#agnes is so white lily

[crumbsforbrains]

Speaking into the void.... glass animals brainrot is seeping into cookie run brainrot

[diioonysus]

cats + art

[madwomansapologist]

━ ✧ unraveling you | chapter 5 - if it stinks...

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series synopsis: Trapped inside Westview, Agatha Harkness was reduced to Agnes. The noisy neighbor and nothing more than that. Until a meteor rain brought something strong to Westview. Something strong enough to help her, and maybe strong enough to free her. You. In a journey to save herself by teaching you the ways of magic, Agatha Harkness wants one thing only: to avenge herself.

Steams grew from the white flooring. Buds were formed, white petals moving to cover it tightly. Slowly they turned lilac, until they blossomed into purple hydrangeas. They glistened.

― A basic illusion spell ― Agatha waved her hand, the flowers multiplied across the entire floor of your bedroom. With a snap, they disappeared. ― Your turn.

You kneeled on the cold floor, placing your hands above the tile. As you breathed, you imagine the air travelled through your veins. You felt it on your inner thighs, at the end of your fingertips, on the inside of your feet.

Pearly lilies blossomed between your hands. As you moved them away, you saw a electric glow fade.

― It worked! You saw it, right?

― I saw it all ― sat on your bed, Agatha patted you on the head. You looked up, and your smile made her forget to move away. ― Well done.

Effortlessly, Agatha made the white petals dance around the room. You gazed at them, enchanted by how long those illusions were lasting. You sat besides her on the bed, your tight touching hers and fingers intertwined. Looking at her, feeling her breath against you face, you wondered if there was an way for you to get even closer.

The white petals seemed to be dancing in the air. So you took her hands into yours, pulling her with you. Agatha laughed, her body stiff as you tried to made her dance with you, and eventually decided it wasn’t worthy to act embarrassed. Instead of sitting down and letting you enjoy whatever this way, Agatha danced with you.

Laughing, you both explored the house. There wasn’t a song, not even a hum, but you both didn’t care. With your hair moving around your waist and fingers spreading towards the ceiling, you pretended to be one of those pretty girls from the movies.

― Hello! ― A female voice you both stop. After a few seconds, you heard it again. ― Are you there?

― Go practice ― Agatha walked towards the stairs. ― I’ll talk to Mrs. Hart.

That made you frown.

― Her name is Sharon ― you said. ― Sharon Davis.

To watch Agatha shrug made that good feeling inside of your disappear. She didn’t care. Somehow, the frown on your face was amplified. Agatha, of all people, didn’t care about calling someone the name Wanda chose for them?

Sat on your bed, you decided that wasn’t the true. Agatha does care. Once you called her Agnes, and you could feel how tense that made her. How scared she was, almost as if calling her that name would be enough to curse her again. No, Agatha cares about her name.

She just doesn’t care about others.

Agatha opened the door with a false smile on her lips. She had the book Sharon handed to you. It was about kings and wars, not something she’s deeply interested in.

― Thank you ― she said. ― For being good to her.

― You don’t owe me anything ― Sharon waived. Knowing her, Sharon decided not to waste her time with small talk. Specially when Sharon could see the redness of her cheeks. ― She’s… something.

― Yeah. She really is.

Opening the door of your room, Agatha expected you to still be practicing moving nature. Her last lessons were all about recreating wind’s movement on things for they not to look uncanny. Instead, Agatha found you meditating. She didn’t taught you that, but you witnessed Agatha doing so.

She didn’t expect you to be surrounded by a ever growing illusion. Arround you, a universe expanded. Eyes closed, every time you breathed a new star was added to it. Agatha kneeled down in front of you, and stood there silently for a long time.

When the universe was big enough for it to fit the entire bedroom, Agatha decided it was time to wake you up.

― What are you doing? ― she asked.

― Recalling.

As the universe suddenly disappeared, you opened your eyes. Agatha wasn’t sure if you noticed what you were doing. If you meant what you said.

― Are you hungry? ― you smiled. ― I’m not, but if you are then I’ll eat with you. To keep you company. Not that I want to eat or something.

Agatha nodded, unsure of how to deal with you. She forgets it all the time, just like someone with a headache will suddenly remember they are in pain during work, but you are off. There is something lacking on you.

For now, she didn’t search for an answer. She didn’t questioned you, or chose to think instead of enjoying the night. You wanted to eat something, Agatha wanted to walk. The truth can wait for one more night.

And so it did.

It was way past midnight when you both made to the front door. You waited for Agatha to unlock it, already taking off your jacket, but the witch didn’t move a inch.

― You don’t want to come in yet?

― I don’t want this to end ― Agatha looked at you. ― I am… glad. That you are here. That we both are here, at the same time.

― I’m not going anywhere ― you promised, holding her hand and stroking her skin soflty. ― Just inside, if you unlock the door.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You woke up before Agatha, and used that chance to runaway.

Every other day, she wakes up before you and by the time you finished eating breakfast Agatha has a new tome for you to read and more exercises. You’re so grateful for her, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired.

Walking nowhere in particular, you enjoyed sunlight and that warm breeze. You nose tells you it’ll rain. Should you get her something different to eat? Sharon told you about a new bakery.

A meow stopped you.

Trying to be as silent as you could, you followed the weak sound. You entered someone’s garden, kneeling in front of a bush. You pulled some branches away, revealing to you a white cat. It looked so young and lost. Carefully, you took him in your arms and stroked his ears.

― What are you doing in here, little one? ― you whispered. He bit your fingers, but you didn’t mind it. ― Are you lost?

You heard a door opening, and watched as a man walked out with a garbage bag. He stopped after spotting you, and you never felt that much fear from anyone before. You tried to wave at him, but even that made him shake.

― I saw a cat here ― you explained yourself. ― Sorry for that.

He said nothing, immovable in front of the main door, and that made you take a step back. Was he deaf? You could hear music coming from his house. You stared at his blue eyes, and that much fear made you talk before thinking twice.

― Why are you so scared? I never did anything to you.

― You’re with Agnes ― he said, dropping the bag and crossing his arms in front of his chest. His died hair moved away from his face. ― Get out of here.

You should’ve done as he said. You were the one doing something wrong. This is his house, and you just stepped on his flowers because of a cat you never saw before. But your curiosity was bigger than your concern for what is right and wrong.

He is afraid of Agnes―Agatha. He thinks that because you know her, he must be scared of you too. You want to know why. You want to know everything there is to know. And you wanna do it now.

― I know about the hex ― you told him. ― I know about Wanda. I know everyone here stinks of sadness and fear. I know there is something lacking. I know it feels like walking inside a room someone just left. I don’t know your name.

He said nothing. You were already thinking about turning away when you heard steps coming from behind you. That acid perfume was a telltale of Sarah’s presence. She and Ralph looked at one another, and you felt there was some sort of alliance between them both.

She said nothing, but you felt her gaze burning your back.

― My name is Ralph ― he finally said. ― I think we three have much to discuss.

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[the-fiction-witch]

Five Bucks

Media Godless

Character Whitey Winn

Couple Whitey X Reader

Rating Suggestive + Cute

I sat in my rocking hair out on my porch sipping my beer watching as the hot spring sun began to set below the New Mexico horizon bringing us all a few hours of respite from the harsh heat and blistering sun,

"Evening Mary Agnes," A voice spoke up making me look down the street where I saw Kallie in her usual blue skirt and white blouse, parasol in hand to keep her from the sun that remained, she was walking on her way to the hotel clearly fresh finished with a walk, 

"Evening Callie, Gone on a walk?"

"That's right, hotels empty. Not much else to do." 

"Fair enough, A drink?"

"No thank you,"

"Evenin' Ladies," Another voice spoke up making us both turn our attention, and we were immediately taken back.

Stood heading down the street himself was Whitey Winn, looking rather unusual for himself. He walked the dusty LaBelle street his boots dusted and cleaned, his britches clean and pressed, his shirt crisp and white, his jumper dusted and clean, his skin a fresh clean and soft, his nails clean, his hair clean and fluffy slightly damp on the ends, his hat dusted and clean on his head, his gunbelts still on but cleaned up and polished, even the fuzz he insisted on keeping above his lip was trimmed and clean, Christ even from here we both knew he'd had a bath and as he approached more his usual scent of ripe, sour dirt and sweat replaced by the scent of lilies and lavender.

Callie and I looked at each other and I admit I questioned for a moment...

"Who are ya? and what have you done to whitey?" I asked half as a joke and yet part of me was legitimately concerned, I don't think I'd seen whitey like this in.... uhh... ever. 

"Very funny Maggie," He chuckled, "You ladies have a nice night," He nodded as he tipped his hat to his and carried on his way, 

Callie and I met eyes and both smiled a little, 

"Five Bucks says I know where he's going."

"Alright," She nodded hopping up my porch and taking a seat on the bench beside my chair, "And your bet is?"

"I'll hear yours first."

"...I think... He's heading to the office. Trying to convince Bill he's worth a promotion? or maybe Bill's just sick of his stank." She laughed,

"A good guess, good guess. I think, He's going to Y/n's." 

"He might be," she nodded, 

We egarly sat and watched Whitey as he headed across the town of course young Y/n Y/l/n's house was only just across from the Sheriff's office so as he approached we both sat on the edge of our seats but he climbed Y/n's porch,

"Told Ya,"

"Alright, alright you were night Mary Agnes. Just still surprised, to see Whitey get so dressed up."

"As am I, Boy rarely takes a damn bath If I'd known all it took was Y/n flashing her ankles at him I'd have slipped her a few bucks a week just to make sure the boy has a regular bath." 

"I think it's sweet,"

"Sweet?"

"Yeah," she nodded as we watched him knock on Y/n's door and she happily opened it, they greeted each other fondly with a kiss and he headed inside with her the door snapping shut behind them, "You have to admit it is kinda cute, seeing whitey so excited to please his little lady," 

"Callie... given your prior occupation you really think having a bath is all he's doing to please her?"

"I should hope he's doing much more, for y/n's sake." She chuckled, "We've all felt that sing of being utterly in love with a boy, you get him into bed and he's as much use as a silver petticoat,"

"True, I wouldn't know what to think Whitey knows..."

"Still I think it's sweet, Little Whitey all grown up and cleaned up for his date it's ever so sweet,"

"It is a little sweet seeing him all grown up," I nodded, "Another five bucks says he'll be out in forty minutes sweaty and trying to breathe," 

"thirty minutes."

"Deal," I laughed, so we each got another drink and chatted with each other until we spotted Y/n's door open and out came a very tired, sweaty Whitey only in his britches and shirt leaning on the porch for some air,

"Time?"

"Thirty-two minuets."

"Yeah!" she laughed,

"Alright alright you win," I laughed, "Good going Whitey," I raised my drink,

"Good Boy whitey," she laughed as we toasted, "Five bucks says she comes out to tug him back in?"

"I say two minutes he runs back in to her?"

"Deal," she smirked, so we did our best to watch without him knowing we were watching, as he got his breath and straightened up fixing his shirt, and rubbing his neck where a Hickie was already obvious, He stood and glanced back into Y/n's house,

"Ohhh he's thinking about it," I smirked, "Come on you know you want to Whitey,"

"No no come on Y/n we all know this ain't over after one session of thirty-two minutes,"

But we saw Y/n come out in her nightie wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss tugging him back into the house shutting the door again, 

"Yes! I win!"

"Alright, it was close though," 

"It was, it was that was a close one," I nodded,

"You remember being that... Loved up for your hubby?"

"Loved up?"

"Excited. egar. desperate for one another when you first got married?" 

"Yeah we were," I nodded, "it's the honeymoon phase all you wanna do is throw each other on the bed every five seconds when you first get married,"

"Even if they ain't married,"

"We all did stuff there age too."

"I know, there young let them have their fun,"

"We all know whitey'd Marry her if the preacher was here,"

"You think he would?"

"course he would," I laughed, "Damn Boy loves that girl..." 

"Yeah, She loves him too. They're a very cute little couple they love each other very much." She nodded, "Plus it would be sweet as hell to have some little ones running around here again,"

"Ohh God whitey's little ones..." I chuckled, "It's a little strange,"

"How so?"

"...To think, there not kids anymore." I told her, "I remember whitey being born, I remember Y/n arriving when she was knee high, I remember then two running around the streets playing bank robbers with the other kids,"

"whitey was always the hero," She laughed, "Y/n's was always his damsel to save,"

"I guess... In my mind, they're both still kids." I explained, "Funny to see them now, all grown up, so in love, and to think the streets could be filled with their own kids,"

"It is strange, but... I suppose that's just what happens when you get old."

"I ain't old."

"Maggie, we all are." she nodded, "Bills going blind, bar keep can't pour a shot straight, dalila's lost her marbles, we have to face it. We had our time in the sun, but the sun don't shine for us anymore"

"You're right, it doesn't." I nodded, 

"It shines for Trudy and for Luke, for Whitey and Y/n, and their little ones. World moves on from us all we can do is hope to hell we gave them enough to get them though it too." 

"Wise words," 

"I ain't just a whore ya know Maggie," 

"I know, you've always been way more then that. And you make a good school marme."

