#Nine lessons and carols

[worstjourney]

Just here to ruin your King's College carol service with some penguin hunting ...

[vox-anglosphere]

The Festival of Nine Lessons & Carols is the highpoint of the Advent calendar, sung annually in King's College Chapel on Christmas Eve.

[rank-sentimentalist]

The choirmaster whose carols became the sound of Christmas

Martin Clarke

At 3pm on Christmas Eve, millions of radios around the world will be tuned to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from King’s College Chapel in Cambridge in time to hear the pure voice of a single boy chorister singing one of the hardest solos of the church calendar, the first verse of “Once in Royal David’s City”.

For many, this signals the start of Christmas. Broadcasts of the Christmas Eve service from King’s began in 1928, but arguably it was under the guidance of Sir David Willcocks, who died in September 2015, aged 95, that the service – and the choir – became household names.

The many tributes that followed Willcocks’ death all acknowledged that during his tenure from 1957 to 1973, his name became virtually synonymous with the idea of a traditional Christmas Carol service. The Nine Lessons and Carols form became popular in churches and chapels of all sizes and traditions, and is still widely used today.

The King’s model and the influence of the Carols for Choirs series – a series of books edited by Willcocks, first with Reginald Jacques and later John Rutter – have together had a huge effect on the way in which millions of people think about Christmas music.

David Willcocks edited a series of carol books which have become standards.

The link between Willcocks’ association with King’s and his work as composer, arranger and editor for the Carols for Choirs series is significant. For church musicians, using the familiar green and orange volumes creates a connection between their own efforts – no matter how modest the scale – and the internationally famous broadcast.

Rather than the perfect singing and sublime organ playing seeming impossibly remote, access to the books – which contain many of the same pieces and arrangements – transforms the broadcast into an inspirational experience.

The art of arrangement

Willcocks’ skillful writing for voices and organ is vital in making the connection. Many of his obituaries comment on his ability to inspire the amateur choirs that he conducted. His carol arrangements display the same qualities: demanding, certainly, but achievable thanks to his intimate knowledge of vocal technique and keyboard writing.

His arrangement of “O Come, All Ye Faithful”, probably his most famous, is an excellent example. The setting of the sixth verse responds to the invitation of the words: “Sing, choirs of angels…” with an exuberant descant and rich-textured organ accompaniment. The swirling sequence in the descant on the word “Glory”, borrowed from “Ding Dong, Merrily On High,” achieves a thrilling vocal sound.

The opening of the organ part, calling for the melody to be played on the mighty tuba stop, adds a sense of grandeur, even when played on a small church organ. Later, the sustained rumble of the organ under the words: “O come, let us adore him”, builds anticipation ahead of the verse’s final words: “Christ the Lord”. This verse is rewarding for the congregation, too, for although they continue to sing the same melody as in previous verses, its role is transformed. It becomes part of a vital part of a complex texture, anchoring the whole to the original carol.

Willcocks’ approach in the final verse: “Yea, Lord, we greet thee”, traditionally reserved until Christmas Day, is very different. Most strikingly, all voices sing the melody together. All of the drama and excitement is packed into the organ part. The bold opening unison accompaniment stresses the unity of everyone participating.

The climax arrives on “Word”, with a daringly dissonant chord providing the perfect musical accompaniment to the textual reference to the divine mystery described in the Prologue to St John’s Gospel. For the congregation, singing this note harmonised in such a way is a radically different experience from the earlier verses. Its effect is exhilarating, and is made all the more so because it is shared by every singer, not just the highly skilled choristers.

Willcocks’ legacy

The writing of these arrangements is but one example of Willcocks’ musical genius. Others have rightly praised his landmark recordings of works such as Fauré’s Requiem, his contributions as conductor of the Bach Choir and director of the Royal College of Music – and his devotion to the highest musical standards on a daily basis at King’s. However, for most who knew his name, it is his contribution to Christmas music that stands out.

For countless choristers, his descants, learned as children, are etched into their musical memory. For congregation members, including those who perhaps only attend church once a year, they create a sense of participation in the wonder and mystery of Christmas. For the worldwide radio and television audiences, they play a crucial role in the association of King’s with a traditional Christmas experience.

The popularity and durability of the arrangements, many of which have been in print for more than 50 years, has already been established. This first Christmas holiday after David Willcocks’ death offers a fitting opportunity to acknowledge his supreme musical skill and to invite choristers, organists and congregations to appreciate his work afresh.

[bauerntanz]

A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols

A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols -# Lingen(Ems) - Burgstraße 21c, Bonifatiuskirche, Samstag, 6. Januar 2024, 18 - 20 Uhr, Eintritt frei

A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols Lingen (Ems) – Burgstraße 21c, Bonifatiuskirche Samstag, 6. Januar 2024 – 18 – 20 Uhr Eintritt frei Wer auch nach den Feiertagen noch ein paar weihnachtliche Ohrwürmer braucht, ist anm diesem Samstag, 6. Januar herzlich eingeladen. Der Bonifatius-Chor und die Boni-Kids singen unter der Leitung von Dominik Giesen bekannte und neue Werke der englischen…

[opaquetights1000]

Reading lesson at our local at Christmas

[inkstainedheartbeats]

When Steve was little, when Papa Otis was alive and Uncle Theodore was around, he knew he was loved. His mother would run fingers through his hair, sing softly as they danced in the kitchen. Papa Otis would let him help in the kitchen, Uncle Theodore would play the piano. His father loved him too, he thinks, though it was usually shown through cleaning guns and shooting cans in the back yard.

