal, returning to bed happily. It's the nature of our relationship and it has been for the years I've been with him. It's one of the things I love about him: how passionate he can be for the things he believes in. A part of me wants to go against my own wishes and argue with him about this proposed getaway, just to rile him and demand him to yell, fight for what he believes in instead of holding back and returning to his own room, leaving me alone in the dining room until I head back to my room. This is the irrational part of me.
The more rational part of me reminds myself that Harry has been through a lifetime worth of trouble and avoiding those kinds of arguments are best for his health, mentally and emotionally. I can't help but feel selfish when I want him to talk to me like he used to, touch me like he used to, and kiss me. He's rarely ever around me and when he is, he's rarely ever fully present.
"I'll talk to Alexandra today and we'll figure all of this out tonight."
He nods and then stands up, tucking the manila folder under his arm. "I'll start on dinner then."
Before he can leave, I stand up and quickly grab his sleeve, halting him in his steps. He looks at me and then glances down at my hand clutching his shirt.
"Can you stay in our room tonight?" I quickly ask before my confidence leaves me. "I'd really like that. It's been so long since we've slept together."
His eyes have darkened by the time he looks back at my face, jaw tense. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" I press, stepping closer. I lay a hand on his torso and feel his stomach muscles tense. "Harry, it's been months."
"I don't want to. I want my own room--"
"But--"
"Annaliese, please don't argue with me right now. I have a headache."
"I don't mean you have to sleep with me. I don't mean sex. Just want you to sleep in the same bed as me. Like a normal married couple."
I let go of him when he doesn't reply, taking a step back. "I haven't even done anything to you. Why are you punishing me?" I demand.
Here come the fucking tears. God, I hate being weak. Desperate to hide them, I blink furiously and look at our feet, trying even out my voice. "If I've done something wrong, I'd like you to tell me so I can apologize and work on being better." Realizing my tears will not just dry up, I look back up to his stoic expression, demanding through my swimming vision, "What did I do?"
Harry watches a tear slide down my face and then my hand that angrily wipes it away. A muscle in his jaw jumps. "I didn't say you did anything. If anything, sleeping next to you is a punishment for me," Harry says quietly, stepping back, turning towards the kitchen. I reach out and quickly grab his shirt again, holding him in place.
"No. You don't get to walk away from this conversation. I've been trying to have it for months now. Why would it be a punishment for you? What have I done to you that's so bad, you can't find it in yourself to forgive me?"
"Christ, Annaliese. Let me go," Harry says coldly. He moves out of my grasp despite my strong hold on him and disappears into the kitchen. "Let me start on dinner and we can talk about this later."
We are not going to talk about it later. He's made excuses many times. I drag a hand over my face to catch any residue of my weakness. Helpless is what I feel now, and especially when he walks away from an important, long overdue conversation we must have. All I want is to be able to read his mind for a day, just to know what's troubling him the most. Instead of being helpful, I feel like a mother who can't get her child to sit still and just listen. Perhaps my help at the school feels rewarding because those children demonstrate that they've learned the lessons I've been teaching them. With Harry, it's like talking to a wall sometimes. It was never like that before.
I gather myself and then exit the house, walking across the street to Alexandra's house.
***
Alexandra never talks about anything positive, especially when it comes to gossip. She makes me write down the instructions on how to get to Atlantic City after getting the information from her husband, and then begins her usual gossip.
Then, to my horror, she makes me sit down for a cup of tea.
"My cousin's husband was diagnosed just last week," she starts, taking a sip of her tea.
I desperately look at the door, hoping someone will save me from this conversation, but nothing happens. I glance back at her and offer her a tight smile. "I hope everything is okay."
Alexandra has lived in America her whole life. Her grandparents came to America from Ireland in the early 19th century and lived in New York. Alexandra grew up in the south, in Georgia, and moved here to live with her husband who I rarely ever see. She's quite attractive with her long dark hair, blue eyes, and thin mouth, but as soon as she begins talking, all the beauty goes down the drain. More specifically, I want to pull my hair out.
She still talks with a slight southern accent which is very hard for me to understand at times because I've never heard it in my life. My accent isn't any easier for her to understand, but while I try to listen closely and not ask her to repeat often, she doesn't care about kind gestures and often asks me to repeat what I'm saying.
Since I've come here and people have told me that I'm barely understandable, I've tried to put on a bit of an American accent, trying to mimic their rude way of speaking and their lingo, but I can't always hide my natural accent. I don't know some words in English either. I always imagined that there would be more French speaking people in New York as I heard that there would be all kinds of people here, but I've yet to meet any. In the meantime, I stuck with the insufferable woman who insists on telling me about things I don't care about.
"He's got the disease everyone's talking about. You know..." she gestures to her gut, "down there."
"Oh," I say, swallowing the overly sweet tea. "I'm sorry to hear about that. I hope he recovers soon."
"Yeah, I doubt he will. It's just awful. It's terrible." Alexandra's eyes shine as they do whenever her evil mind thinks of something wicked to say or hear. "Maybe this vacation will be a perfect time to check if your husband is suffering too."
I choke on my tea and cough quickly, patting my chest. "Excuse me?" I demand.
She tucks her black hair back and shrugs innocently. "Aren't you curious? Maybe that's the reason he hasn't been sleeping with you." She catches the expression on my face. "Oh, Annaliese, I didn't mean to offend you!"
"Harry does not have... that!"
Alexandra hides behind her tea, blinking. "How do you know?"
"He just doesn't! Besides, you can tell from the symptoms!" And he'd tell me.
I stand up and put my tea down, grabbing my bag. Anger is coursing through me like a river. I'm not angry at the possibility of Harry being ill, but the nerve of her to disregard any respectful boundaries and reach into my life without a second thought. "My God. Thank you for the tea, but I must leave now. I...I have to pack."
She jumps up too. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry! You know I didn't mean to be rude!"
I ignore her, quickly walking away before I feel the need to physically maim her. I open the door, step out, and slam it behind me.
I hear her voice calling my name, but I need to remove myself from the situation. I've always had a bit of a temper when I was younger. Seems like it never went away. It's something Harry's always laughed about.
Back at home, Harry's cleaning the rice, straining it as he holds it under an open faucet. There is a boiling pot of water on the stove and he looks up at me when I stomp in, caught off guard. The expression on his face tells me I've frightened him with my loud noises. He looks out the window at Alexandra standing outside her porch with a frown on her face.
"Everything okay?" he asks uneasily. "What did you do to her?" He puts the strainer down. "Annaliese, don't tell me you hit her."
I shake my head, forcing my steps to be lighter. He rinses the rice one more time. "I didn't, but I swear one of these days I will."
"Oh, God."
"Harry," I say, reaching out to touch his sleeve. I immediately pull back before I touch the material of his shirt. "Sorry. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." He wearily looks at my hand.
Harry slowly pushes the washed rice into the boiling water and then gives me his attention.
I'm not really about to ask him this, right? He waits for me to say something.
"Nothing," I dismiss, looking away embarrassed. Opening a drawer, I remove a wooden spoon and hold it out. "It's nothing. Here."
He takes it from me and confusedly begins stirring the rice. "Did Alexandra say something to you?"
"Yes and I got out of there before I punched her face in. It was a close call this time."
"Oh," he says, slightly amused. "That's quite like you. Did you get the directions?"
"I did." I produce the paper from my pocket and hold it out for him. He opens it and glances over it quickly while stirring.
"Well, that's simple, I'd say. Are you sure everything is alright?"
I nod, swallowing hard. "Yes. We should do laundry before we go and then pack."
"Okay," Harry says, looking away. The tension returns between us and it's so intense, I need to remove myself from this conversation immediately.
"I'll see you at dinner then."
Harry nods and quietly answers, "Bye."
I walk around him, half waiting for him to call me back. He doesn't.
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virginia "ginny" bell, 26, translator
ginny is the only child of a british diplomat and a socialite. while she was, technically, born in london and considers it "home", she spent a majority of her formative years Not In London thanks to her father's job. she goes back and forth on whether or not this was, in fact, a good thing.
ginny was three when her father got assigned a post in germany and spent the better part of a decade in berlin. she had a governess who kept her busy teaching her math and science, when she was old enough, as well as how to read, write and paint. by virtue of her governess being german and speaking very broken english, ginny also learned german. she was expected to attend events with her parents outside of the time she spent with her governess, even though most of the children were ushered off into their own little room for the duration of said events, so learning to speak german was imperative for ginny to fit in with the other kids.
by the time ginny was thirteen, she was spending at least half the year in paris. her propensity towards learning meant she picked up french fairly quickly, as well as a fashion sense, thanks to her socialite mother, that would put all thirteen year olds to shame. the older she got, the less time she spent with children her own age and the more time she spent with her parents, cavorting with people who were far too rich and far too self absorbed, in order to make her parents look their best, proving to everyone else that they were good parents by having a daughter who was well educated, well spoken and well versed in multiple languages.
at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years old, ginny didn't mind all that much-she enjoyed being around people and found it easier to immerse herself in languages when she was around those who were speaking it instead of reading it from a book so, while her parents saw it as networking to some degree, ginny only saw it as an extension of her education.
by the time she turned 16, the family high tailed it out of germany after some Concerning Events and decided to make paris their home base. ginny, herself, spent two years in paris before returning to england to attend girton college where she continued to study french and german, had an affinity for lacrosse and tennis and found time to maintain an above average social life amongst her peers and friends.
girlfriend was Busy.
by 20, she'd gotten engaged to her long term boyfriend. he was the son of a colleague of her father's and, while he was a wannabe diplomat himself, he was horrendously bad at it and didn't like that ginny was seen as the far more personable one whenever they went to events together. it was no surprise, then, that the engagement fell apart when ginny refused to get married before graduating from girton, having been so close to finishing that it felt stupid to give it up. she'd tried compromise but he'd been unwilling and that had been the end of that. in hindsight, ginny supposes she's not all that upset about it.
by the time she'd graduated, war had broken out and she was recruited to work as a civilian translator at bletchley park, initially working in hut 4 and translating navy decrypts. when they'd discovered her translation skills were far better than even she had let on (can't brag about these things, after all), they'd moved her over to hut 3 and general intelligence, tasking her with the translations of army and air force decrypts. she's kind of a perfectionist at work, oftentimes quadruple checking her translations to make sure they're correct because she doesn't want to do something wrong that has catastrophic consequences.
ginny is a considerably social person. save for the time she spends mostly by herself at bletchley, there's never been a time where she isn't surrounding herself with people and not in a "scared to be alone" sort of way. spending much of her formative years around groups of people, often strangers, meant she knew how to socialize and hold court with a wide variety of people and, generally, felt comfortable enough to do so.
she's just as comfortable being by herself, though, learning that there are times where she enjoys her own company more than she enjoys being around other people. her flat is a collection of things she'd picked up and learned over the years-everything from a not small collection of classic literature to paint supplies and a few plants on the balcony. given the sheer amount of time she spends at work, those plants are Struggling but they are hanging in there.
while she doesn't believe her self worth is tied up in Being Perceived, ginny adores attention and tends to lean into it instead of shying away from it. she's not naive enough to believe that a majority of the attention she gets isn't just because she's pretty but she knows she's more than just a pretty face which is why she doesn't put much emphasis on it when it comes to determining whether or not she's a good person at the end of the day.
ginny is trying to not think about the future which, given Things, is pretty easy to do-she'd rather live in the moment, have some fun and some semblance of a normal life when she isn't at work and deal with the day to day instead of planning what comes next, what happens after. she has some thoughts, some things she'd like to do, but doesn't want to settle for anything that would mean having to give up the independence she's gained over the last few years because boy does she like that.
#ch: ginny bell#verse: at the end of the world#say hello to my new daughter who won't shut up#girl please i have so many things to do already!!
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Hamilton Inaccuracies/Corrections (because why not?)
Okay so, I saw a post on reddit that was like, “what’s some inaccuracies in Hamilton off the top of your head?” and I got a whole bunch...and then I had to double check to make sure if I was right...and I’m pretty long-winded...and now I have this 5,000ish word monstrosity. And apparently you can only post 1000 characters at a time on reddit. Laaaaame. So here’s some Hamilton facts I’ve gathered in my brain. Since it was kinda off the top of my head despite being so long, it’s kinda vague in some places, so if anyone wants to expand on anything (or correct me if I oopsed somewhere) please do! Though nicely please.
Also I am also awful at citing things, but I know I learned some of this from @john-laurens and @ciceroprofacto so thank you.
LET’S BEGIN!
Act 1
Rachel Faucette was not a prostitute, but she was a “whore” in the sense that she did what she fucking wanted with her body. During her first marriage she may or may not have been sleeping around, but she refused to stay with John Lavien, her husband, anymore. So he had her arrested. And he could do that. Because patriarchy and theocracy. And she was essentially put in solitary confinement. You can see why she tried to leave, right? She tried to get their marriage annulled or get a divorce. I forget what the issue was but she couldn’t and eventually she just moved to another island where she met James Hamilton.
The intro song makes it seem like Alexander was an only child. He actually had an older brother, James Jr., but he kinda fucked off after their mother died, working and taking care of himself. They also had an older half-brother Peter Lavien, but I don’t think they really knew him other than as the son of their mother’s abusive ex who took everything from them when she died. John Lavien was able to do that because when Rachel was with James Hamilton, she had not been able to get legally divorced from him so she wasn’t really married to James Hamilton, so James Jr. and Alexander were illegitimate ie bastards. He was an asshole. I don't think Peter had anything against the Hamiltons, but I think he grew up to be a Loyalist so. He actually made some trouble in South Carolina for Henry Laurens, John's dad! But I think I read somewhere he also left money for Alex and James Jr. In his will, which is sweet.
This is more visual since it’s not specified in the song, but in the show, Hamilton’s cousin mimes hanging himself. Peter Lytton’s cause of death if I recall was inconclusive, but he was in his bed and there was a lot of blood. So, yeah, he didn’t hang himself.
Alexander did not punch the bursar. However he did return to Princeton later during the war and blew a canon through the school and apparently decapitated a painting of King George lololol. He was under orders, but yknow. Probably felt pretty good after he was rejected for accelerated courses. He wasn’t the only bastard rejected, though! Ben Franklin’s bastard son was too. The guy in charge of admissions, Witherspoon, hated bastards as a concept and Princeton was a very religious school at the time I believe.
It may have been the plan by Aaron and Esther Burr for Aaron Jr to graduate Princeton, but like, he couldn’t really be sure of that? He was like 2 years old when they died, and his older sister Sally was 4 I believe, maybe 5.
Hercules Mulligan met Alex in 1772. His older brother Hugh knew Alex’s old employer in St. Croix and helped him get to mainland America. Alex and Hercules lived together for a long while, and Hercules is actually who got him interested in the revolution.
John Laurens was in England in 1776. He wouldn’t meet Hamilton and Lafayette until he accepted his post as Washington’s aide-de-camp upon his return in August of 1777.
Lafayette couldn’t have met Hamilton before August 1777 because that’s when he met Washington, and he was appointed as a volunteer to the Continental Army only a week prior, and before that he had been in France. But Lafayette later declared their relationship to be like that of brothers, Alexander his closest connection in the states besides Washington.
Lafayette admired and absolutely adored Laurens and they were besties, but neither of them knew Mulligan. They may have met in passing, or heard about him from Hamilton, but nothing more.
“Lafayette” was actually a nickname based on his title of “Marquis de la Fayette”. In his autobiography, he wrote: “It’s not my fault I was baptized like a Spaniard, with the name of every conceivable saint who might offer me more protection in battle.” I’m glad he thought it was funny at least. His name is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de la Fayette.
Hercules Mulligan is not known to fuck horses.
The Revolution had already sorta started. Actually, Hercules and Alexander had been part of local militias before 1776.
This is more of a miscommunication since the actors are close in age, though the lyrics try to get it across. There’s a reason Mulligan says he’s got the others “in loco parentis”. In 1776 Hamilton and Lafayette would have been 19, Laurens would have been 22, and Mulligan would have been 36.
I think we all know “Laurens, I like you a lot” does not cover the scope of their relationship but that’s rather self explanatory so unless someone asks I’ll leave it at that. And for other clarifications. But at the very least I’ll share this: Anyone who saw them knew they were like attached at the hip (without knowing how attached *winkwonk*) and you could almost always contact one through the other. Laurens was notoriously bad at answering letters, to Hamilton too (and Alex did bitch about it because he is insecure and needs love), but it became quickly known he got back to Hamilton fastest so people would be like “Tell Laurens I said hi!” or “Hey, I need to get these to Laurens, you send them to him.” Which is hilarious. I just imagine Alexander going, “Why me?”
While all of them are Revolutionaries, Laurens is the only one you could solidly call an abolitionist, and Mulligan’s even shaky on the manumission part. He was supposedly part of the Manumission Society Hamilton helped start, but Mulligan also personally owned slaves and was never known to have freed them (One helped him with spy shit. His name was Cato!). In fairness, Hamilton and Lafayette wholeheartedly agreed with Laurens, and Hamilton was the biggest supporter of his battalion plan, and both of them did try to continue working towards equality after the war, but it was never the top priority for either of them and their lives kinda went to hell, so it fell to the wayside. Lafayette actually did some nifty stuff worth looking at, and Hamilton might have tried to keep one of John Lauren’s freed men from Henry Laurens! But as slavery stuck around for a while, it clearly wasn’t anything significant.
Angelica would meet and befriend Thomas Jefferson in Europe, but she would never manage to convince him to put women in a sequel because he’s a huge misogynist and told her in multiple letters that politics isn’t for women and I think he deserves a shoe up his southern backside. Side note, it always bothered me that Lin played up the misogyny in the musical. I mean, yeah, all of them would be misogynists compared to us, but for their time, Hamilton wasn’t so bad. If there was anyone to play up misogyny with, it was Jefferson, because he would tell Angelica for years and years that politics could never make women happy, and that the women in France were foolish for trying etc.. Hamilton would actually discuss politics with Angelica frequently and openly. And there’s a proto-feminist in the cast that was never recognized—Aaron Burr! He respected Theodosia Sr. as an equal and she was his most valuable political ally, and he made sure Theodosia Jr. got the same education any boy of her time would have. He actually respected women to a decent degree. Not to say he wasn't as much of a ho as Hamilton cuz yeah that's accurate (but they were both disaster bisexuals more on Burr's sexuality later)
Farmer Refuted was an essay Hamilton wrote arguing against Samuel Seabury's posts. They weren't shouting in the public square(but Lin got the sass right. I love his face when Hamilton and Seabury are fighting over the podium). Seabury was also really really old, not young and cute like Thayne, hence the line about "mange". Blech.
General Montgomery didn’t take a bullet in the neck, it was a grapeshot from a canon in his head (and his thighs), but close enough I guess. Side note: Burr actually served a short interim on Washington’s staff, but only for like 10 days because they hated each other lolol.
Alexander didn’t bring Laurens, Mulligan, or Lafayette to Washington. Lafayette joined up with the Continental Army in 1777 and quickly convinced them he wasn’t like the other French nobles; he was a glory-seeking kid with a boner for America (for some reason???). Laurens was requested by Washington to join his military family and he arrived also in August 1777 just after Lafayette. Like previously stated, Mulligan was doing shit even before Hamilton did.