"I think I do alright for falling into it, Another five bucks says Y/n's gonna be preggo by next month,"

"...Deal" I chuckled, 

[gard3nias]

02 | Ying Yang

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wc: 4.28k

date: 27/04/2024

mdi // masterlist // playlist

—Now Playing: Fuel To Fire by Agnes Obel✫

Dogs barked. Whether it was Loki, Luke or some other dog was unknown to Daphne. Stones crunched underneath her shoes as she closed the gate behind herself.

She was heading to Cleo's place, a few steps away from her house, on the left side of the neighbourhood. As she proceeded on the road, the place gradually got more silent enhancing the crunching sound of stones. Birds tweeted, wind chimes rang and the breeze softly blew between her hair strokes, underneath her wide shirt, against her skin. 

Everything was so perfect. Did nature plan it? Plan that this day, the exact day she'd move here, the weather was going to be this beautiful, the people were going to be this nice and everything was going to be this fucking perfect?

The ambience was a blessing in all ways possible. Not to talk about how she felt like strolling on the road in the countryside with the privilege of silence. From when she stepped foot here, her smile has never vanished. It was always there and would only increase or decrease but never disappear. It seemed like it wouldn't leave even if she'd go to bed.

As far as Daphne was involved, the house in front of her was the second biggest if not the biggest house in the neighbourhood. The area was dead silent as if the house wasn't in the same neighbourhood as hers.

The two-story edifice was set in the centre of a wide green land. The frontage was split in two by the front door; on either side were wide arched windows. The top floor had a wide arched window only in the centre while on either side were casement windows. All were as brown as the roof contrasting with the white exterior walls.

A wide green space between the gate and the house was traced in the middle by a stone path. The left and the right were gardens—the latter was more flourished than the other.

Since Cleo only had cats, no dogs were running up to the gate like Loki and Luke do so there was nothing that interrupted the silence as Daphne rang the bell. She slipped her hands into her pockets, squeezing her shoulders in not because of the cold but because of the usual shyness that overwhelms her whenever she's somewhere she doesn't know.

As she turned right to glimpse around, the breeze blew a bit stronger, moving the hair off her face, messing her shirt a bit more, and shaking the swing hanging by the tall tree in Cleo's compound. Her attention was soon carried back to the house from where Cleo came out, hurrying to the gate.

"Hey!" she cheerfully spoke. Daphne shily waved back before she went in. No more stone crunching sounds as she walked on the wide flat stones that paved the way to the front door. 

Leaving the shoes by the door, they went in and closed the door behind them. The interior was very bright, lit by the tall windows. The walls were the same as the exterior ones. The pavement was light brown. Just like Daphne's home, the bottom floor was a singular wide space where the kitchen, dining room and living room coexisted. The kitchen was on the left—the light colours of the furnishing made it shine brighter; in between the latter and the dining room was the living room composed of three detached sofas enclosing the fireplace upon which the TV was hanging.

As Daphne went down the two steps at the entrance, a cat immediately came into her view—a brown cat with big dark eyes and a delicate walk. It stood next to the sofa staring at her intently. "Her name's Lily. She's an adorable little kitten. Don't mind her inquisitive eyes that make her seem suspicious of everything. In no time she'll be making biscuits on your lap," Daphne smiled listening while looking at the little animal. As the girls proceeded into the living room, the cat moved backwards a little only to rush over to Cleo once she called and now, with Lily between her arms, Cleo directed her friend upstairs. 

The top floor was another wide space shared into two—between a long hallway ending with the wide arched window from before. In front of the stairs, taking a pretty wide space was a little living room that accommodated a swing chair, an armchair, a short bookshelf and, against the left, the cats' little beds. One of them was occupied by a little Siamese sleeping cat. This one was a little bigger than Lily but still a baby.

"That's Cinnamon, a sleepy head. I don't think you'll get to see her awake today. She usually sleeps during the day and stays awake at night. Don't ask 'cause I don't know why either," Cleo whisper-yelled before proceeding. The last door on the right was to her bedroom. 

It was a not-so-big room which, just like the rest of the house, was bright. Walls covered in vintage floral wallpaper, floor in laminated wood. On the right was a French bed covered in white pillows, bedsheets and a white blanket. Opposite the bed was a little nook on the left that welcomed a square window and a bench covered in little pillows. On them was the third cat peacefully sleeping.

"Oh come on," Cleo silently exclaimed. Dropping Lily on the bed, she hastily approached the other cat. Daphne's smile wouldn't go away. All these little beings were filling her up with serotonin. Gently carrying the cat in her arms, Cleo excused herself for a moment and invited Daphne to make herself comfortable in the meantime. 

Eyeing the little cat, Daphne sat on the bed who, like before, was keeping a distance and its big eyes on her. Daphne tried greeting it, waving and smiling but didn't force it too much besides, she was a dog person and she wasn't sure about how she should deal with the situation.

"Okay, sleepy cat's been put to her bed so now we can have all the fun," Cleo's enthusiastic voice was back to its normal volume. She shut the door and scurried over to her bed, jumping on it precisely, causing Lily to hiss at her for almost jumping on her.

"Hey! How dare you hiss at me? You little adorable fur ball," Cleo squeezed the cat's cheeks before kissing it. Daphne softly laughed. "Cats are adorable," she confessed, "I know right? I love kittens specifically. I know they're so difficult to keep because they're delicate and sensitive to temperature, but they're adorable... like all the work pays off. I'm surely going to be that one old lady who lives alone with twelve cats," Daphne laughed again.

"Yeah, I agree but I just can't explain why I prefer dogs. We don't have any in the city because of space but here we do and I feel like I'm going to adopt another one. When it comes to this, more certainly doesn't hurt," Cleo eagerly nodded in agreement.

On the right of the bed, below the casement window, was Cleo's desk, a glass surface that welcomed a laptop, a cup of pencils, books in a corner and a flower pot in another. Below this surface was a minor one. In front of the desk was a simple chair. Hanging by the windows were short soft curtains that moved with the waft that blew through the ajar window.

The little slots on either side of the desk were occupied, one by a slim and tall bookshelf and the other by two storage boxes, the smaller one on the bigger one. On each side of the bed was a bedside table, one covered in personal objects, the other by a single lamp.

Crowning the end of the bed was a circular rug. At the foot of the bed was a bench with sandals, slippers and a backpack underneath. Other than with white pillows, the bed was decorated with handmade plushies. "Ooh, nice! Are these the kind of toys you crochet?" Daphne asked studying one up close. Cleo agreed as she lowered the kitten and leapt off the bed.

— Now Playing: Sis by Clairo✫

"Here are the rest I told you about. I have about a ton of them. Crocheting is therapeutic, trust me. You should try it," dropping the small storage box on her desk, she carried the bigger one and sat on the bench in front of the window. Daphne followed right after. "I don't know. Reading is better for me," Cleo shook her head in disapproval, "Reading simply feeds into your fantasies, it gives a sensation of almost absent-mindedness that keeps you away from earth when the sole end of therapy is having people be mentally brought back to earth so, no, reading is not really it."

Daphne puffed in surprise, certainly not ready for such an analysis but the following moment, she was hailing and congratulating Cleo for her handwork.

"You like this one? It's a little cow. I made it while— Ouch! Lily!" by her feet, Lily was struggling to get on the bench next to her owner so she mistakenly scratched her. The latter immediately dropped the toys and caught the kitten, cuddling her up in her arms. "As I was saying, I made it while lying down in the grass. Did you know that not so far away from here is a vast field of tall green grass? With a nice blanket, on a sunny day, you'd have the best time of your life, the best read of your life"—she gasped—"Let's go there today. The weather is so nice. I have two-thirds of my cats asleep so we can't play with them but we surely can take a walk around the neighbourhood. Ooh, yes! Let's do it! We could go with your dogs too," she offered the idea and she agreed to it, all by herself. Daphne couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, let's do it," she said, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just arrived.

"Ooh, while we're at it, let me just change my shirt. Have you ever had that feeling of when you rediscover an old shirt that went missing or that you never thought you had?" Daphne nodded, "The same happened to me but this morning. Look! I found these two shirts, two shirts goddamn, and they're so cute. How the fuck did I just find them eludes me because if I saw this in a clothes store I'd do anything to have it but, anyway, which one do you prefer?" one was a strapless top, the other was a longer one similar to a white summer dress. "The second one,"

"I know right? I like love, love the wind so this dress-like shirt will have me hopping on the hills like little Heidi. Do you know Heidi?" another nod from the other side, "An adorable cartoon. I think I identify myself with her a bit, you know? Living in the mountains, playing with farm animals, loving nature? You know what I'm saying. Do I give off those vibes though?"

"Yes, you do. You completely match your appearance, maybe you're even bubblier," a little dramatic gasp came from Cleo as she checked herself in the mirror, "I'm going to need a pair of shorts for this one— so wait, I give off bubbly?"—nod—"Interesting. I get called crazy and childish most of the time,"

"W-what? Why?" Cleo shrugged her shoulders. She too didn't know the motive. "Trust me, Cleo, they simply don't match your vibe and they wanted to make you feel bad about it, okay? You're just a very energetic person and instead of saying that, they called you crazy which is, in all honesty, a very different and dramatic thing to label it with. We're not meant to get along with everyone and it's fine, perfectly normal. Don't let them bother you and besides... I'm here,"

Cleo's face gradually morphed into a broader smile, "Ooh, girl, you are so good with words. I told my brother about this before but he explained it in such a psychological manner that he left me with more questions and no answers," the two laughed before they finally placed the toys back in the box but Cleo didn't forget to give Daphne at least three toys and even promised to give her more. 

As clarified before, while Daphne waited for Cleo to place her things back in order, Lily walked back and forth between Daphne's ankles rubbing her fur against the girl's skin only to then look up. When finally Daphne's attention was on her, she sat by her feet and started meowing. 

Daphne could've sworn her chest was about to burst and scatter into millions of flowers then and there. She crouched and took the kitten in her arms facing no resistance. "Ooh, you see? She already loves you. Tries to play hard to get so bad but needs attention more than food. Am I wrong Lily?" the cat simply meowed in reply. Cleo was back-facing them as she braided her hair in the mirror. With two little while bows at the end of each and a little bag of personal objects in her hand, she was ready to go. "Let's go. I'll grab a few things we can eat".

As they went downstairs, Daphne asked about Cleo's brother and father—the house was too silent for them to be around. Cleo replied that the dad was in his shop and the brother was studying in the garden. Exactly, once they'd put their shoes on, sitting in the garden, glasses on and deep into his book, was Cole. He was so focused he didn't even hear them until Cleo yelled at him that they were heading out. By his quick nod, the girls both knew he was not to be disturbed any further.

As all of this unfolded, Lily peacefully rested between Daphne's arms.

—Now Playing: Monolithic by Cults✫

"Hey, girls. How are you doing?" Granny was dressed in tall farm boots with long gloves covering her up to her forearms, flowers in her hands and a summer hat on. The girls cheerfully replied, specifying that they were there to take the two dogs for a walk and that they'd be back before dinner.

"Do you mind if we take the bike? The roads are accessible right?" Cleo eagerly nodded before Daphne excused herself, giving her back the kitten. Rushing inside and hastily taking her shoes off, she ran upstairs to prepare a little bag of personal necessities. A blanket as Cleo had said before, sunscreen, handkerchiefs, a little water bottle, lip balm, a few hair pins and a book obviously.

Once downstairs, she too grabbed a few snacks before heading out again. By the garage, parked against the wall, were the bicycles. "Let's take these 'cause they have baskets."

And that was how a few minutes later, with Cleo leading the way, the dogs running by their side and Lily in her owner's basket, the girls were on their way to the vast green field.

They rode out of the compound and out of the neighbourhood past Cleo's house. The tyres rolling on the stone pavement were enough to break Cole's attention span as he waved at them. They waved back. The dogs barked too.

As Daphne had noticed earlier, the further they get into the neighbourhood on Cleo's side, the more it gets silent and gradually, crunching stones and their chatter were the only background sounds. The wind was as crazy as they were as they sped through, laughing and shouting in happiness whenever they rode fast down a hill. Loki and Luke were happy too.

Hair to the wind, shirts expanding backwards, legs clenching the more they sped up but fingers ready to press on the brakes.

—Now Playing: Mary by Agnes Obel✫

"Guess where we get our milk from?" Cleo asked. They were now riding slowly on a wider road that allowed them to be side by side. Loki and Luke tried to keep up without getting distracted by nature. "I don't know. You probably buy enough at the town centre like once a week or something,"

"Yeah, kinda... but not exactly. And besides, we like our stuff fresh," Lily was fast asleep, cuddled up in the basket. "Well, that means— Oh! On my way here today, I saw a huge farmhouse by the road," as Daphne came to the right conclusion, Cleo nodded and proceeded to talk about how she's a friend with a little lamb that's always excited to see her whenever she goes buy milk.

"Heidi indeed, huh?" Cleo laughed, "I know right? I really like farm animals too, like cows, goats and, most especially horses," Daphne's nods meant she firmly agreed with her friend "I'd love to learn to go horseriding. Wanted to do that this summer but the news of your arrival changed my plans." Daphne smiled. Her arrival was so anticipated that Cleo had to postpone learning how to go horseriding and, by the way she sounded, Daphne could tell she really wanted to do that knowing her love for farm animals. 