He knew his family was different from the others. That the revolving door of cousins who often stank of gunpowder wasn’t what everyone else knew. Carol certainly didn’t, though father didn’t like him hanging out with her too much. Tommy and the other Hagan boys were acceptable friends. Papa Otis put his foot down about the Carver’s though. Said there was more crazy in that family than a five pound bag filled with ten pounds of crickets. Neither he nor Tommy really got that but mom nodded her head so it was Law.

When Steve was six something happened to Uncle Theodore. He doesn’t remember much. Not like he remembers the piano lessons. Papa Otis and father argued and screamed. The cousins who stank of gunpowder were split, more than half on father’s side. He vaguely remembers Uncle Theodore coming into his room one night. Pressed a kiss to his forehead and said he’d miss Steve. And then he was gone. Later he would learn that Uncle Theodore had fallen in love with a demon. Had made a pact with him so they could be together longer than any mortal would otherwise stay. He would learn that his father was willing to kill his younger brother.

He’s nine when Papa Otis dies. And on the one year anniversary of his death his father takes him on a hunt. Something small, his father had said. Someone you won’t know. His mother and father had dealt with the parents, the ones who broke the Law. Silver bullets can end most Preternatural folk. But the kid, older than him but still so scared, was left for him. Steve remembers the weight of the gun, the stench. He remembers throwing down his gun and how it misfired almost hitting his father. The kid had fled, ran like a hellhound was behind him. And his father beat the shit out of him for it.

At the time he thought that would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. And then monsters came out of walls and ceilings. Dogs had flower mouths and a desire to eat the children he claimed in that moment as his. His father would hate that most of them had at least an eighth of Preter blood in them. Then a monster of melted people and Russians with mean right hooks had tried to kill him.

Gained Robin in that last one, though. He thinks that’s a win. Gained a Pack who loved him. Big brothers, two, a big sister, two little siblings not counting Robin. He is her and she is him. Connected in a way that Changed ones never are with the Biter.

“He’ll kill me,” he had told Robin remembering the arguments. There is no Papa Otis to defend him. To offer to send him away. Just his mother with gun calloused fingers and dead eyes.

“Good thing he never comes back, then,” Robin had said, a promise of protection in her voice.

And then Chrissy Cunningham dies. Nightmares and bloody noses and a cursed pup. Flying monsters with tails that choke and teeth that bite.

“You… you gotta… gotta promise me. Keep… keep ‘em safe?”

Because Steve knew Eddie would protect the pups like he would. That Eddie understood. Like knows like in that regard. Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson was a Birthed vampire with eyes that saw more than Steve had cared for before. If Eddie promises maybe he could sink down into the comforting dark. He’d see his Papa Otis again.

Pain. Gods so much pain and there’s blood in his mouth. He can’t scream. He wants to scream. Fire. There’s fire in his blood.

“Steve!”

Robin! That’s Robin. Robin’s hand in his. Her snarl in his ears. And then peace.

—//—//—//—

Tagging @lawrencebshoggoth

Part three of this find part four here

[roping-riding-wrangling]

Bennie and the Jets

“Y/n” he says with that tone. The same tone he used to tell you that your family dog Tammy had been hit by a car. The same tone he used when your mother died.

“Dad, what's wrong?”

He pulls you to sit with him on the plastic chairs. 

“I got a call from the police. Benny, he…he was found dead this morning”

Your hand flies to your face. Your dad’s hand rubs comforting circles on your back as you try to catch your breath. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten 

Over and over you count to ten until you find your voice again, “What happened?”

Previous Part

summary: Y/n's day goes from bad to worse as she suffers caffeine withdrawals, finds out her boss is dead, and almost gets into a car accident.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Newby!reader, death, mentions of suicide, brief mention of dead dog, swearing, ANGST, reader ignoring her emotions™

Sleep has a firm grip on you in the early morning. After last night, you got home to find your dad already asleep. You hadn’t taken your uniform off before you crashed onto your bed. You dreamt of milkshakes and volleyballs and little girls with tattoos. The alarm wakes you violently, and violently you react. You smash the thing until it stops beeping, groaning when you hear it five minutes later. You shoot up and rip the chord from the wall, effectively silencing the machine. Already up, you figure that you might as well get ready for the day.

You go to make your pot of coffee, reaching for the jar where you keep the grinds. “Fuck” you softly whisper. In the chaos of yesterday, you forgot to get more coffee. You glance at your watch.

Fuck. 

There's not enough time to run to the store to get more coffee before practice. You leave a note for your dad and grab the last can of coke from the fridge, hoping it gives you enough energy to make it through the day.

The ride to school is quiet. The sun hasn’t quite risen, casting the town of Hawkins in an eerie gray light. The leaves are just starting to fall, some of them already barren. The heat in your truck hasn’t worked since last year and you can see your breath as you drive. The cold this morning is extra bitter. Sleep lingers in your eyes as you make the winding drive, forgoing the cassette to listen to the radio. You park as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. Standing outside your car, you let the light wash over your closed eyes for a minute, taking in the stillness. 

You’ve always preferred sunrises to sunsets. There’s something about the world coming out of darkness that calls to you. Everything is a little less hopeless in the daylight.

You feel someone’s eyes on you. Your gaze darts across the parking lot before landing on none other than Steve Harrington. He stares at you from a few cars down quizzically. You’re too tired to dignify his staring in any meaningful way, offering the smallest tilt of your lip in acknowledgement. You turn back to the sun, ignoring the way he continues to stare at you. 

You let yourself enjoy the last few seconds of sunrise before you go inside. 

––––

It turns out the coke was not enough to get you through the day. It’s fourth period when you feel your eyelids drooping. The pre-calc lesson is not nearly intriguing enough to warrant you staying awake. You’re roused from your almost-slumber by a gentle tap on your shoulder. Carol, a folded paper in her hand, gestures for you to pass the note to Hannah, who sits in front of you. The paper moves along, and for a minute you wonder if Carol even knows your name. 