Alexander would not have been in charge of spy shit (though may have been somewhat involved). Washington had people like Mulligan for that, who actually saved Washington a few times. But also, the "King’s men who might let some things slide" was the tactic Mulligan used. He was actually very charming, and his wife was very high in British society and he was a skilled tailor, so they were thought of well among the redcoats, and he got a lot of information through chatting with his customers. He also could usually smooth-talk his way out of trouble. Actually, Mulligan blended in so well, when the war was over, people in the city wanted him out cuz they thought he was a Loyalist. So George fucking Washington paid him a visit and commissioned I think a coat from him, and that cleared that up. He got a LOT of business after that.
Alexander would not be Washington’s right hand man, or at least, not his only one if Lin was using that to mean aide-de-camp. In that case, Laurens would also be Washington’s right hand man, along with many men not named in the musical.
John Laurens may have been reliable with the ladies (comes with the territory of being hot, rich, and a perfect gentleman), but he most certainly didn’t want to be. His father noted, rather proudly at the time, that as a young teenager he expressed no interest in girls. John was also married by 1780, and at least Alexander knew. (he told John he'd found out in the well-known April 1779 letter. You know... “Cold in my professions...find me a wife...the length of my nose...” That one.) Because John apparently didn't tell people he was married. Laurens. Sweetheart. Get. Your. Shit. Together.
John also would not be at this ball. February 1779 to March 1780 he is fighting down south, and this ball was early 1780.
The tomcat thing may be half true. Martha Washington did supposedly name a cat Hamilton, but it was an affectionate thing. The slang tomcat meaning ho wasn’t a thing at that time, so it couldn’t be named to tease Alex for his promiscuity. I believe this was one of the many things John Adams made up to slander Hamilton.
Hamilton and Eliza had met before 1780. They had met once two years prior at a dinner her father had hosted. Also, Hamilton had been courting her friend Kitty Livingston, and his friend and fellow aide Tench Tilghman had been attempting to court Eliza, and they’d actually done at least one sort-of double date (which is adorable). So this shouldn’t have been the first time they’d seen each other. Could still be when they fell in love, though, since they started courting after this. Which is cute to think about.
Speaking of Tench and Eliza! I don't remember when this took place but Tilghman journaled it, he went out on something of a hike with a few ladies and they got to a cliff. Of course, he had to help the girls climb up. Except Eliza who started climbing by herself like a natural to the bewilderment and likely horror of the other ladies. Elizabeth Schuyler was a bamf okay?
Of course everyone knows by now, Angelica was married before Eliza. During the Winter’s Ball, she’d already eloped with Jack Carter aka John Barker Church and run away to Boston.
Their courtship was not that fast. Not like, weeks. More like months. Fun fact, Eliza is the only of the five (yes FIVE) Schuyler sisters who didn’t elope and actually got her parents permission! But here’s a heartbreaking fun fact: while Alex was courting Eliza, Laurens was taken prisoner and then on probation. He wasn’t allowed to leave the state of Pennsylvania. He was mentally in a very dark place. Alex kind of procrastinated telling Laurens about Eliza, didn’t say he was courting anyone until they were already engaged.
I can't leave this alone if I'm sad you have to be too. Alex was hella depressed during this time too. Of course he was a soldier so he couldn't see Eliza as much as he'd have liked. On top of that, he kept pushing for an exchange for John and kept getting rejected because they couldn't show preference for him. And then Laurens was sending him very few letters, of course, and the ones he did send were very depressed, even suicidal sounding. He had to work while dealing with that. He had to keep begging Eliza to write to him to be reassured that she still liked him.
No one could show up for Hamilton for the wedding. Some sources say fellow aide James McHenry showed up, but he’s the only one. Alexander even invited his deadbeat dad, offered to pay all his travel expenses and everything, guess how that turned out. So Eliza’s side of the hall was packed and his was empty. God, can you imagine how sad that is?
Another heartbreaking fun fact! John Laurens was out of probation and could have made it to the wedding, was invited (Hamilton, I kid you not, jokingly invited him to a threesome with his new wife in a letter: “I wish you were at liberty to transgress the bounds of Pensylvania. I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation.” (emphasis is original to Hamilton. As is the misspelling of Pennsylvania. Yes, seriously.)) and John did not go. Instead he went back to work trying to talk his way out of getting sent as an envoy to France and suggesting Alexander to take his place. You know. His boyfriend who just got married. Sure, he was right that Hamilton was better equipped for the job, but yknow. Another fun fact, one of the guys who voted for John to be the one to go to France was John’s ex-boyfriend Francis Kinloch. Who was a turncoat, and had been a royalist when he and Laurens split. How’s that for some twisty bullshit.
Sorry, this one isn’t about the musical, it’s a tangent, I just got excited about that quote. Both that style of innuendo and the misspelling of Pennsylvania are consistent in Hamilton’s writing. Listening to john-lauren’s podcast about the April 1779 letter can really help you understand how Hammy uses innuendo but also I just love listening to it it’s insightful and hilarious and I love John Laurens but y u do this and my heart hurts for Hamilton but he is also a ho but aNYWAY. As for Pensylvania...well, he kinda made that mistake on an important document. ...It’s The Constitution. He misspelled Pennsylvania on The Constitution. No big deal. Not like something that could haunt his legacy forever. Oh my god I’m so sorry.
Philip Schuyler did have sons. Five in fact. Two of them died pretty young though I think, considering there are three kids in a row named John Bradstreet Schuyler. The other two were named Philip Jeremiah and Rensselaer.
Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan were all married before Hamilton. Hercules Mulligan married Elizabeth Sanders in 1773. Lafayette married his beloved Adrienne in 1774. John Laurens was regretfully obliged to marry Martha Manning in 1776.
Sigh. Again with the misogyny. Anyway, I wanted to comment on the marriage as a loss of freedom. From what I can tell, Elizabeth helped Hercules with his spy work at home. John was literally fighting a war across the ocean from his wife, and probably having an illegal affair with Alexander (though to be fair to him, he was kind of running away from Martha because he didn't marry her for love, gosh, there are no winners here). Lafayette absolutely adored his wife but still was also fighting a war an ocean away, and had multiple affairs, at least one with his wife’s blessing. So yeah, losing your freedom with marriage? Bullshit.
Despite where it is in the musical and Eliza singing the beginning, Stay Alive is roughly about Valley Forge, which would be December of 1777 through June of 78. So before the ball and wedding. (Fun fact! A lot of people theorize Valley Forge as when Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship may have escalated into romantic and/or sexual territory. They may have had more privacy, as small temporary buildings were being made to better withstand the cold, and Hamilton was sick a lot during that time and did need tending a lot. West Indian boi did not like Northern winter.) But yeah, Congress being stupid and the army resorting to eating their horses sometimes and not being able to buy food and equipment? All true. It was a real bad winter.
Mulligan wouldn’t have to go back to New York, he never would have left. He remained there as a tailor and a spy throughout the war. He wouldn’t have been traveling with Washington.
Hamilton and Laurens didn't write essays so much as start working out John's battalion plan and writing letters trying to push for it.
This duel happened in 1778, so like. This timeline is so fucky.
Stay Alive makes it seem like Hamilton was the one who wanted to duel Lee, but it was 100% Laurens from the start. The off-Broadway version demonstrates it a bit better. Hamilton was Lauren's second to save his ass. Hamilton had a rough relationship with Washington, but Laurens admired him greatly and would have willingly defended his commander’s honor. John was a Good Boy who always bowed his head to his asshole father, even at first for his battalion plan, but John wouldn’t let even his father talk shit about Washington. Fun fact about this duel, Alex and John were late to the duel because they “got lost in the woods”. Oooookay. Suuuuuuure. And Baron von Steuben was straight. (Fact: Steuben was very gay and pretty much pushed out of Europe for it. And he actually also had challenged Lee! They talked things out before this.)
Aaron Burr was not Charles Lee’s second. His second was a Major Evan Edwards. Lin wanted a parallel with the final duel. To be fair, that was a really cool way to do it and I like it better that way.
Alexander Hamilton could NOT agree that duels are dumb and immature. He was in 10 duel challenges as a participant in his lifetime, 9 of which he was the challenger. One time he challenged two people at once. One time he challenged an entire politcal party apparently. No, I am not kidding. He had a bad day. And I think you know the one time he wasn’t the challenger.
Lee did not yield on the first shot, nor was Laurens satisfied. Lee was pretty much like, “It’s just a flesh wound!” and wanted to go another round and Laurens agreed, but Hamilton and Edwards managed to talk them down. Yes he was shot in the side. But that wasn’t all because Laurens absolutely roasted Lee at his court martial.
Lee: Were you ever in an action before?
Laurens: I have been in several actions; I did not call that an action, as there was no action previous to the retreat.
I love this man. So much. The sass of this man.
We don’t know if Washington was angry about the duel with Lee. We do know that Laurens, and probably Hamilton, had Christmas dinner with him two days later. When Hamilton left, it was because Washington had snapped over a misunderstanding (caused by Lafayette actually, and he really tried to make it better because Lafayette is a sweetheart), and then continued to deny Hamilton the command he requested, and he resigned. It was entirely unrelated to the duel and Laurens. However, the daddy issues are real.
I don’t know if Lafayette went to France for more funds and came back with more guns, but Laurens certainly did! Ben Franklin told him to chill, but he actually got super impatient and ended up supposedly disrespecting and maybe kinda threatening the court, demanding what he needed, and walking out. They were were kind of shocked and impressed into giving more than had been requested. Any existing deities bless John Laurens. I love him.
Lafayette actually nominated his own aide to lead the charge and Hamilton appealed for himself and Washington finally gave in to Hamilton.
Laurens was not in South Carolina. When he finally got back from France, he was sent to Yorktown. He actually was commanding the group Alexander led. (Power couple lol) He also helped with negotiations after the battle. Also, supposedly making the British play ‘The World Turned Upside Down’ on their way out was Laurens’ idea because boy is made of sass and spite.
Henry Laurens would not have sent a letter to Hamilton about John’s death. Even if he would have, he couldn’t. At that time, he’d been locked up in the Tower of London as a prisoner. We have no idea when or how Alexander found out, or who might have told him. We know he wrote to Nathanael Greene on October 25 and Lafayette on November 3 (literally 2 months after Laurens' death), and the mentions of Laurens were very short. It’s thought that he really couldn’t talk about Laurens. People have compared it to the stories of how Benjamin Tallmadge apparently couldn’t hear Nathan Hale’s name without crying.
After Yorktown Alexander resigned and John went down south to flush British troops out of the southern states. His group was ambushed at Combahee River and he decided to charge instead of wait for backup and he died. Many people think it was a combination of his usual recklessness, suicidality, and glory-seeking mixed with a desperation with the war coming to an end. It was such a small skirmish. He deserved better. He left his daughter, Frances, whom he had never met, orphaned, as her mother had died months earlier from sickness. She was adopted by John’s oldest younger sister, also coincidentally Martha Laurens (though married was Martha Laurens Ramsay).
The Levi Weeks case was years later than that, in 1800, though it was alongside Burr. Hamilton actually lost his first trial as a defense lawyer and was not with Burr.
The whole conversation where Hamilton proposes Burr help him write the Federalist Papers is fake. Lin made that up entirely.
John Church’s wealth kinda...varies. He was a gambler. At first, he was actually in quite a bit of debt. He did make it big eventually and he and Angelica moved to Europe. He really didn’t seem to be a lot of fun to most people, but Angelica eloped with him. She chose him against her father’s wishes. I don’t get why Lin kept writing lines saying she didn’t love him, at least at first. He also does this in the cut song Congratulations where she says “I languished in a loveless marriage” bish you eloped wat She also lived as a socialite and was adored by anyone who met her apparently, so like???? da fuq Lin. Didja really do Laurens dirty for these lies or at the very least uncertanties? Could you not prop up that romance without making her say she hates her husband?
Act 2
More of a personality miscommunication. Irl Thomas Jefferson was shy, quiet, and hypersensitive, nothing like how Daveed plays him. If you knew a guy like the real Jefferson in real life you might be endeared to him out of pity or because he seems sweet, but in the short time of a musical that would immediately be read as cold and unlikable. So the best way to portray “this guy is a likable asshole” is to make him loud and made of sass which is what Daveed does magnificently. So, not at all accurate to real Jefferson, but gets the concept of him across.
Thomas was not off getting high with the French. Probably. He was making negotiations for the Revolution. And abusing Sally Hemings (his, at the time, 14 year old slave, who was also his sister-in-law, and 30 years his junior, and was brought along to entertain his daughter). And actually probably chatting up with Angelica!
By the time Philip was 9, he had two sisters, Angelica (7) and his foster/adopted sister Frances Antill (6), but he also had two brothers already, Alexander Jr. (5) and James Alexander (3), with maybe another one on the way since William Stephen would be born next year.
The whole comma thing is backwards. It was Angelica who made the initial mistake. Hamilton pointedly and flirtatiously teased her about it before closing it with “Adieu ma chere, soeur” French for “Goodbye my dear, sister”. So it’s more playful and less lovey dovey in context, so the tone is all wrong. It’s not romantic, it’s teasing and snarky.
Say No To This feels like it’s over quick. The affair lasted a year, not just the summer Eliza was away.
Clermont Street wasn’t renamed until many years later.
I don’t know that Alex has always considered Burr a friend. Irl they weren’t as close, and Hamilton was keenly aware of how slimy Burr could be.
Lafayette was NOT fine. He was imprisoned a lot during the French Revolution, the poor man, and many members of his wife’s family were killed. HOWEVER! Hamilton was not just sitting by. Angelica and her husband did make an attempt to rescue Lafayette, and the Hamiltons fostered Lafayette’s son Georges Washington Lafayette (yes that was his actual name). So Hamilton also did not forget Lafayette.
Not all his defendants got acquitted, obviously. Stop being cocky, Ham.
People comment on how Jefferson whines about Hamilton’s fashion sense while literally dressed in violet velvet. The original plan was to have him in browns, but Daveed is just such a friggin star that they just had to give him something brighter and decided to go with a Prince-inspired look. Originally the browns were going to be representative of his supposed representation of farmers. Though note here: Jefferson’s agricultural representation is much the same as modern Republicans’ rural representation. More for show.
Actually, let's get political for a sec. I've done some research in my hyperfixation and in searches for Hamilton shiz I've ended up stumbling into far-right nonsense and I know how to recognize the degrees of nonsense from years of actually paying attention to it now because this is what I do apparently. Which is weird, right? Lin kinda portrays him like a lefty. Well, here's the thing. Any proud historically educated Republican will tell you that their roots are in the Federalist Party. Which is technically true. What they will neglect to mention is the flip between parties that happened when the Republicans decided to use southerners racism to their advantage in elections. Being subtly racist can get the racists and the non-racists on your side! Yeah, it's gross. Federalists are more like Democrats. The corporatists. They clearly care more about companies and Wall Street, but they put actual action into social progress on rare occasion. Democratic-Republicans are like Republicans, conservatives who don't want social change and rail against it and pretend they aren't for corporate interests while being just as bad as the other guys. But Republicans have a tendency to rewrite history to paint themselves as the good guys, or reclaim things that aren't theirs as their own. Just look at the Civil War! Or...literally just...America I guess. Yikes. But yeah, here's your warning. Don't just go looking at and trusting things labelled Federalist. It likely won't be friendly.
John Adams didn’t fire Hamilton, Hamilton left. Eventually. And this is not the only time this kind of verbal confrontation happens, and not the one that destroys the Federalist Party. That actually happens after the Reynolds Pamphlet. But John Adams hates Alexander Hamilton with the burning passion of a thousand suns and really kinda earns this.
I’m not sure if he specifically called Alex a Creole bastard but I wouldn’t be surprised, there were other similar racist and bastard-related insults. You know the tomcat thing mentioned above. He started the rumor of the affair with Angelica. He accused him of being a rake (male version of whore at the time). He also may have behind closed doors accused him of being a sodomite. His (probably gay) son Charles helped with that one, bringing back rumors from a dinner he had with Hamilton (who he was working for) and John Church because Church joked about Alex being fond of a guy. Adams probably thought working for Hamilton was what made his son gay and alcoholic (Charles was an alcoholic and may have died in part because of that; Hamilton was not an alcoholic, but he supposedly could not hold his drink. He was smol).
Jefferson, Madison, and Burr didn’t accuse Hamilton of speculation. It was James Monroe, Abraham Venable, and Frederick Muhlenberg. Lin wanted to keep consistent representation of the Democratic-Republican party. But anyway, the whole thing went to hell because Monroe sent the letters to Jefferson (or I’ve also heard Monroe gave them to Madison who sent them to Jefferson) who, the spiteful gangly fucker, started spreading rumors because fuck Hamilton, amirite? Hamilton challenged Monroe to a duel over that. And who stopped this duel? Aaron Burr. He gets to be the good guy now and then.
It wasn’t just total strangers that got Alex off the island. He was sponsored by his cousin Ann Lytton and his teacher Reverend Hugh Knox. Also, he was kind of expected to get an education and come back and help out the island...guess what he never did. Oops.
This one I may be wrong, but I’m pretty sure. I think Eliza was upstate with her family when the Reynolds Pamphlet was released, away from Alex. I also know she had recently given birth to their son, William Stephen. A lot of people think Alexander had been keeping that in mind. Eliza had had a miscarriage once before, when she was under a lot of stress and alone and with the kids and he had to be away (Whiskey Rebellion), so some people think he made sure she was surrounded by her family and waited until the child was born to drop this on her, and gave her distance from him if she needed it. At least he knew he fucked up, and he really did love her.
Those weren’t Alexander’s guns. They belonged to John Church.
It was quite some time between Philip’s challenge and the actual duel.
Another age miscommunication; Eacker was 27ish and Philip was 19 when the duel happened. There was a whole 8 years between them!
Eacker didn’t shoot early. Actually, both of them stood staring at each other for a really long time doing nothing. But Philip went to make a move and Eacker shot him.
Alex and Eliza had made up from the Reynolds Pamphlet bullshit before Philip died. When he passed, Eliza was already pregnant with the son they would also name Philip in honor of his older brother.
Hamilton wasn’t really the deciding factor in the election of 1800. But he did say that about Burr and it did help swing the vote somewhat. But also, this was before Philip died. Philip died in 1801.
If a vote is that close, you can’t win in a landslide??? That’s not how words work???? Mister Miranda????? You are a writer??????? Sir???????
Burr actually held a term as Jefferson’s Vice President.
The Burr vs Hamilton Duel was in 1804 and was actually about another election and other things Hamilton was saying about him. Burr was running to be governor of New York and lost but heard about Alexander telling people the things he listed Alexander saying in Your Obedient Servant.
Thayne should not have played Alexander’s doctor. Sydney should have played Alexander’s doctor. Do you know why? Philip and Alexander had the same doctor when they died. Alexander took that doctor with him to the duel. His name was David Hosack.
While there’s evidence to suggest Burr experienced immediate regret (he stepped forward as if wanting to see if Hamilton was okay and supposedly asked after him and wished him well before Alexander passed) in the years that followed, until he was on his death bed, he expressed nothing but neutrality or even pride for having shot Hamilton. The ‘the world was wide enough’ comment could plausibly be entirely made up, and even if it were true, it was supposedly said toward the end of Burr’s life. Burr's life was quite a ride after Alex. He tried to make like his own empire out of Texas, and then of course was tried for treason, but he got out of that, but then everyone hated him for that ON TOP OF already hating him for killing Hamilton, so he had some crazy journey around Europe for a while. He kept a journal, writing entries like letters to Theo. The most notable things I think he writes he'd "been amused for an hour with a very handsome young Dane. Don't smile. It is a male!" which implies maybe Theodosia knew her dad was bi and was at least amused by it? And he spent a while living with Jeremy Bentham, who is generally accepted to have been gay (if you want more Burr gayness look into Jonathan Bellamy and Robert Troup. Troup knew Hamilton too!). Unrelated to his sexuality but I find it important, Burr spent, in modern cash, $40 on a coconut, in his own words, "like an ass." He returned to America eventually. I dont remember if it was before or after his foreign adventures, but his beloved grandson (also named Aaron Burr) died, and then not long after, Theodosia was lost at sea on her way to visit her dad. No one knows what happened to her. It's so sad. Anyway he married a wealthy widow named Eliza, spent all her money on charity, and died the day their divorce was finalized. And Eliza Jumel's divorce lawyer was Alexander Hamilton Jr..