"Since I'm here to stay we could try it together next summer, yeah?"

"Yeah." The two girls had smiles across their faces as they proceeded along the curvy road. They were now riding along a road that slid through a forest. The sun's rays penetrated through the leaves as the breeze made itself a bit colder due to the shade. They took various turns in pure silence. A comfortable silence that was just perfect for the atmosphere. Daphne checked on her dogs, turning her head to find them right behind her before facing forward and closing her eyes for a brief moment. She took a deep breath in. Her omnipresent smile widened.

Cleo watched her with a grin, "You can't find an environment as nice as this in the city. Am I wrong?"

"No," Daphne replied, coming back to Earth. "We're here," Cleo notified, nodding her head forward where the forest finished, showing an expanse of just green grass. Daphne tried holding herself back from verbally showing her amazement. "Damn, this place is heavenly,"

"I know right? I call it the Garden of Eden". 

A bit of pedalling later and they were hopping down their bicycles and into the field. The grass was indeed tall, tall till mid-thigh. 

"There are no snakes here, right?"

"No, silly. We aren't in a field of corn," Cleo couldn't help but laugh while Daphne simply rolled her eyes, "I was just being cautious".

They dropped their bikes aside and started setting their spot up: Daphne took the blanket out of her bag and with the help of Cleo, after struggling a bit because of the wind, they laid it out and pinned it down with their bags and shoes at the corners. 

"I've been missing out on so much truly," Cleo simply chuckled as she took her crocheting kit out. "This is the place the greatest artists of all time come up with the most show-stopping ideas ever," Daphne tilted her head, looking for truth in Cleo's eyes, "Oh, you know I wasn't serious. It was just a hyperbole,"

"Don't be angered. I looked at you because a part of me believed it. I mean, who wouldn't? This place would bestow peace upon anything and anyone,"

"Oh, my god. Do you like... read the bible too? But like the 17th century version?" Daphne laughed out loud. "What? Just because of the verb 'bestow'? Never heard of it out of a Christian context?"

"No— Like— I mean— I just never heard of anyone using it in a conversation as casual as this one. I don't know. To me, it sounds like using things like 'thee', 'thou' and adding 'eth' at the end of every verb," she replied laughing but not as hard as Daphne who was laying flat on the blanket clutching her tummy. "You can't be serious,"

"For once that I am, you think I'm not," meanwhile, Daphne kept laughing. "Like how often do you read a book?"

"Whenever my teacher assigns it," it was Daphne's turn to gasp and feign fainting and having convulsions dramatically. "Oh, no! Daphne, please don't die on me! I shall read more often so thou shall not die for life offereth pulchritudinous things one would never liveth in death for in death lays no life!" now Daphne's body visibly shook but because of how hard she laughed. It was the kind of laugh that's silent, a tummy killer. She believed she was going to get six packs after this.

Cleo soon joined her, laughing both because of her dramatic words and because of Daphne's state. 

"Oh, my god!" Daphne tried stopping and taking a deep breath but just couldn't. The more she looked at Cleo, the worse it'd get. "Sorry I'm not a bookworm,"

Daphne coughed a bit and regained herself only to correct her, "I wouldn't say 'bookworm'. That word is too vile to describe such a peace-inducing activity,"

"Oh, please. Peace-inducing? You find peace in constantly having your brain work?"

"I'd rather say 'bibliophile'. See? Such a nice and sweet-sounding word. Besides, there's not one moment your brain doesn't work... other than in death... where lays no life," Daphne laughed again as Cleo playfully hit her.

"No, but really, I just can't read that much and I envy you for that... just as much as I envy my brother. You saw him today, sat in the garden, deep in his book? Yeah, now picture me in the same state. Yeah, no. You could never because it's rather you don't have the resources enough to form such sort of imagination or it's so bizarre, it scares you," Cleo's words were too hilarious for Daphne who watched her in disbelief, "Reading is that much of a hassle?"

"Hassle? 'Hassle' is an understatement. A very nice word to sugarcoat and chocolate-coat the matter. I hate reading... just as I hate studying and school in general but— guess who's the top in PE class?" Cleo proudly winked at Daphne whose tummy was hurting again already. "Oh, my god, Cleo. You're out of this world," and the respondent proudly nodded in agreement.

"But hey, I can crochet and that's the calmest activity I can do. The only activity that can keep me still," and as she said that, she brought her kit forward. "I'm going to crochet mini Luke and Loki. Small enough to be keychains. How adorable right?"

"And I'll immerse myself into this wonderful book that makes me fall into a calming and therapeutic atmosphere as I escape this mere world to a fantastical one," she laughed seeing the dislike on Cleo's face. An expression that quickly went away, "Fantastical? You read fantasy?"

"I read anything that's written."

"Oh. I thought you'd read philosophical or psychological shit like my brother does". She was ready to start crocheting but before anything, she had to give Lily a few scratches on the head because she couldn't overlook the cuteness. "I do sometimes but my top genres are romance and thriller,"

"Ooh, I love thrillers... but like in the movies," they both chuckled.

—Now Playing: Ceilings by Beabadoobee✫

✬Spring, 2005✬

"Wow! Look at that butterfly!" Cleo shouted before her little legs immediately took off in its direction. 

"Cleo! Running after butterflies is what animals do because they don't know they can't catch it!" Cleo stopped in her tracks and angrily placed her hands on her waist, "And what makes you think that I can't catch it?"

"I just know that. Everybody knows that," Daphne asserted. Cleo ignored her and, with a frowny face, she turned around and went back to her butterfly-chasing attempt.

"You know what we can do? Collect flowers. Granny has a lot of pretty flowers at home. Flowers are very pretty and they don't fly away,"

"I know that flowers are very pretty but when I take them they die so soon," frowny face and whiny voice, "Not if you take care of them. Come let me show you. Granny taught me how," and immediately the frown disappeared as Cleo rushed over to Daphne who was crouched next a daisy.

"This is a daisy. Granny said that if you want to collect flowers, you should take them from the roots so you can plant them at home," Cleo awed in curiosity. "Nice but let's do it with a prettier flower,"

"All flowers are pretty!" Daphne shouted, offended by her friend's statement. Cleo frowned once more before she didn't mean to, "I said 'prettier'. I never said it was ugly," Daphne shrugged her shoulders before standing up, "Okay, then. Let's look for another flower".

And they went different ways, looking for pretty flowers in the field until Cleo stumbled upon a little creature that caught her curiosity. "Oh. Look at you," Daphne saw Cleo being so focused so she went closer to inspect, "Did you find a pretty flower?"

"No, I found this," and Daphne screamed before running the opposite way. Immediately the parents rushed out of their homes in shock. "What happened Daphne?"

"A bee! Cleo has a bee on her finger!" she exclaimed stretching upward so her dad could carry her. The dad did and calmed her down saying that it was just a little bee. On the other hand, Cleo was observing, admiring in fact, the little fly and was soon joined by Daphne's sister, Dyanne. "Yeah, it's just a bee. It's adorable—"

"No, it's not!" Daphne shouted at the two, startling her father who reminded her to calm down and took her inside.

⤎ previous page | ❃ | next page ⤏

[vwritesaus]

okay, my turn now hehe 😎✨ 16, 31, 82 and…..2 😂

~

it's been a HOT MINUTE since you sent me this, good grief. sorry babe, but here you go ✨thank you for sending them in hehe

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

imagine dragons. idc what people say about them, i highkey enjoy their music. i even got to go to their evolve tour concert in sydney some years ago and it was SO FUN!!! dan reynolds is amazing live, haters gonna hate, fight me i dare you 😤 /lh

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

lilies! it was my mum's birthday last friday (beware the ides of march) and she got this beautiful bouquet that has these enormous white lilies. they're extremely fragrant lol

82: What is your favourite word?

in english, discombobulated. it's such a fun one to say. in serbian, jebivetar. it literally translates to "wind fucker" but it's used more to describe someone who is like a rebel/hooligan. a mischievous type (at least according to my mother)

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

..... ain't it obvious? YOU AGNES!!!! YOU!!! i literally cannot wait for the day

let's get personal asks

[hero-adjacent]

In Welcome to the Hellmouth, Persia White played Aura, the girl who found a dead body in her locker. It's the first murder in the Buffyverse, he was killed by Darla on campus, and it set the tone for BtVS since school wasn't even cancelled for the day nor parents notified and Buffy (not from Sunnydale) is the only one not to think it's idle gossip.

In Room with a View, Cordelia was on the phone with Aura, gushing about her new apartment. So they stayed at least casual friends.

In Over the Rainbow, Persia played Lorne's friend Agnes "Aggie" Belfleur, she is working at a psychic hotline and knows demons exist. She helped find a dimensional hotspot so they could enter a portal to Pylea to rescue Cordelia (& Fred).

It doesn't necessarily mean she can't be Aura since Julia Lee reprised her role as Anne the same season without it mentioned she was Chanterelle/Lily and had ties to Buffy & BtVS, on the spinoff she runs a teen shelter and is friends with Gunn.

Aura = Agnes truther here!

In the s9 comics Willow briefly dated Aura. Writers said it was a coincidence she's black, named Aura, around their age, living in California, and became involved with a Scooby but come on.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Thank you for answering my time line question, so How would Estinien handle the realization that Agni has to fight Zeramus pregnant with the twins?

Agnes stared at the white soulstone in her hand and squeezed it. Putting you in my little bag just in case. I love summoning, but I can't help but feel I may need your strength and wisdom, Master A-Towa. I can switch easily if need be. Who knows how Zeromus will be when we face...no. Stay in the moment. Be as prepared as I can, but don't dwell. Think instead about...

"Agi, we're having twins. You can't be on the frontlines against Zeromus." Estinien mumbled, leaning in the doorway of their bedroom. "Allow me, Zero, Y'shtola, and Vrtra to handle things."

Uh huh. She turned to face him and shoved the soulstone in the bag.

"Tis not like before when you had Hydaelyn's protection of Esme--"

"Actually, love," Agnes giggled. "It is exactly how it was before. Nophica and Menphina both confirmed what Y'shtola saw---the protection from Hydaelyn is still there. How long it will last I don't know, but fuck it, I'll take advantage of it." That fucking piece of shit voidman asshole is going to eat not only my blood lilies but Bahamut...and I'm sure the real Bahamut would be appreciative of us trying to free his sister.

Sighing, Estinien walked to his wife and embraced her. "Promise me that the second you feel something is off, you run. Get as far away as you can."

"If it gets to that point, then I will. However, I'll not leave you down a person, love." Though if I can somehow get Cylva and/or Unukalhai to assist, or whomever the Azem stone calls to my side, then we should have enough, no? She heard him chuckle, his strong hands rubbing her back.

"'Course not. You can never stay out of the fray for too long, my angel." He stepped back and cupped her face in his hands. "You are more than capable of handling things, this I know well. I simply worry for you."

As I worry about you. That will never change between us. "We'll be okay. All of us." She said with a confident smile. "I defeated fucking despair. I can handle a twat who wants to die." She paused. "Again." Agnes burst into laughter as her husband rolled his eyes.

"Aye, aye. And I'll be by your side as always."

Golbez, prepare to get fucked up by the Warrior of...well, I'm quite peeved at him, so Warrior of Darkness it is.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (April 20)

St. Agnes of Montepulciano was born on 28 January 1268 into the noble Segni family in Gracciano, a frazione of Montepulciano, then part of the Papal States.

At the age of six, Agnes began trying to convince her parents to allow her to join a convent.

She was finally admitted to the Dominican convent at Montepulciano at age nine, despite it generally being against Church law to allow a child so young to join.

Agnes' reputation for holiness attracted other sisters, and she became an abbess at the age of 15.

She insisted on greater austerities in the abbey. She lived on bread and water for 15 years, slept on the ground, and used a stone for a pillow.

She became well-known for her holiness. Special signs accompanied her prayer.

She received several visions — holding the infant Jesus in her arms at one point and receiving Communion from an angel in another.

The nuns in her community saw her lifted two feet off the ground when she was praying.

When the convent ran out of food, she could feed the whole community with a handful of bread after she had blessed it.

Most interesting of all, though, was the appearance of manna about her body when she prayed.

She would sometimes be consumed in rapturous prayer, then a white, frosty-looking manna would appear on her cloak and in the place where she was kneeling.

In these instances, her sisters reported that she looked like she had been outside in a heavy snowstorm.

When it was clear that she would die, her community became distressed and she told them:

“If you loved me, you would be glad because I am about to enter the glory of my Spouse. Do not grieve over my departure—I shall not lose sight of you. You will find that I have not abandoned you.”

She died on 20 April 1317 at the age of 49. The Dominican friars attempted to obtain balsam (or myrrh) to embalm her body.

However, it was found to be producing a sweet odor on its own, and her limbs remained supple.

Miracles have been reported at her tomb. When her body was moved to a church years after her death, it was found incorrupt.

She was canonized by Pope Benedict XIII in 1726.

She is depicted as a Dominican nun with a cross or crucifix, lilies, and a lamb.