She’s part of the popular crowd and you tell yourself that it doesn’t matter what she thinks of you. Then the thought hits you: does she even think of you at all. Do any of the popular kids even think about anyone but themselves? Are they so wrapped up in their own bubble that they can even perceive their peers?

As it turns out, normal kids can be perceived by the holier-than-thou popular kids. Next to your locker, Carol congregates with Tommy, Steve, and Nancy, who has seemingly joined their crew through her connection to Steve. It's hard not to overhear them as they gossip about Jonathan Byers.

The parking lot incident had long since been forgotten as you listen to Steve and Tommy joke about Will.

“I bet he killed him”

Their crude speculation brings a scowl to your face. How dare they speak about Jonathan like that when he’s clearly trying to find his brother. Anger pools in your stomach and you pull out your books faster, eager to avoid listening to this bullshit. Suddenly Nancy’s gentle voice pipes up, “Should we say something?”

You’re suddenly grateful that you’re facing your locker, as you’re sure the shock from hearing her defend him is written all over your face. You peak over your shoulder to see her approach Jonathan. You can’t hear the short discussion, but Jonathan purses his lips and nods at her. She walks back and you and Jonathan make eye contact. 

It’s heartbreaking how terrible he looks. He’s even more disheveled than normal, hair unbrushed, eyes puffy and sunken in. You give him a small nod and a look that you hope he reads as “I’m sorry and good luck”

He leaves. 

–––

Fifth period is just as brutal as the last. You had just nodded off for the third time when the secretary opens the classroom door. All eyes turn to her as she calls for you to join her in the hallway. 

The walk to the office is silent as you run through every scenario of why you would possibly be called up. The secretary opens the door for you to see your dad waiting for you. 

“Y/n” he says with that tone. The same tone he used to tell you that your family dog Tammy had been hit by a car. The same tone he used when your mother died.

“Dad, what's wrong?”

He pulls you to sit with him on the plastic chairs. 

“I got a call from the police. Benny, he…he was found dead this morning”

Your hand flies to your face. Your dad’s hand rubs comforting circles on your back as you try to catch your breath. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten 

Over and over you count to ten until you find your voice again, “what happened?”

“Buddy, I don’t think-”

“Dad, what happened”

“He shot himself”

“Oh”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten 

One, two, three, fo–

“Buddy, the police want to talk to you, ask you a couple questions about Benny. I’m gonna take you down to the station. When we’re done we can go home.”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten 

“Ok”

You walk to your locker to collect your things in a daze. It continues all the way to the station and your dad has to stop you from walking into a wall. If you weren’t in such a state of shock, you probably would’ve laughed. 

An officer whose name you immediately forget takes down your information and you lose count of how many sets of ten you’ve collected. Finally, Chief Hopper sits in front of you and introduces himself. 

“Jim Hopper”

“Y/n Newby”

“y/n, you were the last person to see Benny. Did you notice anything odd about his behavior?”

“Um, no he seemed fine–normal. But, I wasn’t the last person.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a little kid that broke in last night, a runaway.”

“We heard about the kid, did you get a good look? Did he look like this?”

He produces a missing kid poster, Will’s picture on the front. The nausea returns to your body.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

“No, uh, that's Will Byers. I know Will and I didn’t recognize this kid. We called social services. They were supposed to come this morning.”

“So there’s a chance this kid’s running around too?”

The thought of the little girl from yesterday being on her own again terrifies you. You count two more sets of ten before another officer pipes up, clearly not reading the room, “Huh chief, what’re the chances of two missing kid cases in the same 24 hours–in Hawkins!”

You see a spark of connection flash on the chief’s face, a look you can understand. You’re pretty sure you’ve connected the same dots he has: Will, the little girl, and Benny’s death are all intertwined. 

–––

The bedroom feels tiny yet giant all at once. The popcorn ceiling seems to dance in front of you–probably because you’ve been staring at it for the past few hours. No matter how you try and put the pieces together, none of them fit. Any way you looked at it, it didn’t make sense. The big question underlying everything was Why? 

After what felt like another hour of staring at the ceiling, you had a horrible realization. You never got the coffee. Laughter bubbles out of you uncontrollably. You trap the laughter behind your hands, horrified at the humor of the situation–and at yourself for getting lost in it. God, what a mess this whole day has turned out to be. 

Turning over, your clock displays the time– 4:52 pm. Your dad is still at work. He had stayed with you for an hour before going back, letting you know he’d be back later than normal. He had to be at the store to meet with someone or receive a shipment or something–honestly, you weren’t really listening. You didn’t protest, just gave him a hug and told him you were fine. 

You grab your bag and head outside but your truck is nowhere to be found. That's right, you remember, dad drove you home, which means your truck is still at the high school. As you contemplate how long the walk to the school is going to take, Mrs. Henderson leaves her door, calling out your name before walking over, a sad smile on her face. Clearly, news travels fast.

“Oh, Y/n, I was just coming over to check on you. How’re you holding up? Your dad told me what happened.”

You glance down at your converse and shift from foot to foot. “Um I’m ok, all things considered. I was about to head to the store.”

“Why don’t you let me drive you? I’ve been meaning to pick up a few things too,” she’s clearly trying to be subtle but you doubt she’s going to let you go alone.

“Uh sure,” you answer, not wanting to be rude.

Sitting in her car isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it’d be. Mrs. Henderson pointedly doesn’t ask about Benny, but does make small talk. 

“How’s volleyball going? Your dad was telling me you made varsity this year? Congratulations!”

“Oh yeah, its pretty good. Coach has us doing morning practices every other day. Getting ready for the first game in a few weeks.”