Poor Eliza couldn’t go through all of her husband’s papers. Her son, John Church Hamilton, finished the work for her when she no longer could and put together the biography that inspired Chernow’s that inspired Lin’s musical. (He named a son Alexander and a daughter Elizabeth. He even named one of his sons Laurens! Aw.) And we have come full circle.
The End :33
There’s probably more but that’s what I’ve got. Thanks for reading!
#Hamilton#Alexander Hamilton#Lin-Manuel Miranda#maybe I'll add more tags later#or maybe not#Aaron Burr#John Laurens#Marquis de Lafayette#Hercules Mulligan#Angelica Schuyler Church#Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton#Margarita Schuyler Van Rensselaer#George Washington#Thomas Jefferson#James Madison#Maria Reynolds#Philip Hamilton#Rachel Faucette#James Hamilton#Peter Lytton#Philip Schuyler#Samuel Seabury#King George III#Charles Lee#Sally Hemings#George Eacker
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Here I go with the elaborate headcanons again
In 101 dalmatians Horace and Jasper's last name is Badun but I'm like 70% sure that was just a dumb pun name. Like 'oh they're bad guys so Bad plus uhhhh un"
I'd like to think if their(?) last name ever gets mentioned in the Cruella universe it would be something more real sounding and less ugly. I was thinking Beaudin or Beaudoin, which mean 'joyful' and 'bold friend' respectively. They would sound much nicer than "buh dun" ("bow-dahn" or "bow-dwahn")
Also they look similar enough to the original plus Beau is the masculine form of beautiful in French.
So since they aren't biological brothers, why do they have the same last name? And why is it French? Welcome to my version of Jasper's (and some of Horace's) back story.
I gotta tell you all of this just kinda came to me I didn't put too much thought into it but I kinda love it
So Jasper is the child of a British soldier and a woman from north-northwestern France who met at the end of world war 2. When the war was over and just a few days before he was about to be sent back to England, the soldier met Jasper's mother and he fell madly in love with her and decided to stay with her in France.
When they got married, he took her last name - Beaudin - so there wouldn't be records of him so the army wouldn't go looking for him. They built a life together and about 7 years later they had Jasper.
When Jasper was really young (3-5 years old) his father wanted them to go on a trip back to England to see his family again. And then they were planning on moving to Bretagne, where J's mother is from, to raise their family there.
On the way to London their train gets in an accident. At the time Jasper, being a curious and independent little boy, had wandered off to a different section of the train than his parents which was less affected by the crash and that's how he survived while they didn't.
He's found in the wreckage and at one point he has to ID his parent's bodies which is super traumatic :(
(If they had made it to find his grandparents they would have discovered that 1 they had been living on the street for years bc they had been kicked out if their home due to financial problems and 2 they had assumed J's dad was dead so one of the parents committed suicide in their grief)
(I had an alternative version where they find the grandparents but the dad is super racist and he attacks Jasper's parents in a rage over their interracial marriage. He also has some friends who share his views so J's parents are outnumbered and his mom tells him to run. But that might be a little too dark and/or overdramatic)
Jasper is eventually taken to the orphanage where he's assigned to bunk with Horace.
Horace had been in the system his entire life, but for a couple years he lived with a foster family. The mother was very kind and treated him like her own, but when she died, her husband decided he didn't want and couldn't take care of the foster children, so Horace was sent back.
Horace and Jasper got closer over the years they spent together in the orphanage. Their life there wasn't exactly the easiest and nicest experience, to say the very least, but they had each other to lean on. They learned to steal because they often wouldn't get fed enough or sometimes at all. They figured out the best way and time to sneak into the kitchen and how to best distract any staff they might encounter.
When they're around 12 years old they decide they're over this, and they think they'll be able to live on their own, as long as they stick together. So one night they make their escape. They meet Estella around two months later.
As the years went on, Jasper forgot any French he ever knew (except sometimes in his dreams he could still hear his mother calling him 'mon ange'.)
(for this next part I couldn't figure out a good scenario where they would need to use their real names so idk just go with it lol)
When they're around 15, Wink gets sick and, as much as they try to avoid it, eventually they have to take him to the vet.
Horace is worried sick for his little dog son. He's a nervous wreck the whole walk over to the vet, focusing all of his attention on comforting and checking on Wink, who was also a wreck, while Jasper figures out directions and everything.
After waiting for what felt like an eternity (but was probably only 25 minutes) they could finally check in.
"Name?' the receptionist asked.
"I'm Horace, and this here's my dog Wink. He's been very sick, ya see, he's hardly been eating an-"
He was a bundle of anxiety, talking so fast he barely registered the words coming from his own mouth.
"Now just hold on a minute; I can't do anything to help you out here. And what's the last name?"
"Uh,,,"
Horace had never really had to think about that. He'd never really had a last name, at least not one that he knew of. He didn't even know the last name of that kind woman who had been like a mother to him all those years ago. He had always just been Horace.
"Last name's Beaudin, ma'am." Jasper piped up from beside him. "I'm his brother."
Horace looked over at him, slightly bewildered. He guessed they had always been like brothers, but he's never really thought of it in those terms before. It felt nice to have someone be 'officially' called his family. It felt really nice.
Jasper smiled back at him. He'd always been there for him, and he always would be.
"I can uh, finish with the paperwork and stuff." Jasper said, "You and Wink just go sit down."
From then on, they were the Beaudin brothers. Little did they know then, that one day their story would be twisted and told alongside that of the evil Cruella, but no matter what the storytellers got wrong, they always got that part right. That they were brothers.
#ficlet#jasper#horace#head canon#headcanon#cruella#cruella 2021#jasper badun#horace badun#fanfiction#?
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Do you have any stories or figures, etc. (of your creation OR already existent) that you'd like to see adapted into an opera? Who'd the dream cast be and what would it look like, sound like?
I have two stories I wrote in high school that I'd love to see as operas:
For Every Spring--short story about a mother and daughter during the Reign of Terror
Madeleine: Ying Fang
The Mother: Joyce DiDonato
sparse unit set, cross between music of the time period and a quintessential French Romantic style
The Last Testament of a "Monstrous" Condemned Woman-- prison flashback story about rediscovering art, burglary, and murderous arson
The Woman: Marina Rebeka
The Investigator: Gerald Finley
not sure about who to play the smaller characters, it's set at an unspecified point in the mid-to-late 1800s, so look reflects that, sound kinda reflects that but I also envision it as Korngold/Expressionist-esque
(the full text of both stories is below. please keep in mind that these are both at least three and a half years old):
For Every Spring:
March 19, 1794, evening.
“Go on now. Do it.”
The woman’s voice filled her daughter’s ears with that simple command. The daughter was standing with a pair of scissors in one hand, staring into a mirror hung on the otherwise bare wooden wall. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Mama, how much more can this revolution take from me?”
Her mother could hear her daughter’s weariness and despair, and for a moment, felt pity for her, but steeled herself. “You must do it. There is nothing left for me. But perhaps you could still escape.”
“I don’t want to go without you.”
“You must. There is no way I could escape… the revolutionary leaders know me too well. But they wouldn’t recognize you if you dressed in an urchin boy’s rags and had a dirty face.” Mother glanced at her daughter’s shining blonde hair that went almost halfway down her back again and sighed. “The hair, though. In order to look like a boy, you have to cut off your hair. If they see long hair, they’d suspect you’re hiding something…” She shivered. “And they would investigate, and it wouldn’t end well for you.”
“But what if I pulled it back? Tucked it in under my hat?”
“It could fall down. And if they took your hat off and saw a bunch of pulled-back hair…”
“I know, but other than you, my hair is my one joy left.”
“It’ll grow back.”
The young woman paused. She fell into a swirl of memories: how her father had loved her long golden hair, how when she was little, he would toy with it and tell her it was more beautiful than any princess’s, and finally, how the Reign of Terror had brutally claimed him, just like it was about to claim her mother.
Her mother went on, “Your life is more important…” Knowing her daughter was still hesitant, she took the scissors out of her daughter’s hand. “Now hold up your hair so I can cut it.”
The daughter obliged, but at the same time, a single tear trickled down her pale cheek.
Snip.
The first cut, like a dagger to the heart.
Snip-snip-snip-snip-snip…
In just a few minutes, the deed was done. The girl’s long golden locks were scattered all over the bare floor.
Mother turned her around and gazed into the girl’s eyes. She slowly whispered, “You look just like Papa…”
The tears her daughter had tried to hold back burst forth in her grief, and she collapsed in the middle of the cut-off locks of hair, weeping.
“I lost Papa, and now I must lose you! Why must I lose everyone and everything that brings me any happiness?”
The woman took her daughter in her arms as outside in the streets, people cried, “Vive la révolution! Vive Robespierre!” She said, almost under her breath, “You haven’t lost your life like I will tomorrow. You can make it out of the country, and you will, I know. Don’t stay to see me die, or you will too. Remember the plan?”
“Wear the peasant rags. I’ve done that,” she broke off, gesturing at the clothes she was now wearing. She quickly continued, “Dirty your face in the soot. Take the sack of bread, cheese, and money and leave under cover of night. Tell the guards at the city gates that your name is Raoul, and you’re going to see your sick aunt in Calais. Go to Calais; tell the guards there that you’re going to London to see your uncle. Get to London somehow- stow away on a ship if you must, and start over again. Without your mother who cares for you and wants nothing more than-“ She stopped, momentarily unwilling to recite the last part of the instructions her mother had drilled into her head.
But she took a slow, deep breath and finished,“To go with you, but she must be with you from afar, not by your side.” Her body shook with her sobs.
“Yes,” her mother replied. Now she was crying too. “But take heart, my child, and remember I love you more than the sun and the moon and the stars and the whole world.” She sighed. “Madeleine…”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I wish it didn’t have to end this way.”
“Me too.”
Now it was raining outside, and it was dark. The only light came from the half-moon shimmering in the black sky. It was silent now except for their weeping.
At last, Madeleine said, “It’s raining. See? The sky is crying because of your death.”
“No,” her mother firmly replied, not wanting to hear of any pity. “The sky is not crying- not for me, not for you, not for anyone. It is merely raining, my child. Spring is coming, don’t you remember?”
“Yes, but for every spring…” Madeleine did not dare say the second part of the saying she had heard about spring.
Mama sighed and finished it for her, “A winter melts away.” She shivered and continued, “I am the winter. I have lived a long life, I am old, I am about to die.”
Madeleine wept.
“But you- you are the spring, so young, so beautiful, with such a bright future ahead. Go and live. Do not stay to see me die.”
Madeleine, still crying, sat by her mother, and her mother took her into her arms. They held on to each other, not wanting to ever let go, though they both knew inside that sometime, they would have to let go of each other- forever.
At last, Mother whispered, “Go, my child.” She let go.
Madeleine grabbed the sack and was almost out the window before she looked back at her mother for the last time. She whispered, “I love you, Mama.”
The response, softly spoken through quiet tears, was simple. “I love you too. Goodbye.”
Madeleine slipped out the window.
Some time later, a church bell chimed midnight. “The beginning of a new day, a new spring. Today is the first day of spring,” she thought.
At last, she whispered into the air, to her daughter, wherever she was now,
“For every spring, a winter melts away. But please, Madeleine, do not think about the winter melting… ”
The Last Testament of A "Monstrous" Condemned Woman:
“The Venetian government sent me here.”
The man faced me, with a look that could best be described as a mix of utter contempt and bewildered curiosity, but still managing to be very official, on his face.
“Why? Do they usually do this to prisoners awaiting their imminent execution?”
“No,” he replied very sharply. “They sent me here because even after the questioning and your trial, they still do not understand why you did everything that you did. And your crimes- they are sensational, to say the least. Your trial had the whole city in an uproar. And, mia piccina,” he added with disdain, “that is a very hard thing to do in such a city as Venice. So before you are executed at dawn, they want to know why-why you caused such destruction so heartlessly, why you took so many lives like a hardened assassin.”
“Heartless? A hardened assassin?” I just managed to get out the words. “No, no. You do not understand. The reason I did not talk is because they would not listen. They saw a monster. That is all they saw, just like I know you see me now.”
“Do you not want to preserve your own story before you die?”
His words startled me. And then I realized it: This is my only chance to show them that I am no monster.
“Very well, then,” I replied. “I will tell you everything.”
Without looking at me, he reached into his bag, pulling out a notepad and a pen and setting the pad on his lap. After that, with eyes still averted, he told me, “You talk, I take notes. Begin now, for dawn will come before long.”
“I was born in the English countryside, the only child of a scholar who had come into some wealth thanks to his marriage to the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in all England. Throughout my childhood, I was constantly exposed to all sorts of wonderful thoughts and books and ideas because many scholars would come and share their thoughts on every subject imaginable. My father was always one of the ones who talked the most- he knew so much, and he always wanted to learn more, to discover more-”
“Will you please stop wasting time and get to the point?”
“That was just what I was doing,” I snapped back. “Anyway, he was very ambitious. As time went on, I became more interested in art than anything else. I could not draw, paint, or sculpt to save my life, but I marveled at its beauty, the way some people were just able to recreate something out there in the world, and I wanted to understand how they did it. And there was another aspect of it, too, that fascinated me: there would be scholars that came from Paris, from Rome, from the Netherlands to share these great lost artworks that they had rediscovered, and to tell how they had become renowned for finding these artworks, how the art would be preserved for eternity and so would they, for the simple reason that after all these years, they had found these masterpieces and given them new life. And I? I wanted to do just that too.”
At that moment, I noticed him hurriedly writing, trying to keep up with everything I was saying.
“I can wait for you to finish writing,” I offered.
He nodded, and for several seconds, I said nothing as he finished his notes.
“So what does this have to do with you coming to Venice?” he eventually asked.
“Well, the time came when my father passed away. When he died, he left his entire estate to me, including all of the books in his library. I had never seen many of them- he never let me read them, because they were too precious. But he promised me that when I inherited the estate, I could read as many of the books as I wished.”
“Those books,” I continued, “became my way of healing from the grief. To read the same books that my father had studied from somehow felt like a way of being near him, and that eased the pain. I spent almost every waking hour exploring the library, reading and then reading some more.”
I paused, and a thought shot through me: This is the moment you set down this road of sorrow. I shook it off though, and went on:
“One night, I was browsing through the shelves when I came across a set of eight dusty old books. They were all about Italian artists from the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They had a massive effect on me, but not for the reason you think.”
“Well then, what was the reason?”
“The front cover of each book had a most interesting thing written in it. Together, they seemed to make up a series of instructions for finding a lost artwork. And those instructions were thus:
‘The city of the winged lion has many secrets yet to give up,
Including one by one not older, but younger.
A fire blazing in the Palazzo Ducale
Took the lives of many masterpieces,
And this was thought to be one of them.
But a saint still lives, preserved in that palace,
Old but still preserved, and still preserving,
Francesco’s St. Jerome writes, though he is asleep, and does not die!’
Now I knew enough to know this: the city of the winged lion is Venice, and the fire was the great Doge’s Palace fire in the late 1500s. The “younger” was almost certainly Palma il Giovane, who was the great-nephew of Palma Vecchio, a good enough painter, and who painted extensively for a Francesco, Duke Francesco Maria II of Urbino. It was known that Palma had painted St. Jerome for Francesco, but everyone assumed that the painting had been lost. And as soon as I figured all of this out, I thought, ‘What if this could be the great discovery I have hoped to make?’ You understand, I was very ambitious, and at that moment I resolved to find it, no matter what.”
“Let me get this straight. You pieced together some handwritten sentences, thought overly hard about their implications, and decided to go and do whatever it took to get this precious painting?”
“Exactly.”
“You are British, yes? You are just like Lady Macbeth! You get a hint of an idea, and you murder anyone who stands in the way of you!”
“No. I never planned on murdering anyone, I swear! Now if you would just be quiet, I would get to that!”
Silence. I shook my head, and went on:
“The next day, with nothing but two hundred pounds, a sack of food and water, and the instructions copied onto a sheet- you see, I wasn’t planning on staying in Venice- I left home, and went to London. And from there I traveled on, first to Le Havre, then to Paris-”
“No one needs to know your travel itinerary.”
At that moment, a church bell chimed twice.
“It’s summer, and dawn will be here before too long,” the man advised. “Now I suggest you stop wasting your last hours and skip to you getting to Venice and exactly why you did what you did here. You don’t have much time left to tell your story, you know.” He seemed not so much impatient now as considerate, as if he were genuinely interested in what I was telling him.
“Fine. Anyway, I arrived in Venice, and I immediately set out for the Doge’s Palace. When I got there, it took me forever to find the painting, especially because I had no idea what it actually would look like. No one knew anything about the dimensions or the medium or what it looked like because it had been lost for so long. But everyone was saying that it had been called a masterpiece in its day, that it would be a major find. And that was what kept me going during those hard days and nights of searching. And at last, I found it inside one of the private rooms once used by the Doges of Venice.”
“So you found it. Congratulations. And how did you get here?”
“I wanted to return home, to my books, and bring the painting with me. I was planning to study the painting and only then reveal to the world what I found. But there was a problem, one I had not anticipated.”
“And what was that, mia piccina?” He no longer said it condescendingly, but as if he genuinely cared about everything I had gone through.
“I had no money left, no money to return home, and no way of getting any money, or at least, I did not think I had a way of getting any money.”
I shuddered with remorse now, thinking of where I had gotten the idea.
“Later on, I was roaming the streets, thinking about what I could do in order to get back home. At first, I was thinking of begging, but I thought that was weak. I am not a victim, and I would not allow myself to be weak like that. And then, I saw a jewelry house, with many fine jewels in the windows, the most and the finest diamonds by far I had ever seen! And the store- it was called the Salvadori Diamond Atelier, I believe- was not even guarded! Even though it had all these wonderful jewels worth thousands, thousands of pounds, I tell you!” I cried.
His brows had furrowed, and I knew what he was thinking now.
“Sir, sir, I feel so much remorse for this, it’s true, but when I saw all those lovely diamonds, I could not help but think, ‘This is my way to get money, to go home at last and someday show the world what I have accomplished, and fulfill my ambition.’ And I resolved to steal as many diamonds as I could that very night, so I could sell them for money.”
No, no, no. I cannot bear to tell this… but all of Venice already knows this…and I must tell this…oh God, but it haunts me so much…
My face must have gone pale, because the man asked, “Are you ill? Do you need to rest?”
“No, I just feel so, so guilty and horrified by what I am about to tell you…” I took a deep breath. “But I must tell you anyway.”
“That night, it happened to be a new moon, and the full darkness of the sky covered me. I felt so confident that everything would go according to plan. I would get in, take some diamonds, and leave Venice at once.”
“And indeed,” I continued, “at first, everything went according to plan. There was a door in the back, a very small door, that had been left unlocked. I slipped inside and slowly felt my way into the shop until I found the glass cases. And that was the point when things started going awry: I had found a pin, and since I had been taught how to trick a lock using a pin, I thought that I could simply use the pin, unlock the case, and stuff the jewels inside my bag. But the pin did not work- I don’t know whether the lock was very special or whether I just performed the trick wrong. It wouldn’t open though, so I had to resort to smashing the glass.”