[karolsai]

Drake - Take Care ft. Rihanna

Flo Rida - Good Feeling

Katy Perry - Wide Awake

Kelly Clarkson - Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)

Ellie Goulding - Lights

Kings of Leon - Use Somebody

OneRepublic - Counting Stars

OneRepublic - All The Right Moves

The Killers - Mr. Brightside

Keane - Somewhere Only We Know

David Guetta - She Wolf (Falling to Pieces) ft. Sia

David Guetta - Titanium ft. Sia

Swedish House Mafia ft. John Martin - Don't You Worry Child

Avicii - Levels

Avicii - Wake Me Up

Calvin Harris - Feel So Close

Calvin Harris - I Need Your Love

Jay Sean - Down ft. Lil Wayne

Flo Rida - Club Can't Handle Me ft. David Guetta

Nelly - Just A Dream

Owl City - Fireflies

The Script - Breakeven

Iyaz - Replay

Usher - DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love

Alicia Keys - Empire State Of Mind Solo

B.o.B - Nothin' On You ft. Bruno Mars

B.o.B - Airplanes ft. Hayley Williams

Taio Cruz - Break Your Heart

Eminem - Love The Way You Lie ft. Rihanna

Eminem - Like Toy Soldiers

Rihanna - We Found Love ft. Calvin Harris

Rihanna - Man Down

Beyoncé - Best Thing I Never Had

Beyoncé - Crazy In Love ft. JAY Z

Beyoncé - Sweet Dreams

Adele - Rolling in the Deep

Adele - Set Fire To The Rain (Live at The Royal Albert Hall)

Usher - OMG ft. will.i.am

Nelly Furtado - Say It Right

Lady Antebellum - Need You Now

Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love

Alicia Keys - No One

Alicia Keys - Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart

Keane - Everybody's Changing (Alternate Version)

The Killers - Read My Mind

Radiohead - No Surprises

Green Day - 21 Guns

Razorlight - Wire To Wire

White Lies - Farewell To The Fairground

The XX - Intro (Long Version)

Chase & Status - End Credits

Robyn with Kleerup - With Every Heartbeat

Parra for Cuva ft. Anna Naklab - Wicked Games

Ne-Yo - So Sick

Amelia Lily - You Bring Me Joy

Daniel Merriweather - Red

Warrior - Listen to the Beethoven

Moby - Go

Massive Attack - Unfinished Sympathy

Massive Attack - Teardrop

Lily Allen - Somewhere Only We Know

Marlon Roudette - New Age

Mr. Probz - Waves

K-Maro - Femme Like You

Anna K. - Vecirek za koncem

John Newman - Love Me Again

Mariah Carey - I'll Be There

Ed Sheeran - I See Fire

Capital Cities - Safe And Sound

Tinchy Stryder - Number 1 ft. N-Dubz

Calvin Harris - Summer

Lil Wayne - Mirror ft. Bruno Mars

P!nk - Dear Mr. President

Sharon Van Etten - Our Love

Neil Cowley Trio - Sparkling

Coldplay - Magic

Bat For Lashes - Daniel

Agnes Obel - Dorian

Radio Citizen - El Cielo ft. Bajka

Marlon Roudette - When The Beat Drops Out

Within Temptation - Edge of the World

Blue Foundation - Bonfires

Myslovitz - Sound Of Solitude

The Strokes - Someday

Band of Horses - The Funeral

Beirut - Santa Fe

Bonobo - Kiara

The Naked And Famous - Young Blood

COCO MBASSI - Iwiye

Ballaké Sissoko - Maimouna

Ibeyi - River

Matt Monro - Yesterday

Ambulance LTD - Sugar Pill

Alt-J - Something Good

PUKAEA - 3D meditation

Alphabeat - Fascination

Aygo - Firestone (Gliwil Remix)

Years & Years - King

Calvin Harris - Pray to God

Anna Naklab feat. Alle Farben & YouNotUs - Supergirl

Tove Lo - Habits (Stay High)

Felix Jaehn - Ain't Nobody (Loves Me Better)

Robin Schulz - Headlights [feat. Ilsey]

Birdy - People Help The People

Regina Spektor - Laughing With

[rantsintechnicolor]

the haunted mummy of perdeaux manor, episode 5

As Rebecca wandered the tall hedges of the labyrinth, the warming, humid air and heat from the sun helped to loosen the tightness in her chest. She took deep breaths of the air while she solved each of the four sections, cursed her brother, counseled herself to ignore him, and berated herself for displaying weakness. As satisfying as it was to think of the barbs she could fling back at him, she knew nothing good would have come of such a verbal spat. It was as Mrs. Chessick and Agnes had said, anyone looking on would have thought her brother’s behaviour reflected badly on him, not on her. Well, almost anyone as she pictured George’s face.

She lingered at the different features at each puzzle’s center. A fountain with fish. A statue her uncle had brought back from Greece that was missing her head and arms. Another statue of a naked youth completely intact from Venice, her brother’s favorite. Her nerves had nearly calmed and even her unshakeable melancholy felt lighter by the time she solved the last section with an empty plinth. She wondered if her father would have found the fourth and final statue for this section on his recent travels. While it was waiting to be filled, she often picked flowers and laid them in the prepared spot. She removed the dried tansy and cornflower from her last visit, replacing them with fresh pennyroyal and chicory. The old flowers she took with her. 

The uncharacteristically warm October day meant she had wandered away from the house without a wrap. It wasn’t until she exited the labyrinth, she remembered a storm was on the way, and that its shadows threatened to steal her warmth. She contemplated the immense wall of dark clouds approaching over the ocean. The very tops were bright white and silver, but the sun was powerless to pierce further into the mass of dark gray and blue. The storm seemed foreboding and full of portent. It loomed higher than many towers and made her feel small, but she also felt defiant, still buoyed by the warmth and bathed in brightness. She wondered if this physical storm paralleled a storm in her life. Was it coming with her father? Had it already arrived with her brother and George? Or had she left it behind at school when she parted from Eva? She pictured Eva mimicking one of their teachers, “What a silly, romantic notion. It is just a storm, nothing more. Portents are for charlatans and gothic novels.” She mused it was probably none of those things, and it could be all of them. 

She wasn’t ready to return to the house. Though calmed she still felt fragile and did not want to meet John again. She felt rebellion stir in her belly with her desire to strike him back, but she knew fighting with her brother and defying social convention was a battle she could easily lose. Yet for a few moments, she could imagine herself a small warrior against this powerful storm. Her emotions felt just as large and powerful, burning in her chest. She leaned into the wind and strode defiantly toward the clouds to the cliffs, daring the tempest to try and take her. 

The wind had begun to churn white caps on the flinty blue surface of the ocean and sent translucent clouds scudding over her head. Near the edge, the salt spray and wind cooled her swollen face and raw eyes, filling her nose with the sharp scent of the ocean. The waves surged higher on cliffs.

She wondered if she could stand spending more than a week with her brother at home. If marriage was to be her method of escape, it could not happen soon. It would be faster to write to her maternal Aunt Lily in London and beg to visit at least a month until John went back to Oxford. She had suggested this plan to Eva before they parted so they would be in the same city. But Eva shook her head. “In London, it will be difficult to be what we are-- what we were. We should both be thinking of how we can marry well. We should put this behind us.” 

With tears in her eyes, she had asked, “But won’t we always be friends?” 

Eva was also crying. “I hope we will.” Rebecca had believed her, but Eva had yet to reply to her letters. She agonized about the reasons for this silence. Was Eva so busy at home? Was she traveling? Was she sick? Did she lie about still wanting to be friends to spare Rebecca’s feelings? Did she change her mind? All these thoughts tightened in her chest, and she wavered between sadness and anger. 

Rebecca felt fresh tears behind her eyes when she remembered their goodbye. Where she thought a future together was possible, perhaps Eva could not imagine it. Maybe she wanted it, but was convinced it wasn’t possible. She looked down at the flowers in her hand, took a few more steps to the edge of the cliff, meaning to throw them. She began to raise her arm and hesitated, realizing the wind would throw the flowers back in her face.

[academiagaymess]

It's very european !

A/ N: Hey! So this is my first time writing x reader, mostly to escape uni work like the adult I am😅 so English isn't my first language and I have no idea what I'm doing. But it's May 1rst and I just want to share a french tradition I love with you. So enjoy my trash internet!

TW : One swearing word at the end. Fluff.

Summary: It's the first day of May and Agnès neighbor wants to share whit her a tradition from her country of origin. 70's setting.

______________________________________________________________

Agatha was planning her new trick to upset Vision and mess whit Wanda's feelings when she heard a knock at the door. She sighs, now wasn't the right time but she can't blow her cover so she sifts into her civilian clothes and goes open the door.

It was y/n her front door neighbor, even if she's still slightly upset she can't stay mad at this cutie long.

" Hiya doll! What can I do for you ?"

" He ... Hello Agnes " she answers whit that cute little french accent of her. Then she just abruptly reach a little spring of delicate white flowers to the brunette.

The witch rise her eyebrow and slowly take the floral gift.

" I just want to give a brins de muguet " she poses " How do you say in English? Ah! Lily of the valley! " the young lady seems proud despite her struggling whit words.

" Thank you ... " say's an obviously confused Agatha.

" Oh! It's a French tradition ... Each 1rst of May people of France offers Lily of the valley to their close ones, it's a symbol of luck for the incoming warm days " y/n smile shyly and a deep blush covered her face.

" Close ones ... " repeat Agatha in a whisper and then louder " Well thank you, hun! I'm certainly the luckiest gal in town since you offered me gifts " she winked causing the French to become a flustered mess.

Y/n clears her throat " Be careful Señor Scratchy don't mib it, it's toxic for rabbit, and give him a pet "

Agatha laughs " How thoughtful, I'm sure he appreciated! But why not petting him yourself? " she opens the door more and invites you to enter.

You know what? Screw her WandaVision plan she had a date whit charming french women.

______________________________________________________________

please be nice 😳

[fictionadventurer]

More Than All the Gems On Earth: A Retelling of Diamonds and Toads

My mother beats me black and blue while I cast diamonds at her feet. The gems fall from my lips with every apology and plea for mercy, and they scatter across the rough-hewn floor like bits of broken glass. My mother would crush them if she could, and she hates them all the more because she cannot destroy them. The vipers from my sister’s lips slither among the diamonds, cold-blooded creatures born of poison words.

“You did this!” Mother screams, twisting my arm in her iron grip. “You spiteful little wretch! You’ll pay for this!”

It has always been this way--my sister makes the mistakes and I am punished for them. Olive’s task had not been difficult. She had only to walk to the well and give a drink to the old woman who asked. A mere moment of kindness. Yet Olive failed to give even that, and received toads and vipers as her reward.

"I’m sorry!” I cry, and I am. It’s a frightening punishment, even for someone as cruel as my sister. I pity her more than I ever have.

Olive has never felt pity. She slaps my face with the back of her hand. “Witch!” she spits. The word turns into leopard snake as long as my arm; it falls to the floor and twines itself around my leg. “You said she was a beggar, not a princess!”

I try to avoid the toads created by Olive's words as I struggle to escape from Mother. She is pulling me toward the cellar, the place of my most feared punishments. Why is it my fault that the fairy chose another shape? Should it not have been easier for Olive to show kindness to a grand lady?

“No, please!” I scream. A desperate plea for mercy. For understanding. For love.

I had thought that my jewels would make Mother love me, but not even my diamonds were good enough for her. They had to come from Olive. Her hatred of me has destroyed them both, and as always, I am the one to blame.

The thought hardens in my heart like the sapphire that forms in my mouth. They will never love me. They despise the very diamonds I give them simply because they fall from my lips. There is nothing for me here but hatred and misery.

As she strides toward the cellar, Mother steps on a bulbous toad. Her shriek of horror splits my ears, but her grip on my arm loosens. I pull away and sprint out the open cottage door. I flee into the forest with nothing but the clothes on my back and the gems that fall from my lips.

#

Standing by the stream, my words turn into pearls. Milky white, blushing pink, and one as large as my thumbnail that’s as warm and black as a soft summer night. I let them fall into the soft mud of the bank, smiling as I watch the pile grow. Though gems are now common as sand to me, I haven’t tired of their beauty. I speak poems to the sunrise just so I can watch them fall.

I pick out the purest ones from the pile, leaving behind the very small and very large, the ones that are more difficult to use as payment. I brush the rest into the stream, hoping the current will carry them on adventures. Perhaps they’ll be a windfall to a widow in need. A surprise catch for a fisherman. The prize a prince needs to win the heart of his true love.

I put the rest into my pocket, preparing for another day of silence. Which village shall I travel to today? My legend has spread to most of the countryside. Most believe me an eccentric princess. Others accuse me of thievery. I stay where people will accept me and not question my muteness or my money too closely. I’ve paid for nights at an inn with an emerald that could buy a lord’s palace. I buy dresses with pure pink rubies, groceries with chips of diamonds. Most people can’t fathom the value of the gems I give them, but people are starting to suspect, and I’ve become more wary of strangers.

Perhaps it’s time to settle down. Speak myself a fortune that will buy me an estate and servants. Walls to hide behind and people to protect me. For a price, of course.