“Ooh are you excited? It must be nerve wracking to be so close to game day”

You shrug your shoulders.

“I guess, but I’m not that worried. Our first game is against Cuark High, and they're not that intimidating.”

Mrs Henderson hummed in acknowledgement. The radio played a beach boys song so softly the words were incomprehensible. She tended to listen to older music, you noticed. Soft tunes that crooned of love and hope were always the soundtrack of the Henderson home. You appreciated the way Ms. Henderson emphasized comfort throughout her life. 

When the Hendersons first moved in next to you, your father had insisted that you offer your help. After a full day of unloading furniture and unpacking boxes, Mrs. Henderson had cooked you a hearty meal. Dustin was just 9 years old and had stared at you with wide eyes as you ate. As you helped Mrs. Henderson clean the dishes, she’d told you that if you ever needed a woman to talk to, she was just a short walk away. 

The woman rambles gently about some mischief her cat got up to while you stare at the radio. It's a horrifyingly familiar piano riff. If there was ever a song you didn’t want to hear, it's this. Elton John’s unintelligible singing continues as it draws nearer to the chorus. You try to will the radio to combust as your hands ball into tighter and tighter fists. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Over and over you count until all you can focus on is the song in your ears and the numbers in your head.

“...Y/n? What's wrong?” Ms. Henderson's voice cuts through the ringing of ears and the song, which seems impossibly loud. 

“B-B-B-Bennie and the jets” Elton John's voice sings emphatically.

“Oh god!” Ms Henderson exclaims, quickly switching off the radio, “I’m so sorry sweetie, I didn’t even hear the song playing.”

The silence from the radio is welcome, but the ringing in your ears remains. 

As you pulled into the parking lot, you came out of your daze. 

“Y/n, sweetie, would you mind grabbing a cart?”

You silently grabbed a shopping cart from the line up, falling into step with her. 

“What's on your list?” Mrs. Henderson asked, pulling out a written list from her bag. 

“Uh, just coffee”

“Oh, thats it?” You shrugged. Your father had never been the shopping list type, preferring to just pick up whatever he needed on the way home. It was a trait you’d picked up as well. 

“Well, we can get that first then we’ll tackle my list.”

You trailed behind your neighbor with the cart, occasionally throwing in groceries that looked interesting or you figured you’d be running out of soon. A pack of coke, a bag of chips, and a carton of eggs soon joined your coffee grinds in the cart, surrounded by Mrs. Henderson’s haul. 

It was dark by the time you got out of the store, and you pulled your sweater arms up on your hands to protect them from the chilly air.

Her car warms you up quickly and you are reminded of your own car, “Mrs. Henderson,” you begin, “could you stop by the high school? My truck is still parked there.”

“Of course sweetie, don’t want you walking so early in the morning tomorrow!”

The drive to the school is fairly quiet until a thought pops into your head, “How’s Dustin holding up with the whole Will thing?”

A sad look crosses Mrs. Henderson’s face, “Honestly, I don’t know. He seems to be perfectly unaffected. I don’t know if he’s really optimistic or just putting on a brave face…he’s always been a resilient kid, but I can’t imagine how it’ll affect him if Will…” she shakes the worried look off her face, “I hope they find him soon.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She pulls her car next to yours and turns to face you. “Y/n, I know that you probably don’t want to talk about Benny right now. But I want you to know I’m here for you. If you need a shoulder, or another girls’ night, I’m just a walk away.”

“Oh,” you aren’t sure how to respond, “Thank you…I’ll keep that in mind.”

She pursed her lips, an emotion crossing her face that you couldn’t quite read.

“Anyways, thanks for the ride…it was nice. And make sure Dustin helps you carry in the groceries. I know you’ll probably try and make it in one trip.”

“Dustin’s actually at the Wheelers tonight, though he should be getting soon I suppose.” she replies, seemingly realizing the time

Driving your truck home, you immediately missed the warmth that Mrs. Henderson’s car offered. Alone with your thoughts, your mind began to wander as you drove. Considering all the odd things going on in town, you tried to piece them all together. Maybe Eleven and Will met and were on the run together, but why would Will run away? And on that note, Why had Eleven run? Did social services ever pick her up? How long after they showed up did Benny shoot himself? Did he even wait for it? Did Eleven have to witness it? 

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t see the other car parked on the side of the road. You have to use your whole body to turn the wheel enough to avoid hitting the car. Huh. It looks slightly familiar. Then it hits you. This is Jonathan’s car. You pull in front of it, hopping out the truck. Looking around, you see the caution tape and a pit grows in your stomach. 

“Jonathan!” you call out, trying no to let your voice quiver. “Jonathan! Where are you?”

Silence. 

You take a deep breath before breaching the treeline, still yelling his name. The empty branches shine silver in the moonlight. Leaves crunch beneath your feet as you carefully step through the woods. You stop for a minute to listen for any sort of response before continuing the trek. 

“Y/n?”

You whip around, Jonathan standing behind you, camera in hand

“What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you doing here?” 

He stumbled over his words for a few seconds before clearing his throat, “I was trying to find evidence”

“Evidence of what?”

“I don't know, whatever I could find.”

“Jesus christ. Well, did you find anything?”

“Not really.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah me too…I heard about Benny.”

You purse your lips and look away. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering. 

“Are you cold?” Jonathan asks, already tugging off his coat.

“Oh I’m fine, besides, now you’re gonna be cold” you shake your head in protest as he tries to hand you the coat. 

“I’ll be fine, besides I run hot.”

You hum in consideration. You are really cold and his jacket looks really warm compared to your hoodie. 

“Thanks”

You warm up almost instantly, pulling the coat further around yourself. 

You walk back to your cars in solemn silence. 