“Let me guess,” he said, looking up from his notes. “Someone heard, and started shouting for the police?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know, because of how concentrated I was on my work, although that is probably it. But in any case, the police arrived, and in that moment, I realized that if I was caught, then I would be arrested and likely never return to England again. And I also realized that there was no way for me to make it to that small door unseen. But there was still another option.”
“What was it?” Now he was leaning forward.
I panicked inside. Please, I want to go back in time somehow, make it so I never did this, so that I never caused so much pain, which I never wanted to do…
“There was a small oil lamp with a flame inside the case, some wood that had broken off the case frame, and a jar of oil. And I realized that a fire would cause confusion, during which I could possibly escape. So,” I shut my eyes and said as fast as possible, “I poured the oil onto the wood, dropped the lamp on top, yelled ‘You will die before you discover me!’, and ran out of the shop, to the streets, and as I ran, I saw the whole building burst into flames and I heard screams, screams of officers burning, burning to death. Those screams, they haunt me still, even after all these weeks in prison and in court. And I smelled their flesh burning, and I relished it at first, knowing I had made it out.” And I realized I was shaking, and yes, starting to feel sick.
“But you seem so full of pain and remorse now,” the man said, confused.
“Just a few minutes later, I ran into another officer. The sight of him made me realize what I had done- I had killed innocent men just for money…” I was crying now, but I knew I still had to finish. So I continued, “At that moment, my conscience overwhelmed me for the first time ever, and I started weeping, just as I am now, and started screaming about how I had burned a group of officers in the Salvadori Diamond Atelier to death. The officer was confused, but I led him there, and showed him- the burning building, the people screaming, the firemen bringing out the bodies of dead officers. And then he arrested me right then and there.”
I fell silent. I have nothing left to say.
The man looked at me. “Do you have anything else you want to tell me?”
Through my tears, I choked out, “No, the rest of the story, you already know it…the trial, my sentencing to death…I just want it all to end. I never wanted any of this, and now I just want it to end, to spare the world any more horror I could cause…You see, the world is right- I am a monster…” Again, I fell silent.
“It is a strange thing, life,” he observed. “So many times, good people are driven to do unspeakable things which they never would have dreamed of doing except in the moment they did them. And for that, they are unjustly called monsters, for that one black blemish in an otherwise good life, and they are condemned to eternal damnation in the minds of the world, to be forever called a monster. Most of the time, the condemned do not speak.”
The cell door opened.
“Dawn breaks,” the jailer said. “And with it, your monstrous life ends.”
“-But you have broken the silence. You are very brave and strong to do that. That man will soon realize, like the rest of the world will, like I already know, that you are not a monster.”
“Now I must leave, for the hour of your death has come. Remember, you might die to expiate what the world has labeled you a monster for, but soon, your legacy will be realized for what it actually is. Go. Hold your head high. You have suffered much, but you do not deserve to suffer forever, and you will not suffer forever. Goodbye, mia piccina.”
And with that, he left. I rose, and surrendered to the jailer.
That black blemish he spoke of, I thought to myself as I walked with the jailer, will never be excusable. But it is not everything I am. And the world will know it is not everything I am.
Suddenly emboldened by this thought, I raised my head and held it high.
I know that I will find redemption somehow, for the world cannot truthfully say now that this is all I am. For I have said otherwise.
Now I am ready to die.
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Favorite Historical Fiction || The Stolen Crown: The Secret Marriage that Forever Changed the Fate of England by Susan Higginbotham ★★★★☆
The next day I was told that my sister had a visitor of some importance, who particularly wished to see me. After some delay, during which more fuss had been made than usual about my clothing, I was sent to my sister’s chamber. There sat a lady who, though somewhat younger, reminded me a bit in appearance of the Duchess of Norfolk. With her was my mother, newly arrived from Grafton, where she traveled to and from court from time to time.
“Hello, my dear,” said Mama, giving me a kiss after I dropped a curtsey to them all. “This is the Duchess of Buckingham. We have known each other a very long time, since we were often at court together during the time of Margaret of Anjou. The Duchess of Buckingham is sister to the Duchess of York, the king’s mother, and to the Duchess of Norfolk, John’s wife.”
Momentarily overwhelmed by all of these duchesses, I merely nodded, then remembered that I had been told by the Duchess of Norfolk that her father, Ralph Neville, the Earl of Westmorland, had sired nearly two dozen children, including the Kingmaker’s late father, by his two wives. I wondered how he had kept their names all straight. Perhaps he couldn’t, and had assigned one of his servants to this task exclusively.
“She’s a little thing,” said the Duchess of Buckingham. “Why, the title will be longer than the girl!”
“But very healthy. Katherine has hardly had a sick day in her life.”
“That’s certainly to be desired. Tell me, child. I hear that you met my grandson Harry yesterday. Did you like him?”
I was still indignant about being called too French, but I could hardly tell this to Harry’s grandmother, especially as I was puzzling over this exchange between her and Mama. “Yes, your grace,” I said in a rather flat tone.
“Good. It has been arranged that you are to marry him. The wedding will take place just before the queen’s coronation. So you and I shall share a title. Duchess of Buckingham.” I rocked back on my heels. Since coming to court I had learned a great deal about matters of precedence, and I knew that as Duchess of Buckingham, I would be one of the greatest ladies of the land. Only a few women, such as the queen and the king’s sisters, would outrank me. Sakes alive, my own sisters—except for the queen—would have to give way to me! I would wear a gold circlet on my head. Save for one of the king’s brothers, I could not have made a grander match in all of England. And the young duke was rich. How many castles and manors would he have to call his own when he came of age? I would have my own household, my own servants, my own ladies. In time, I would surely have my own children, set to continue this grand lineage down through the generations.
I came out of my ducal ruminations to see that my mother was staring at me with amusement. “I don’t believe our Kate has ever been so quiet for so long.”
“I am most honored,” I managed.
The Duchess of Buckingham—soon to be the dowager Duchess of Buckingham, I thought dreamily—chuckled and patted me on the head. “Mind you, child, one of my nephews won’t be happy to hear about this. You might as well know.”
“The Earl of Warwick?”
“My, she is a sharp little thing, isn’t she?” The Duchess of Buckingham gave me another pat. “Yes. He has two girls of his own, you see, both of whom would have done quite nicely for Harry with all that they will inherit, and I daresay Warwick had hopes in that direction. But we women have decided that you will suit better, and the king has given the match his blessing. So that is that. Nephew Richard will just have to fume. And fume he shall, I’ve no doubt.”
I was on the way to becoming a duchess, and I had made the Kingmaker angry. What more could a child of seven have accomplished in one day? When I left my sister’s chamber, I saw that my betrothed was waiting for me—a bit of a jolt, for in my excitement I had forgotten that Harry and I had not made a sterling impression on each other. “So they told you?”
“Yes. I hope I shall be English enough for you.”
“I told Grandmother when she talked to me this morning that I thought you were too French,” Harry said solemnly. “But she told me that I was being foolish, that when I was older I would be delighted with your French ways. She didn’t say why. Anyway, she told me that it was either you or the Earl of Warwick’s girls and that if I married one of them, he would probably insist that I go to the North and live with him—I wouldn’t want to do that, my lands are in Wales and nearby, and a man should live on his own lands���and he would try to rule me as he tries to rule the king even when I came of age. She thought I’d enjoy marriage to you more. And she said that you would probably be a better bearer of children for me. The Earl of Warwick’s countess has only had the two, and lost others, they say, and the Duchess of Bedford your lady mother has had so many healthy ones. So I said that I guessed that you would do, and Grandmother said that I was shaping up to be a man of sense after all.”
“Oh,” I said, my mood somewhat dampened.
“And better yet, Humphrey and I are to become Knights of the Bath soon after you and I marry, right before the coronation. We might have had to wait if I weren’t going to be your husband. So I’ve decided that marrying you isn’t such a bad thing as I thought at first.”
“I am glad to hear that,” I said hollowly, and continued walking toward my chambers.
My spirits, however, were usually pretty resilient back then—indeed, they still are today, I think—and I soon regained them in full force. As the days before my wedding passed, I played Duke and Duchess with my dolls, letting the least feminine looking of them stand in for the duke—not that I intended any disrespect toward my fiancé. Because their play consisted mainly in saying what my dolls usually said to each other, with the added novelty of them addressing each other as “your grace,” I tired soon enough of this, after which I would count up the duchesses of England and never cease to find the figure gratifyingly low, even on the occasions when I realized I had missed one or two. There was the Duchess of York, the Duchess of Norfolk I knew, and the wives of her late son and her living grandson as well, the Duchess of Exeter, the Duchess of Suffolk, her mother-in-law the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, Mama the Duchess of Bedford, and the Duchess of Buckingham. Eventually, I supposed, there would be a Duchess of Gloucester and a Duchess of Clarence. It was a select company indeed—and joining it would be me.
#bookedit#litedit#katherine woodville#henry stafford#wars of the roses#medieval#hf edits#nanshe's graphics
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Safe Haven Part I
Title: Safe Haven.
Words: 3200
Warnings: None
Synopsis: Pero x Reader. You are the owner of a tavern in England when a mysterious stranger asks to stay in your lodgings whilst he works for the Lord of the town you live in. Soft, awkward, grumpy Pero! Post TGW (no William).
When you thought about the past eleven months, you couldn’t believe you had gotten this far. You had three wonderful, hard working women under your care. Gwen kept to herself in the kitchens, baking meat pies for your customers and keeping the tavern clean and tidy. Darcy could talk the back legs off a donkey if given the chance, but her charm kept the customers coming back and those passing through remembered to come back the next time they were near town. And Adelaide, or Addy as she was known, helped you with the business; counting money, keeping on top of the food and drink that was needed, finding new ways to attract guests to the lodgings out back.
When your father had suddenly come down with a fever, you were certain it would pass. The cold, damp nights had started to settle in, so it wasn’t unusual to hear of the townspeople getting ill. You sat by his bedside in the day, feeding him soup and reassuring him that the tavern would be just as he left it when he returned to work. And at night you opened up as usual, serving the locals who had come in for the warm fire and mead. You only had Gwen back then, so you were rushed off your feet without your father as well. When not even a week later your father had taken a turn for the worse, you couldn’t deny that maybe this new way of running the tavern would be a more permanent way of life.
The fever took your father five days after he fell ill. You worked harder than you ever thought you would have to. You not only had to quickly learn how to be a business owner, but being a woman you had to earn the respect of the townspeople. They all knew you, having grown up in the tavern as your father’s only child. The town healer helped your mother give birth to you, as a small child you brought bread from the baker, you courted the blacksmiths son as a teenager. But as a businesswoman, they were a little more concerned. The regulars that came into the tavern most nights had your back, but some of the older members of the town thought you couldn’t handle it. Some even suggested they would only support you if you found yourself a husband.
After two months, you had found your newest employee. Darcy stumbled into the tavern just as you were closing up one night, mud caking her hands and most of her dress. You brought her inside, sitting her in front of the large fire on one side of the tavern. You asked Gwen to make up a tankard of warm milk and honey and handed it to this stranger. You convinced her that if she just trusted you, allowed you to keep her safe in the tavern, you would never ask where she came from or who she was running from, and she would always have a home here. She had nowhere else to go and she had had no better offers than yours and doubted anyone else would be so kind. She agreed to work for you.
After a few weeks Darcy opened up a little more. She had travelled from Armagh in Ireland, looking for a new life away from a family that wished to marry her off to a brute of a man. She would rather have died journeying out of Ireland than be made to live the rest of her life with him. Her sweet Irish accent hypnotised anyone who heard her speak, so custom quickly picked up and so did her confidence.
Soon after that was your last employee. Addy was mild tempered, still is, when you found her covered in blankets and huddled against a stone wall in the marketplace. Her large brown eyes were flitting back and forth, her hands shaking where they clung to her only bag of belongings. The first time you tried to walk up to her she hid under the blankets and started crying. You left her an apple and a chunk of bread, not wanting to spook her any more than you already had.
The next day you went back to where you had last seen her but she was gone. She had moved to the opposite side of the marketplace and was trying to hold onto her bag which was being torn away from her by a boy no older than twelve. You had rushed over to her, yanking the bag from the boy and pulling yourself up to your full height to tower over him. With a gasp the boy ran off and you turned to see Addy with her eyes down, biting her bottom lip. After assuring her you only wanted to help, you handed her the bag and brought her back to the tavern.
Once she was comfortable with you, you realised she was literate and could help with the day-to-day running of the tavern. She was born in France but spoke very good English. She has never told you why she ended up in England but it didn’t matter. She was kind and thoughtful and worked harder than any man you’d ever met.
Once you had your team set up everything felt like it once had. People respected your position, they supported the tavern and your guest rooms were never empty.
Your day dreaming was disturbed by Darcy slamming a tankard on the counter in front of you. You raised an eyebrow in her direction, silently asking why she did that.
“There’s a new man in town,” she stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t unusual for travellers to pass through. The river that ran through the town lead a few miles east to the sea that separated England and France. Anyone travelling from Europe would most likely have to come through your town to reach the rest of the country. So why was Darcy making such a big deal about this one man?
“Does he practice sorcery or something just as interesting?” You asked with a smirk. Darcy came from a country steeped in superstition so you knew that would hit a particular spot.
Darcy made the sign of the cross against her chest and gave you a warning look. “Do not jest. Of course not. But everyone’s talking about him. He barely says a word to anyone. Has an accent apparently-“
“How do they know he has an accent if he doesn’t speak?”
Darcy seems to think this over. The difference between Darcy and Addy is, where Addy is educated, Darcy is smart when is comes to the realities of life. She knows to keep to the clear roads and not walk through the woods when travelling to market, but she doesn’t always understand irony.
“Well… I’m not sure. He must have spoken at some point. You can’t just not speak!” She was getting flustered which made you giggle. Darcy realised what you were doing and grabbed the towel that had been hanging over her shoulder and whipped it in your direction, catching you on the elbow where your arms were folded.
“Alright alright! I’m sorry. What is it they are saying about him?”
“Just that he’s a little strange. And he has a large scar over his eye.” She shrugged and began to use the towel to wipe dust off the counter.
“A mercenary perhaps?” You had met mercenaries before. They weren’t common but they were all the same. Kept themselves to themselves and never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends.
“Do you think he will cause trouble?” Darcy was purposefully not looking in your direction. She was worried. Trouble meant fighting and none of the girls were comfortable with dealing with that.
“No,” you said sternly. You glanced down to the thick sharpened branch you hid behind the counter. You would nip it in the bud before any fighting started. You wouldn’t have the girls frightened to live here. This was supposed to be their safe space. “If I think he’s going to cause a problem I will kick him out. He may not even come in here Darcy.” You spoke softly, not wanting to spook her.
She seemed satisfied with that answer when she walked away to clean the table tops. You watched as she began to hum a tune as though the previous conversation had never happened.
“I’m going to check that Gwen is ready to open up for the night,” and with that you left in the direction of the kitchen, putting this stranger to the back of your mind.
-
You had opened up in the early evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. The night had been busy but not chaotic. Gwen managed to sell all but one of her pies so the three women were sat around the kitchen table tucking in. The last of the drinkers were stumbling out of the front door. You bid them a safe journey home when you noticed a man walking towards you. The lights from the tavern weren’t strong enough to catch any details until he was right in front of you.
He wore a black cape, hood up against the bitter air, and the unmistakable line of a sheathed sword could be seen poking through the material. He carried a bag over his shoulder and nothing else. You looked up as he took a step closer and candlelight showed you the scar of the man Darcy had been talking about earlier that evening.
You stood up straighter, head held high. You were not going to be intimidated by this man and the permanent scowl that seemed to be etched onto his features. His facial expression didn’t change even as he spoke.
“Do you have rooms?” Darcy was right, there was an accent. But it didn’t sound like Addy’s French accent. You had had men pass through from further afield, but some didn’t speak English at all so you couldn’t ask where they came from.
“My rooms are full.” You didn’t mean to be blunt but that’s how it came out. You weren’t lying, your earliest vacancy was in two days time but you still felt bad. This man must have walked all the way from where his ship had docked, and he hadn’t brought a horse with him. He was about to turn away when you shouted out to him.
“I have a stable.” It was the only solution you could think of. He didn’t turn to look at you but you heard him grumble something in his native tongue. You didn’t think you wanted to know what it translated to. “It’s enclosed. With the door shut it’s quite warm. Only one horse in there at the moment too.”
He finally turned to look at you. He raised one eyebrow rather high, and you thought if he just stopped scowling he may be handsome. So you gave him a small smile. He hadn’t done anything to offend you, yet, so the least you could do was be polite.
“Where can I find more rooms, camarera?” His voice was deep and his accent was strong, and you don’t know what he had called you but he sounded tired. And maybe you were too kind for your own good but you didn’t want him travelling longer than he had to when there were perfectly fine stacks of hay he could sleep on for a few hours.
“You would have to travel north into town. On foot, you could reach it by sunrise.” He seemed to be mulling it over. Was he serious? He’ll drop down in exhaustion before he’d even travelled halfway. “Come into the stable. I won’t charge you anything.”
That seemed to make up his mind because he was walking back towards you. You stepped inside to let him in before locking the door. You took him through a side door, down the side of the building and into the stables.
It wasn’t large. Could fit three horses in at a squeeze, but the current resident was lying against the large doors and on the other side against the stone wall of the guest rooms were stacks of hay.
The horse raised his head and let out a huff of disapproval when you both walked past him, but soon became disinterested when neither of you paid him no attention.
The stranger sat on a stack of hay, moving about to test how comfortable it was. He looked up and nodded when he was satisfied. There was an awkward silence for a moment before you remembered that this was your tavern and you shouldn’t be feeling nervous.
“Did you want a blanket?”
“No thank you.”
“Something to eat or drink?”
“No.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Thank you.”
You nodded and turned away to leave him alone. When you got to the door you had entered through you saw he was still sat exactly where he was. He hadn’t moved in the slightest. Was he not used to anyone being nice to him? Or was he just an awkward, angry man?
Closing the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You began to walk along the corridor, taking a turn to arrive in the kitchen.
The women had devoured the pie that had been left. Gwen was nearly falling asleep at the table whilst Addy had taken over the washing up duties. Darcy was nowhere to be found.
Addy saw you first, holding up a finger to the ceiling when she noticed you were looking around the kitchen.
“Darcy went to bed. Are you going up?”
For the first time that night you realised just how tired you were. You didn’t know whether to tell them about the man in the stables. Maybe it was for best that Darcy was already in bed. She would be none the wiser.
“I just need to stub the candles out in the front. I’ve let a traveller stay in the stables. Don’t disturb him. I imagine he will be gone by morning.”
Addy frowned. It wasn’t unusual to let the odd person stay in the stables. Usually poor travellers looking for work, or like tonight when you were feeling especially kind. But maybe your tone inflicted that it was unusual with this man because she looked like she was waiting for you to explain.
You refused. You grabbed some pie crumbs off the plate and shoved them into your mouth.
“Alright. I’ll stub the candles out if you wanted to go on up? I’ve nearly finished here.” She grabbed the empty plate you had just eaten off of and dumped it in the bowl of water.
You made your way towards your room, hopefully to get some sleep and forget about the man in the stables. You don’t know why he was bothering you so much. You were acting like he was a dirty little secret. He’ll be gone in the morning and you will never see him again.
You sort of hoped you were wrong.
-
The morning started as it always did. The birds singing and the Winter sun shone through my window.
Your room was modest. The bigger of the three bedrooms upstairs (it was formerly your fathers room). You had it all to yourself, whereas Addy and Darcy shared a room and Gwen had the smallest room furthest from yours. You had a small wooden table next to your bed which sat a candle and a ribbon for your long hair.
Across from your bed, underneath the window, was a box to store your clothes in and along the wall on the left of the room was a tin bath, the only one upstairs.
You were lucky, you knew that. Working in a tavern brought in more money than the average business in town. But with four mouths to feed you didn’t have a lot of money for long.
You were rubbing the sleep from your eyes when the memories of the previous night came rushing back to you. you remembered the strange man with the scar that intrigued you. The deep, husky voice, the grumpy look on his face, his curt responses.
You should be hoping that he’s long gone but as you jumped out of bed, quickly throwing your outer dress over your underdress and slipping on your boots you realised you were hoping for the exact opposite. You ran down the stairs, rushed through the hallway and arrived at the kitchen to see Gwen at the stove.
You couldn’t help but notice the smell of warm milk and honey in the air. You grabbed a tankard off the side and dipped it into the pan that Gwen was mixing.
“Sorry Gwen,” you muttered. You knew she’d be annoyed for the rest of the day but you’d find a way to make it up to her. You always did.
The short walk to the stables had your heart pumping. You suddenly felt stupid. He probably wasn’t in there anymore. And what if he didn’t like honey? And why did you care so much?
When you opened the door you almost bumped into him. You gasped as he jumped back, hand immediately reaching the hilt of his sword.
The hood of his cape wasn’t up so you could see his face much more clearly this morning. He had a peculiarly large nose which you found yourself wanting to run your finger along, and an unusual moustache that you never saw on Englishmen. He was staring at you, mouth slightly parted when you realised you had also been staring at him for longer than was acceptable.
You caught your breath and decided to show him the contents of the tankard.
“Warm milk with honey. Thought you might want something before you left?” You said hopefully. He was inspecting the contents as though he had never been presented with something before. It was as though he didn’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to. Just thought after a cold night, something warm would be welcome,” you shrugged and started to take it back. But he stopped you with a gloved hand over yours.
He took the drink off of you and began to sip at it. He didn’t make a face of disgust so you assumed he liked it. You were desperate to know where he was going but you didn’t want to intrude. Luckily you didn’t have to.
“Thank you, that is nice. I have to go. Work in town.” His words were to the point. Not like yours were when you rambled like a mad woman. You nodded and took back the drink he was handing back to you.
“Good luck. I hope everything goes well for you.” You smiled, and it looked like he was going to smile back but he nodded instead.
“Thank you. For the bed.” And with that he brushed past you. You knew Addy would be at the front of the tavern to let him out so you didn’t follow. You also didn’t want to make more of a fool of yourself than you already had.
You sighed and trudged back towards the kitchen. You had some making up to do.
#Pero#Pero Tovar#Pero x Reader#Pedro#Pedro pascal#fanfic#first fanfic#pero tovar x reader#pero fic#pero tovar fic#tovar#safe haven
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2 and 3 of the asks, perhaps for Pitt the Younger, if you’d like! :)
Yes! Thank you for the questions … and please excuse that it took me so long to answer, I have a good explanation for that - but first, let’s give Pitt his time to shine!
2. Did they get an education? If so, where did they go to learn?
Yes, Pitt received an excellent education - what should come as no surprise given the elevated status his family and especially his father had. Until the age of fourteen, young William Pitt was educated at home. He was a sickly child (and later also a sickly adult) and it was decided therefor that he should better stay at home (his siblings were as well educated at home because their father had a keen dislike for public schools). Pitt was a very good and devoted student, and his educational pursuits actually profited from his poor health. During long spans of illnesses there was often little more he could do than read and study. He had a private tutor (who also tutored his siblings), called Edward Wilson, who was a graduate of Cambridge University. Beside Wilson, his father, the elder Pitt, was also very invested in his son’s education - while he looked after all his children, young William was one of his father’s favourites from an early age on. While Pitt received a “classical” education from Wilson; reading, writing, languages, history, mathematics, his father taught him more “political” subjects like public speaking and debating. The elder Pitt definitely wished (and probably even intuitionally knew) that his son would follow him into politics and the younger Pitt later really profited from his father’s instructions. It is noted that never before and never again in British history did one head of government taught, prepared and instructed a future head of government in such a fashion.
At the age of fourteen (on April 26, 1773 to be precise), Pitt was enrolled into Cambridge to study there. Shortly after arriving at Cambridge with his tutor, Pitt fell dangerously ill and had to be brought home. As soon as he was well again and had returned to Cambridge, he took up horseback riding and rode out on a regular basis as part of his doctor’s advice (one of the better advises). Wilson often accompanied him and Pitt wrote many letter home, relieving his anxious parents, who feared for their son’s health.
Pitt’s education was “classical”, he did not focus much on European languages, contemporary literature, theology or French philosophy, although especially the latter was widely popular at the time. He did however study Moral and Political Philosophy. Later on, he also took classes in civil Law and trained to take the Bar exam. Pitt excelled in the ancient languages and mathematics. In fact, mathematics would become one of his lifelong pursuits - there is this one gorgeous set of notes that Pitt prepared for a session in the House of Commons (I think it was on the Catholic emancipation but I am not quite sure). At the bottom of the page were some doodles - so far so unspectacular. Where I for example doodle flowers or clouds, Pitt draw some geometrical forms and patterns, quite complicated ones indeed, along with some equations on how to construct the arches that he had drawn so that they would not collapse. I was so fascinated by the drawings because they probably were the most mindful “mindless doodles” I have ever seen. I wanted to include a picture of the document here but guess who did not save it and now can not find it anymore? I have been searching the past two weeks or so for that thing and can not find it for the life of mine.
Later, Dr. George Pretyman, took over as Pitt’s main tutor. He became a close friend and confidant to Pitt throughout the younger man’s life. In the coming years, when Pitt was Prime Minister, Pretyman would on occasions function as Pitt’s secretary to help Pitt shoulder his enormous burden of duties and work. After Pitt’s death, it was Pretyman who wrote the first biography of Pitt the Younger and who also had a hand in destroying a good deal of Pitts private papers.
3. What, in your opinion, as the most impactful thing that they did throughout their lives?
Well, I could go with the extremely obvious here and say that being made Prime Minister at the age of 24 and staying in officer for almost two decades (with a short interruption) was Pitts greatest achievement and his most impactful action. But I think that would do him little justice and he deserves it that we take a closer look at the things he actually did while being Prime Minister. Therefor the most impactful thing for me would be Pitt’s continuing reform and management of the nation’s finances. He and his government managed to keep Britain credit worthy even throughout the long revolutionary and Napoleonic wars. There was a saying at the time that France (under Napoléon) would never run out of man and that England (under Pitt) would never run out of funds. Pitt was lucky though, as the Industrial Revolution and the great impact it would have on economies all over the world was right around the corner. Still, Pitt’s reforms were amazing in their own right - especially considering his management of his own private finances. Pitt’s private finances were a complete disaster - in fact, this comparison is an insult to all the disasters out there, his finances were even worse.
#ask me anything#ask game#history#william pitt#william pitt the younger#william pitt the elder#edward wilson#dr george pretyman#george pretyman#cambridge university#british history#england#house of commons#parliament#politics#prime minister#1773#finance#napoleon bonaparte#napoleonic wars#french revolution#french history#english monarchy#the-lord-high-admiral-themself
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Omg i just had an idea, what about the shelby brothers finding out that they have a half sister who is like a teenager maybe15/16 that lives in an orphanage in France and the girl is like so sweet and cute and doesn't speak a lot of english sksksk like how would they react
A/N: Aaaaaah, I love it! Can you imagine their faces when they hear their father went away and got some French woman pregnant and the poor girl is left all alone as a) her mother dies from illness and b) fucking Arthur senior did what he could do best: leave his child alone just as he left the others qwqI learned French for 6 years and I don’t have ANY clue if the stuff I wrote is right or not, sooo… yeah. Thank you so much for requesting this, I hope you like it!
Characters: shelby!sister x shelby family
Warnings: none I think? Please correct me if you want something to be added!
Tommy was the first to be awake on this cloudy Friday morning.As he took the newspaper, a brown envelop slipped out between the pages and landed in front of his shoes. The dark-haired man picked it up, looking at the neat cursive ‘To the Shelby family’ written on the front and the French stamp in the corner. He turned it around in curiousity and got even more irritated as he read the name of the sender.‘foyer d’enfants des sœurs miséricordieuses’
Inside were two pieces of paper, one of them sealed with wax.
The first one seemed to be official, written by a woman named Dominique who was a nun, working in an orphanage in north France.
‘Dear Sir or Madam, my name is Dominique and I’m a nurse at the orphanage of the merciful sisters. I’m writing you, because your sister Y/N Shelby is about to turn 16 in a few months, which means that she is about to leave our facility. We weren’t able to contact her father Arthur sr. Shelby, so I’m reaching out to you today, to see if there is a chance for you to-‘
His coffee was already cold and the cigarette in the ashtray long forgotten, as he finished reading the for the third time.
He couldn’t quite grasp what he was reading, no matter how many times he reread the words.
Tommy took the second letter and as he unfolded it, a picture fell out.
On the photo was a young girl in her teenage years, sitting on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers. The more he looked at the girl, the more he could see a younger Ada in her and if he squinted hard enough, she had that special glint in her eyes, that him and his other siblings also shared.
The letter was written in broken English, nothing compared to the skills of the nun, but it was readable. She wrote about herself, telling how she came to the orphanage when she was very young, maybe around three years old. She wasn’t sure herself, as she couldn’t even remember her mother nor her father very good. The nuns had told her that her mother died from a serious illness, probably the Spanish influenza. She didn’t know much about her father. Only that he was a man from England and how he suddenly vanished from her life, leaving her to the care system.
The possibility of having a half-sister in France saddened him. But the fact that she had to grow up in an orphanage due to his deadbeat father made him furious.
So as soon as the whole family was awake, he summoned everyone to a family meeting.
To say that everyone was equally as surprised and horrified was an understatement.
Polly had to lean back in shock, her hands clenching around the tea cup in front of her. Ada was quiet the whole time as Tommy talked, her lips pressed into a thin line to keep the bitter words inside.
Arthur on the other side didn’t even try to hold back. He groaned and cursed, while Tommy read both letters to his family. Johns face was a mixture of emotions, changing from frustration to roaring anger, his jaw clenched painfully. Finn, who was the youngest of the Shelby’s until now, honestly didn’t knew how to react. Everything he could think about, was that somewhere in France a girl grew up like him. Without a mother and a father, but in contrast to himself, she wasn’t so lucky to have an aunt and older siblings to grow up and live with.
Although no one knew or heard about you until now, it was a mutual decision to do everything possible to bring you to your family in England.
Several weeks and letters later, Tommy was standing at the train station, looking at his watch as he waited for the train with his half-sister inside, to arrive.
In the pocket of his suit, was the picture of the young girl that came with the letter.
He didn’t need it actually, as he looked at it so many times since it fell from the envelope a few weeks ago.
When the train arrived, Tommy straightened his posture, keeping his gaze locked to the opening doors in front of him.
A few people got out of the train, throwing a quick glance at Tommy before they went on to leave the train station. His eyes were still glued to the shutting doors and he looked at his watch again, wondering if he was too early or you didn’t get to the train in London in time.
“Monsieur Shelby?”, someone suddenly approached him, startling him more than he liked to admit. Turning around Tommy locked eyes with you. Your hair was neatly curled and styled underneath the mustard-colored beret you were wearing. The green coat you were wearing, was slightly to big for you and seemed like it was handed-down to you from someone older.
Nervously clutching the small suitcase, you looked up at him with big eyes.
Finding his voice again, Tommy smiled slightly taking the hand you offered him. “Tommy. Welcome to England, Y/N.” The whole situation was both scary and exciting to you, that much could Tommy tell from your nervous behavior. He tried his best to make you feel welcome, talking to you and telling you about the family awaiting you, something you already knew from the letters the Shelby’s wrote. Your English had slightly improved from your first letter, as you learned as much as possible from books, in your left time at the orphanage.
When you arrived at the house in Small Heath, Tommy took your suitcase out of the trunk, lending you his arm to lead you into the house. As soon as you entered the house, you were greeted by the whole family sitting in the kitchen.
Polly was the first to greet you, jumping up from her seat to pull you into a motherly hug, taking your face into her soft hands to take a closer look at you. “What a pretty girl you are. Your mother must have been a beautiful woman. But you look so skinny in your coat! What are they feeding you poor children in France?” Ada laid a hand on Polly’s shoulder to calm her down and stop her ramble, as you weren’t able to say a word. “Don’t scare her, Polly.” With a smile your sister hugged you, kissing both your cheeks.
Arthur and John were a bit more cheerful and greeted you in a jokingly manner, already talking about how they would have to scare away many admirers, which just earned them an annoyed eyeroll from Ada.
Finn was a bit shier towards you, only shaking your hand after your other siblings had greeted you.
He was happy that he wasn’t the youngest anymore and that the attention was now on you and no longer on him, but he couldn’t quite show it yet.
The whole family settled on the kitchen table, cups of steaming tea and soft sandwiches were passed around and you finally started to relax in your seat, as the conversation no longer revolved only around you. With a smile you quietly listened to their stories about their gypsy heritage, the company and embarrassing childhood memories from your siblings, exclusively told by Polly.
Tommy didn’t participate much in the conversation, as he just watched you with a smile, content that it was the best decision to bring you to a England, to a family who would love you like you deserved.
#shelby sister#shelby reader#peaky blinders imagine#shelby!sister#shelby!reader#peaky blinders#vampire writes
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Amoureux - The Children’s Character Profiles
A/N Six children are a lot to keep track of so I made one-page summaries for each of them so we can familiarize ourselves with each of their personalities and hobbies!
Henry is the eldest of his siblings and who is known to his parents (and to this blog) as our little prince. His five siblings are just as royal as he is but he is the one who really brought together his family and started his parents on the road to the rest of their lives. Born on the 6th of August 1821, Henry is the only American born child but his nationality is definitely 100% British regardless. He was given two strong regal names, Henry and Alexander both appearing through history as English and French rulers. He was born into poverty but was named to be destined for greatness to seventeen-year-old Daniel and Louisa who had more love than money after fleeing Europe for the sake of their romance. Henry introduced them into the responsibility that parenthood was and forced them to grow up far quicker than they had anticipated. Even still, he is their little prince and they always seemed to have him on a bit of a pedestal.
Moving back to England to the Royal Family and growing up in a palace meant that Henry could get away with quite a bit. He was a naughty little boy like his father had been as a child but he never met much reprimanding from his parents, especially once they started to have more children and their attention was focused elsewhere. Young Henry wasn’t much of a jealous child per se but his younger brother was born the same year his Uncle Christian became King so the little prince who was once the focus of everything, seemed to be pushed back a few steps. This only made him act up a bit more, hiding around the palace and running everywhere instead of walking and putting up fits when it really wasn’t necessary. He just liked being the centre of attention.
After the havoc that young Daniel and Louisa caused across the country, they were determined to make up for it through perfectly properly behaved children…starting with Henry. It took a few years for his uncle to have children which meant, if God forbid his uncle died, he would take the throne (Daniel couldn’t because of his criminal record from being banished before he was born…having a ‘criminal’ on the throne wouldn’t look good to the public). Henry was young and he didn’t understand this too well and his fiery personality was perfect proof of it but he smartened up as he grew up, especially as he learned his place as eldest child. He took his ‘job’ as oldest child very seriously and took charge of his five younger siblings in every way from teaching them French to sneaking them into the kitchen for extra pastries.
It’s safe to say Henry was an active little prince and from a young age he took up horseback riding and eventually started playing polo when he was old enough. Henry was the perfect handsome mix of his uncle and his father with their soft brown hair and shining blue eyes (and his uncle’s dimples) and caught the eyes of young ladies from the moment he was school age. He basked in it too because he loved being the centre of attention – especially if the attention was from girls. There was nothing that the aristocrats’ daughters loved more than watching Prince Henry playing polo or accompanying him on rides around the garden.
Henry never had to become King but he was certainly up to the challenge if the situation arose. He was the pride of his parents and the eye-candy of his country and the key to his family’s entire stability, honestly. Our little prince.
Philip was the first British born child of Daniel and Louisa. He was conceived nearly as soon as the young parents moved back to England and was born into regality from his very first breath. He was born on the 19th of March 1823 at Highgrove where his family resided. He was named after both his British and French regal heritage, his middle name in particular stemming from his mother’s name and the most common name of prior French Kings. He had deep brown hair like his older brother but was the only on of two of the Seavey children to have their mother’s green eyes.
In fact, he was a lot like Louisa in many ways and it was safe to say he was a bit of Mama’s boy from the start. French came easiest to Philip and he often chose to speak it as much as he could – even though he kept having to be reminded by father, siblings, and staff to speak English please. But he could always speak French with Louisa at teatime. Philip was the most perfect little gentleman both with his manners, his dress, and the way he always cared for his mother and his younger siblings the best he could. If Daniel wasn’t around, it would be Philip at Louisa’s side, holding her hand as a boy and offering his arm as a young man. He had a soft spot in his mother’s heart that was for sure.
He was much gentler compared to his hyperactive older brother; but the boys, being quite close in age, got along well regardless. Henry was always one to help coax Philip out of his comfort zone and usually was the one who ended up getting Philip in trouble. The younger brother was more of the reasonable child and was best known to question Henry’s antics. Philip much preferred quiet hobbies like painting or piano – although painting was his favourite. He could paint portraits and landscapes alike and often helped himself to Highgrove’s grounds to get lost in the trees for an entire afternoon with his easel and canvas.
Daniel tried to get his second son into music since his first could hardly sit still at the bench long enough to set his fingers on the keys. Philip humoured his father enough to learn the basics of piano but as he grew up, he kept rushing off to paint or to sit quietly with Louisa in the drawing room. He much preferred the gentle romantic aesthetic of the world and he found his comfort in the green of the grass and the colours of the flowers and even scribbled little poems in the pages of his lesson books – only in French though so none of the staff could ever read them and laugh. He was a shy tender little boy and his mother saw the world in his green eyes and kind soul.
He was gentle but fair in his status as second-eldest and made sure to be the sensible one when his older brother might not have thought something through. Philip was there to ground his family and his siblings and to be the mediator if things got rough. His tame nature was enticing to many and his natural calm aesthetic and the way he saw the world was of nothing but the sweetest of souls.
Margret was the first of three daughters and the third of six children. She was born closest in age to Philip, being born at Highgrove House on the 25th of May 1824. She was the perfect mix of her parents after an eldest boy who took after the English side of the family and a second-eldest boy who took after the French side of the family. With her mother’s light strawberry blonde hair and her father’s bright blue eyes, Margo was the most perfect little princess. At least in her parents’ eyes. She was named after her father’s maternal grandmother and her mother’s maternal grandmother, respectively, making for the perfect combination of British and French.
She was a perfect mix of her parents by looks and a perfect mix of her brothers by personality. She was active like Henry and was just as sneaky as he was – but was better at getting away with it – and yet she was gentle and compassionate like Philip and admired the grace in the world. She tended to turn to French when she was emotional, ever since she was a little girl even having a nightmare in the middle of the night she would crawl into her parents’ room and whimper to her father about her “cauchemar”. Daniel could only really offer her comfort in English but his attempt was nice enough and she always fell right back to sleep in his presence.
Margret’s active side came out from a young age, always getting up to dance around the room when Daniel would be playing piano and it wasn’t long before she got her own ballet instructor. As a dancer, she knew a little bit about music too so she had just enough piano lessons to get by but her focus was on ballet. It wasn’t odd to find her practicing her grande jete’s down the hallways at Highgrove, nearly knocking over candelabras and unaware servants in the process.
Margo was graceful as a ballerina and she could use that to her advantage in her adventures with her siblings, especially when it came to sneaking into the kitchen for extra pastries – a Seavey original antic. As a young tot she was used to pouting her way out of trouble – those blonde curls and big blue eyes always melting any adult’s heart – but once she was older, she was able to cross the entire palace without making a single sound (made for sneaking out a bit easier as a teenager). She seemed to be so stealthy she could walk up behind any member of her family and startle them with a sweet “qu'est-ce que tu fais?” (what are you doing) over their shoulder. Daniel swore he was going to die of a heart attack by the hands of his eldest daughter because of this.
In terms of studies, Margret preferred the languages to the arithmetic or sciences; spending her time practicing French and Latin and keeping her nose in a book as she spun a row of ballet chaînés down the hallways. There honestly wasn’t a time Margret wasn’t dancing. She danced more than she walked truly. Music came easily to her father and dancing came easily to her; both of them constantly hearing music in their heads in their own ways.
Princess Margret was the idealized concept of graceful princess in and out of the palace and made her own appearances at the Royal Ballet as she got older. But she knew her place in her family well and was a gentle and persistent eldest sister.
Fredrick was the youngest surviving son of Daniel and Louisa. He was born in Highgrove on the 27th of February 1826 in the middle of a winter storm. His middle name was a strong English name often passed down from British royalty and his first name was the English form of the Germanic name meaning ‘peaceful ruler’. He was similar to his elder sister with his appearance with their mother’s strawberry blonde hair and their father’s blue eyes and from the moment he was born, his sister took quite the liking to him. The not-even-two-year-old Margret was captivated by her new baby brother and constantly asked to play with him as soon as she possibly could.
Most likely because of this, Fredrick grew up close with his elder sister and tended to copy more of her activities than his elder brothers. Daniel was a little worried he was going to have a second son that preferred tea over solid hobbies but Fredrick’s interests didn’t stop at the garden table. Up to this point, much to Daniel’s glee, Fredrick was his only diligent music student but he took more to the cello than piano which was quite unique. As a young boy, Fredrick was very close to his father because of his interest in the cello and they had lessons together almost every day.
Their slight hostility only began when Fredrick started his studies. Arithmetic didn’t come easily to him and reading and languages were boring and it took him a long time to finally learn how to read in either English or French. He never learned to read Latin. Daniel, once a young boy who detested his own lessons, grew up to understand the importance of an education in his children and Fredrick’s constant dismission of his studies drove Daniel crazy. He saw too much of himself in his youngest son in that case. They argued quite a bit about Fredrick’s studies and Daniel couldn’t understand why he just couldn’t learn the bloody lessons. It was often that Daniel took away his son’s cello to force him to get his work done. Fredrick learned how to swear in French just to curse off his father when he didn’t know what he was saying. Fredrick was a graceful child like his elder sister – and the meaning behind his name – but he could really swear like a sailor when it got down to it.
He never really cared for horseback riding too much but he found his outlet in archery. He was oddly good at it too and Daniel used that to his advantage to help Fredrick with his studies. He would write words on pieces of paper and stick them to the target and every time Fredrick hit one, he would have to read the word to teach himself to read. Any incentive that worked was good enough – especially after his tutor was deemed unfit after he was caught punishing the young prince with a ruler on his palm. Ever seen Louisa yell? You probably haven’t until that day. Fredrick stayed as the least studious of his siblings through most of his youth, much preferring to spend his time in the music conservatory or with a bow and arrow in hand.
Being the youngest boy, Fredrick had to sort of keep on his toes to keep up with his older siblings but he also had more of a gentle nature to support his younger sisters as well. For a middle child, he was a good mix of everything before him and, at the same time, almost fiercely independent.
Adelaide – sweet little Delia – was born on the 3rd of September 1828 right around teatime. It was a warm and sunny afternoon and she was delivered at her family home of Highgrove like her three elder siblings. Her name is Germanic for ‘nobility’ which was quite fitting for her family’s societal standing but her middle name is both a perfect mix of her French and British backgrounds. She was the prettiest of the Royal babies – at least that’s what the staff whispered, and what Margret decreed at her first look at her baby sister – and donned her father’s brown hair and her mother’s green eyes.
From a young age, Adelaide was charming and clever yet sensitive and she saw the world in more of an analytical sense. She asked “why” to everything (both in English and French) and lessons came easily to her from languages to sciences and arithmetic. She knew her multiplication tables at an impressive age and her constant shining colours often made her elder brother Fredrick envious. The likes of his younger sister was something that Fredrick hated to be compared to. Delia was Daniel’s little shining star because of her intelligence and her talent for music and her caring personality. For a girl in the 19th century, Adelaide was taking the world by storm and often questioned her tutors and her family about the ways of the world in terms of politics, sciences, and mathematics. She was a girl ahead of her time.
Adelaide could have been seen as ‘one of the boys’ but there was nothing she loved more than the femininity of life. Teatime with her family or going dress shopping or, especially, where she found her calling in singing. Adelaide had a set of lungs on her and that was apparent ever since she was a baby and could cry loud enough to wake up the servants in the basement. When she was a child, she could scream at the top of her lungs if one of her older siblings tried to play a trick on her – and she always got the pity. This only led her to discovering her gift of singing as a pre-teen, especially when she accompanied her family to the opera and the show brought her to tears. From then on, you could hear her practicing her scales all through the palace – and breaking a few glasses if she really tried. She even sang a few songs for her family and guests when she was older as the entertainer of the house.
Sure, she was arguably the prettiest of the children, but Adelaide was more focused on her studies and her singing than getting married and she was often blind to the callers that would come by the palace for her. Even during balls, she would bore her dance partners with talk of mathematics or sciences until they would up and leave her. Daniel was approached plenty of times by fathers of aristocratic young men who were appalled by Adelaide’s intelligence and scolded him for “not raising a nice young lady”. It never phased him, Daniel (and Louisa) were incredibly proud of their young scholar, especially within the fact that she was a woman, and if no boys wanted to dance with her, Daniel would always gladly take their place.
Henry was her protector since she was so blind to her callers that someone had to ward off the boys. Adelaide was a well-rounded princess and the envy of her siblings but – although she might have used her intelligence to pick on them as a child – she always treated them fairly and with nothing but love.
Victoria was Daniel and Louisa’s rainbow baby (in modern day terms). The Duke and Duchess expected not to have any more children after their son, Alfred, was stillborn in 1829. His death caused much grief in the young parents so they weren’t willing to risk that ever again. But Louisa fell pregnant again and gave birth to a healthy baby girl in the early morning of the 30th of April 1831. The relief that followed a safe birth only had Daniel and Louisa falling more in love with each other and with their new baby. She was named Victoria meaning victory; from overcoming and shining through a great loss. Her middle name was, of course, taken from Daniel’s younger sister. In fact, Victoria even looked like her aunt with light brown hair and those blue Seavey eyes and button nose. She truly looked like a little princess.
Victoria was in love with the idea of royalty and her family’s standing in society. She asked often when it was to be her time to be queen, always hoping for another answer than her mother or father’s usual “you’re a princess, not a queen”. If she asked enough times, they would let her be queen, right? She enjoyed spending time with her Uncle Christian who was king and hearing all the responsibilities he had and she especially liked travelling with him in the Royal Carriage (even after there was an assassination attempt that nearly took young Victoria with it). But she could relate a lot more to her Aunt Anna as youngest child and royal princess and they often went horseback riding around the palace grounds whenever they could.
With five elder siblings, Victoria grew up a little spoiled but also a little tormented. She always tried to keep up with everyone as best as she could and was willing to get up to just as much mischief as her brothers and sisters. She caught up with Henry on horseback and Philip with lingering afternoons in the gardens and clashed most with Fredrick in regard to music. Fredrick was a diligent cello student but Victoria was the only one of her family members to pick up the violin and the two often got into silent arguments with their bows in hand and trying to out play the other. Their usual bickering – as youngest son and youngest daughter – was expected to the other siblings and Daniel and Louisa often had to nearly force them to make up over whatever silly argument they were having.
Victoria could give or take her studies. She did well – especially in the languages where she even took up a little bit of German on top of French, English, and Latin – but would have much rather been with her violin or out with her horse. She could often be seen joined by her more musically inclined brothers and sisters putting on a little band performance for the family and/or guests. Victoria took her royal duties quite seriously – expected from someone who grew up begging to be queen – and she loved traveling into London to visit the public shops and, as she got older, helped to give speeches at various events. She was responsible and respectable and was determined to keep a good public appearance no matter what, not only through hos she carried herself but also within who she chose to spend her time around.
Of course, in the comfort of her own home was where Victoria’s spunky personality could flourish. Afterall, how else was she supposed to keep up with five older siblings?
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the pearl of christendom
chapter one - not all beauty and grace
richard iii x oc (cora of lancaster)
warnings :: jerk guards, imagery of heartbreak, dick!edward
song of the chapter : sweet creature by harry styles
coraline of lancaster looked up at the york man, who seemed to be only a few years older than her. she knew it was richard the second she met his gaze. he had dark curls and a beautiful smile. cora couldn’t help but feel a blush dance across her cheeks. a hand of a much larger man took hold of her arm and pulled her forcibly into the castle. there was no doubt in her mind it was the so called “king edward’s” doing. the young girl screamed and hit the man who dragged her into the great hall. “i am coraline of lancaster! i am the princess of england! if my father and mother find-” a tall man of six feet four inches walked into the hall- edward. “they already know, princess! sit.” the man that held her arm all but threw her into the chair across from edward. she reluctantly sat down, not letting her fear be known. “it seems your mother cares little for you...she gave you up. i have no doubt she didn’t tell your father until it was too late.” everyone in england knew of her mother’s preference of her brother rather than her, and her father’s great love for her. but it seemed her mother gave up her youngest child in order to save her eldest. “so...either you will acknowledge me as king-” the girl stood up and banged her hand on the great wooden table at which she previously sat. “i will do no such thing! there is no king of england but my father!” the guard went to move towards him, but was told off by edward. “you like bullying young girls?” edward asked him as he motioned for the princess to sit down. and yet, she stayed standing up. the princess was known for her normally soft tempered self- the one that brought gifts and food to the people, who made a difference in her father’s second reign as king. but it seemed for all the good she did, cora was her mother’s daughter. “it seems he learned that from you. and my mother would never give me up.”
edward sucked in air through his teeth. “but it seemed she did. in order to save your brother. so- i’m sure you see why i have brought you here. to keep you safe.” cora let out a light laugh, one that brought a smile to richard’s lips. while richard had done nothing wrong to her, she knew he was loyal to his brother. “to keep me safe. pardon my french...but that’s bullshit. i will have no other king of england reign but my father. but if the pretender wishes to send me home to france, i would rather like that.” edward had to give it to her, she had more punch than anyone would’ve thought. “you liked france, didn’t you?” he asked pulling out a painting of her beloved, aryana of aquitaine, which caused her face to fall. “she’s beautiful. i’ll give it to you- you have a good choice in women.” her mind went to many places: was she safe? how did he get that? where was she? “lady aryana was married off last night-” her heart felt as if it had just been stabbed. “-to your cousin- nicholas of anjou.” and there was the twist of the knife. “i will do no such thing as to say you are king. if you must send me to the tower-” edward lit up at this. “that is a wonderful idea! they always said you were smart- but this just proves it.” she threw a chair at the wall, the wood instantly shattering. cora took a deep breath. “i apologize for that...i will go willingly, and my ladies will come with me to the tower.” she bowed her head to him. “good day, your grace.” her ladies followed her in tow as she made her way to the royal departments in the tower. as soon as she was behind closed doors, cora fell to the floor and sobbed. her ladies all sat down and hugged their friend and mistress. they all knew her great love for the lady aryana, so hearing she was married off, they too felt horrible. she cried herself to sleep in her bed of the tower. her ladies all went to their own beds when they knew she was asleep. but lady margot, her maternal cousin, had stayed with her, in case cora needed anything in the middle of the night. but before long, margot herself fell asleep. a soft knock came from the royal apartment doors as the princess stirred. she got up, trying not to wake her cousin, and moved to open the doors. there stood the man with the piercing eyes from before- richard, the king’s brother. “your grace…?” cora asked out of utter confusion. “i brought you this-” he said handing over one of her old books. “- i found it in one of the rooms and figured you’d want it back…” his voice was soft as silk, his smile seemed to light up the room. and little did richard know, but giving a piece of literature meant the world to coraline. she only gave people books when she loved them. the lancastrian thought knowledge was the greatest power one could have. especially if that person is a woman. “thank you...your grace.” richard nodded softly to her. “richard…” the princess smiled up at him. while he stood five feet eight inches, the princess stood a whopping four feet ten inches, which caused the york, only two years her senior, to tower over her. “richard…” cora loved saying his name, but would never admit to it. it made her heart all warm and gooey. they were enemies, so she shouldn’t feel that way. and yet, she did. “i convinced king edward to let you out for a party tomorrow evening to celebrate his return to power...and i just wanted to say- i’m sorry about the lady aryana...i know you loved her. oh!’ he pulled out a small locket and gave it to her. “i had this made for you…” she took the locket and opened it. inside was a portrait of her father and on the opposite side was a portrait of the lady aryana of aquitaine. cora was shocked by this, and richard was shocked by her reaction; cora pulled him into a warm embrace. “thank you…my lord richard…” she whispered into his ear as she felt to hands wrap around her waist and reciprocate the hug. “no need to thank me, princess-” it was her turn to correct him. “cora…” richard smiled down at her. “cora…”
#richard iii#richard iii x reader#king richard iii#richard duke of gloucester#richard plantagenet#the white princess#the white queen#the tudors#the spanish princess#graciewritesalot#plantagenets#house of plantagenet#george duke of clarence#george plantagenet#edwardiv#edward iv#king edward iv#edward plantagenet#margaret of anjou#edward of lancaster#henry of lancaster#historical imagines#elizabeth woodville#elizabeth of york#henry tudor#house of york imagines
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Could you write a fic about Tommy’s long-lost daughter that is gay. After a while he found out about his daughter. She’s really scared about the families reaction but they don’t care about who she loves, they’re just worried about the dangers added by this that?!?! Love your writing btw ☺️🥰😍🥰😕
HIIII this isn’t exactly what you asked for but it’s almost the same!!! I hope you like it!!!
questions, comments, concerns
masterlist
Lucy keeps raising her hand to the door to knock and then dropping it, turning to leave the big house only to turn back around when she reaches the end of the drive. “If he sends you away then you’ve lost nothing.” She reminds herself and finally knocks.
She hears voices on the other side of the door and they grow louder until the door swings open and her father stands there, an older woman a step behind him.
When Lucy just stands there, unable to form words, he looks at her with annoyance, “Can I help you?”
“I-- uh-- um-- Are you-- Sorry, are you Thomas Shelby?” She knows he is, she has been watching him for weeks, but she asks anyway.
“Who’s asking?”
Lucy takes a deep breath, “My name’s Lucy Bennett. I’m your daughter, sir.”
The older woman’s hand flies to her mouth, but Tommy doesn’t react, only looks her up and down, “That’s not possible, sorry.”
He goes to shut the door, but Lucy thrusts her boot between it and the threshold, “Wait! I can prove it, please.”
“Can’t prove something that never happened.” He tries to kick her foot out of the way, but she remains firm.
“My mother died a few months ago and all I have left of her is this diary.” She holds it out to him now, “I thought the drunk soldier she had been married to my whole life was my father, but this diary says otherwise. I did the math, according to the diary she didn’t meet the man she married until six months before I was born. She writes of your encounters three months prior.” Lucy talks quickly, afraid he’ll break her foot to get the door shut, “Please, I can show you, I’ll explain everything and if you still don’t believe me, I’ll go.”
The older woman puts a hand on Tommy’s arm, “Let her in, Tommy, listen to her.” She leans in close to his ear, “She has your eyes.” She says, trying to make sure Lucy doesn’t hear, but she does.
Lucy relaxes at the older woman’s words and looks to Tommy expectantly. Finally, he sighs and steps aside to allow her to pass.
The older woman, who Lucy learns is Polly, asks the maid to brew some tea and makes friendly small talk while Tommy sits, arms crossed and scowling at Lucy.
“Who’s your mum?” He asks roughly, “You look like you were born around the time I was in the war. I wasn’t-- I didn’t have anyone then.”
He had a good eye, you had just turned seventeen and were born at the very end of 1914, according to your research, his first year of service. “Yeah, I was born in December of 1914. My mother was a whore in France.” She takes out the diary, opens to a page she had marked, and slides it over to him, “She only writes about you as Tommy, but later goes into more detail about your station and platoon and I was able to figure it out from there.”
Tommy eyes her carefully as he takes the diary from her and reads it over slowly, flipping through pages. Lucy resists the urge to tell him to be careful, it’s all she has of her mother now. It’s a good ten minutes before he puts the diary down and slides it back to her. “You don’t sound French.” It was an accusation, but she didn’t mind.
“One of her other clients, after you, was another British soldier named William Bennett. After the war, he married my mother and took us back to England. I was only four or five at the time so as I was in school I dropped my French accent. My mother never learned English fully, though, so we always spoke French to each other.” She says some quick things in French to prove to him she wasn’t lying.
“Where’s William Bennett, then? Why isn’t he taking care of you?”
Lucy looks down at her hands, afraid he’ll see the shame in her face if he looks too closely, “He, um, he never much liked me. Kicked me out after my mother died. I took my mum’s diary and when I found you I moved to Small Heath, found a job at a shop, and rented a flat. Told myself I’d work up the courage to talk to you once I was settled.” He’s still quiet, and she realizes quickly what he must think, “I don’t want money, I can take care of myself just fine, I just-- I just wanted the chance to know you.”
“Know me?” He scoffs, “You live in Small Heath and you’ve done your research, so you know who I really am. What I do. Why would you want a father like that?”
Lucy swallows, “Yes, I’ve heard the talk. But I’ve also heard of the lengths you go to to protect your family. You care about them. I’ve never had a father who cared about me. Was hoping that-- well-- maybe--” She realizes how ridiculous she must sound, knowing no one in their right mind could love her once they knew the truth. It was why even her mother had turned her cheek to her in her last year of life. William had always seemed to know something was off, and finding out seemed like a victory for him. Lucy’s head spins as she recalls how he kicked her out the second her mother’s heart stopped beating. She realizes Polly and Tommy are staring at her blankly as she’s stopped talking and knows she has to go, “Nevermind, I-- I’m sorry--” She stands abruptly, snatching the diary and nearly knocking over the table, “I’m sorry to have bothered you, this was a mistake.” Lucy practically runs to the front door, ignoring Polly as she calls after her.
Tears stream down her face as she runs through the gravel driveway and unties her horse, hopping up quickly and riding away. She doesn’t see Tommy standing in the doorway, looking longingly after her.
“What are you doing?” Polly says, exasperated, “Go after her!”
Tommy shakes his head, “Not right now. She’s hiding something. I’ll have to find out what it is.”
“She’s your daughter, Tommy, who cares?”
“Yes, she’s my daughter. And that’s precisely why I need to make sure she’s not dangerous.”
Polly rolls her eyes and walks away, but Tommy stays, watching as Lucy turns into a speck on the horizon, and then nothing. Only then does he finally go back inside and lock himself in his study.
His mind is reeling from the realization that he’s had a child this entire time and he missed out on everything. He knew what it was like to have a father who never cared and it pained him to know that one of his own children had to go through that, something he promised himself would never happen.
He would make it right with her, but first, he needed to know what she was hiding.
***
Lucy sniffled and took a deep breath before walking into her flat where she knew Abigail was waiting. Abigail’s curly red hair bounced against her shoulders as she turned to see Lucy step in through the door.
“So? How’d it go?” She said as Lucy was still taking off her boots.
“It didn’t. I chickened out.” Lucy lied.
“Well where were you the whole time then?”
“Riding,” She continued the lie, “Trying to work up the courage to knock on his door.”
Abigail pushed out her lower lip in a pout that Lucy found adorable and walked over to her, placing her hands on Lucy’s shoulders, “It’s probably better, Lu. I mean, he is a murderer.”
Lucy shrugged off Abigail’s hands and walked into the bathing room. “Lu, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” But Lucy shuts the door and listens to Abigail sigh on the other side before walking away.
Abigail hadn’t been very supportive of Lucy’s stalking of Tommy, had very nearly ended their relationship over moving to Small Heath. “I don’t see why you need a man’s approval so badly, and a gangster to boot. This is just going to end with you hurt again.” She would say, and Lucy would explain over and over again that Abigail didn’t understand because her parents both still loved her. And they would go around like this over and over again. She was tired of seeing the condescending look on her face, and besides, she didn’t know Tommy. No one did, except his family. She wanted to know him before she decided he was a no good gangster. But maybe she’d never get that chance. Maybe he didn’t want to know her.
***
Tommy had done some asking around and had found the residence of Lucy Bennett in Small Heath. Since finding her residence, he had been following her around, the way he assumed she had been following him for weeks. It bothered him that he hadn’t known she had been following him this whole time. A test to her skills and a hit to his own. The first day he followed her didn’t reveal much. She went to the shop early in the morning, stayed until late afternoon, and then she’d go to the stables.
He watched her from afar and smiled to himself as he saw her tend to her horse, talking to him gently and petting him. She took him for a ride, which he followed as closely as he dared, but she only took him for a trot around the city and back. She then tied him up and left. He followed her just long enough to see that she had gone home and then turned back to the stables.
“Hello there.” He said to her horse when he got there, “Is she taking good care of you?”
The horse huffed in response, but allowed Tommy to pet him eventually and Tommy whispered gently to him. He seemed in good shape, Tommy couldn’t find anything he or Curly would do different with him. And when he turned to look into the water trough, he couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he saw goldfish swimming around in there. “A gypsy through and through, eh?” He murmured to himself and then headed back to where he’d left his own horse.
The next few days were more of the same, but one day after arriving back from the shop, Lucy left her flat again. Tommy would’ve figured maybe she was running out for food or something of the sort, but she came out wearing different clothes, makeup done, hair curled and with a red headed girl on her arm. He didn’t think much of it, it was a Friday and she was young, she was probably going out with a friend to get drunk.
He followed her anyway, just in case. They go to a bar Tommy doesn’t recognize, and he waits in an alley next to it, smoking cigarette after cigarette as he waits for her. Finally, he hears a drunken giggle and sees two girls walking by. He confirms it’s Lucy, gives her a fair lead, and then follows her out. It seems to be exactly what he suspected it to be, a night out with a friend, and he feels a bit stupid for following her. Maybe he was wrong, maybe she’s not hiding anything.
But, still ways away from her flat, Lucy giggles and pulls the girl into an alley. Frowning, Tommy picks up his pace and then quietly peers around the wall. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to what he’s seeing and his ears to accept that, yes, that is indeed what he’s hearing. Lucy has the red headed girl pinned to the wall with her body as her mouth and hands wander. The red headed girl starts moaning, but Lucy shushes her which results in lots of giggling and Tommy decides he has heard and seen more than enough. This is what Lucy was hiding from him.
***
It’s about a week after Lucy first showed up at Tommy Shelby’s door when there’s a knock at her own door. “Lucy, can you get that?” Abigail yells, “I’m in the loo!”
“Yeah!” Lucy yells from the table where she was sat reading and walks to the door. When she swings it open and sees Tommy Shelby, standing in his long black coat and hat, her face falls.
He doesn’t waste time with a greeting, “Is Abigail here?”
The blood drains from her face, “How do you know about--”
“Darling, who’s at the--?” Abigail stops dead in her tracks when she sees Tommy there.
“Do you mind leaving so I could have a private word with my daughter?”
“Excuse me?” Abigail huffs, “This is my flat!”
“Abigail, go.” Lucy says, eyes still on Tommy.
“Lu, you shouldn’t be alone with him, you don’t even know him--”
“I asked you to leave.” Lucy says quietly, “I can handle it.”
Abigail seems affronted and Lucy knows this will be an argument later, but she can’t bring herself to care. Tommy knew about Abigail and still called her his daughter, that had to mean something. Once she’s left, glaring at Lucy the whole way, she brings Tommy to the kitchen table and asks if he wants tea, which he declines.
“I’m sorry to show up like this.”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind.”
“When you showed up at my house, when you were talking I could tell you were hiding something--”
“I wasn’t--”
“It’s alright, I’m not upset, you’re my daughter, I hide things plenty. But I wanted to know what it was before I brought you into my home, my family.”
Lucy is sweating now, “I suppose you know now and decided you don’t want an abomination like me in your family.”
Tommy scoffs, “An abomination? Because you fancy women? That’s a bit harsh.” Lucy frowns, confused, but he continues, “I admit, I was surprised and things don’t surprise me much anymore. But I was relieved.”
Lucy shakes her head, “Relieved?”
“Oh, Lucy, you come from a line of murderers, addicts, a long line of bad bad men and dangerous women. I thought maybe you were a part of a drug ring, or a part of a rival gang, or some sort of assassin. All I found out in my days of following you was that you love your horse and you like women so yes, I was relieved.” Lucy is still processing everything he’s said when he continues, “Now, when I found out I started doing some research on Abigail, when did you meet her?”
Her head is still spinning, “Research on Abigail, wha--? Why?”
“You met her around the same time you sorted out that you were a Shelby, yeah?”
“I--” She blinked, but then sorted through her memories, “Yeah, I guess so, why?”
“She’s been working really hard to deter you from trying to meet me, yeah?”
Lucy frowned, “Well, yeah, but she was just… She knew about what you did, your family, she was trying to protect me.”
“The reason she didn’t want you to meet me is because she comes from a family that’s just as dangerous as ours.” Ours. Lucy tried not to fixate too much on that word.
“Wait, Abigail? No way, she’s-- Her family runs a farm on the outskirts of the country. They’re from Ireland, they’ve never even been to Birmingham.”
“That’s what she told you, but her father wants me dead. And she knows that. And she’s been staying with you because her father eventually plans to use you as leverage to get to me.”
“No,” Lucy, stands and backs away from the table shaking her head, “No, that’s not true. Abigail loves me. She--”
“Lucy--” Tommy rises too and he sees she’s about to bolt.
“No.” Lucy says again and goes to walk around Tommy who tries to keep her in the apartment, but she shoves him away, “Don’t. I need to talk to her. If you must tag along, fine, but I’m not leaving here without talking to her first.”
Tommy sighs, but follows her anyway to where Abigail is smoking a cigarette outside the building. “Do you love me?” Lucy says as soon as she steps out the door.
“Christ.” Tommy swears, feeling very uncomfortable having to watch this exchange, but he must because he knows no daughter of Alexander Galligan walks around without a weapon.
Abigail eyes Tommy, frowning, but turns back to Lucy, “Don’t be stupid, of course I do. What did he say to you?”
“He says your family is a rival gang who wants him dead and you’re just keeping me close to use me as leverage to get to him and that’s why you’ve been trying to keep me away from him.”
Abigail snorts and looks towards Tommy, “Did your research, did ya? You obviously didn’t do it well enough or you’d know I haven’t spoken to my family in years. I cut off contact. You’re right about one thing though, my father does want you dead. Has for as long as I can remember.”
Lucy is still shaking her head, “But you told me you were close to your parents, that they loved you even though you liked girls.”
“I lied,” Abigail brings a hand to her face, “I didn’t want you to know my family, I’m… I’m ashamed of them and what they do. And they’re ashamed of me so I guess we’re even.”
“Then why were you trying to keep her away from me?” Tommy butt in.
“Because I know better than anyone what being in a family like yours is like. She won’t find love with you like she thinks. You’re dangerous. You’ll just get her killed.”
“If anything what’ll get her killed is traipsing around Small Heath with you letting the whole world know you’re… intimate.” He ends awkwardly, “I don’t care who you love.” Tommy turns his attention back to Lucy who had reddened considerably at his last sentence, “I’ll protect you from anyone who thinks you’re fuckin’ less than because of it, but you two need to be more careful if you’re going to live here. Understood?”
They both nod, Abigail rolling her eyes. “And you’re wrong.” Tommy continues, looking back to Abigail, “I know what it’s like when a parent or a family member doesn’t love you. I wanted my father to love me more than anything in the world and I promised myself my children would never feel the same. She’s a Shelby and that means I will protect her and love her until my last breath. And if you stick around for long enough, though you can’t get married, that protection applies to you as well.”
Abigail softens a bit at his words, “Okay, Mister Shelby. But if you hurt her I’ll have to cut you.”
Tommy smiles, “Same goes for you, Abigail.”
***
Lucy came back to the Shelby house a week later, Abigail in tow to meet the rest of her family. “It’s gonna be fine, Lu, the worst that could happen is one of the Shelby brothers pulls a knife on you and tells you not to fuck his wife.” Lucy gives her a horrified look and Abigail laughs, “I’m joking, relax.”
Just then Tommy opens the door and wraps Lucy in a hug, which she is surprised but delighted all the same by the affection. He rests his head on top of hers and then says, “I am so sorry for everything you’re about to endure.”
Lucy frowns, about to ask him what he means, but he immediately whisks her into another room where there are immediate joyful yells as her new family pulls her into hugs and welcomes her and not one of them bats an eye at Abigail, not even when they hold hands. Everyone is lovely to her and makes her laugh until she snorts, but she most enjoys playing with Charles and Ruby, her half brother and sister.
Finally, when everything’s quieted down and Abigail is dozing off on the couch, Tommy asks to take her for a walk.
“You like horses?” Tommy asks.
She nods, “Begged my mum for one every day from the day I could talk until I was eleven and she saved up everything she had to get me one. His name’s Oliver, but I call him Ollie.”
Tommy smiles, “That’s the gypsy in you. Before the war all I wanted to do was take care of horses.”
“Really?” Lucy smiles, delighted to have something in common with him.
He nods, “I went to go see your horse one night after I followed you, you take good care of him.”
She looks shocked, “He let you near him? He never let’s anyone touch him but me, it’s a battle to even get him to let Abigail ride behind me.”
“It’s the gypsy blood. Never met a horse that didn’t like me. Anyway, I saw you put goldfish in his trough. Where’d you learn that?”
“My mum told me when I got him that she used to have a horse before I was born, but when she found out she was pregnant with me, she sold him, to save the money. But, anyway, she told me a soldier she serviced once really liked horses and went out to see hers. He also told her that putting goldfish in her water trough would keep it clean and free of bugs and other things that were dangerous to the horses. So that’s how I learned.”
When Lucy looks over to Tommy he’s got a big grin on his face, “What?” She asks.
“I remember your mum now.” He says, “I taught her that.”
Lucy’s grin matches his, “Really?”
He nods, “She had a beautiful horse.” They’re silent for a moment, “I’m glad that even though I wasn’t there for you when you were growing up, at least you got that small thing from me.”
“Me too.” They walk in silence for a few minutes before Lucy breaks it, “Did you mean what you said before, to me and Abigail? That you’d always love and protect me no matter… no matter who I love?”
He nods, “Yes.”
“It doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Lucy, I would be a hypocrite if I judged you just because of someone you loved. We can’t help who we love and we certainly don’t choose it. I spent the better part of my adult life committing crimes and killing men. Bad men, mostly, but still. Knowing all that, you still wanted to meet me. Wanted me in your life. I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. You’re my blood. It changes nothing about how I feel about you. Alright?”
Instead of answering she flings her arms around his waist and pulls him close, “Thank you.” She says, muffled against his chest.
He smiles and strokes a hand down her hair, using the other to pull her close to him, “You’re welcome.”
#peaky blinders#mine#peaky blinders fic#peaky blinders fanfic#tommy shelby#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby fic#thomas shelby#tommy shelby fluff#tommy shelby angst#tommy shelby imagine#smcc212
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Secret Mission
Chapter 2
Read it on AO3 or FFN
Oh! M for language.... This is Ron we're talking about.
----
Harry found Ron later that evening looking out over the makeshift pitch at the Burrow deep in thought. Dinner was over and Ron knew that soon his siblings would begin to head to their homes. Sundays at the Burrow were a treat, but Mondays meant back to lives and work. Bill at Gringotts, Harry, Percy, Audrey, and Arthur at the Ministry, Fred and George at their famous joke shop, Katie to school (she was training to become a healer Ron learned earlier that afternoon) and Ginny and Angelina to practice with their team, the Holyhead Harpies. Ron was chuffed to find out that while he was away, Ginny joined Angelina as starting chasers for the team.
For now, everyone was enjoying the last joyful moments of a relaxed Sunday evening.
As they stood together overlooking the pitch, Harry asked Ron more about the extended mission he was on.
"I can't tell you much yet, not until it's conclusion anyway, but I can say thus far it's been a success. Almost all the suspects for the case have been caught, and no aurors on my team were too injured."
"You were injured at one point, right?"
"Yeah, but it was a minor injury. I had to sit out a couple days...no biggie."
Harry nodded. "Yes the report noted it was extremely minor so I didn't say anything to the family. Didn't see the point in worrying them unnecessarily."
"Thanks for that."
"Were you leading?" Harry asked. He always egged Ron on about his leadership skills. Ron, however, still felt them mediocre at best.
"I was, yeah, for most of it. Captain Ledwig had the final say for all decisions but he pretty much let me call the shots."
"That's amazing Ron."
"Yeah...I mean, we had help. Amazing help." A small wistful smile appeared on his lips and he looked away just enough so Harry wouldn't see it.
"Right," Harry said in a way that told the tall redhead that he wasn't fooled. "So...staying with the team tonight huh?"
Arse, Ron thought to himself. "Oh, erm..."
"Where are you really staying?"
Ron blew out his exhale and groaned. "At the Leaky. I have a room there for a bit." Harry opened his mouth to say something but Ron cut him off. "I just need some space, y'know? To come back from a mission and stay here is just...I just...well, at least for now - a couple days maybe - "
"Ron," the dark-haired wizard said putting his hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to explain. I know."
Panic shot through Ron as he turned to him. "Y-you know?"
"Yeah, of course you need space. We see and deal with a lot out on these missions, and I don't even know half of what you dealt with wherever you were in France. Take a few days and decompress, definitely." Ron sighed in relief, thankful that his brilliant best mate could also be extremely daft. "Just don't be a stranger. Your mum will want to see plenty of you. Gin too." Ron nodded, telling himself he would at the least come to the burrow each day for breakfast or dinner...and not just for the food. "And feel free to pop by Grimmauld too. You're always welcome. You can still apparate right in, that hasn't changed. And your room is always ready. Sirius saw to that before he handed it over and I definitely didn't change it."
A smile grew on Ron's face as he thought about Harry's godfather, who gifted his London home to Harry upon his engagement opting to live in a small flat of his own just a few blocks away. He was always extremely generous to his best friend's son and once Harry and Ron met on the train to Hogwarts all those years ago, Sirius practically adopted Ron as his second godson much like Harry's parents adopted Ron and Ron's parents adopted Harry. As Ron didn't officially have a godfather of his own - none of his siblings did to his knowledge - he developed his own special relationship with the eccentric and carefree older man. He would absolutely have to get to London to see Sirius Black.
After a short silence, Ron finally spoke up. "Harry? What if I didn't come back?" he asked softly.
"What?"
"What if I didn't come back? Or the mission took longer than we thought? You and Ginny love each other. Why wait for me? It's been a year and a half since you proposed."
Harry shrugged. "I just...I can't picture my wedding day without you there. Gin feels the same. We're happy to wait. Pretty sure we would have had a longer engagement anyway. But..I don't think we'll be waiting much longer."
"Oh?" Ron raised an eyebrow turning to Harry.
"Your brothers and I slipped out of the kitchen as the witches we all love started on wedding talk. From the looks of it, Molly is ready to pull a wedding together very, very soon, in case you get sent off again." Harry ran his hand through his hair making it stick out on all ends. "I think I'm getting married Ron. Will you stand beside me?"
"I wouldn't stand anywhere else mate."
As Harry head down the hill leaving Ron after his promise to follow him in a minute, Ron watched with trepidation.
Guilt. Complete and all consuming guilt. "Shit," Ron cursed to himself. "Bloody fucking fuck." He rubbed the back of his neck. "M'sorry Hermione," he said out loud. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell them today." He took a deep breath then started the walk back to his family to bid them goodnight so he could apparate back to the Leaky...back to the bollocking he'd no doubt receive...from his new wife.
----
Hermione Granger-Weasley paced room 14 at the Leaky Cauldron, just on the boundaries of muggle London and Diagon Alley, which she learned was Wizarding London. Ron should have been back by now.
She knew that his return to his family would be an all day affair, and truth be told she was excited to explore Diagon Alley a bit on her own. Being a muggleborn witch, she was not privy to England's wizarding community before her parents moved her to Paris, France shortly before she turned 11. On her eleventh birthday, she received the news that she was a witch ("That explains so much!", her parents had both exclaimed.) and two letters - one inviting her to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and one to study at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Her desires to both stay close to her parents - her only family - and to become fluent in French drove her to accept the invitation to Beauxbatons. She often wondered, however, how different her life would have been had she chosen Hogwarts, and was thrilled to finally get acquainted with London as a witch.
And so, she spent Sunday, her first day in years back in London, busying herself by exploring the shops of Diagon Alley, and was delighted to discover Flourish & Botts. She spent a better part of the day perusing the wide array of books the store had to offer before finally heading back to the Leaky Cauldron with her purchases for a quiet dinner in the room.
She expected Ron shortly after dinner, but now it was nearing half nine and he still had not returned.
As she sat up in bed with one of her newest purchases open in front of her, she found herself unable to focus on reading for once. She closed the book softly and ran her small ink-stained fingers along the books cover. When she stumbled upon "Hogwarts: A History" in Flourish & Botts, she knew she had to have it. Having read "L'Histoire Complète de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbatons" (The Complete History of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic) several times during her attendance, she was happy to find a similar book about Hogwarts. She would be able to learn all she could about the school she turned down...the school Ron attended and talked so much about.
When she told Ron that she was in the house Bellefuille at Beauxbaton and explained what that meant, he told her she very well may have been in Gryffindor with him and his best mate Harry. "Either that or Ravenclaw," Ron had laughed that evening as they stole away to the back gardens of Le Chateau Cache, which had become their favorite spot to be alone. "Given your obsession with reading everything under the sun you very well may have been."
Hermione and Ron would have been in the same year. And if she was sorted into Gryffindor...
Would they have been friends? she wondered. Unlikely. I was such a bossy know-it-all as a child. Ron is so laid-back.
It wasn't until she befriended Luc deBlanc and Isabelle L'Amet that she began to settle and relax. I would have driven Ron mad if he knew the eleven year old me. He would have called me a nightmare.
Hermione's thoughts drifted to the first time she met Ronald Weasley, just 15 months ago at the start of their mission just outside of Paris.
A team of British Aurors had just portkeyed in to a secret location in the French Ministry. They were met by head of the French aurors, Mathieu Besson and herself. As an intern for the Office of Magical Law Enforcement in Paris, she was to serve as a translator and guide for the team. She was instructed to be with them every step of the way and even required special combat & protective training as she would be considered part of the team on the mission.
As the team filed into the conference room where they would meet and debrief, the tallest of them all immediately caught her eye. Perhaps it was his formidable height, or his blazing red hair. When he glanced her way from across the room, she thought maybe it was his piercing blue eyes. And when he smiled at the crude joke of one of his team, she noticed the sweetest lopsided grin. As he grinned he glanced at her again and she couldn't help notice the way his ears turned the most adorable shade of red. Her cheeks responded with their own pink tint.
It was more than just his looks for Hermione though. After all, Hermione was surrounded by very good looking French wizards (and muggles for that matter thanks to her parentage) on a daily basis and, if she was being completely honest, the team of nine or so British aurors included seven wizards who were all quite stunning in their own way. If she was being honest, however, she never took a considerable notice in men. She dated extremely sparingly and none of those dates went on to be anything significant...she just was not interested. But there was something about this one auror...Auror Ronald Weasley, she soon learned he was called. She also quickly gathered that among the British aurors, he was considered one of the best.
Hermione Granger quite liked the best.
In the coming days she began to work closely with the team. They were brought in to gather up a gang of French wizards who were once aurors and thus, knew the inner workings of the French Auror Department, as well as the identities and secret identities of those that remained. That's when the Ministry decided to bring in fresh faces from the outside to get the job done, with their secret weapon being the unknown, quiet, plain-jane intern who knew the inner workings of the French Ministry, the country - both wizarding and muggle - and the language, and would guide the outsiders to their targets.
The British Aurors' Captain, a stocky wizard named Captain Ledwig, seemed to give auror Weasley the reigns for the mission, so Hermione found herself working with him directly, much to her excitement. After several days the excitement drained from her.
Auror Ronald Weasley was the most insufferable, crude, ill-mannered, insensitive prat Hermione had ever met.
----
I won't keep y'all waiting... Chapter 3 will post tomorrow! How does Ron change Hermione's opinion of him? Thanks for reading 😁
#Ron Weasley#auror ron weasley#ron and hermione#ROMIONE#romione fanfic#hermione granger#au harry potter#auror harry potter
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BASIC INFORMATION
Full Name: aveline rosemary fox-harker (changed her surname to elliot once she got to america)
Nickname: avie
Race: white
Ethnicity: french, german
Nationality: english (UK)
Age: 34
APPEARANCE & MANNERISMS
Hair: straight, chestnut brown, reaches her shoulders
Eyes: blue-grey on the outside, hazel around the irises (central heterochromia)
Skin: fair and smooth
Height: 5'2" (157cm)
Build: slender, soft
Scent: jasmine
Gait: leisurely pace, often stops to literally smell roses, or just stare at a pretty view
Clothing/Style: flowy lines, muted colours, soft fabrics (silk, cashmere)
Style of Speech: soft, light voice, but commanding. like you know you’re supposed to stop and listen.
Key Possessions: she has very little attachment to material things. her dogs are her life.
CITIZENSHIP
Social Status: well liked, but little known
Occupation: veterinarian / sanctuary owner
Education: Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree
Residence: a quaint little apartment in a century home
PERSONALITY
Likes: animals, nature, good food, good wine, good conversation, walks in the woods, quiet meditation, stargazing
Dislikes: instability, dishonesty, greed, money, power, being told what to do
Hobbies: working at the animal sanctuary, volunteering at shelters, reading
Personality Summary: kind, altruistic, nurturing, guarded, stubborn, afraid
RELATIONSHIPS
Friends/Allies: TBD
Enemies/Rivals: Alessandro Di Natale, her ex-husband, most men.
Family: estranged from her disinterested parents and her long-lost brother
Romantic Interest: TBD
Pets: three rescue dogs, named Flora (a golden), Fauna (a husky mix), and Merryweather (english bulldog)
BIOGRAPHY
tw: child neglect
Nothing in Aveline’s life has ever been particularly stable, but the one comforting constant in her childhood was everyone always insisting that everything was completely fine. Her parents, devastated to be born a decade or two late to the hippie movement, dove headfirst into 80’s political activism - violence in the name of peace, or something along those lines. He went by Barkley Fox, she went by Buttercup Harker. They met during a riot, and they never slowed down.
Aveline herself was… a surprise, to say the least. Her parents were young and wild and free, but not quite smart enough to realize a child would change that. Or rather, that a child should change that. It didn’t change much for Buttercup and Barkley, who brought tiny Aveline to riots with them, smiling for the photojournalists, and reassuring nosy child welfare workers that everything was, as always, completely fine.
Sure, sometimes they forgot to pick her up from school until the sun had set, and they went on “vacations” to war zones, and she saw much more than any ten year old child should see the time they couldn’t find a babysitter and brought her to the Filthy Lucre tour. And yeah, maybe sometimes they went out and didn’t feed her, or they tried to cure infections with leaves and tree bark, or she missed a couple months of school here and there… but everything was fine, they had it all under control. She was a free spirited child, like them.
Needless to say, everything was not completely fine. Aveline wasn’t fine. She was lonely, and scared, and small. She was forgotten about by the people who were supposed to love her most. The only reason she ever learned what real love was, is because her grandmother (with whom her parents would often drop her for undisclosed amounts of time) had an animal sanctuary.
The animals were hurt. Wounded birds, orphaned squirrels, that kind of thing. They were small, and scared, and lonely. Forgotten about by most of the world. Aveline’s previously unused heart filled up with the love of these tiny helpless creatures, and she found her calling.
When she was eleven, another tiny helpless creature was dropped in Aveline’s lap. His name was Elliot Fox-Harker - her new baby brother. Their parents didn’t know what to do with him any more than they’d known what to do with her. But she was old enough to babysit now, they decided. So they left their oldest child alone to parent their infant. Avie was overwhelmed, and even more scared than before. Somehow, she kept Elliot alive - with the help of their brilliant grandmother. But she was a baby herself, and their grandmother was blind, and it took three years before anyone noticed that Elliot couldn’t hear them. He was deaf.
Aveline was fifteen then. She knew what she had to do. She called the NSPCC Helpline and reported her own parents for child endangerment. The people who came to rescue her brother ripped him, screaming, from her arms, and though she knew she’d done the right thing, to this day, she can’t escape the guilt of that. Elliot was the only person in the world who loved her and needed her, and she let him down. She loved him as much as she resented their parents, so when she moved to America, she changed her last name for him.
She was sent to live with family in Brooklyn, and really struggled to finish high school there. The distraction of her guilt and sadness mixed with the combined years of school she’d missed in her tumultuous childhood meant she was constantly behind... but she put all of her time and energy into studying. The other students in New York were interested in her - they saw her as a mystery of a person with a pretty face and a cute accent, and were fascinated - but she couldn’t relate to any of them. They wanted her to go to parties and pep rallies, but the only person she found herself relating to at all was the weird quiet kid with his walkman on.
After graduation, she went back to England and studied veterinary medicine in London, almost reaching the top of her class. Almost. Top 5%, anyway. But it was an incredible achievement for someone who statistically shouldn’t have survived childhood. She was on top of the world when she graduated... until she realized that she had no idea where to go from there. She was entirely alone in, and besides wanting to be a vet and not wanting to think about her family, she’d never had any real plans. Her mind reeled with images of herself turning into her parents - lost and forever wandering - and she panicked… until she met The One.
He was American - the CEO of his own company, a self-made man. He was gorgeous and charming and driven and best of all: he was stable. She figured the best decision she could make in her life would be to find someone who craved the same stability and authenticity she needed, and to be a team. The exact opposite of her parents. So when he proposed, she said yes.
And when every red flag in the world popped up and waved itself in her face, she smiled, went to work, and constantly insisted that everything was… completely fine.
She had a job she loved, her own veterinary practice in Portland, Maine, a big goofy dog named Flora, and what she thought was real love. She was happy. All the warning signs and nagging thoughts were just echoes of her parents’ voices telling her she needed to be free, and she shouldn’t tie herself down. She wouldn’t listen. She didn’t listen. For seven years, she went through the motions, comatose, hibernating, putting up with more bullshit from him than even her parents could carry. Then one day he came home from a business trip. He’d barely set his bags down when she said it.
“I know you don’t love me. And I know you never really did.”
She was talking to him, but she also saw her parents as she said it.
Everything broke, then. He broke, she broke, the walls that they’d both been carefully building, the personas they’d been curating, all of it, just crashed to the ground with a violent, angry, thunderous bang.
She tried to move on. After the divorce finalized, she tried to have hope, and to try again to find the stable, true, safe Forever Love she still believed was out there. She met a beautiful boy named Alessandro, reeling from heartbreak himself, and thought that maybe this time it could last. He made her feel beautiful, and wanted, for the first time, really, ever... and then he broke her heart.
She gave up entirely after that. She moved to Boston with Flora, adopted two more dogs (Fauna and Merryweather) and poured herself once again into work and nothing else. The animals were the only important thing - they could bite her, but they couldn’t break her heart. She was kind to people, but kept them at a distance, not willing to risk falling into the trap of love again.
Earlier this year, she was offered a job at Familiar Friend Veterinary Clinic, and moved to Salem. She’s has opened her own animal sanctuary for hurt/abandoned pets and wildlife in the area, and has even ventured to make a friend or two. She’s wounded, but in rehabilitation, and she’s sure she’ll fly again soon.
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King of CSCC (Prologue)
Pairing: Rich Kid! Tom Holland x Reader
Summary: When Y/N gets a scholarship to attend Collegialiter Schola Currere Cucurri, a prestigious boarding school in England. She’s very studious and organizes, everything needs to be a certain way for her to be happy. Tom is the resident fuckboy at school and, with his daddy being the richest man on earth, he practically owns the school. What happens when Tom falls completely in love with Y/N, but she doesn’t want to be with him because of his reputation.
Words: 2 159
Y/N stands in front of the massive brick building with beautifully and neatly done cobblestone tiles on the roof. From where she stands, Y/N could see that two big towers and two smaller ones are attached to the main building of the school. To her left, a soccer field and to her right, a rugby field with an outdoor running track. Behind the soccer field, she could see a big rectangle building that, from what she read about the school, must be the school’s gymnasium. Y/N couldn’t believe that she is actually here in front of Collegialiter Schola Currer Cucurri which is Latin for something she couldn’t remember anymore. It’s the best school in the world, the only people that could attend the school are the elite, rich and famous, but once every year, the school awards a scholarship that covers everything (laundry, meal plane, books, uniform, etc) to one lucky student going into their 11th school year. The chosen student has to be the best and brightest out of all the applicants and this year, it just so happened to be Y/N L/N. She has been working her whole life for this and now her dreams for a better future are finally coming true. Her home life in Toronto wasn’t the best in terms of education. She didn’t learn enough at the public school she went to, so when she saw the opportunity to attend the most prestigious boarding school in the world, she jumped at the chance to apply. It also helped that she’s always wanted to live in England. She finally manages to shake off her nerves and walks into the school.
Upon entering the school, Y/N notices how much cleaner and how the equipment is so much better than what she had back at home. The hallways were empty seeing as it was the Saturday before school started, so she is all alone in the school. After a few minutes, she manages to find her way to the principal’s office while struggling to bring all of her bags with her at the same time. The new student gently arranges her bags near the door to make sure they are not in the way, then she lifts her hand to the door and knocks. “You may enter,” an authoritative voice instructs her. Y/N enters to see a middle-aged woman sitting at her desk looking over some documents with her glasses balancing off of her nose. The older woman looks up at the sound of the door closing and motions for Y/N to sit on one of the chairs in front of her desk, “You must be Miss. L/N, our scholarship winner.” Y/N nods her head to show her agreement, she isn’t going to lie, but she is a little intimidated by the principal. “Alright, classes start on Monday at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Miss. Daniels should already be at the front office waiting for you. She’ll be your guide for the day. Here is your schedule and some other information you might need. If you have any questions, then you may ask Miss. Daniels and I would also like to inform you that if your marks slip even by a percent that you will lose your scholarship. Is that clear?” Ms. Sinclair informs the pupil. “Yes,” Y/N answers quietly because she’s slightly terrified with how cold the principal seems. “Good, you may address me as Ms. Sinclair and nothing else. You are dismissed,” Ms. Sinclair demands. Y/N quickly gets out of her chair and goes towards the door.
Y/N grabs her bags a little bit more easily now that she knows how to handle all of them and makes her way back towards the front of the school where she saw the front office. When she gets to the front of the school, she notices a girl around her age waiting in front of the office. The teen notices Y/N approaching and immediately rushes to help her with a smile on her face. “Hi, you must be Y/N L/N. I am Delilah Daniels and I’ll be your tour guide. I’ll give you a tour of campus, then I can help you move into your dorm if you’d like. You don’t have to worry about your bags, I’ll call the concierge to come get them and bring them to your room. Now, the first stop is going to be the science labs where you bio and chemistry,” Delilah introduces herself. Y/N notices that Delilah has a British accent that is as smooth as butter. The girls place the bags near the entrance and shake each other’s hands, “I am Y/N. Nice to meet you. And the science lab sounds like a great start.” Delilah makes a quick call to the concierge, then they walk down the hall to the left and up the stairs to her biology lab. “Now, upstairs to the left is the science wing, so you have all the science labs up here. Your bio lab is in room 203 and your chemistry lab is in room 220,” Delilah starts off, “Let’s head over to where you are going to be taking geometry and algebra, which is on upstairs on the right side of the also known as the mathematics wing. This term you’re only taking geometry, algebra, biology, and math. Next term you’re taking media arts, English literature, French, and psychology, right?” Y/N nods along to what Delilah says, “That seems right. Your last names Daniels right? As in your parents are Anna and Maurice Daniels, Daniels? They own practically every chain hotel I can think of.” “Yep, those are my old folks. They could be a little hectic and gone, but they have always been there for me when I need them and I know they love me. That’s all that really matters, right? So what do your parents do for a living? You live in Toronto right?” Delilah questions the new girl. “Yeah, I do. My mom works as a social worker, she tries to help kids in the system. My dad is a baker, we actually live on top of the bakery he owns. My little sister and brother always like to head down to the bakery at the end of the day and steal whatever leftovers are left. Do you have any siblings?” Y/N explains. “No, I am an only child. It gets a little lonely sometimes, but that’s alright. I would love to live over a bakery! The smell of freshly baked pastries would waft into the house and it could smell like freshly baked croissants every day. The math wing is just around the corner,” Delilah rants a little as they head over to the math wing.
When they rounded the corner, two other people were rounding the corner at the same time. A collision would have happened, but Y/N’s quick reflexes stopped them from crashing. In front of the two girls were two boys about their age wearing Versace, Prada, Gucci, and some other clothing brands that Y/N could never dream about owning. The boy on the left is taller than the boy on the right, he has dirty blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He’s handsome, but the boy on the right is the show stopper for Y/N. He has dark chestnut brown hair that matches his eyes. His nose is a little cricked and his lips are a little thin, but she liked how the nose made him look rugged and how his lips still looked perfect to kiss. His jaw looks so sharp that she believes is she were to run her finger along it she would cut it. No matter how badly the young girl wanted to go on a date with him, she knew about who he is and what his reputation is. He’s the infamous Tom Holland or as the tabloids like to call him, Holland the Lady Killer. His motto is hit then quit it and that really isn’t what Y/N is looking for. “Hey, just who we were looking for! I told Haz that you’d be showing the scholar bee around the school. You’ve always loved to meet new people. Thought we’d come join you seeing as this year’s scholar bee is a female and not another boring ass dude. So does the little lady have a name?” Tom inquires slyly as he makes his way over to Delilah and slings his hand around her neck. “My names Y/N. What’s it matter to you?” She snarls not liking what he said at all. “Damn, you got a mouth on you. I like a girl who isn’t afraid to talk back. Well, I guess it’s my turn to introduce. I am Tom and this div beside me is Harrison,” Tom tries to say in the most charming voice he could. Y/N just scoffs and keeps walking, “Whatever. Nice to meet you, Harrison. Now, let’s head over to the mathematics wing.” “Looks like we finally found someone who can resist Tommy’s charm,” Haz whispers to his two comrades as they follow Y/N down the hall.
After finishing the tour of the campus, the four newly acquainted friends headed over to Y/N’s dorm so that they could help her unpack. “Okay, everything is labelled clearly so it shouldn’t be too hard trying to figure out where everything should go,” Y/N elucidates while tying her hair back and picking up one of the boxes that was labelled closet- Hoodies and Shirts. Everyone went to work on cleaning out the boxes while they worked they talked, reminisce about old stories, joked around, and listened to some music. Symphony by Clean Bandit played on her phone and Y/N started swaying to the music. “I’ve been hearing symphonies before all I heard was silence. A rhapsody for you and me, and every melody is timeless,” she sang as she organized the books onto her bookshelf. Tom looks up from the clothes he was folding for her and stares in awe of her voice. To him, she sounded like an angel and all he wanted to do is listen to her sing all day. He may not have noticed it, but the whole afternoon he found himself noticing little things that he liked about her and he just wanted to be closer to him. He liked how she had all these random facts and how she could joke about anything and everything. He liked how organized she is and how she hasn’t fawned over her this whole afternoon. Y/N places the final book onto the shelf and looks over at everyone, “Alright, I can finish putting the clothes away after dinner. Why don’t we get something to eat? I read on the board that it’s taco night.” Everyone voiced their agreement and started to make their way over to the door, but before Y/N could leave, Tom gently tapped her on the shoulder and asked if he could talk to her. “Sure,” she tells him. Tom stands straight and fixes his jacket nervously, “I was wondering if we could restart. I know, I was a jackass, but I would really like to be friends with you. Plus, I know you, Deli, and Haz get along well and I really don’t feel like being kicked out of my own friend group.” Y/N smiles at Tom to show him that everything is alright. “Tommy, it's fine. Sometimes people start off on the wrong foot and that’s fine. Let’s start, over. Hey, I am Y/N. I don’t believe I got your name,” Y/N says nicely as she sticks her hand out for Tom to shake. He chuckles and takes her hand, “It’s Tom, Tom Holland. You may have heard of me. My dad owns the world’s best phone company as well as several other companies you may have heard of.” “Okay, now you just sound like cocky. How about we just head over to the mess hall and call it a day?” Y/N suggest as how she links their arms and walks off to the mess hall.
When dinner was over, Y/N was feeling a little jet-lagged so she headed back to her dorm to get some sleep while the other three decided to head to the game room. They were playing pool when Harrison decided to bring up the conversation. “So you and Y/N…” he wonders out loud as he aims the queue at one of the balls. Tom leans on the wall and retorts, “Nothing is going on between us. We are just friends that’s all.” Delilah snorts and laughs, “Yeah, right! I noticed your side glances at her, but I’ll let you deny whatever you want if it helps you sleep at night.” Tom just shakes his and continues the game without mentioning Y/N again, but that night when he was trying to get to sleep all he could do was think back to the conversation they had in the game room and Y/N’s angelic singing voice.
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