It’s a cold, uncomforting thought. Would I really be safe among people whose loyalty was bought by my jewels?

The sky darkens with my mood as I travel along the forest path. Is this the best I can hope for? A wandering, lonely life with only as much security as money can buy?

My tears fall with the first raindrops. The cold rain drips down the neck of my gown. Chills run up my spine. I remember the cottage of my childhood. The snug roof. The warm kitchen fire. So long as I avoided Mother’s wrath, it wasn’t a bad life. At least I had a place. A purpose. Sometimes I find myself longing for a hearth to clean or a kettle to scrub.

When thunder rumbles, I remember the cellar. The slam of the door blocking out all light. Long, cold nights with bruises forming on my arms and legs. Mother’s red face as she slapped me that last day. Olive’s snakes winding along the floor.

The memories are too much, and I curl up beneath a tree to weep. I have no past that isn’t tainted by pain. No future that isn’t fraught with fear. I have only myself, and she’s a pitiful comfort in this rain-filled forest. The fairy called me beautiful and good. What use is either to a girl forever alone?

A voice from above, warm and deep, cuts through the cold rain. “Are you hurt?” 

I look up to see a young man on a horse. His clothes are finer than my ruby-bought dress, though he’s rain-soaked and roughened with forest dirt. He carries a gun, and three red and white spaniels stand beside his horse, but he’s no huntsman. I cannot mistake the ring on his hand.

Curled up as I am, I require only the slightest shift to fall prostrate. “Your highness,” I say. Two amethysts fall, hidden beneath my down-turned face.

I hear him jump from his horse. His footsteps are soft in the damp earth and stop mere inches from my ear. “Are you hurt?” he asks again, voice full of concern.

I shake my head in denial.

“Then there’s no sense laying in the mud,” he says. He offers a hand and helps me to my feet. He examines my mud-stained silk dress, my rain-soaked hair, the pack over my shoulder. He meets my eyes and says softly, “You’ve been crying.”

I nod and wipe away a tear, or perhaps a raindrop.

“Why?”

I cannot refuse a question from my prince. After months of silence, it almost feels good to have the choice taken from me. I give him the simplest explanation I can. “My mother has driven me from my home.”

Two roses, a lily, three sapphires, and an emerald the size of a blackberry fall into the mud. The prince watches them fall in astonishment. He picks up the lily, running a reverent finger along a pure white petal. He looks at me. His eyes are like a child’s, wide and innocent and bluer than the sapphires at my feet.

“Why?” he asks again, the question barely more than a whisper.

I don’t know if he’s asking why the flowers fell or why my mother cast me out. Since both questions have the same answer, I tell him my story, beginning with the old woman at the well and ending with my flight from the snake-infested house. Gems and flowers pile at my feet, one for every word I speak--diamonds and daisies, pearls and pansies, rubies and roses. When I finish the story, he takes in the bounty through eyes as wide as dinner plates.

The prince closes his eyes and shakes his head like a man snapping free from the effects of a spell. Then he gives me a sympathetic gaze. “You’ve been alone ever since?”

The sorrow in his voice steals my breath. I haven’t heard such sympathy since my father died. My mother certainly had no concern for my emotions.

Struck speechless, I can only nod.

“Here in the woods?”

I shake my head. “I’ve stayed in inns. Traveled town to town.”

Four more flowers. Four more gems. He watches them in wonder.

“With a fortune falling from your lips?”

“I never speak around people.” I catch five pearls and put them with the bounty in my pocket.

He notices the action and his eyebrows rise. “Yet you carry gems with you. It’s a wonder you haven’t been robbed.”

I can only nod in agreement. Nobles with far less wealth than I have been waylaid on these roads. Now that my story is spreading, I’m not sure how long I can safely travel alone.

He holds out a hand. “Come home with me,” he urges.

I step beneath the sheltering trees, shaking my head. “I don’t know you, sir.” Four carnations and one perfect diamond disappear into the undergrowth.

He sweeps into a courtly bow. “His Royal Highness, Prince Simon Everill.”

Propriety demands I curtsy in return, but I do not speak.

Softly, the prince says, “It’s not in my nature to abandon young women in the woods to fend for themselves. The castle often takes in travelers. You can stay for as long as you like.”

I’m not sure if it’s me he’s inviting or the pile of gems at my feet. But what other option do I have? Miles of walking in the rain, to a town I’m not certain will accept pearls as payment? Days upon days of looking over my shoulder and waiting for highwaymen to find me? This prince, stranger though he is, may be my best chance for safety.

I dip a deeper curtsy. “Thank you, sir.” I catch the three seed-sized diamonds that fall and place them into his palm.

He brushes them away. “No payment,” he says. “Not for hospitality.”

But for other things, perhaps? What plans does he have for my future?

He helps me onto his horse, then mounts behind me. What is your name, my lady?” He asks.

“Agnes,” I say. The word drops to the ground as a flawless ruby.

#

Simon and I sit on the hillside, the castle wall a comforting guardian behind us. We laugh as a spaniel chases away a flock of sparrows. Another spaniel, less zealous in our protection, sits with her curly-eared head in my lap. I run my fingers through her fur and feel a warm thrill in my chest. I have food, clothes, comfort, companionship. I have never been so rich, and it has little to do with the store of gems beneath my mattress. 

Simon has kept my secret during these weeks. At least he says he has. I’ve gotten strange stares from the servants lately, like they don’t know what to make of me, and during a few sleepless nights I’ve wondered if the story I told Simon has been making the rounds. It’s more likely that they wonder about my extended stay, but I can't quite silence the doubts. 

Simon tells me a story of his last visit to the River Kingdom, and I pepper him with questions. When we are alone, I don’t guard my tongue. My words blow away as buttercups on the breeze, and we let pearls scatter on the hillside like seeds for the sparrows. Even if someone were watching from a distance, I doubt they could make out the miracle among the waving grasses. 

When Simon’s story is done, I am breathless with laughter. I’ve never met anyone as gifted with words as he is--high praise from the girl whose voice creates jewels.

Simon smiles at me as I wipe tears of mirth from my eyes. “Agnes,” he says, “You are the most charming girl I’ve ever met.”

“Because I laugh at your stories?” I ask, my tone teasing. Daisies dance away from us.

He takes my hands between his. “Because you’re beautiful, and kind, and gentle and generous and you have more patience than I could show in ten lifetimes.”

The praise surprises me. I’ve long known I’m pretty--I do have a mirror--but I’ve never received compliments on my personality. Mother and Olive made it clear that I was a weak, stupid, spineless thing, and given how long it took me to escape their clutches, I’ve never had reason to disagree.

I feel a blush burning on my cheeks. “You don’t need to flatter me.” The words fall as dull, uncut shards of brown topaz.

“Agnes.” His eyes burn like sapphires in the sun, his voice desperate as a man reaching for a lifeline at sea. “I hadn’t known you three hours before I knew there was no woman in the world who could compare to you. Please, marry me.”

He pulls a golden ring out of his pocket. Within it sits the perfectly-cut ruby that fell when I first told him my name.

I pull away, heart racing. I wonder if it’s possible for my eyeballs to fall out of their sockets from behind my too-open lids. “Simon,” I gasp. His name is a diamond that blinds me with its brilliance. “I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

The whole universe has been built upon such things being impossible. I can’t explain reality in a few simple words. I settle for saying, “I can’t marry a prince. I have no title. No family.”

“What does that matter? My father would never forbid it. The gift you have is worth more than any dowry.”

My heart hardens like the sapphire that I spit at his feet. My weeks of happiness here fade away like the childish dream they were. This has been his plan from the beginning. The invitation, the conversations, even his silly little story as we played with the spaniels. All given in hope that I would let my guard down and let him claim every word I speak for the rest of my life.

The ruby in his hands now gleams like a drop of blood from my beating heart. He had gone back to retrieve it, without a word to me. Has he hoarded all the other gems I’ve dropped during our conversations? Have I ever seen the real Simon? Or has this all been an act to get me to the altar? I think of Mother in a million moments of my childhood. After her worst outbursts of temper, she would sigh and beg forgiveness, saying such sweet things that I rushed to her open arms, desperate for long-withheld affection. The moment I came within her reach, she would hit me so hard that my ears rang. I am suddenly certain that Simon’s real face will emerge the moment we marry. I will be his precious trained pet, speaking only to fill his coffers.

I would rather live in Mother’s house again. And I would rather die than do either.

I leap to my feet, gathering my skirts.

“Agnes!” Simon leaps up, alarmed.

I back away from his outstretched hand, tears flying. “No!” I gasp. The word is a dead daffodil. “No, never!”  The last word is an opal, and I fling it at his chest. Then I clamp my lips shut. I will give him no more of my treasures.

I race down the open hillside. Though Simon is taller, he cannot catch me. Years of living in terror have given me speed. The spaniels race after me, barking in alarm, but I soon outpace even them.

I disappear into the forest, trailing silent, worthless tears.

#

It’s an apple blossom morning. My orchard is full of the fragrant blooms, branches weighed down with millions of pale pink and cream flowers. Matching blossoms fall from my lips as I speak my morning prayers. The flowers land lightly on the rain-dampened earth, a carpet of silk for the would-be queen.

I haven’t seen Simon since last summer, and I’m glad of it. I’m proud of the life I’ve built outside of his palace prison. I spent the first weeks in terror, certain he would send soldiers to scour the country and bring me back to the palace in chains. When my first whispers of courage appeared, I traveled on foot to a northern city, one large enough to hold several jewelers. I sold off a month’s worth of words for a small fortune. I bought a modest house on the outskirts where the city kissed the open countryside. I hired servants from agencies, then replaced them until I found people I believed I could trust. My housekeeper has a moral spine of steel. I speak freely in her presence, and she does nothing more than lift a disapproving eyebrow toward the gems that cover her clean floor. She believes my habit to be extravagance bordering on indecency. My butler is a sweet old man, half-blind and half-deaf. I don’t believe he notices my flowers or gems. I sometimes slip him one as a present, spinning some tale of a grandmother’s jewels that I’m giving away.

The garden I care for myself. I’ve planted some of my word-flowers as cuttings, and I hope they will grow. I think the roses have the best chance of taking root. I spend hours out here whenever the weather’s warm, letting the silence and sunshine and blessed hard labor wash every thought and emotion from me. It is only on mornings like this that I let myself feel anything at all.

Something rustles the tree behind me. In the corner of my eye, I see a million apple blossoms rain down. I turn, expecting to see a bird or a particularly heavy squirrel.

It’s Simon. He stands beneath my apple tree in all his palace finery. He is still pale from the winter, but his eyes are bright as ever. He bends at the waist, an apologetic bow. “Your housekeeper let me in.”

Of course she did. Greta can’t refuse entry to a prince. I’m reminded again of how powerless I am before him.

I stand in silence, waiting for the renewal of last summer’s offer. I steel myself in advance against his declarations of love, his flimsy praises of my person, the lies upon lies upon lies he will spin to snare my heart in his web. I scan for movement along the garden walls. Has he brought servants? Soldiers? If he has, there’s nothing I can do, but I won’t give him victory by showing him how frightened I am.

He doesn’t speak. He barely moves. He could be a new statue I bought for the garden. Finally, he asks, “Are you well?”

I nod.

“It’s a lovely house,” he says. “These trees are exquisite.”

Another nod.

Simon’s eyes stay on the blossoms. “The neighbors say you never have visitors.”

Of course I don’t. My gems can buy a house, but they make a social life impossible. How could I attend card parties and balls with diamonds falling with my every word? A mute heiress is a curiosity, but never a friend.

Simon runs a hand along a branch. A dozen petals fall. “Are you lonely?” he asks.

I am, but I hate him for asking. It makes me sound pitiful. I want to be alone. Loneliness is safe.

A falling tear betrays me. The eyes that can spot a partridge across a field watch it fall to the petal-strewn ground. “I thought so,” Simon murmurs. “That’s why I brought this.”

He reaches behind a tree and slides out a basket. Something inside rustles and whines. I step toward it, too curious for caution.

Simon lifts up a squirming puppy. Russet patches blaze on its white fur. I gasp and run my fingers through the silky curls of its ears. It’s so young and warm and alive. I gather it into my arms and let it lick the salt water from my face.

Puppies don’t care about dowries. Diamonds are nothing more than pretty stones for them to chase. They care about food and fresh air and the sheer joy of being alive. I could have no better companion.  

I bury my face in the puppy’s fur. “Thank you,” I breathe, crowning the puppy with apple blossoms.

Simon’s grin makes me think of a summer sky. “She’s fine hunting stock, and I think she’ll make an excellent guard dog someday.”

I don’t care about the future. She’s mine now, and I cry from the sheer joy of having a friend.

Two friends, a tiny voice in my mind insists. Even if this is only a ploy to capture my heart, it’s a very kind stratagem. “Thank you,” I say again.

Simon nods and gathers up his basket. “You can write me if you wish. Tell me how she’s doing.”

My heart shies away from the idea, from another strand that could tie me closer to the crown. But I know what Simon’s dogs mean to him. Refusal would be pointless cruelty. “I will,” I say.

The words fall as a perfect pink pearl. The puppy treats it as a toy.