“Jonathan,” you say as you reach the edge of the woods, “I am really sorry about Will. He’s a good kid.”

Jonathan turns to you, eyes shining in the moonlight. He lets out a defeated sigh.

“Yeah he is…I need him to be okay.”

“He will be.” you rest a comforting hand on his shoulder and the boy surprises you with a bear hug. You hear him sniffle into your shoulder. 

It's a weird sensation, all in all, as Jonathan holds onto you. You’re not quite sure where to put your hands, and you struggle to support the sudden weight. 

“It’ll be ok, you’re ok”  you whisper to him, comforting him in his crisis. 

His breathing evens out and he steps away, pink faced. “Sorry about that.”

“It's okay, Jonathan. Sometimes you just need to let it out.”

He chuckles wetly, wiping his face. 

“See you at school tomorrow.”

You wave from your window, “See ya!”

Next Chapter

Tags:

@ucannotcompare

[aimeedaisies]

Princess Anne, President of the Mission to Seafarers, with her husband Sir Tim Laurence, at the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at All Hallows by the Tower in London on 5th December 2023.

Read more about the service here

[wigmund]

There are no ghosts, it’s just Grand Nagus Zek each time with a new excuse to torment Quark.

I wanna see the Christmas Carol with Quark

[piratefishmama]

Live to Serve (You) | Part 2

“You have to come with me!” Steve had been following him through the palace for the past half hour, his lessons being cancelled for the day in lieu of the evenings’ festivities giving him more than enough time to pester his best friend and personal servant as the poor boy tried to do his chores. The day was one of celebration! The anniversary of the Princes’ birth, which meant there’d be a grand party in the palace in the evening, all manner of Lords, Ladies, potential future matches for the Prince to marry, that… well, Eddie was required to attend that.

He even had an outfit for it, even the servants were to look like respectable attendees at the sixteenth anniversary of the Princes’ birth, even if they were only there to serve the guests.

Main issue of the day though, Steve had gotten himself up and thrown Eddie’s whole daily routine off by ambushing him in the earlier hours to harass him.

“I can’t leave the palace, Steve you know I’m not allowed to.” It was like talking to one of the stone walls. Steve’s incessant pestering wasn’t about the party to be held later in the day. Steve wanted out for a few hours.

He wanted out, wanted to escape the seemingly endless labyrinth of stone corridors and walkways that made up the palace, wanted to go for a ride, but most of all, he wanted Eddie to go with him. “Okay but I’d be with you! It’s not like you’d be going on your own!”

“It’s not about whether or not I’d be on my own, Steve. It’s—” he finally stopped in his step, turning to face the boy that’d been stalking him long enough to wander into an area that he wasn’t actually familiar with. Steve had never been in the servant halls, the ones not lined with any carpets or portraits, just dark back passages lined with candlelight to light the way. “You know I don’t have the freedom to leave… don’t act like you don’t know that.” As much as he liked Steve, and he did, he adored the Prince, him and all his whacky quirks, the boy made his head dizzy sometimes, made his heart thump faster, his skin warm and tingly.

He could be awfully naïve sometimes. “M’not, I just—I just want you to come with me.”

“You spend most of your days with me, Steve, why not go with Thomas, or Carol? I’m sure those two would love to spend time with the Prince.” A young Lord and Lady, betrothed since their earlier years, the Queen had introduced them to her son half a year ago and they’d been sniffing around for scraps of attention ever since. Eddie hated them, they treated him as if he weren’t there, as if he were a normal servant, they’d even demanded he serve them. Steve had firmly put his foot down there.

Eddie only served him.

“Eh, I’ll see them tonight, you’re the one I wanna spend my day with.” Eddie was glad for the candlelight being the only real source of light, for certain a window pouring sunlight would show the warmth upon his cheeks at the comment. “What if we get permission from the Captain, or I ask my mother, if I get a yes from one of them, then will you come with me?”

He didn’t expect Steve to be able to pull that one off. He hadn’t been let out of the palace grounds since the day he stepped foot into them, his whole world was that palace, he wasn’t an employee, he was a slave. He didn’t get paid for his work, he got food, drink, and a bed to sleep in, but he didn’t get paid, he was working off debts that his father had racked up.

Still didn’t know how much his father actually owed. Or if his nine years of service had actually put a dent into it. He figured he’d probably never know, his life would be one of servitude, at least they weren’t cruel to him. At least Steve was nice to him.

So, because he didn’t expect Steve to be able to pull it off, with a heavy, put upon sigh, he replied “fine, if, and I do mean IF, the Queen, or the Captain, preferably the Captain as he’s the one who’d hunt my backside down for leaving, says yes to me leaving the palace grounds, I will go with you on your ride. ONLY if one, or both say yes. Actually. Both. You have to ask both.”

“Both?”

“Yes, both, I’m not risking my head because you want a jaunt through the wilds with a servant. They both need to say yes before I’ll go.”

“I could just—”

“No, you couldn’t, maybe when you’re older my Prince, when the crown is yours, maybe then you could just order me to go with you” Steve at least had the decency to duck his head, Eddie knew him too well, knew him well enough to know that stepping closer, and gently placing fingers to his chin to lift his gaze to his own, was a thing he could freely do unpunished. “But until then… while the King is away, the Queens’ word is law, and I remain chained to these walls.” Unfortunately that was something he had to remind Steve of often, so often that even he couldn’t wait for the day that Steve would take the crown, for sure the ideas that prompted those gentle reminders were just as perfect as the beautiful little moles littering his skin.

Steve didn’t even try to pull away from the pleasant touch, it carried his gaze to Eddie’s, why would he pull away when Eddie’s touch brought him so much comfort? Instead he lingered there, thinking, until Eddie pulled his hand back of his own volition and Steve had to fight his own urges to chase it. He dampened his dry lips with a swift swipe of his tongue, “so... if I get them both to say yes, you’ll come with me?”