#

Leaves fall in clumps of color, crimson and orange and gold. Lady wrestles with them while I read my letter; my dog knows better than to disturb me while I read on this bench. It overlooks the orchard and seems the only fitting place to read letters from Simon.

We’ve exchanged more than twenty in the past six months, starting with mere updates about Lady’s health, and slowly expanding to include tales of our days, stories of our childhoods, discussions of philosophy and our feelings about the world. It’s a relief to use as many words as I want without worrying about the flowers and jewels that fall, and I filled five whole pages, front and back, with crossed writing in my last letter. Simon’s reply is nearly as long and I devour every neatly scrawled word, delighting in the sentences that seem to carry the sound of his voice.

His stories are as engaging in writing as they are in person, and before I realize it, I’ve reached the last page. These words have not been crossed; only one set of neat sentences covers the half-sheet.

Darling Agnes, he writes. The endearment shocks me like a thorn among roses. My heart is more yours than it has ever been. I wish with everything I am that those diamonds would dissolve to dust, if it would help you believe that I love you despite your jewels. I repeat my offer from two summers past, and I hope you know me well enough to rightly judge my sincerity. I can only pray you will pity a foolish prince who has done nothing to deserve a wife so far superior to himself.

The pages of the letter fall like flakes of snow, and I tremble like the leaves that cling so precariously to the apple trees. The last months dissolve like a dream and I’m back on that hill outside the palace, back in the cellar with my blossoming bruises. Love is real, I know, but it is never given to me. Simon cannot be offering it, not truly. These months of friendship have been glorious, but a few heartfelt letters are not the same as agreeing to be a man’s wife, giving him my heart to treasure or cast off at will. He will cast it off, I know it. In a day or a week or ten years, it will be thrown into my face as a weapon, my heart aching all the more because I gave it so freely to someone who despised me.

I race into my writing room, pull out a paper, and dip a quill in the ink. My hand shakes violently, but it doesn’t matter. The page only needs one word.

No.

#

Snow covers the garden like diamond dust. The jewels I speak disappear into the drifts behind the house. I cast them out for Lady to chase, and my words of praise provide gems for the next game.

When Lady tires, we walk to the front garden. Two of my yellow roses took root last summer and have become tiny spindles of bushes. I brush the snow from their branches to keep them from being crushed. Dogs and roses--the only things I can safely love.

“Such kindness,” says a voice from outside the gate. I look up to see a gray-haired crone in a ragged cloak. She smiles with crooked teeth. “Do you have any for an old woman?”

I hurry to the gate, reaching under my cloak and pulling coins from my purse. I regularly exchange my jewels for coins now, and I always keep a supply for the poor. I place five of the largest in the beggar’s hands, enough for a month of meals and a comfortable room.

The woman gives it a satisfied smile. “Bless you.” She tucks the coins into her glove. “You’re seen as something of a ministering angel among our kind, lady,” she says. “Beautiful and kind and as mysterious as the holy mountain.”

I laugh. I’ve gotten better at holding back my jewels when I need to, so I feel safe saying, “I’ve been very blessed.”

"Then why are you so sad?” the woman asks.

Her gray eyes pierce me, making it seem pointless to hide my secrets. I give her the least dangerous part of the truth. “I have no family.”

“Girls with that problem usually try make one of their own. A lady like you must have a hundred beaus to pick from.” 

I pretend to cough into my hand, and I slide eight tourmalines into my purse. “Only one,” I say.

“And what a one,” the woman says, leaning over a fence as if to share a secret. “The prince himself pining away for you in that great palace.”

I gasp and forget to stop the daisies from falling. “How did you...?”

“Half the town knows about the royal seals on those letters,” the woman says, “and knows the postman hasn’t seen one for four months, about the same time that the prince stopped attending social functions.”

My blush burns so hot that the beggar could warm her hands by it.

The woman places a comforting hand over my trembling one on the rail of the fence. “You’re being very unkind to that poor boy. Do you think you’re the only one in the world with a good heart?”

It’s like she sees into my soul, and I suddenly remember a gap-toothed woman by a faraway well who knew my history just by looking at me. This woman is shorter and darker-skinned, but those gray eyes hold similar secrets.

So I speak to her like I’ve spoken to no one else--pitiful, pathetic words. I sound like a frightened child as I reply, “It’s the only heart I can be sure is good.”

“Nonsense. Ain’t you talked to him? Seen him? What has he said, promised, done? Has he ever been cruel? Angry? Wicked?”

No, no, and no. He gave me shelter, friendship, love. He let me run away from him. He brought me Lady. If he wanted my jewels he could have sent a hundred men to drag me back to his palace in chains, but aside from the ruby for my ring, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him touch one of my precious words. The only monstrous things he’s done have been inventions of my own terrified imagination.

But my imagination won’t give up so easily. “He could be one day.”

“So could you,” the woman counters.

“I couldn’t throw him in the dungeon.”

The woman closes her eyes and sighs. “Love is a risk. Trust is a great gift. Will you hoard it all for yourself or find the courage to give it away?”

I let out my breath in one long, weary sigh. “I don’t know if I can,” I say. The first words are daisies and chips of diamonds. The last one falls as a perfect ruby in my gloved hand.

The woman presses both her hands around the hand with the ruby. When she pulls them away, the jewel is set in a ring of pure gold.

“Try,” she says.

#

Simon steps into my writing room, looking disheveled and a little bewildered. He brushes snowflakes out of his hair and steps toward my desk. He holds up a hastily scrawled letter. “You called?”

I step toward him and place the ruby ring in his outstretched hand. “I would like,” I say, the words creating a bouquet of roses in my arms, “to make a proposal.”

#

Simon and I kneel before the priest. The pearls from a thousand grateful prayers are draped in long chains across our shoulders and arms. Simon is radiant, a million silent words speaking of his love. He makes his vows with unhesitating enthusiasm, then the priest places the same questions to me, asking me to take Simon as my husband, whatever may come, to the very end of our days.

“I do,” I say.

The sapphires that fall from beneath my veil gleam like tears of joy.

[pop-pop-pop-popculture]

2022 MET Gala Red Carpet Review

“In America: An Anthology of Fashion > Gilded Glamour” is the theme.

Camila Mendes: 👍🏽 - I love her makeup, hair, and dress!

Priscilla Presley (a.k.a. Elvis Presley’s WIFE!): No comment.

Maggie Rogers: 👎🏽 (Whoever did her hair and styled her must hate her...)

Agnes Chu: 👎🏽 - The dress and lipstick color are pretty...

Paapa Essiedu: 👍🏽 - I don’t see what his outfit has to do with ‘Gilded Glamour’, but I’m not mad. I like the necklace, color of the garments, and the pants. 

Ariana DeBose: 👍🏽

Regé-Jean Page: 👎🏽 - Extremely handsome, though! 

Lori Harvey: Elegant, but not really in-theme.

LaQuan Smith: 👍🏽 - I love the silver blazer! You are looking super dapper, sir. 

Questlove: No comment.

Anitta: 👍🏽

Patrick Schwarzenegger: 👍🏽 - I love the color palette.

Janelle Monáe: 👍🏽 - I really like the headpiece and the colors on it. The gown itself is pretty as well as the fabric, and it fits her so well.

Kaia Gerber: 👍🏽 - FUCKING NAILED IT! Her hair, makeup, and dress are so pretty!

Isabelle Boemeke: 👍🏽 - Her outfit, makeup, and hair are intriguing, that’s for sure. I like it!

Austin Butler: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Andrew Saffir and Daniel Benedict: No comment.

Kelvin Harrison Jr.: Not a thumbs up or down, but I do like the pants and shoes...

Vanessa Nadal and Lin-Manuel Miranda: I love the purple, green, and yellow together; however, her outfit does not follow the theme. Lin just looks handsome as ever! These two win best couple of the night.

Tommy Dorfman: 👍🏽 - I love the shade of green and the dress itself.

Harris Dickinson: Eh...

Sabrina Carpenter: Eh...

Ben Platt: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Kacey Musgraves: 👍🏽 

Lisa Airan: Eh...

Kate Moss: Nice dress...

Samuelle Leibovitz and Annie Leibovitz: Sam’s gown is pretty, but that’s about it. As for Annie, ... what?

Tom Ford: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Tommy Hilfiger: 👎🏽 - Too basic. I do love the velvet blue, though.

Dee Hilfiger: 👎🏽 - Too basic. Gorgeous shade of gold, though!

Hugh Jackman: 👎🏽 - Too basic, my Broadway king, but I still love you.

Deborra-Lee Furness: 👎🏽 - The gown is pretty, though.

Janicza Bravo: 👍🏽 - I love her eyeshadow and shoes the most, but the outfit is still nice. 

Michaela Jaé Rodriguez: 👍🏽

Chloe Bailey: 👍🏽 - The creation of the dress is neat, and I love the piece around her neck.

Iris van Herpen: 👎🏽 - Too basic. (You go all out for your client(s), but not yourself?)

Franklin Leonard: Not a thumbs up or down, but 10 points to his stylist for being creative.

Autumn de Wilde: 👍🏽

Caroline Wozniacki: 👍🏽 - I love the different shades of blue and her hairstyle.

Adrienne Adams: Pretty dress and jewelry, but it’s still an ‘eh’ for me.

Amirah Kassem: 👍🏽 - She honestly looks like a goddess, and that shade of blue looks great on her.

Melissa King: I... I don’t know what to think...

Steven Kolb: 👎🏽 - Too basic, but I like the details on the jacket.

Blake Lively: 👍🏽 - Gorgeous gown(s) and overall look!

Ryan Reynolds: 👎🏽 - Too basic, but I like the fabric. 

Ciara: 👍🏽

Anna Wintour: 👍🏽 - Lol... she would wear a tiara.

Meredith Winston: Not a thumbs up or down, but I like the fabric and creation of the dress.

Wendy Murdoch: 👍🏽

Fabiola Beracasa Beckman: Not a thumbs up or down, but the dress creation is stunning.

David Harbour and Lily Allen: Not a thumbs up or down, but I love the top hat and cane.

Andy Blankenbuehler: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

J Balvin: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Naomi Campbell: I don’t know what to think...

Jeremy Strong: Eh...

Francesco Carrozzini: 👎🏽 - Too basic, but damn, he is fine. Also, kudos to his stylist for choosing a navy blue suit. Absolutely dapper, sir!   

Bee Carrozzini: 👎🏽 - Gorgeous from head-to-toe and the fabric is pretty, but her look doesn’t intrigue me.

Gina Sanders: 👍🏽

Nicola Coughlan: 👍🏽 

Maisie Williams: 👍🏽 - She just pulls goth off so well. 

Irina Shayk: Girl, what?

Stormzy: The all-white is nice...

Miranda Kerr: Gorgeous, but she did not stay true to the theme.

Denée Benton: 👎🏽 - I love the jewelry and her makeup, though.

Elizabeth Cordry Shaffer: Not a thumbs up or down, but I love the black bows printed on the gown. 

Camille Cotton: 👎🏽 - Lovely fabric, boring creation.

Willow Lindley: 👍🏽 - I love the colors and how abstract the print is. Simple yet elegant and eye-catching.

Mark Guiducci: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Future: No comment.

Lenny Kravitz: No comment.

Eaddy Kiernan: 👎🏽 - Too basic, but the magenta and necklace are pretty.

Emma Chamberlain: 👍🏽 - I’m not a fan of her and still HIGHLY disagree with Anna’s moronic decision to invite influencers to prestigious events such as this one, but I like her overall look.

La La Anthony: 👍🏽 - I love the head-to-toe burgundy! Also, that hat (or headpiece?) is amazing. Kudos to her stylist!

Vanessa Hudgens: 👍🏽

Frederick Robertsson: 👍🏽👍🏽

Giveon: Not a thumbs up or thumbs down.

Hamish Bowles: Not a thumbs up or down, but I appreciate the use of props. 

Lucy Boynton: 👍🏽

Brooklyn Beckham and Nicola Peltz: I love the head-to-toe white outfit for Brooklyn and the shade of pink on Nicole’s dress, but neither of them followed the theme.

Adwoa Aboah: I like the outfit, but it doesn’t feel in-theme to me. 

Paloma Elsesser: Not a thumbs up or down. I don’t know what to think to be honest, but I’m not mad. 

Awkwafina: Not a thumbs up or down. The colors are pretty and I love the dress itself (and the jewelry), but I feel it [the dress] doesn’t compliment her figure well.

Lily Aldridge: 👍🏽 - A little too simple, but I still like the outfit.   

Alessandro Michele: Meh.

Jared Leto: Meh.

Sarah Jessica Parker: 👍🏽  

Normani: 👍🏽 

SZA: 👎🏽 - I love her outfit, though! 

Dakota Johnson: 👎🏽

Karlie Kloss: 👍🏽 - Nailed it!

Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner: 👍🏽 - I don’t know what they were going for, but I love that they actually dressed up! 

Jack Harlow: 👎🏽 - Too basic. 

Bella Hadid: 👍🏽

Shawn Mendes: 👎🏽 

Sydney Sweeney: Eh...

Sebastian Stan: 👎🏽 - I love the all-pink attire, but he did not follow the theme. 

Anderson .Paak: 👍🏽 

Michelle Yeoh: 👎🏽 - Too basic, but the shade of green is pretty. She looked great regardless!

Maude Apatow: 👍🏽 

Evan Mock: 👍🏽 - I love the color in his hair and the use of pastel colors for his outfit. 

Riz Ahmed: 👍🏽 - His outfit is a “homage to” “immigrant workers”. I like it! 

Cynthia Erivo: 👍🏽

Emma Stone:  👎🏽 - Pretty yet basic-looking dress. You missed the assignment, my friend. 

Julianne Moore: 👍🏽 - Her outfit was inspired Jacqueline Kennedy.  

Alicia Keys: 👍🏽 

Swizz Beatz: 👍🏽   

Jon Batiste: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Quannah Chasinghorse: 👍🏽 

Rosalía: 👍🏽  

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II: No comment.

Caroline Trentini: 👍🏽 - Absolutely gorgeous from head-to-toe! I love her hair. 

Tracy Collins: Pretty dress...

Claire Danes: Not a thumbs up or down, but I like her outfit. 

Winnie Harlow: 👍🏽 

Hillary Clinton: Not a thumbs up or down, but the shade of red is pretty. 

Kodi Smit-McPhee: 👎🏽 

Renée Elise Goldsberry: 👎🏽- She looks pretty, though, and I like the dress. 

Rachel Brosnahan: Not a thumbs up or down. 

HoYeon Jung: Not a thumbs up or down, but she looks pretty. I like the jewelry and dress too. 

Eiza González: 👍🏽

Rachel Smith: 👎🏽, but I like the dress.

Renate Reinsve: 👍🏽

Danai Gurira: The dress and shade of blue is pretty...

Gemma Chan: 👍🏽 

Jasmine Tookes: 👍🏽 - That shade of green looks great on her!

Xiye Bastida: 👍🏽 - I love the outfit!

Huma Abedin: 👎🏽 - Too  basic. Pretty shade, though.

Lisa Love: Eh...

Madelaine Petsch: 👍🏽

Louisa Jacobson: 👍🏽 

Kiki Lane: Not a thumbs up or down. The dress is pretty, though!

Laura Harrier: 👍🏽 

Gigi Hadid: 👍🏽 for being original...

Eric Adams: 👍🏽

Glenn Close: 👎🏽

Amy Schumer: 👎🏽 - Why did Anna invite her?!  

Chloë Grace Moretz: 👍🏽

Phoebe Dynevor: Not a thumbs up or down, but I like the creation of the dress and the fabric(s). 

Ashley Park: 👍🏽

Daisy Edgar-Jones: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Finneas O’Connell: 👎🏽

Lena Waithe: 👍🏽 - I love the outfit and the colors!

Precious Lee: 👍🏽

Mindy Kaling: Not a thumbs up or down, but the color and creation of the gown are pretty. 

Megan Thee Stallion: 👍🏽

Elon Musk: 👎🏽

Kid Cudi: Not a thumbs up or down, but the royal blue is nice.

Alexa Chung: 👎🏽 - Too  basic.

Adrien Brody: 👎🏽 - Too  basic.  

Nyjah Huston: 👎🏽 - I love the shade of blue, though.

Jodie Turner-Smith: I... I don’t know. She looks pretty, though!

Camila Cabello: I don’t know what to think... 

Chloe Kim: Not a thumbs up or down. The only thing I like is the red (I think) feathers. 

Erykah Badhu: 👍🏽

Oscar Isaac: Not a thumbs up or down.

Bradley Cooper: 👎🏽 - Too  basic.

Jessie Buckley: 👍🏽

Lauren Remington Platt: 👍🏽 - I’m getting Marilyn Monroe vibes, and I’m here for it. Her outfit is gorgeous! 

Emma Corrin: 👍🏽 

Stromae: Not a thumbs up or down, but I kind of dig the outfit.

Leslie Odom Jr.: Eh...

Charlotte Tilbury: No comment. 

Emma Ratajkowski: 👍🏽 - Super vibrant, detailed, and eye-catching!

Victor Glemaud: Eh...

Cara Delevingne: 👍🏽

Lizzo: 👍🏽 

Jeremy Scott: Eh...

Anthony Ramos: 👎🏽 - Neat outfit, though!

Venus Williams: 👍🏽 

Jordan Ruth: 👍🏽 - Why does he look like an emo version of Frollo?? I love it! 

Olivia De Jonge: 👎🏽

Kerry Washington: Eh...

Jacob Elordi: 👎🏽 - Too basic.

Kris Jenner: I could not care less about this woman. 

Billie Eilish: 👍🏽 - Who or what was she going for? 

Phoebe Bridgers: 👎🏽 - Gorgeous gown, though. 

Tessa Thompson: 👎🏽 - Absolutely beauty and stunning gown, but she missed the theme. 

Bad Bunny: No comment.

Sigourney Weaver: Not a thumbs up or down. 

Teyana Taylor: 👍🏽

Gabrielle Union-Wade: 👎🏽 - Gorgeous, but not within the theme.

Taylor Hill: 👍🏽 - That shade of blue is gorgeous, and so is she (as usual)!

Genesis Suero: 👍🏽 - Gorgeous dress; it’s simple yet bold!  

Alton Mason: 👍🏽

Jessica Chastain: Not a thumbs up or down.

Kiernan Culkin: 👍🏽, because he’s wearing sunglasses and Converse. What a bold move. 

Lily James: 👍🏽 

Katy Perry: No comment.

Blake Lively: 👍🏽

Kendall Jenner: 👎🏽 - I love how the skirt looks and the fabric of the top, though. Also, why are her eyebrows gone?

Kylie Jenner: I could not care less about this woman.

Olivia Rodrigo: 👎🏽 - The theme was not Disney, kid, but the dress is nice. The butterflies in her hair was a cute idea.

Simone Ashley: Not a thumbs up or down.

Dove Cameron: Not a thumbs up or down, but I love Iris van Herpen. She looks nice with dark brown hair too.

Kourtney Kardashian: I could not care less about this woman.

Travis Barker: 👎🏽 - Damn, he is Ugly (I mean Post Malone-level ugly...).

Dwayne Wade: 👎🏽 - He looks good, though.

Conan Gray: 👍🏽 - GET IT! #thoseplatformbootstho 

Chloe Fineman: 👍🏽 

Khloé Kardashian: I could not care less about this woman. Leave.

Kim Kardashian: I could not care less about this woman. Leave.

Carrey Mulligan: 👎🏽 - I like the gold sequins, though...

Amber Valletta: 👍🏽 

Iris Law: 👍🏽, because she looks like a mermaid. Beautiful, beautiful gown!

Shalom Harlow: Eh... 

Gwen Stefani: 👎🏽 - Oh, absolutely NOT.

Ashton Sanders: 👍🏽

Joan Smalls: Not a thumbs up or down, but the gown is pretty.

Christine Baranski: 👎🏽

Cardi B: I could not care less about this person. Leave.

Nicki Minaj: I could not care less about this woman. Leave.

Hailey Baldwin: She can go choke on Justin’s cum. Leave.

Quite a lot of the women’s husbands or boyfriends didn’t try, so I didn’t include their names.

▪️ May 2, 2022 ▪️

[rockislandadultreads]

Cozy Christmas: feel good fiction

A Redbird Christmas by Fannie Flagg

With the same incomparable style and warm, inviting voice that have made her beloved by millions of readers far and wide, New York Times bestselling author Fannie Flagg has written an enchanting Christmas story of faith and hope for all ages that is sure to become a classic. Deep in the southernmost part of Alabama, along the banks of a lazy winding river, lies the sleepy little community known as Lost River, a place that time itself seems to have forgotten. After a startling diagnosis from his doctor, Oswald T. Campbell leaves behind the cold and damp of the oncoming Chicago winter to spend what he believes will be his last Christmas in the warm and welcoming town of Lost River. There he meets the postman who delivers mail by boat, the store owner who nurses a broken heart, the ladies of the Mystic Order of the Royal Polka Dots Secret Society, who do clandestine good works. And he meets a little redbird named Jack, who is at the center of this tale of a magical Christmas when something so amazing happened that those who witnessed it have never forgotten it. Once you experience the wonder, you too will never forget A Redbird Christmas.

The Christmas Boutique by Jennifer Chiaverini

Just weeks before Christmas, severe wintry weather damages the church hall hosting the Christmas Boutique—an annual sale of handcrafted gifts and baked goods that supports the county food pantry. Determined to save the fundraiser, Sylvia Bergstrom Compson offers to hold the event at Elm Creek Manor, her ancestral family estate and summertime home to Elm Creek Quilt Camp. In the spirit of the season, Sylvia and the Elm Creek Quilters begin setting up market booths in the ballroom and decking the halls with beautiful hand-made holiday quilts. Each of the quilters chooses a favorite quilt to display, a special creation evoking memories of holidays past and dreams of Christmases yet to come. Sarah, a first-time mother expecting twins, worries if she can handle raising two babies, especially with her husband so often away on business. Cheerful, white-haired Agnes reflects upon a beautiful appliqué quilt she made as a young bride and the mysterious, long-lost antique quilt that inspired it. Empty nesters and occasional rivals Gwen and Diane contemplate family heirlooms and unfinished projects as they look forward to having their children home again for the holidays. But while the Elm Creek Quilters work tirelessly to make sure the Christmas Boutique happens, it may take a holiday miracle or two to make it the smashing success they want it to be.

A Christmas by the Sea by Melody Carlson

When Wendy Harper inherits her family's beachside cottage in Seaside, Maine, she sees it as a way to finally pay off the debts that have mounted since her husband died. But before it can be sold, the neglected property must be renovated. She and her 12-year-old son Jackson move in--temporarily, she reminds him--in order to do the work themselves, even though Christmas is coming. The charming town, along with local craftsman Caleb Colton, pulls on both Wendy and Jackson, who even registers himself for school in a bid to get his mom to move them there permanently. Wendy knows that the most responsible thing to do is to sell the cottage and return to Ohio, but the lure of the sea is hard to resist. Join award-winning author Melody Carlson for a Christmas story that will warm your heart and have you dreaming of your own enchanted seaside holiday.

The Christmas Light by Donna VanLiere

In the small town of Grandon, five very different people discover the true meaning of Christmas. Jennifer and Ryan are both single parents, struggling with their own losses and heartache as they attempt to move forward in the present while still holding onto the memories, joy, and heartache of the past. Sixteen-year-old Kaylee is faced with a life-changing situation that has affected her whole family. Stephen and Lily are happily married and ready to start a family. All of them are facing their own struggles, and all are finding their way through the dark. When they are brought together for a rather unconventional church Nativity, they will learn that with strength, courage, and love, there is always hope. The New York Times bestselling author of the beloved The Christmas Hope series returns with this new heartwarming, inspirational story about the power of love and faith to reveal the possibilities that lay right in front of you.

[dwellordream]

“Girls’ schools promoted an intense female peer culture which contrasted with the disciplines of moralistic home environments. Evidence from the accounts of girls attending the myriad female seminaries and girls’ boarding schools throughout the Northeast suggests that their academic programs were relatively gentle, and that their peer culture was powerful and often fun. Despite the best efforts of outnumbered teachers, relations with friends tended to overshadow lessons learned. Overwhelmingly when girls wrote home to their parents, they described the girls they had met, and the antics they had shared; in diaries they noted the romantic intimacies they had formed, with academic work generating only occasional mention.

Girls’ peer life at school was high-spirited, collective, and ritualized all at once. Teachers themselves often participated. At Miss Porter’s in Farmington, Connecticut, in 1860, teachers organized a costume party, suggested characters for everyone, and helped sew costumes—perhaps in part a sewing lesson. (For Lily Dana, suggestions included an elf, Mischief, or a witch.) At a Prospect Hill School party in 1882, townspeople came, the girls wore flowers and white dresses, and Margaret Tileston reported that she had done the quadrille with Miss Clarke and the gallop with Miss Tuxbury—concluding that she had had ‘‘a very nice time.’’

Girls remembering their days at convent schools report similar good times. Julia Sloane Spalding recalled elegiacally her years at Nazareth Academy, a school run by the Sisters of Charity in Louisville, Kentucky, in the 1850s. ‘‘The sisters allowed us to romp and play, dance and sing as we pleased and our stage performances were amusing, if they had no greater merit. Musical soirees, concerts, serenades and minstrelsy kept our spirits attuned to gladness. Varied by picnics, lawn parties, hayrides, phantom parties, nutting parties in summer and candy pullings and fancy balls with Nazareth’s colored band to fiddle.’’

Exclaimed Spalding, ‘‘O what fun!’’ in fond reflection on the good times among the sisters who served ‘‘good substantial sandwiches, cakes and fruit’’ from ‘‘great big baskets.’’ She concluded, ‘‘and so, the spice of life conduced to our health and happiness.’’ Mary Anne Murphy arrived at Nazareth Academy with her sister in 1859 during a quadrille, the slave musicians calling out the figures. She and her sister stood in ‘‘wonderment that such fun was tolerated in a convent.’’ Whatever the nostalgia of middle age, certainly these reflections suggest that elite Catholic and Protestant girls’ academies left some of their richest memories in collective fun.