Eddie still didn’t believe he could, so with a great amount of softness, he answered with “mmhm, I promise.”

It brought him a great deal of surprise when Steve dragged the Captain of the Kings guard to him an hour later to announce with a beaming grin that, “you can go with me!”

“Excuse me?” Eddie’s eyes flitting between Steve and the much larger man at his side, a man who looked at Eddie with thinly veiled amusement.

“Kid, you’ve been stuck in this place for nine years now and to my great surprise, you haven’t tried to escape once, you got one chance to prove you won’t bolt if given the opportunity, and this is it. Queen says just make sure you have her son back in time to prepare for the festivities tonight, he’ll need—”

“A bath, and suitable attire, I’m aware.” Eddie spoke as if on autopilot. Bathing would take an hour at most, his hair would take half that time and getting him dressed even less. Eddie was already calculating how much time they’d have to be out of the palace.

They’d have... plenty of time, the sun hadn’t even fully reached its peak yet!

“Good. Have fun boys, Eddie, don’t do anything that’ll have us hunting you down.”

Faintly, in the back of his mind, Eddie knew that at one point, he’d had a plan for escaping. He knew that he’d planned to scope out the palace, map his new prison out until he could slip out unnoticed but then he’d seen Steve and all plans had just, floated away. They hadn’t returned, he knew the palace inside and out, knew all the little holes he could slip out of, but he’d never planned to escape it.

How could he leave his Prince behind?

That faint resurfaced thought lingered in the back of his mind when he made his way to the stables not long after, having told Steve to meet him there as he had to change his attire to something more suitable for riding. He didn’t have a wide selection of clothing to wear, his wardrobe now limited to off white shades in shirts that sometimes looked a little too baggy on him, and brown pants he could tuck into his boots, but at least he could tie up his hair into a messy braid with a long cord he’d saved from an old shirt, he could still look good.

The other maids fondly told him he looked like a noble with his hair all tied up like that, that he still had the posture of nobility at times but in a good way. The littlest Lord was still in there somewhere.

And he was still excellent with horses.

He didn’t even notice Steve had joined him until he felt the softest of touches brush upon his hair yet he didn’t startle. He instead found himself turning away from the mare saddled for him, which had been contentedly munching hay out of his palm, to bless the Prince with a warm smile that dimpled his cheeks. “My Prince” he greeted forever fond of how those two words always lit the boys face up with the cutest of flushes.

“Your uhm... your hair looks nice like that” now his turn to feel warmth in his cheeks, he wished he hadn’t tied it up now, couldn’t hide behind it like he craved to be able to do. It was just them in the stables, just them and the horses, the Stable Master having taken one of the colts to have his hooves trimmed and shoes replaced. “You should wear it like this more often.”

“It needs a trim...” now down to the middle of his back, out of a tie it was long and unruly.

“I like it.” Maybe it didn’t need a trim then. Steve seemed to shake himself of whatever thought he’d gotten trapped in though, because he turned his head to the horse, abruptly moving to her side “so! Uhm, do you— I assume you haven’t ridden before, right? I thought that perhaps you’d want to ride with me? On a horse with me I mean.”

“You... wanted us to share a horse?”

“Well, I mean, I could ride and you sit behind me and hold onto me?” Eddie was almost tempted to hide the other horse, just accept his offer, as the mare, a beautiful sooty black coated mare named Sombra, was the only one he could presently see.

Sommer, the Princes’ white mare, was still in her stall, saddled but out of sight.

Had he been a braver sixteen year old boy, or still a Lord he’d have probably said something particularly daring, a sly quip lingering on the tip of his tongue about how if the prince wished for it, he could just ask him to hold onto him, but he neither had the status, nor the courage to voice it.

The Prince may have often referred to him as a friend but surely there were lines he couldn’t cross.

“I... I can ride” oh god was that disappointment? No, it couldn’t be, why would it be? “I uhm, I learned to ride when I was young, before I came here.”

“Oh... did you come from a farm or something?” He’d never told Steve where he was taken from. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d be going back, but it was awfully cute that Steve had not yet put the clues together.

Honestly what farmhand knew how to read? Or write in cursive? Or write at all?

“Or something.” He chose to answer with instead, smiling softly. “Sommer has her saddle on in her stall, she’s ready to go.”

“Right. Right ok, yeah that makes sense, or else Sommer would have been the only one saddled. Right.” Flustered and cute, the boy would never not make his heart happy. “I’ll just... yeah.” And off he went to gather his steed, leaving Eddie to gently stroke down Sombra’s long face before guiding her out of her stall, rounding her great form, putting one foot in the stirrup, and pushing himself up onto the saddle.

It’d been a long time since he’d last rode a horse, both his legs and his reach now longer, his grip stronger. He still knew exactly what he was doing though. Still knew how to coax her into a gentle walk, how to guide her out of the stables and how to make her wait for his company. “Where exactly are we going, Steve?” He asked once his companion joined his side.

“Catch” Steve tossed a pair of gloves into his waiting hands, a simple, thin but beautifully crafted leather that vaguely matched his own “they’re my old ones, figured you wouldn’t have any.” Answering an unvoiced question when Eddie looked at him in question. “Just follow me.”

“Why did you bring gloves for me if you assumed I’d be sharing your horse?”

“No reason” he answered so quickly Eddie wished he’d have had the guts to lie and claim he didn’t know how, certain he’d now never know what the reason was. “Let’s go!” Steve didn’t give him a chance to wonder though, the Prince already off toward the palace gates, forcing Eddie to put the thought to the back of his mind and push Sombra to catch up.

He was free.

Once they made it out of the city walls, the open fields greeted them, he could see the kings road that’d take him back to Forest Hills, that’d take him back to the people he’d left behind, could see the treeline that hid his past within its dense embrace, the little homesteads, the children he’d once played with, the mothers who’d once braided flowers into his hair then quickly removed them so his father wouldn’t see.

He missed the subtle scent of flowers whenever the wind made his hair dance. He couldn’t even remember their faces anymore, just that they’d cried for him as he was taken away.

They weren’t staying on the kings road though, although they were headed for the treeline, they were veering off to the right, toward what Eddie knew to be just fields, seemingly endless stretches of land between villages, dotted with the odd farmhouse here, an inn there, maybe a small grove of trees. It didn’t matter though, as Steve didn’t seem to have a plan for their excursion.

There was no end goal in mind, just two boys chasing each other on horseback through the wilds, feeling the wind in their hair, the freedom of it all, no responsibilities, no lessons, no chores, just them passing the time, goofing off as if they weren’t naturally separated by the largest difference in status known to man. A servant and a Prince. As if they were just two friends, two boys playing in the fields without a care in the world, there was no greater feeling than that.

So of course, it had to end eventually. It had to end with the setting sun that called them back to the palace at a steady trot, their hearts light and laughter dancing between them, Eddie’s hair having fell loose through the day now flowing freely in the breeze and a subtle weight in Steve’s pocket from an interesting rock that Eddie had found and presented to him as, as Steve decided it to be, the BEST birthday gift he’d receive that evening.

It was at the city gates when Steve realised Eddie had slowed to a stop somewhere behind him, the boys eyes lingering on the Kings road off toward the forest, the wind gently rustling through his pretty brown curls, hands tight on Sombra’s reins as his gaze remained fixed there on those woods, on the road that’d lead him off to freedom, to wherever he wanted to go.

“…Eddie?” That soft gaze fell upon him once more, a small smile graced plush lips, and Steve knew he didn’t have to worry about a thing. “You coming?”

“…Yeah” He gently nudged Sombra forward toward the gates at Steve’s side once more “let’s get back, my Prince, before the Queen crucifies me.” Eddie had freedom within his grasp, and he’d chosen Steve.

Part 4

[rosiewitchescottage]

A Kenyan British lady and her Nigerian British husband. They give a beautiful description of why they want to preserve the Britain that they traveled to become a part of.

You can come here and practice any religion. We have a stated value of mutually respecting different faith, cultures etc.

But notice this is 'Mutual' respect, that goes both way.

If there are people who refuse to render you respect for respect, then most of us will be on your side.

All that we ask is that people come here free to practice their own faiths, but whilst respecting the Christian foundation on which our country has been built.

Bring and practice your culture, along with your religion. As long as it doesn't violate any of our laws, we're fine with it.

All we ask for is to respect our native culture. And yes, we do have a culture

. We have foods and drinks that have a British (English, Welsh, Scots, N irish character) Try them out. They may not be spicy. But they do have their own tastiness.

We have loads of music, stretching back through centuries by home grown composers and performers.

Books, plays poetry - You've heard of Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Keats? All British, and there are plenty more.

Folklore and fairy tales - We have four different countries, with their own myths, legends, folklore and fairy tales.

I highly recommend them all.

We love a celebration as much as anyone. Look at how we celebrate Christmas. Think of December as a month long festival of light, music, stories, food, drink and lots of good will. Check out The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from King's College Cambridge. You can get it on BBC Radio 4 from Christmas Eve onward.

Easter - Parts of the country have their own customs from the beginning of Lent onwards.

Shrove Tuesday Pancake Races, Egg Rolling

Not sure why Maypole's are here in the Easter section. It's more usually at the beginning of May, the Pagan festival of Beltane, heralding the early days of Summer.

Morris dancing seems rather silly. But it's fun and began as a Spring fertility dance.

Cornwall - Some Cornish people want to be separate from England, some don't. But they're still British, either way

The Countryside - It's not racist. If you live here, it's yours to love and take care of too.

Go and visit, no one's going to stop you. See this gorgeous landscape that we need to take care of and protect.

Our History. - It's there for us to learn from, not to judge.

Some terrible things were done in our past.This is true

So, we find ways to not let it happen again. Most British people are fine with that.

Guess what. All but the tiny but worst percentage of people think this slavery is disgusting.

We don't want to fall into that trap again, so yes, let's keep learning about it.

But also we should learn the full history of slavery thousands, and I do mean many thousands of years ago. Jewish slaves taken to Babylon.

And the worst part? That history isn't over, how about we make up for our part in slavery in the past, by fighting slavery going on right now.

British Empire - Yes, it had some advantages. But that came at the price of a country not being allowed the freedom to rule itself, and that sucks.

So, I think most Brits are happy that it ended. The Commonwealth is a group of independent, self governing nations, that chose to keep the British Monarch as Head of State.

Are there improvements that can be made? I'm sure there are plenty. Let's work on that, rather than focusing on the problems of the past. We can make the present and future better. But the past is what it was.

British Heroes - Were these people paragons of virtue? Err No! They were people, imperfect just like us.

But we celebrate them today, because they did something extra special that helped our country.

Try learning about them. Yes, the bad as well as the good. But remember that it's not the bad that we celebrate them for, so why would we be ashamed of what made them human?

Look at what they did, and even if you can't celebrate them too. You'll at least see why many of us do.

A great speech dear Madam and Sir.

I'm delighted to call you and your children my compatriots.

[britanniabay]

HRH The Princess Royal and her husband Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence attend and participate in A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols (2012). Courtesy of The Mission to Seafarers.

[avalentina]

12 Days Of Christmas

(Draco Malfoy Style)

Image not mine

A few things to note: bulleted text is the original song line, italicized chat font text is Draco's feelings about the line, and the indented text is Draco's version of the line!

I was going for a head cannon style with this one but I probably failed...

All dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Hope you enjoy! -Ava

Draco talking to Blaise:

D: Did you hear Snape today? Apparently the new girl Y/N or whatever is like a potions prodigy, like Snape was actually impressed with her potion.

B: Don't tell me you're crushing on her just because she's better than you at potions.

D: She's a half-blood from America, and she's gorgeous, intelligent, snarky, and yet also somehow kind. She's fucking perfect is what she is. I just, I've liked her since she first set foot in the Great Hall.

B: Just have fun, and do something Christmassy, at least I think that's what she called their holiday.

D: That's it! The carols she was singing while decorating the common room, there was that Twelve Days of Christmas song. I'll do something fun for those days.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree

Yeah, nope, not getting her that… but maybe…

On the first day of Christmas, I gave to my true love… an invitation to the Yule Ball

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtle doves

Ok, that one isn't too bad, but improvements must be made

On the second day of Christmas I gave to my true love… two golden birds made of light, Avis!

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three French hens

Ummm, what, why, just why?

On the third day of Christmas I gave to my true love… three poinsettias

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me four calling birds

What is it with this song and birds?

On the fourth day of Christmas I gave to my true love… four barking cruppies

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me five golden rings

See, that one I like, that one I really like, however I can still outdo it

On the fifth day of Christmas I gave to my true love five golden snitches!

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me six geese a laying

Oh for Merlins sake, can they quit it with the birds?

On the sixth day of Christmas I gave to my true love… six chocolate frogs

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me seven swans a swimming

That's actually kind of romantic, like a swan dance

On the seventh day of Christmas I gave to my true love… seven fountains performing with music and lights and colors (every ounce of my transfiguration and potions knowledge was necessary)

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me eight maids a milking

Nope, nope, nope, absolutely not, she's a transfer from America and she's best friends with Hermione even though y/n’s a Slytherin

On the eighth day of Christmas I gave to my true love… eight house elves' freedom

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me nine ladies dancing

Good, but I have a better idea, and I think she'll like it

On the ninth day of Christmas I gave to my true love… nine mooncalves dancing under the stars

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me ten lords a leaping

My day to show off my skills!

On the tenth day of Christmas I gave to my true love… ten dancing lessons (she did ask)

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me eleven pipers piping

Ooh, I can work with that!

On the eleventh day of Christmas I gave to my true love… eleven frogs a singing with the choir

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming

Twelve battle drummers maybe?

On the twelfth day of Christmas I gave to my true love… twelve durmstrang students dueling (with fire)

And that was my successful Fourth year, I enjoyed it, and so did y/n, enough that she agreed to be my girlfriend.

Want to hear y/n's reactions to each gift? Let me know in the comments or by liking this post!

As always, I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays!

-Ava

Thank you for requesting a tag!

@freedomfireflies

Comment or DM me if you would like to be added to the Holiday Writing Spectacular Taglist!

[tianalaurence1]

Anne and Tim at the festival of Nine lessons and Carols

[stoportotouch]

crozier is. for one thing a miserable wanker but for another it really DOES have a lot of the vibe of billy budd about it. i know i have already Talked About that to at least one person but like. in a lot of ways they are thematically really similar pieces of Theatre.* (i'm referring to the tv show and britten's opera, rather than the book and melville's novella.)

like there's this constant overwhelming and overhanging sense of punishment on board terror and erebus and on board britten's indomitable, whether that's a literal punishment (whipping, making somebody sit in the dead room) or more of a figurative punishment (sophia cracroft standing outside in the snow, crozier not going home, silna's exile, etc.)

also i picked up in this watch that manson does swing for irving when he threatens him with sitting in the dead room. and that's such a blatant parallel to the death of claggart and the fact that it's hickey who saves him is also such an obvious line of comparison. claggart gets angry with billy for stuttering and billy, backed into a corner, punches and kills him. claggart has the novice whipped in billy budd; claggart forces the novice to shop billy out to protect himself from further punishment.

irving orders hickey to subjugate his own desires and nature and repress part of who he is, subtextually because he wants to drag everybody down with him. crozier forces little into a command that he doesn't want and that terrifies him by his temporary abdication of responsibility. billy gibson shops hickey out to evade punishment for himself, hickey gets brutally whipped. hickey probably saves irving from more severe injury; saves manson from worse for striking a superior officer (which would have carried a death penalty under the Articles).

claggart unspools because of disorder being brought into his very tightly organised, tightly-wound life by billy. hickey says that what irving fears most isn't the act that they were (nearly) caught in or the knowledge of it happening but chaos. and that has some very religious theming too; i'm thinking of the last reading at the nine lessons and carols service. 'the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.' which would have been the version with which they were familiar.

[amateurmonastic]

How times have changed

Didn't make it to church this morning, so I'm listening to the live broadcast of Lessons & Carols from King's College, Cambridge. L&C was first held in the aftermath of the First World War, as a rallying point of light, and first broadcast on the radio in 1928. It is held in the college chapel, which was founded by Henry VI in 1441 (yes, you read that correctly), and the readers of the nine lessons are drawn from the college and the town of Cambridge, beginning with a boy from the choir and going up the ranks to the head of the college.

When I started listening to this broadcast in the 1990s, all the readers were male. All the authority figures of the church, the college, and the town, male. That is no longer the case, though the choir remains composed of men and boys only. In 1983, the choir began to commission a new carol for the service each year. Many of the commissioned composers and other composed featured are also women.

If you want to know more about the service, you can find out here.