If teachers sponsored some activities, they implicitly sanctioned many more. Wilfrida Hogan attended the Sisters of St. Joseph convent school in St. Paul in the 1870s and remembers fondly her class, which was known for its lively irreverence: ‘‘Each girl seemed to view the other as to who could play the biggest pranks, or have the most fun.’’

Ellen Emerson overflowed with delight in a letter to her mother (significantly, not her father) while at Miss Sedgwick’s School in Lenox, Massachusetts: ‘‘Every night we do things which it seems to me I can never remember without laughing if I should live to be a hundred. The most absurd concerts, ludicrous charades, peculiar battles etc. etc. Then the wildest frolics, the loudest shrieks, the most boisterous rolling and tumbling that eye ever saw, ear ever heard or heart ever imagined. I consider myself greatly privileged that every night I can see and join such delightful romps.’’

When teachers were around, the pranks were more likely to occur upstairs in student bedrooms. Lily Dana and friends joined together to victimize two other girls by putting crumbs in their bed, and cutting off candle wicks. Another evening Dana noted that she ‘‘Had some fun throwing pillows and nightgowns,’’ and though Miss Porter caught her, it did not seem to dampen much her spirits. Teachers at girls’ schools were occasion- ally disciplinarians, clearly.

One teacher told Lily Dana that ‘‘she supposed my mother let me do everything,’’ and the sisters at St. Mary’s Academy in South Bend, Indiana, turned the piano to the wall in order to keep girls from waltzing with each other. Yet students often emerged victorious; at St. Mary’s they played combs for dance music instead. (One participant reported that ‘‘the Sisters had to give up, for they knew not what to do.’’) The ideology of nurture combined with the shared exuberance of age mates overpowered much teacherly remonstrance.

It is sometimes hard to read such tales of schoolgirl exuberance without wondering whether the inmates had taken over the asylum, however, so a corrective is in order. One such account which requires a second look is the spirited account of Agnes Repplier, In Our Convent Days (1906), about her time in the late 1860s at a Pennsylvania school run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. Repplier writes of the pranks and passions of her band of seven partners in crime, in an ebulliant account designed to appeal to a readership newly attracted to childhood naughtiness in revolt against Victorian propriety. It is clear in retrospect, though, that she must have concealed or minimized an- other side to her experiences. For the denouement of her story is her expulsion and removal from a school she adored.

Peer cultures could also be cruel and hurtful beyond the control of evangelical teachers, as the practices of hazing in British public schools testify. Some of the most painful memories of inclusion and exclusion in girls’ schools centered around that most primal of media, the sharing of food. Food boxes, customarily sent from home, were the occasion for impromptu parties, a demonstration of wealth and taste, or an opportunity to play favorites.

The elation which greeted such arrivals might well prove a commentary on the regular fare at boarding schools, which sometimes undoubtedly was very poor. (The advice giver Mary Virginia Terhune’s critique of girls’ boarding schools included the accusation that they fed their students from a ‘‘common vat’’ which supplied breakfast, dinner, and supper all together, a practice partially confirmed by one account of eating the same stew at least twice a day at an Ursuline academy in San Antonio in the 1890s.)

At any rate, the arrival of food from home occasioned select gatherings and provided opportunities for discrimination among friends. When one friend’s mother brought good things to eat, Josie Tilton noted that ‘‘we’’ had a feast tonight, explaining for the future who she would always mean when she said ‘‘we’’—‘‘Lizzie, Emma, May and I’’— the groupness secured by inclusion in this select group of diners.

Lily Dana suspected a friend of being miserly and so snuck into her room to inspect. ‘‘There was a box which had been filled with cake, part of a pie and several other things filling her trunk nearly half full. . . . If I had a box sent to me I think I should give my friend more than ‘five or six cookies.’’’ If girls could feel short-changed by each other, relations with parents could also strain over the sending of food boxes, which represented extremely conspicuous con- sumption for girls attempting to ‘‘belong.’’

In an unusually direct letter home in the 1840s, Maria Nellis passed on to her parents her unmediated hurt and sense of disadvantage in the competition for food—and the status that came with it. Elizabeth got her box yesterday and was favoured with six times more things than I was. Her box was so large and heavy the master found it his match to carry it upstairs. She has 4 kinds of cake, nuts, apples, candy, clothing and every thing else, but after all, Dear Poppy, I am not jealous. . . . When you sent that box you did not send half what I asked. I was very disappointed. You said it would be eatables, but it wasn’t. You sent only a few apples, one cake and some clothes. Why didn’t you send me some nuts? I haven’t had a nut yet this winter, and indeed I expected nuts above all things. E. Fox had a box worth speaking of. Now that shows that you don’t care enough for me to even send me a few nuts.

Intermittently, Nellis regained control, but her grievance was palpable. Finally at the end, she acknowledged to her parents that she might be hurting their feelings, reassured them that she loved them all with ‘‘a deep and fervent love,’’ and promised better behavior in the future. Clearly at stake for her was both status in the school world and a primitive sense of deprivation in her own family.

As the correspondence suggests, the emotional atmosphere in girls’ boarding schools was not only intense but more expressive and enacted than that within moralistic, Victorian households. Within private, female, boarding academies, duty-bound Victorian daughters learned languages of sentiment, desire, and emotional excess censored from other parts of their lives. The elaborate conventions accompanying the expression and affirmation of affection among boarding-school girls, sometimes involving teachers as well, was indeed a separate ‘‘female world of love and ritual,’’ as Carroll Smith-Rosenberg affirmed in a classic article about nineteenth-century women’s culture.

In recent years, Smith-Rosenberg’s ‘‘Female World of Love and Ritual’’ has been attacked for its overgeneralizing characterization of an exclusively female emotional sphere in the nineteenth century, but her strongest evidence confirms the significance, the power, and the longevity of girls’ boarding school friendships, which were enacted through elaborate rituals in a range of schools.

The rituals of boarding school life centered around the making and breaking of special friendships, known variously as ‘‘affinities,’’ ‘‘specials,’’ or ‘‘darlings’’ and increasingly as either ‘‘smashes’’ or ‘‘crushes.’’ One way of expressing interest was to ‘‘filipine’’ with someone, to leave her a surprise gift outside her door. (When Lily Dana was caught, she needed to give her gift, a large apple, outright.) Such relationships played out in diaries, letters, and the poetry of autograph books. Girls expected to pair up for many school activities and entertained a variety of ‘‘dates’’ with different girls for walking, going to church, and sleeping.

Sally Dana wrote home to her mother explaining that she was following her father’s advice not to form special friendships too soon, and so had ‘‘slept in eight different beds.’’ During these private moments, girls would share secrets about their own likes and dislikes, each other, their teachers, families, and their school lives. The intricacy of such social calendars opened ample opportunities for misunderstanding and frayed feelings.

These peer relationships characterized elite female seminaries in the North- east, but they also appeared in a range of schools, including the African American Scotia Seminary, founded by the American Missionary Association in Concord, North Carolina, following the Civil War. Scotia had northern roots, which may have influenced its student culture. Glenda Gilmore tells us it was modeled on Mount Holyoke, and was ‘‘calculated to give students the knowledge, social consciousness, and sensibilities of New England ladies, with a strong dose of Boston egalitarianism sprinkled in.’’

Roberta Fitzgerald went to Scotia in the early twentieth century and kept a composition book, likely in 1902, which was filled with the talismans of schoolgirl crushes. A note inside addressed to ‘‘Dear Roberta’’ asked, ‘‘Will you please exchang rings with me today and you may ware mine again,’’ and Roberta herself wrote a sad poem to a friend ‘‘Lu’’ who had thrown her over.

And so you see as I am deemed

Most silently to wait

I cannot but be womanlike

And meekly await my fate.

Ah! sweet it is to love a girl

But truly oh! how bitter

To love a girl with all your heart

And then to hear ‘‘Cant get her.’’

And Lulu dear as I must here

Relinquish with a moan

May your joys be as deep as the ocean

And your sorrow as light as its foam.

On the back of the notebook, which also contained class assignments, was a confidence exchanged with a seatmate. ‘‘I was teasing Bess Hoover about you and she told me she loved you dearly.’’

For those much in demand, this charged atmosphere of flirtation and intimacy in the North and South represented an exhilarating round of fun and sport. For those less secure, diaries and letters presented an obvious outlet for the anguish of the neglected. Agnes Hamilton, a member of a Fort Wayne clan which sent several daughters to boarding school on their way to prominent careers in progressive America, experienced some of both. Sometimes she basked in the glow of family reputation; often she worried over her own inability to keep up with her illustrious cousins. Her unusually detailed accounts document an entire school culture rather than just an individual emotional life.

Hamilton’s first impressions of school social life at Miss Porter’s School were favorable, but even these revealed insecurities to come. In an entry from November 1886, when she was seventeen, Hamilton noted that ‘‘Farmington is just as perfect as they all said it would be, the girls, Miss Porter, and all.’’ Her reservation had to do with her own imperfections: ‘‘But I don’t think I am the right sort of a Farmington girl.’’ Even so, Agnes was in demand, describing a flurry of close attentions from numerous girls. A week later, in her cousin’s absence, she received displaced attentions:

Yesterday Mannie was very nice to me. I suppose she thinks I am lonely without Alice. We walked past the fill around by the river to the graveyard. Then she came in and we talked for an hour. All evening we were together. This afternoon we walked together too for Tuesday is her day with Alice. We went down to the green house where Mannie gave me some lovely roses. I would give anything to know what she thinks of me. . . . Will I ever be able to talk and be jolly as other girls? Some girls are frightfully stupid and yet they can make themselves somewhat agreeable. I have struck up a sudden friendship with Lena Farnam. We were together Saturday afternoon and evening and Sunday I asked her to be my church girl in Alice’s place.

Agnes was still in a position to be picky, noting one drawback: Lena ‘‘seems very nice indeed but I wish she were not only fifteen.’’ Lena was far from the only prospect. Agnes noted another new friend: ‘‘I have seen a great deal lately of Edith Trowbridge too. When she overcomes her shyness she will be exceedingly nice.’’ Not surprisingly, with all the intensity of the socializing, Agnes mentioned with no comment that only three out of thirteen in the class were prepared for their lessons that Tuesday. In those early weeks, Agnes Hamilton’s enthusiasm for this exciting life of emotional intrigue was palpable. The next week (she seems to have written on Tuesdays), Agnes announced to her diary ‘‘the jolliest crush in school’’ involving one of her very own intimates of the week before.

‘‘I walked with Edith Trowbridge this afternoon, on purpose to have her tell me about Lena. I hinted and hinted in vain. I told her about every other crush in school but she never said a word about Lena’s, so at last I told her that I knew all about it but even then she would not say a word about the subject. I hope she will tell Lena so that she will speak to me about it next Saturday when we are driving.’’ The triangulation of such relationships increased the possibilities for intrigue. Agnes wearied a bit of the uncooperative Edith, though, observing that though ‘‘very nice . . . she did not get over her stiffness.’’

Agnes Hamilton seemed to be trying to do her schoolwork, but her roller- coaster social life intervened. One day when she was preparing for class, a friend came by to teach her a dance step, from which she was interrupted by the arrival of a buggy she had rented to take another friend for a ride, the same girl whose ‘‘jolly’’ crush had amused her the week before. (‘‘The more I see of her the better I like,’’ she now reported. ‘‘Her face is rather attractive at first and then it grows on one.’’) When she returned, she found another visitor who stayed till it was time for tea.

The result: ‘‘I have not looked at my Mental since Thursday.’’ By the end of the same day, yet a new ‘‘crush’’ had taken over when Agnes got word of someone’s interest in her, and Agnes wondered ‘‘if I have ever been as actively happy.’’ The frenzy had settled down a week later, when Agnes announced that she had all her walking days ‘‘just as I want them.’’ Each day of the week was assigned a different companion, with whom Agnes would exchange intimacies and gossip, using the rituals of girls’ school life to structure its emotional extravagance.

One must conclude that the intensity of the social life was seen to serve some purpose, for evidence suggests that it was allowed to flourish until the turn of the century. (Lily Dana noted that Miss Porter’s permission had been sought for at least one and probably more sleeping dates.) At that time, new sexualized interpretations of girls’ and women’s friendships brought a crackdown on such friendships. At the time, though, they appear to have received official sanction. In fact, one of the first of Ladies’ Home Journal ’s ‘‘Side Talks with Girls’’ took up the question of ‘‘School Girl Friendships.’’ The Journal endorsed such girlish relationships for their innocence and energy and their precious brevity, saluting ‘‘the giddy, gushing period’’ as one which ‘‘never comes to some and to most it soon passes.’’

In particular, it contrasted this girlish spontaneity with the superficiality of the jaded young lady. Its contrast of ‘‘young girls, lively, radiant, energetic, spirited, loving girls’’ with ‘‘young ladies who talk of their beaux, dresses and the surface shows of society’’ represented another version of a conventional warning against precociousness. Girls’ crushes on other girls were still perceived as innocent and healthy—and would be well after doctors first began to cast suspicion over such relationships in the 1880s and 1890s.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Competitive Practices: Sentiment and Scholarship in Secondary Schools.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood