#charles will always help agatha and agatha will always help charles - and they don’t do it bc they love each other (although they do) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollycas · 3 months ago

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Special Guest - Winona Kent - Author of Bad Boy: A Jason Davey Mystery #Interview / #Giveaway - Great Escapes Tour @winonakent

Bad Boy: A Jason Davey Mystery by Winona Kent I am delighted to welcome Winona Kent to Escape With Dollycas today! Hi Winona, Please tell us a little bit about yourself. I find it very difficult to believe, but I’ve just turned 70. I know I don’t look it, and I certainly don’t feel it. I keep thinking I’m about twenty years younger than that. I remember, when I was a teenager, reading a tongue-in-cheek story which portrayed a future where elderly people were lounging around care homes, listening to the Rolling Stones and Frank Zappa. I thought it was bizarre and a little bit crazy at the time—but, of course, now it makes complete sense. I grew up with that music and I love rock and roll from the 1950s and 1960s. I do water aerobics to the sounds of the British Invasion. I’ve now published eleven novels and book of short stories, which I’m quite proud of because most of those books were written while I was working full-time in jobs that had nothing at all to do with writing. I was very disciplined and did it all in my spare time, on days off, during vacations, on weekends, and at night. I retired from my last job in 2019 and I’ve been a full-time author ever since. Also, I’ve just become the Chair of Crime Writers of Canada, which is a national non-profit organization for Canadian mystery and crime writers, associated professionals, and others with a serious interest in Canadian crime writing. It’s a little bit scarey, but I’m quite excited about what the next year or two will bring my way. While I’m sitting in that chair, I also hope to get a start on my next Jason Davey mystery—which is going to take place on the west coast of Canada. Which, coincidentally, is where I live (in New Westminster, a little city which is part of Greater Vancouver). What are three things most people don’t know about you? - I have a yellow belt in Judo - When I was 12, I ran a fan club for The Monkees. - For many years, I ran a semi-official website for the British actor Sean Bean. Sean was notorious for portraying characters who always got killed off in films. I compiled a list which I called Death by Cow—because in the film The Field, Sean’s character was run off the edge of a cliff by a herd of rampaging cows. That list has become legendary among Sean’s fans. And the website’s still out there –it hasn’t been updated since about 2012—but I didn’t want to take it down because it’s got so much good info on it. http://www.compleatseanbean.com What books/authors have most inspired you? When I was 12, in 1967, I saw the BBC TV adaptation of John Galsworthy’s Forsyte Saga, and I fell in love with the series—and the books. I was in England the following year and I bought the entire collection of nine novels and read them all, cover to cover. My very serious Lit profs at the university where I was doing my BA didn’t think much of my favourite author—they probably would have cringed if I’d told them I’d also read quite a few of Ian Fleming’s James Bond books by the time I was 16, as well as most of Agatha Christie’s Poirot novels. When I was working in London as a temp in the 1970s, I discovered Monica Dickens—the great-granddaughter of Charles. I found we had a similar philosophy about employment—she’d had a number of jobs which had absolutely nothing to do with writing, and I really admired the way she was able to take her real-life experiences and incorporate them into her stories—both fiction and nonfiction. In 1970, she wrote a novel called The Listeners, which was based on her experiences working with The Samaritans, the crisis helpline organization. It had quite a profound effect on me—in Bad Boy, a Samaritan volunteer actually helps my main character, Jason—not because Jason is himself suicidal, but because he’s just witnessed someone else taking their own life, which can have a devastating emotional toll on someone. I think it was important for me to go the “literary” route when I was at university, to study all the classical and contemporary authors, to understand why they wrote what they wrote, and how they interpreted their world and the so-called “human condition” through their novels and poetry. I think it was just as important for me to read books that fell a long way outside those boundaries, to study the art of storytelling without necessarily creating something that literary scholars might want to forensically dissect. My other favourite author is John le Carré. His stories of espionage—especially the drudgery of George Smiley’s British secret service—both intrigued me and inspired me. What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researching before beginning a book? I’m a capital-P Plotter, so I spend a lot of time researching and planning my stories in advance. The planning part definitely goes hand-in-hand with the research, so by the time I’m ready to actually start writing, I’ve usually spent at least six months, sometimes up to a year, immersing myself in the world where that story is going to take place. I have to say that the internet has made my life, as a writer, six thousand percent easier than it was back in the old pre-www days. My first novel, Skywatcher, was published in 1989, and the research for that was excrutiatingly slow. It involved physical visits to libraries (constrained by their opening and closing hours), and digging through the old paper card catalogues (I still remember the smell of those little cards in their little wooden drawers). And then hunting down books (and being incredibly frustrated to discover someone else had checked them out). And microfilm—because sometimes the only way to read old newspaper and magazine stories was to ask for the physical microfilmed roll, then hope that a machine reader station was not occupied, then suffer through the equivalent of motion sickness while you scrolled through the pages, looking for that one article that you’d discovered listed in the Periodical Index from June 1969. By the time my second novel, The Cilla Rose Affair, was published in 2001, we’d had the internet for about six years, and I was able to find the answers to my questions instantly. My research time was a fraction of what I’d spent with Skywatcher. Now, as I plot out my novels, I’m constantly online, checking details. And even after I begin to write, I’m continuing to research. For example, in Bad Boy, Jason climbs up Primrose Hill, which is a well-known spot in Hampstead where you can get a panoramic view over London. I know it well. I was born not far away from there. I’ve visited it every time I’ve been in England. But since Jason’s in England, and I live in Canada, I need to get it right. So I’ll describe what he sees, and what happens to him, and how he has to basically run back down to Chalk Farm tube station in order to extricate himself from a bad situation. Google Maps Streetview is my best friend. So, to answer the question, my research involves absolutely everything that I’m writing about. Like Monica Dickens, my stories tend to reflect a good many things I’ve experienced in my own life. My sister and I travelled to England in 2022 to scatter our mother’s ashes, but while we were there, we visited some cousins in Derbyshire. And then, back in London, I went up The Shard (I knew I was going to write Bad Boy, so it was literally high on my list of places that I needed to research). I also spent time exploring the South Bank. And taking a four-hour walking tour of London’s Lost Music Venues in Soho. All of those journeys were part of my research, but it wasn’t until I was back in Vancouver, writing the chapters where Jason visits Denmark Street (the heart of London’s modern musical history), that I discovered there’d been a devastating fire in 1980 in Denmark Place, a little alley just behind Denmark Street. It had hardly generated any press at all, in spite of killing 37 people. That fire then became an important part of the plot of Bad Boy, but all of the research was done online and by consulting a newly-published book (Denmark Street: London’s Street of Sound, by Peter Watts). So, I guess I can honestly say that the preliminary research usually takes about six months to a year before I start actually writing, but then, it doesn’t stop. It’s ongoing as I write, because I’m always discovering details which need to be verified, or places that need to be described, history that has to be accurate, addresses that need to be fictionalized… Do you ever suffer from Writer’s Block? I’ve only ever had it once. It was when I was writing my second novel, The Cilla Rose Affair. I had the basic story—a tongue-in-cheek spy caper involving the London Underground and a nefarious plot to destroy the city using focused sound waves. I’d done all of the research, and I was, at the time, completely obsessed with not only the Underground but also its abandoned and disused stations. It was very early on in my writing career, and, while I recognized that my own obsessions were getting in the way of the actual telling of the story, I didn’t know how I was going to be able to fix it. So, for months and months, I ended up writing the same three chapters over and over again, unable to move the plot forward because my creative brain was refusing to cooperate. When I finally discovered the answer, it was completely by accident. I was watching the movie Field of Dreams, which is a story about a man with an obsession. In fact, Ray Kinsella’s quest to turn his cornfield into a baseball diamond is at the heart of the entire film. The light went on in my mind. Of course. I needed to write about my obsession. But in order to do it successfully, I needed to transfer the obsession to one of my characters, and let him use all that knowledge—along with many seemingly useless bits of trivial anecdotes—to help move the plot forward. To this day I have a soft spot in my heart for obsessives. I love writing about them. And I owe it all to The Cilla Rose Affair…and Field of Dreams. What advice do you have for someone who would like to become a published writer? First of all, ask yourself why you want to write. Is it because you feel it in your bones? Is it because, of all the things you could be doing with your time, writing makes you the happiest? Is it because, when you don’t write, you’re miserable and irritable until you do write? Or is it because you want to sell a gazillion books and retire on your royalties? The last answer, retiring on your royalties, honestly and truly isn’t likely to happen. It’s not that it doesn’t happen—it’s just that it’s pretty rare. We only usually hear about the big name authors. We don’t hear much about the vast majority who sell a few hundred or a few thousand copies of their books, rather than millions. By all means, aim for the stars. But if you’re only doing it for the money, have a backup plan in place before you start. And if you’re writing because you feel it in your bones, don’t give up. Pitch to agents and pitch to publishers, but be realistic. It’s a tough gig to land. Sometimes really good writers don’t get taken on by traditional publishers because what they’re writing isn’t what’s currently selling. There are other choices. Publish your book yourself. Being an indie author used to have terrible connotations, but a lot of that has disappeared now. Many traditionally published authors turned to self-publishing when their publishers went out of business, or pivoted to a different focus, or their sales numbers weren’t high enough to satisfy the accountants and their contracts weren’t renewed. Back when I was first starting out, getting a contract with a major publishing house was pretty much the only way you could sell books. But times have changed. Do your homework, join writers’ groups, read as much as you can about the industry and make your choices wisely. When you are not writing what do you like to do? I have a few things that I like to do on those rare occasions when I’m not up to my eyeballs in research, writing, or writing-related work. I’ve been known to resort to knitting as a way of relaxing and focusing my brain. I have quite a collection of berets as a result. I’m wearing one of them in the picture on my social media accounts and on the home page of my website (http://www.winonakent.com). I’m also really into family tree research. I have a mysterious great-grandfather who seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I’ve got lots of verifiable information about him after he married my great-grandmother. But I can’t find his birth record, and it’s become a bit of a quest for me to try and figure out where he actually came from. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go and why? I’m going to be a bit odd and say, I’d love to go back to London, where I was born…but not the London of today. I’d love to go back to the London I knew in 1973. I was 18 years old when I spent that summer there. It was the first time I’d travelled on my own, and although I was staying with my grandmother, I was also experiencing life as an independent adult for the very first time. I started to explore the city, and then I ran out of money, so I got a job working as a temp for Brook Street Bureau. Since I’d grown up on the Canadian prairies, London in 1973 was fabulously exciting. Too soon, I had to go home—university beckoned and I needed to finish my degree. But I would love to go back to that time and experience it all again, and perhaps not return to Saskatchewan at the end of the summer. I wonder what adventures I would have… What is next on the horizon for you? My next Jason Davey novel, the sixth in the series. I haven’t started outlining it yet—I don’t even have a title—but I know what it’s going to be about, and I know it’s going to take place here on the west coast of Canada, where I live. Thank you, Winona, for visiting today! _____ Keep reading for more information about Winona Kent and her new book! About Bad Boy Bad Boy: A Jason Davey Mystery Musical Mystery 5th in Series Setting - UK: London and Derbyshire Publisher ‏ : ‎ Winona Kent / Blue Devil Books (September 26, 2024) Print length ‏ : ‎ 278 pages ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0D9PFYXB4 Fresh from a 34-day, 18-city tour of England, professional musician and amateur sleuth Jason Davey accepts an invitation from a fan, Marcus Merritt, to meet at Level 72 of The Shard to sign one of his band's programs. Marcus hands him the booklet, then leaps to his death from the open viewing platform. Thus begins a week-long quest, during which Jason is tasked with retrieving a stolen collection of scores by England’s most famous composer, Sir Edward Elgar. Marcus shared Elgar's love of eccentric puzzles and games, and the challenging clues he's assembled for Jason seem to mirror the 14 themes in Elgar's renowned Enigma Variations. Jason's journey takes him to Derbyshire and then back to London, and a four-hour walking tour of Soho's lost music venues where, in Denmark Street, he faces a life-threatening battle with two adversaries: a treacherous Russian gangster who is also hunting for the stolen collection, and Marcus's sister—who holds the key to a decades-old mystery involving a notorious London crime lord's missing daughter. Bad Boy is the fifth book in Winona Kent's mystery series featuring jazz musician-turned-amateur sleuth Jason Davey. More About Winona Kent Winona Kent is an award-winning author who was born in London, England and grew up in Regina, Saskatchewan, where she completed her BA in English at the University of Regina. After moving to Vancouver, she graduated from UBC with an MFA in Creative Writing and a diploma in Writing for Screen and TV from Vancouver Film School. Winona's writing breakthrough came many years ago when she won First Prize in the Flare Magazine Fiction Contest with her short story about an all-night radio newsman, “Tower of Power”. Her debut novel Skywatcher was a finalist in the Seal Books First Novel Award and was published by Bantam Books in 1989. This was followed by a sequel, The Cilla Rose Affair, and her first mystery, Cold Play, set aboard a cruise ship in Alaska. After three time-travel romances (Persistence of Memory, In Loving Memory and Marianne's Memory), Winona returned to mysteries with Disturbing the Peace, a novella, in 2017 and the novel Notes on a Missing G-String in 2019, both featuring the character she first introduced in Cold Play, professional jazz musician / amateur sleuth Jason Davey. The third and fourth books in Winona's Jason Davey Mystery series, Lost Time and Ticket to Ride, were published in 2020 and 2022. Her fifth Jason Davey Mystery, Bad Boy, was published in 2024. Winona also writes short fiction. Her story “Salty Dog Blues” appeared in Sisters in Crime-Canada West's anthology Crime Wave in October 2020 and was nominated as a finalist in Crime Writers of Canada's Awards of Excellence for Best Crime Novella in April 2021. “Blue Devil Blues” was one of the four entries in the anthology Last Shot, published in June 2021, and “Terminal Lucidity” appeared in the Sisters in Crime-Canada West anthology, Women of a Certain Age (October 2022). “On the Internet, Nobody Knows You’re a Dog”, will appear in the upcoming Sisters in Crime-Canada West anthology, Dangerous Games (October 2024). A collection of Winona’s short stories, Ten Stories That Worried My Mother, was published in 2023. Winona has been a temporary secretary, a travel agent , a screenwriter and the Managing Editor of a literary magazine. She's currently the national Vice-Chair and the BC/YT rep for the Crime Writers of Canada and is also an active member of Sisters in Crime – Canada West Author Links Website: www.winonakent.com Facebook: @Winonakentauthor Twitter/X: @winonakent Instagram: @winonakent Purchase Links - Amazon US Amazon UK Find more books by Winona Kent HERE. TOUR PARTICIPANTS - Please visit all the stops September 26 – fundinmental – SPOTLIGHT September 26 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT September 27 – Deal Sharing Aunt – AUTHOR INTERVIEW September 27 – Baroness Book Trove – SPOTLIGHT September 28 – Maureen's Musings – SPOTLIGHT September 28 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT September 29 – Boys' Mom Reads! – CHARACTER GUEST POST September 30 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT October 1 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER INTERVIEW October 2 – Christy's Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST October 3 – Cozy Up With Kathy – AUTHOR GUEST POST October 3 – Novels Alive – REVIEW October 4 – Celticlady's Reviews – SPOTLIGHT October 4 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT October 5 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT October 5 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – AUTHOR INTERVIEW a Rafflecopter giveaway Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Want to Book a Tour? Click Here Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you. Thank you for supporting Escape With Dollycas. Read the full article

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seyifulfilled · 1 year ago

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Still At It

My name is Oluwaseyi Ademola Akinruntan.

Most of my connections and friends in the United States, Canada, United Kingdom and Australia call me "Olu" or "Mr. O".

I am 50 years old and, a father of four wonderful and delightful kids.

My eldest child, a daughter, just gained admission into the university to study Microbiology this year and, she just returned with a GPA of 3.95.

I have a very active mind. I always have. What stimulates and excites me the most are intellectual activities and pursuits. I spend practically all of my waking time at the PC working, researching the features of new software and mastering their use and those that I use in my workflow as a graphic and web designer, writer, Microsoft Office advanced user of close to 30 years and trainer providing computer training via Zoom to trainees located in El Paso, Texas and so on.

I was going to study medicine when I was in high school until I had my first experience with a computer when a computer department was set up in my school and, being one of the top students, I was made the coordinator.

I have never looked back since nor regretted it. Computing has brought me so many opportunities that, I truly cannot imagine my life without working with computers.

I am officially retired but, I am still very active both mentally and physically. I am blessed with a superb physical constitution probably thanks to genetics.

I also read very widely when I was younger and still do whenever I can, having read most of the English classics including Charles Dickens, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, William Shakespeare and, many later authors including John Grisham, Arthur Hailey, Peter Danielson, V. C. Andrews, James Hadley Chase, Emily Brontë, Charlotte Brontë, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Washington Irving and, so, so many others.

If you want someone gifted with the ability to be precise in communication, who makes sure that the intended message is captured with the highest level of fidelity to the idea then, I am your man.

I possess a considerable vocabulary and, a fast and consummate ability to find just the perfect word or words to use in every situation and so, could be a perfect speechwriter for instance.

I would be a valuable personal or executive assistant also if handling correspondence and other forms of communications matters in your line of business or profession.

As a matter of fact, that ability was a major factor in my advancement through the ranks when I was in the banking sector culminating in my de facto position as group head of brand communications for three subsidiaries of one of the most successful banks until it was acquired in 2012.

That, coupled with my uncommon passion for and mastery in computing made me able to do what others seemed unable to.

I am not surprised by it now that I'm older and I look back on those days.

I think it was inevitable.

I hated it when closing time was drawing near while others begin to put their things in order to leave once it was 4:30 PM.

I ended up learning more than most really because I just never got tired as long as I am at the PC.

I constantly downloaded tutorials from Lydia in its early days prompting my journey with Western Digital external hard drives of which I have so, so many now that have crashed, including one which contains my presence in the theatre with my extra pair of hands required to help deliver him because the boy decided to come when one of the nurses had gone out to get an item that was needed. It was only the matron and I who were there when he came.

My designs are authentic because I was first and foremost an artist before I became a graphic designer.

If you want the most original, memorable and visually persuasive graphic designs, I am your man. You don't have to take my word for it though, kindly spare the time to take a look at some of my work for connections, friends and clients from the United States, Canada, United Kingdom and Australia to see if you agree at - https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1BLPhgWKEghEJXVKPkwFWCnZR56g088Pw?usp=drive_link

My Certificates - https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1rT8513prX5NYdvys7GNORMdFkCRFD_d_?usp=sharing

My DISC Assessment - https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1nNcvqzSRaInxeK18ApftfJ7wYuipXUqx?usp=sharing

My Myers-Briggs Profile - https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1KYASHVsqeXoVLPv-qC5-Qg2eECqvlSMJ?usp=sharing

My Tony Robbins' DISC and MOTIVATORS - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1LNnYaSRgtcqeqaJiX2ZZG8mgoKM86oU8/view?usp=sharing

My Virtual Assistant Resume - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xhzGxsZFWg1KM5Y-XOLLM-fJUYcALJtV/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=117459786796459817936&rtpof=true&sd=true

Some of the sites that I built:

https://www.r-e-b-c-inc.com - for a consulting firm in Roseville, California, United States. I also wrote two of the blog articles on the site. https://www.unicityautomation.com - for an access control firm in Nigeria https://www.dallashomesintl.com - for a real estate firm in Nigeria

When it comes to graphic and web design, writing articles or reports, working with Microsoft Office, researching online, providing graphic and web design and Microsoft Office training as individual services or, collectively as a remote administrative, executive, personal or virtual assistant, I am convinced that, no one can bring greater value onboard any business or professional operation than I can.

When all of the above is coupled with my calm ability to approach challenges, and the constant pursuit of more effective and automated ways to execute tasks to eliminate or reduce the potential for errors, that maturity which I am convinced comes with age and, that experience of having worked with a diverse range of people from across the world for close to three decades, I am more likely to have a stronger sense of commitment and loyalty.

My aim is to have more value than is needed for a role I am compensated for based on the capacity of the organization and not necessarily what my contribution is worth because no one truly can measure how much their contribution is worth. And, I don't want to compete for higher-level opportunities such as those of a brand manager, artistic director and so on and then have to deal with the intense social and political dynamics such positions tend to involve.

It's not about the income as much as my capability being underutilized. Too much time on my hands in this day and age when so, so much is going on that requires my specific skill set makes me feel unfulfilled.

My passion can partly be seen from how much I've invested in the related tools and equipment for the roles that I seek. I am as equipped as anyone anywhere in the world to serve remotely with world-class Internet access solutions, an HP ZBook Firefly G7 workstation with Intel Corei7 and 32GB RAM and a multi-monitor setup of three 24-inch Dell monitors including the workstation display which greatly increases productivity across my workflows.

My Tools & Equipment - https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1UE4FkeipkqJSs_IDaG-vtlN6fVh0ZBHz?usp=sharing

And, it has always helped me to get ahead throughout my life. I always end up being the favourite in every situation because I give of myself without stinting.

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Thank you for your time.

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laniidae-passerine · 5 years ago

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the impeccable energy Agatha/Charles has... two bickering friends, both entirely sure that the other is not their type at all how dare you! and yet constantly flirting, only for one of them to fall head over heels and realise that they’ve been in love this whole time... plus it had ‘fake dating/marriage’ thrown in the mix which makes it legendary

#when james went missing? i basked in the glory of the agatha + charles scenes #they are so good together they’re in sync and funny and there’s always this tension but even if they fell in love they’re friends first #charles will always help agatha and agatha will always help charles - and they don’t do it bc they love each other (although they do)#it’s because they’re such close friends. they have this foundation and this trust and this loyalty #im just saying charles would never abandon agatha at the altar bc she didn’t mention her ex husband #knowing him he’d be proud. and admit to like 2 ex wives and agatha would stamp her foot at him and then they’d get hitched #agatha raisin #sir charles fraith #agatha x charles

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randomshyperson · 3 years ago

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The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 23 - The Witch's Cabin (Part Two)

Thanks to my gif maker and friend of course, @abimess.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: +18, smut.

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 23 - Part XXIII - The Witch's Cabin (Part Two)

You weren't sure if Wanda wanted some time from you as well, as you watched her walk through the garden, sit alone on one of the benches while looking at the rocky mountains in the distance.

What you were sure of was that she was distressed. So much so, that even as she blocked out her emotions, strands of her discomfort escaped, and you felt your body shiver slightly.

Sighing, you put your hands in your pockets, resisting the urge to join her as you watched her from the balcony.

"Here, Miss." It is Charles who says beside you, with a mug of reheated tea. You raise your eyebrow in confusion, and he smiles tenderly. "I thought a hot drink would bring you some comfort." He explains, and you mutter a thank you as you accept the cup.

Charles stands beside you, watching the landscape in silence for a moment. When you take the first sip, and sigh lightly, he asks, "Did it help?"

"Not much." You reply. "I appreciate the intention, but I won't feel good over tea until she is."

It's a simple statement. And Charles just murmurs in understanding, not needing you to explain further.

There is another pause, before he speaks again.

"Then I think you should talk to her." He says.

"She said she needed some time alone." You retort, scratching the back of your head with your hand quickly, and placing the cup on the large one on the balcony. "I'm giving her space."

"Oh, I see." He murmurs. "Are you sure that the alone time included her protector?"

You give a short humorless laugh. "You know, people have weird ideas about this whole thing. We're still two separate people. Wanda can have her time without me."

"Of course she can." Charles agrees quickly. "Forgive me, I think I expressed myself badly. I didn't mean to say that you two aren't independent, or to put me on the same level as sensationalist wizards who don't know anything about ancient magic." He speaks, causing you to frown. "I only meant that it is my understanding that scarlet witches and their patrons have a special relationship. If I remember correctly, it is written that the patrons bring a profound sense of safety and comfort to their sorceresses when present."

You feel your cheeks flush, and you look away quickly. Charles doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he says nothing.

"So...do you think she'll like it if I talk to her?"

" Well, she's your sorceress, you know her better than I do, Miss Stark." Jokes the man. "Don't let an old book tell you what you must or mustn't do."

You bite the inside of your cheek, lingering your gaze on the crestfallen figure of Wanda meters ahead.

"Thanks for the tea, Charles." You mutter before starting to walk toward the gardens.

To avoid frightening her, you make a noise with your steps, but Wanda only lifts her head when you are practically at her side.

And you swallow dryly when you notice the tears on her face, approaching calmly to sit beside her.

You don't have to say anything really, and you don't mind waiting for her to tell you whatever she needs to. But Wanda just waits for you to sit down, and then she leans against your body, sinking into your embrace as you run your hands around her.

She relaxes immediately with your touch, sighing. You think Charles was right after all.

Her tears cease, drying against your shirt, and she inhales deeply against you.

“Thank you.” She whispers, making you smile shyly, as you run your fingers through her hair.

"For what?" you whisper back, half-joking, not knowing exactly what you've done.

"For staying."

You sigh, hugging her tighter as your fingers gently scratch the back of her neck, and Wanda shivers against you, before relaxing completely. "I told you I'm never leaving."

You stand like that for a few more moments, until Wanda starts to move again. She pulls her face away to look at you, and you just smile at the intense way she does so.

"I'm sorry." She says, and you frown in confusion. She straightens up before continuing, taking a deep breath, as if she is finding the right words. "With everything Agatha showed us, I finally understood that I never had a choice on my fate. And before, when I was going to erase your memory, how angry you got, I didn't understand why. Because to me, I was making the right thing, sparing you somehow. But now, I understand." She confesses quickly, gesturing as her eyes fill with tears. "It was your choice. And I don't think you would ever forgive me if I moved on without you, when you chose to stay with me. And as much as I hate how dangerous this is, and I don’t want you to get hurt, you have the right to choose to stay by my side if you want, because those are your feelings and I had no right to try to take them away from you."

You nod, sighing, and raise your hand to her face, caressing her cheek.

"It's okay, darling." You say. "I haven't been angry in quite some time. But I appreciate that you apologized."

You move closer, kissing her softly on the lips before pulling away. "I guess in the end I broke my promise about not touching you before the apology." You joke making her smile. "I couldn't help it, you're just too irresistible."

Wanda laughs shyly, raising her hands to your neck, looking at you fondly.

"Do you want to talk about what we saw?" You ask next, and she sighs, nodding.

You spend the next few minutes talking. Wanda feels bad about the whole thing. About all the lies, schemes, and about never having had a real choice. No matter what would happen, she was always going to become the Scarlet Witch. And no one asked if she wanted that.

She didn't talk about Natalya, and you respected her time.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive Agatha completely for the things she did." Wanda confesses a moment later, you two are sitting side by side, looking at the mountains. "But a part of me will never be able to hate her entirely. And I detest that."

"It doesn't bother me that she matters to you, Wanda." You say. "Even with everything that happened, she really believed she was doing the right thing. And now she's helping us. And I know you've spent a lot more time with her than I have." You clarify quickly, and Wanda looks at you with a slight frown. "I just mean that even with the pain she caused me, it's okay for you to still care about her. I won't hold a grudge over it."

Wanda nods, reaching your hand up on the bench. She entwines your fingers together, and moves closer to lean against you, resting her head on your shoulder.

"Can we stay here just a little longer?" She whispers. The sunrise is approaching. You were going to say you would stay as long as she wanted, but your speech becomes a yawn halfway through, and she laughs softly. "Maybe the bed would be better."

You laugh softly too, and Wanda squeezes your hand before moving to pull you back into the house.

When you go through the kitchen, Agatha is there. She and Wanda exchange a look, but neither of them says anything, and you just follow the brunette in front of you upstairs.

You think you'll sleep until lunchtime at least.

//-//-//-//-//-//

You grunted in pain as you fell to the ground.

"Everything okay there, Stark?" Agatha's softly teasing voice made you give a wry laugh.

"Perfect." You grumbled as you stood up, wiping the dust from your pants. "Again please, and try something stronger this time, Agatha, I think you're starting to go soft on me."

The witch laughed, raising her wand quickly. The next spell hurt more than the first.

It had been eight and a half weeks since you had been in Agatha's house.

Things were going well, if you could put it that way.

After that day when Agatha showed the memories out of the pensieve, she and Wanda were on thin ice, and no memories were shared again. They treated each other politely, with occasional sharp pins, but nothing ever too aggressive.

Meanwhile, Agatha was really helping the two of you to become better sorcerers.

You think you never learned so much magic at once, but you weren't complaining.

Even Charles was helping you with potions, a passion he seemed to share with Erik.

And with the intensity of your studies, Agatha hoped that soon you would be worthy of pulling Rowena's diadem out of the hat, but she never seemed to find the right spot, and it was making everyone slightly frustrated, even if no one would admit it.

You haven't heard from the order.

With Fury's death, the radio went silent. You believed that no one but him had been arrested, or killed, because nothing was said in the Daily Prophet. But it wasn't easy to ignore the tightness in your chest at not knowing for sure.

Now that you were practically considering yourself a master at dueling, even if Agatha wouldn't admit that you had far more knowledge in defense against the dark arts than any other witch your age, you expected her to continue the lessons in Occlumency and Legilimency that Erik never managed to finish.

"You're not ready for that yet." She replied, for the third time you brought up the subject, and you sighed impatiently.

"But professor-"

"Erik taught you the basic level of that magic, Y/N." She interrupts, moving her hands so that the objects in the kitchen begin to prepare lunch around you. Wanda is in the house library, studying with Charles, and you had spent all morning practicing dueling spells, and learning to become more resistant to them as well.

Your whole body was sore from the times you fell to the ground when you were hit by stupefy and the most common duelling spells , but it was better than being knocked out at the first attempt if you had never practiced before.

"A master of legilimency would be able to dominate the minds of an entire city at once. You're not ready for that kind of magic yet."

"But I don't need to control an entire city, Agatha." You argue back, following her through the kitchen around the house. "You can just continue from where Erik started and-"

"Enough." She interrupts by turning to you, but she doesn't look angry, just impatient. "You won't leave me alone if I don't agree won't you?"

"No."

She sighs. "I can teach you Occlumency, Stark. But I won't teach you Legilimency, it's...against my vows."

You frown in confusion, "Your vows?"

But Agatha gives you only an insinuating look, and you understand.

As Legilimency is directly considered a forbidden, and dark magic, it would break her vow to only do the right thing by the scarlet witch, her promise to Natalya.

You've never been more curious to know how Agatha got around the perpetual vow for so many years, but the way she’s back walking tells you she's not going to share that with you anytime soon.

"Charles is a master legilimens." She continues talking, moving downstairs where the library is. You in her trail. "He can teach you."

"Really? That 's great!."

As you arrive at the study room, the huge piles of enchanted books surrounding you, your gaze immediately seeks Wanda's.

As Agatha tells Charles to teach you, you approach the girl, finding her distracted with a reading. You smile at how lovely she looks, and can't help but move quickly closer, and steal a surprise kiss from her that makes her sigh.

"Hey, you." You say as you pull away, and she giggles as she relaxes.

"Hey, you." She repeats as she stops you from moving away by holding you by your arm, pulling you back to kiss you properly.

"Hey little love birds, your first lesson in Occlumency is going to be tonight." Agatha warns in a tone of teasing, as you give an embarrassed chuckle breaking away from Wanda, leaning on the pilaster next to the chair she is sitting in. "And you, Miss Maximoff, can practice your natural legilimency skills with Charles on the same schedule as well."

"Yes, ma'am." You and Wanda answer together, and Agatha gives a warning sneer before turning, squeezing Charles' shoulder gently before leaving.

The man turns to you. "Miss Stark, please do not spill mud on my parchments."

You look down to your clothes immediately. Well, it wasn't your fault that Agatha had knocked you to the ground so many times. You were a mess, and you raised your hands in a sign of surrender.

"Sorry, Charles." You mutter as you walk away. "I just came to give my beautiful girl a kiss, I'm going upstairs to take a shower. See you two at lunch."

You give Wanda a wink of goodbye before walking away, being careful not to bump into books along the way.

//-//-//-//

You grumbled softly in pain as you removed your tangled sweater, realizing that perhaps you should have asked Agatha to go easy on the spells instead of challenging her.

Distracted, you startled when you heard knocking on the bathroom door, but relaxed completely when you saw that it was only Wanda, who smiled and leaned against the doorframe, looking up at you.

"Hey, babe." You greeted her, working to remove your shoes. "Do you want anything?"

"No, I just decided to take a break from the books." She replies. "But I would like to know how you convinced Agatha to teach you Occlumency so easily." She comments in a mixed tone of teasing and impressiveness and you laugh softly as you kick your untied shoes away.

"With my charm of course." You return, making her laugh.

When you motion to remove the shirt, Wanda bites her lips. "Allow me."

You stand still then as she steps up to your front, looking at you with the same tenderness that you look back.

Wanda works on the buttons of your shirt, and when she is finished, she pushes the material away, sliding it down your arms until it falls to the floor. You blush slightly under her curious gaze, but say nothing, letting her move the straps of your bra, and then open the clasp, soon the garment falls too.

She moves her fingers down your waist, to reach the zipper and buttons of your pants, and unzips them. You move timidly to remove the item as well, taking your panties with it.

Wanda gives a soft giggle, and you look at her curiously.

"What?"

"It's nothing." She says shyly. "It's...I just realized that it's the first time I've seen you naked."

You blush, but respond. "I wish I wasn't covered in dirt."

"I wish you weren't covered in bruises." She retorts sharply, and you swallow dryly. The purple marks around your body are a result of the spells, but you don't care about that. The pain isn't exactly strange after all.

"It was worth it, though." You retort softly, and think that part of you is really referring to getting stronger, learning new magic. But the other part, the part that knows it's all for the girl in front of you, adds, "You're worth all the effort."

Wanda looks away, swallowing dryly as well. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth, Wanda." You say simply, and she sighs, straightening her posture softly.

"But you don't have to say it."

"You want me to lie then?"

"I just don't want you to say it so proudly." She retorts almost scoldingly, and you bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to argue. She sighs, and puts distance between you, turning toward the exit.

You clear your throat, and call out to her. "I don't want you to be angry." You murmur. "I can't help it to say things like this, you know that."

Her expression softens. "I'm not angry, darling." She assures you. "I'll just get a towel for myself."

She leaves before you understand what that implies. Wishing you didn't look like a complete mess, you quickly step into the tub you left ready as soon as you arrived in the bathroom, and sink against the hot water, waiting for Wanda to join you.

Wanda doesn't take long. She leaves the towel in the sink, and smiles at you before she starts to undress, right there in front of you, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

You blush, but don't look away. And she doesn't seem to mind that you follow every movement of her hands, although her cheeks redden when she has her breasts exposed in the air.

Soon, she steps into the tub with you, taking the seat in the opposite corner, smiling softly as you hug your legs, looking up at her.

"I'm sorry I said that, I know you don’t like it and I shouldn’t have." You mutter. But Wanda just shakes her head, steeling herself to move closer, her hands touching your forearms.

"Don't worry." She says. "It's the truth after all. You are my knight in shining armor, and I can't do anything to change that."

You laugh softly, and Wanda smiles, stroking your skin with her thumb.

"I want to try something." She says next, making you look at her curiously. "Something I read about it this week. Can I?"

"Of course, darling." You say, and then she is pulling your forearms gently so that you stop hugging your legs, and you sink your hands into the water, waiting, as Wanda moves her fingers, guiding you so that you sit properly, and she sits between your legs. "What are you going to do?"

You ask curiously, even half embarrassed to have her so close, but Wanda just smiles, moving her hands out of the tub, where she makes the soap magically fly to her.

"First, I'm helping you get clean, babe."

She says, dipping the soap in the water before bringing it to your skin, lathering your shoulders gently. You relax under her touch, looking at her intently.

"Can I do the same to you?" you ask in a whisper, and she smiles.

"Of course."

Wanda raises the soap at face height, and with a flick of her hands, the item doubles itself to another. You raise your eyebrow. "Show-off." You tease, making her chuckle, as she hands you the other soap.

For the next few minutes, you help each other soap up amidst giggles, and stolen glances. Wanda's touch is as gentle and affectionate as her gaze, and you are so comfortable that you don't even have time to think about how intimate the whole moment is.

As you finish washing off the soap, Wanda begins to run her fingers along your shoulders. "Will you stay on your back for me?" She asks lowly, and you murmur in agreement before shifting to obey.

Without seeing her, your curiosity makes you tense up, and Wanda smiles as she moves closer, her hands on your waist. "Relax, darling." She asks against your ear, her fingers moving up your skin slowly as you obey.

"Do you remember last summer?" She begins, and suddenly you are feeling soft twinges on your skin. It's Wanda's magic. You don't know what she's doing, but it feels good. Little shocks around your back.

You just murmur, relaxing against her hand.

"When Papa taught you about mirroring magic, I mean." She continues, her tone low and soft. "So that you could take my damage from possible attacks."

"And you were so upset about my wrist breaking when you fell off a broom that you put me to sleep in Pietro's bed." You complete making her laugh.

"But I didn't send you away because I still wanted you in my house." She retorts and you laugh in agreement.

"Yes I do, darling." You say next. "I remember everything I went through with you."

Wanda bites her lips, blushing at your statement. But she continues to talk beyond that.

"There is another kind of spell like that." She says. "Charles was reading with me a line that said If the protector can take the pain, the witch must learn to heal the pain as well. You understand what I mean?"

You sigh softly as you feel the pressure of her fingers increase on the points where you knew you were injured. But it's not discomfort that you feel. It's a different sensation, like an electric shiver that turns into a gentle tightness.

"Yeah, I think so. You'll be able to heal my wounds now, right?" You ask with your eyes closed, instinctively leaning even closer against her hand as the pressure increases, and Wanda just murmurs in agreement, concentrating on her task. "That's pretty cool."

"I still need to learn it properly." She continues. "And I don't want to have to practice."

You chuckle softly at the comment. Of course she doesn't. For her to learn to heal your wounds, you would need to hurt her so she gets to practice, and that possibility is horrible for Wanda.

"I'm sure we'll find an alternative to that, Wands." You murmur lazily, so relaxed against her touch that you begin to feel sleepy.

Wanda continues for a few more minutes, and when she finishes, she goes around your waist with her hands pulling you gently against her, making you sigh.

"How do you feel?" She asks with her face resting on your shoulder, her arms hugging you as you relax against her.

"I feel incredible, love." You reply with your eyes closed. "Thanks to your magic fingers."

Wanda giggles, turning her face to kiss your neck, her lips touching your skin softly and making you smile and sigh.

"Can I make you feel even better?" She asks as she returns her mouth to your ear, playing with the lobe between her lips and teeth, making you hold your breath. "I could use my magic fingers."

You bite back a smile, nodding. Wanda inhales softly, settling herself better against the tub.

Her hands go around your belly with her fingertips, moving upward. You gasp when she reaches your breasts, stimulating your nipples between her fingers.

You let out a satisfied murmur, and your body gradually warms up.

When your nipples are hardened enough, and Wanda has you shivering, she wraps your breasts with her full hands, pressing the flesh against her palm, and you gasp, throwing your hips forward unter water.

"Wanda." You sigh softly as she continues to play with your breasts. "Don't tease."

"I'm not teasing darling." She murmurs back, returning the gentle caress against your nipples. "I'm just getting you wet."

"Just... touch me." You whisper, starting to move back into her, the tightness in your belly growing, and all she did was touch you softly. "Please."

Wanda lets out a sigh, like a giggle, and you don't have to look at her to know she's smiling. "I didn't know you were the begging type, babe."

You grumble under the teasing, but Wanda finally lowers her hands, and you shiver in anticipation, forgetting to respond.

She runs her hands down your inner thighs, but never where you want her. And when you sigh impatiently, she chuckles against your ear.

"Say pretty please again." She teases and you feel your cheeks burn, quickly turning your face to the left, putting distance between her mouth and your ear. All Wanda does is chuckles again, but this time, her fingers go straight to where you want her, caressing your entrance and you gasp.

“M-more.” You ask but she just stands still, her fingertips against your clint while her mouth kisses your shoulder and her other hand goes up to your breast, to repeat the moviments from earlier.

You have trouble keeping your eyes open, and when you try to force her finger against you, she just moves them away with a giggle while you grumble of dissatisfaction.

“Wanda.” You warn, but her hand just rests against your thigh.

“C’mon, babe.” She says. “You sounded so hot when you said please. Do it again.”

“No.” You retort stubbornly, but your affected tone makes her smile, her fingers moving closer to your warm center but still not touching and making you clench your closed fists.

"Say, please fuck me." Wanda whispers against your ear, and you feel a sharp, tightly pulsation in your belly, sighing heavily. "And I will."

But you didn't want to give Wanda a taste of victory, even as you came so close to begging for her touch. All you did was press hard against her, your ass fitted against her hot core, and she gasped in surprise and arousal, digging her nails into your thigh.

"Cheater." She murmured breathlessly, making you smile, but your advantage was short-lived when she pressed your breast into her palm, and without any warning, slid a finger into you, entering easily through both the water in the tub and your arousal.

"Oh." You moaned loudly, one hand gripping the edge of the tub as Wanda moved slowly inside, making you squirm. "More, babe. Please."

Wanda chuckles at your hopeless tone, but obeys, inserting another finger now. It slides between your edges with ease, and you bite your lips to avoid being loud. But when Wanda presses her palm against your clit as her fingers move in and out of you in a slow, torturous rhythm, you whimper, squeezing your hands on the edge of the tub until they turn white.

"You're so tight." Wanda whispers against your ear, her hot, wet breath sending shivers throughout your body. "My sexy baby taking my fingers so well."

You moan softly, becoming even more aroused by Wanda's words. She sighs against your ear, quickening the pace of her thrusts, and you begin to feel the tightness under your belly reaching the limit.

"W-wanda... I'm clos-oh" You can't maintain a coherent sentence, thrusting your hips in the same rhythm as Wanda's fingers move in and out of you, and Wanda grunts against your ear, her fingers sinking into you.

"Show me how it feels, Printsessa" She asks and you need to concentrate beyond pure pleasure to be able to share your sensations with her. When you do, Wanda moans loudly against your ear, the hand on your breast squeezing firmly, pulling you against her and making you gasp. "Is this how you feel with me, baby?” She asks with a breathless whisper. “It’s so fucking good." She whimpers, increasing the pace of her fingers, and now stimulating both you and herself, and you use your free hand to keep yourself from screaming, knowing that the noise would attract the attention of the other residents.

"I can't hold it." You whimper, your body beginning to spasm out of rhythm with the strokes, you are so close.

"So don't." She gasps back against your ear, and it's the next second that you come, your walls clenching against Wanda's fingers, and you see stars, your loud moan is muffled by her hand on your mouth when you can't keep the gesture and clench your hands under the water.

And you are barely recovering from your orgasm when Wanda reaches hers, sharing it with you, and you moan deeply, turning a complete mess against her, feeling your body explode with pleasure again.

You stand in silence, trying to normalize your breaths, Wanda's fingers slip out of you, making you sigh, but she keeps her hand on your thigh, until she joins the two at your waist, smoothing you better against her.

"I can't feel my legs." You mumble breathlessly, your body tingling completely from the intensity of the orgasms. Wanda just gives an equally affected laugh, moving one of her hands up to push her wet hair out of the front of her face.

"Too bad, I still want to taste you."

You grunt softly, feeling your face heat up. But you sure as hell won't protest when Wanda's hands start coming down again.

//-//-//-//-//-//

“It really worked.” You murmurs impressed, as you button a clear shirt up, getting ready for having some food since you and Wanda skipped lunch, being busy with things. The bruises that you once had, are all gone. A few red spots were seen, but nothing too remarkable as before.

Wanda bites her bottom lip, kneeling in the bed, still naked. The vision was a gift from heaven you could say.

“If you feel any pain, tell me.” She asks as she watches you dressing. “I could try to ease that too.”

“You’re too good for me baby.” You commented with a shy smile, getting closer to her again. Agatha liked well dressed manners, she said. That’s why almost every set of clothes she gave you had ties, and sweaters. You and Wanda teased her about being old.

And that's why you're knotting your tie, and Wanda is unbuttoning your shirt. Wait, what?

"Hey, hey." You quickly warn, holding up her fingers, as Wanda giggles with her gaze gleaming in mischief. "We can't stay here all day, sweetheart."

"Can’t we?" She retorts in a mixed tone of defiance, making a pout that makes you want to kiss her.

"You know we can't." You retort with a smile, caressing her cheek before buttoning the buttons she has opened. Wanda bites her lips as she watches you. "I can bring you something to eat, but eventually we have lessons."

"No, that's okay, I'll come down with you." She says but doesn't move from her spot, and you raise an eyebrow curiously, but Wanda was just waiting for you to finish buttoning your shirt before pulling you up by your poorly tied tie, rising to kiss you on the mouth.

You smiled against her lips, bringing one of your hands to her neck, kissing her firmly.

"Are you sure we need to go downstairs?" She murmurs breathlessly against your mouth, and you sigh.

"Maybe another ten minutes."

It takes another half hour for you to leave the room.

Wanda accompanies you, straightening your crumpled clothes before you head to the kitchen.

Fortunately, Charles had saved some lunch for you, and between smiles and stolen glances, you ate in silence.

And when Agatha asked you to join her upstairs, for her occlumency lesson, Wanda kissed you on the cheek and wished you good luck.

Agatha's private study room was dark.

Unlike the library, or Charles' offices, which were extremely cozy.

Here, you felt almost intimidated. But Agatha seemed relaxed, and you felt confident enough with your magic to enter.

"You know the fundamentals, Miss Stark, so let's not stall." She says as she walks over to one of the cabinets, working to remove her rings and place them on the wood. "Sit back and relax. And know that I'm going to try the real thing, Y/N. Just like an opponent would."

You swallow dryly, but murmur in understanding, walking over to sit in the armchair that Agatha seems to have left ready for you.

She turns around, and takes the seat in front of you. With a flick of her fingers, one of the books on the bookshelves in the room comes flying toward her, floating in the air, open at eye level.

She grumbles softly as she reads, probably checking the spells correctly, and then the book closes and returns to the bookshelf.

"In a fight, a wizard's mind can be their greatest enemy, Miss Stark." She begins, rolling up her sleeves, and you hold your breath in anticipation. "That's why you need to protect yours as best you can."

"Professor Erik taught me a few things." You mutter, but Agatha raises her eyebrow in disbelief, and you are almost offended. "Hey, I'm not that helpless."

"Is that what you think?" She challenges. "Look closer."

You frown in confusion, and try to understand what she means.

Then you notice the other figure in the corner of the room and almost jump out of your chair.

An illusion, Agatha never sat next to you, and she disappears the same second you noticed her.

"What the fuck....?"

"Illusions, Miss Stark, will be the least of your problems if the dark lord has access to your mind." Agatha warns as she moves from the shadows of the room, her hands folded on her belly, looking at you, who was still in shock from the last trick. "But I will teach you to recognize and escape false images first."

The first lesson is not easy.

Honestly, it is so exhausting that by the time Agatha frees you, you are stumbling sleepily to your room.

You fall into bed still in your study clothes, and are almost closing your eyes when Wanda walks in.

"Hey, sweetheart, aren't you going to dinner?" She asks, but you don't even open your eyes, muttering that you were going to sleep.

Wanda walks over to you, gives you a kiss on the cheek, and turns out the lights.

//-//-//

It takes another three weeks for something to happen.

Technically, a lot has actually happened.

You have learned to break illusions, create them, protect your mind from mid-level invaders, lie in a way that rings true in your mind and fools any invader.

Agatha won't admit it, but you are a very talented Occlumens.

And Wanda, is quite the opposite of that.

Charles often comments that maybe it's the power of scarlet magic, but he''s never seen someone who could manipulate the mind of others so easily. Not since Agatha, and the witch makes a sarcastic remark, but has a proud smile as she goes out to harvest carrots.

Where you are expert at protecting the mind, Wanda is at attacking it.

She doesn't have the same strength as you in blocking Agatha, but you can't invade anyone's mind without putting in a lot of effort.

"I think it's an interesting thing, actually. " Charles comments next to you, in the fourth week of studying mind magic, with the four of you sitting in the room, and Agatha in the armchair in front of you, while you have your wand raised and try to get into her thoughts. "You balance each other perfectly, you know? Y/N can protect your mind while you attack, Wanda. It's quite useful."

"Great observation, Charles." Agatha congratulates impressed, not seeming to have any difficulty blocking you even while talking to someone else.

"Does that mean I can get inside your head through her magic?" Wanda deduces in curiosity, but didn't expect anyone to confirm, her eyes glowing red and connecting with your mind.

You choke, firming your touch on your wand, and because you were already trying the spell, you manage to get into Agatha's mind without any problems with Wanda’s magic.

A small girl is running down a hallway; it's Hogwarts.

"Freak!" " Weirdo!" are the whispers of the crowds of children she is passing through.

And then the whispers change to "watch out, she's the principal' daughter" "I heard she killed that Ravenclaw boy"

A mirror. Agatha must be sixteen now, she looks young. She stares at her reflection, and then punches the glass.

"You are a disgrace to this family." A woman says in front of her as the memory fades to another, looking at her with contempt. "A scandal like this. Our coven will recommend your expulsion."

"I never wanted to be a part of this, Mama!" Agatha exclaims in a mixture of anger and hurt. "I hate those old backward women, I want to learn everything I can and -"

The slap is loud. "Rules exist to keep everyone safe, Agatha. You're too selfish to realize that."

It gets faster, the flashes. You watch Agatha grow up, study in hiding, kiss a girl behind the candy store who pushes her away when the older schoolmates laugh, you listen to the cruel comments, watch her buy the cottage, meet new people, and many colored lights, the spells she has already cast blending throughout the memories.

"Please, daughter, forgive me" She pleads in a crying voice, but Natalya looks at her with contempt. "I will do the right thing this time, please, I-"

"Swear it."

You see a flash of the day she took the perpetual vow, her hands entwined with her daughter, and then you see more quick flashes of lost moments, until you focus on the day she was alone in Magda's house again, her hand on the cheek of baby Wanda, now asleep.

"Forgive me, I have failed again."

The memory shifts, you watch Erik crying at a memorial service, many other people dressed in black beside him.

She talked to Erik about the girl, asking if he had noticed anything strange.

Visiting a mansion, your home. You see yourself, about five or six years old, playing in the backyard with your brother, the emaciated image of your father talking to her in a low tone, delivering a letter.

More unclear flashes.

Agatha writing the acceptance letters from the school that year, the name Wanda Maximoff emblazoned on the paper.

The day Wanda and Pietro enter Hogwarts, Agatha rummaging back into her old journals and books.

Agatha starts to resist then. You see two more flashes of class, before she pushes you and Wanda out of her thoughts, and you choke breathlessly, stumbling away.

The teacher gets up quickly, aggressively throwing herself at you two, and you cover Wanda with your body immediately, but she calms down, because Charles puts his arm around her waist.

"Agatha, breathe." He asks softly, and she seems to come to her senses, shaking her head, and casting an almost embarrassed look at you, before muttering apologies and leaving the room.

You and Wanda are wide-eyed, in shock at all you have seen for long seconds, as Charles sighs and moves to organize the books you had messed up when the lesson began.

"She's going to need some time." He says turning to give you a tender smile. "But don't worry, I can continue the lessons with you two. For now, I suggest a cup of tea to everyone, and we can continue tomorrow."

"S-sure, that sounds great." You mumble awkwardly, turning your face to Wanda, who looks troubled. "Everything okay?" You whisper to her, and she forces a smile, nodding.

You won't push it, so you even squeeze her hand gently before following Charles into the kitchen for tea.

//-//-//-//-//

Agatha doesn't leave her room for six whole days.

Charles just says that she is tired, and brings her meals.

You only study next to Wanda; it's not as if you can feel guilty about something she has done to you so many times.

And then, as if no time has passed, the former headmistress comes into the kitchen in travel clothes, while you are eating lunch.

"Good morning?" You exclaim in surprise, and the teacher only murmurs with a nod, picking up an apple from the fruit tray and turning toward the front door.

You exchange a confused look with Wanda before the two of you quickly stand up.

"Agatha, where are you...?"

"Hogwarts." She replies without stopping walking, as you follow her down the hallway to the exit. "Stephen has hidden the darkhold in the spiritual plane of the castle. I'll get it, and read it to Miss Maximoff as promised."

"I-" Wanda starts half uncertain, but Agatha gestures quickly.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." She clarifies. "We'll need him to perform the ritual as well. Please help Charles with the house, and if possible don't damage my vegetables."

And on the porch, she apparated.

You and Wanda stared at the empty space for a long moment.

"What just happened?" You mutter.

"Did our spell drive her insane?" She retorts back, and you sigh, turning to go back inside, and close the door, Wanda following you inside.

"I have no idea." You say. "Let's let Charles know she's gone, and try to keep him from blowing up other cauldrons while she's out."

//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//

Tag list > @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @helloalycia // @ensorcellme // @aimezvousbrahms // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight || @iliketozoneout || @blackwow34 // @spongebobtentacles || @cyberbonesworld ||

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x yn #wanda maximoff x you #marvel imagines #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy

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glitterfairy-21225 · 4 years ago

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In which Peter has a child while stuck in the mcu: *takes deep breath*

He’s definitely living with Wanda post WV, so she’s there.

I don’t know a lot about inhumans but I know a little. Maybe Crystal is on earth for some reason, or the royal family just invites Wanda to the moon after learning about Westview b/c they want the tea, I guess. But Crystal and Peter meet.

They don’t get married, they don’t even officially date, so when Crystal announces she’s pregnant literally everyone is blindsided.

Wanda’s reaction is the best. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s her facial expressions as this is all going down. Her facial expressions.

Peter panics. Obviously. He runs around frantically with no rhyme or reason. He trashed his room. He’s screaming at a pitch only Crystal’s giant dog can hear.

He confides in Wanda about his piles of daddy issues, compounded by the fact that he never told his father the truth.... And also the fact that he was a terrorist.

But now it’s like, what happens if he goes back to his universe. He doesn’t want to to be an absentee father.

So he makes a difficult decision to stay in the mcu for the child. He still wants to go back to the x men to make sure his friends and family know he’s okay, but he wants to stay with his kid.

In the wake of his decision, Peter is high on emotion and decides that he needs to go the extra mile for this fatherhood schtick.

So he and Crystal elope.

Literally. Everyone. Thinks. This. Is. Questionable.

They’re divorced before she gives birth.

Not even a bitter divorce, just a ‘Ok, marriage at this point was probably a mistake.....’ divorce.

He and Wanda binge watch kids movies that came out from after he was taken from the x men.

Labor time!

Peter’s definitely a ping-pong whatever. When Crystal cries, he cries. When she screams, he screams.

But then Luna is born and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life, and he just can’t. He’s crying on his own behalf.

Crystal holds her first, and then Peter, and the first thing he says to her is with teary eyes, so loving, so tenderly, is ‘You are gonna piss so many people off,’ in the softest voice you can imagine.

When the rest of the family comes in to meet her, Peter turns on the Lion King music, which he saw in the binge, and holds her up.

Wanda gets to hold her next, and Peter’s all ‘Meet your Aunt Wanda, Luna!’ And it’s a moment, because yeah, Tommy and Billy called him uncle, and he’s made it clear he loves them as such, but that was when he was brainwashed, so this. This is such a moment for Wanda.

And Wanda misses her boys so much, but the amount of love she feels for this girl overwhelms her bad she really believes she’s not alone anymore.

Afterwards, the three of them (Peter, Wanda, and Luna) are all curled up on a hospital bed together. Like they would be if Peter was the one who gave birth, but instead they just stole a bed to cuddle on because they’re emotionally drained.

Crystal is giving them the side eye from the other bed like, *guys it’s my special day too.*

Peter looks down at his bundle of joy and decides to make a speech to her.

He takes a deep breath. ‘Luna Maximoff’ (‘We did not discuss last names, Peter!’) ‘Your father is.... the problem in every relationship he has ever had. Except for the ones with people who are bigots, those guys suck. And he’s gonna be problem in ours. But I promise you, even if I make a million mistakes, and I will, I will try my very best to make sure you are the one person in this family who’s life isn’t made up of one traumatic experience after the other. Because you are the love and light of my life.’

Awwww.

Oh and Wanda definitely has a himym moment where she looks back all the stupid stuff Peter has done and thinks, ‘That guys a dad now.’

Except her flashback was from that morning.

Of course, that doesn’t get rid of all his deep emotional baggage. And he’s so worried about messing Luna up that he’s a complete motherhen.

He rants to Wanda, ‘Let’s face it, you and I are both going to hell,’ Because even if he loves Wanda, he’s not gonna excuse what she did to Westview, and for himself he has self esteem issues. So Wanda is :000. But Peter just continues. ‘But I really don’t want that for her!’

Anyways, Wanda starts hearing her kids and that kicks off their next big adventure, with Peter reluctantly leaving Luna with her mom.

He writes her a final letter in case he dies so she knows he loves her very much. But don’t worry, Peter’s not gonna die, so this is just a character quirk for now. It’s always quirky until someone dies.

I know that the ‘X men see WandaVision broadcast’ thing should logically stop after episode seven, but for this we’re gonna say the broadcast showed the entire, actual show, with all the SWORD and Agatha stuff. And then it starts playing Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness! And there’s a flashback to Luna’s birth.

It’s been a few years, and the x men have already had a funeral for him, so seeing this is..... wow.

Raven’s long since spilled the beans to Erik about his son, and he’s not been taking it well.

So seeing that his son is not only alive and well, but that he also has a granddaughter, (and maybe even an au daughter) makes him cry in front of everyone.

Also, maybe the team was just a bit unappreciative of him, not enough for us to bash them, but enough to make them feel guilty. So seeing him thriving without them stirs up some emotions.

Also maybe he has an ex on the team, and it ended because Peter’s bad at handling things. For maximum feels.

They know from the broadcast that Peter plans to stay in the mcu with his daughter and that makes them all sad, but it’s a really good reason and they’re almost all sensible enough to accept this.... After a proper goodbye of course.

We’ll get back to Erik’s feelings in a sec.

They make a portal, and all go to the mcu to help out in the final fight. They reunite with Peter, who runs to get Luna, even though she’s not on earth, so that they can all meet her.

Erik holds Luna and goes ‘You will lead millions! Willingly or as slaves.’

It reminds him of holding Nina and he wishes he held Peter and it’s so special.

They say their goodbyes.

Meanwhile, Erik is conflicted, because his child (children) is staying in alternate universe and this is where his granddaughter is, so if he can’t convince them to come back to the x men verse then maybe the best thing he can do is move to the mcu.

But Charles a school to look after, so that leads a horrible question; Will Cherik have to break up again?

Doctor Strange just rolls his eyes and says fuck it, because reality is already messed up so why not? And he gives the Maximoffs a key to crossover whenever they want. And it only works for them.

So Luna has all the inhumans and all the x men loving her so much, with the best dad, aunt, and grandpas in both worlds.

And of course with the coolest cousins a girl could ask for!

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sunnysidekit · 3 years ago

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Summary: All is fair in love and war. And boxing, too, apparently.

Pairing: Ben ‘Benny’ Miller x F!Reader (no y/n, reader’s boxing nickname is ‘Nyx’)

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Word count: 2.2k

My masterlist

Everyone likes a good mystery. Don’t even try to deny it; whether you like Sherlock Holmes or if you’re more of an Agatha Christie fan, none of us can really escape the allure of a good conundrum every now and again. Some people can stare in the face of their mystery and not recognize it for quite some time, while others can practically smell them from a mile away. Ben Miller is part of, well, both groups.

Personally, he likes mysteries and surprises and such, but his army days have taught him all of those are a bad thing. A mission can collapse after the smallest detail changes, after all. Sometimes those missions are called off; other than the fact that he can’t do his job when that happens, he’s not really bothered by it. But when something catches him and his team by surprise during a mission and they have to get on with it anyway, things tend to… let’s say, not end well for everyone. And that’s gently put, of course.

Which is why when he’s at home between deployments, he likes his simple habits. They provide joy and adrenaline, and boy does he need both to function well. One of those habits is boxing. He likes it because of its simplicity; you punch your opponent, they punch you back, and so on and so forth until one of you stops. He’s good at it, too. Will always says that’s because he practiced a lot on him when they were younger. Ben says he’s the one with the good genes. Their mother was a fighter, too, after all.

The other reason he likes boxing is because your opponents always try to surprise you with a little mystery move. It’s fun for him to figure out how to respond in a split second, and the rush he gets when he does so successfully is almost unparalleled. Today, though, the only real surprise is the sudden appearance of his very own mystery. And, hey, you might know where this one’s going: it appears in the shape of a woman…

Benny whoops when he kicks open the door to his old high school gym’s changing room, but it sounds a bit less enthusiastic than it did after his last match. He knew he should have listened to Will and gone somewhere, anywhere else than back to Red Feather Lakes, but he’s not about to mention it when he can already imagine the smug grin spreading across his brother’s face.

He won, that’s what counts. And it’s not that bad to have done so after what is sure to be America’s easiest boxing match. That just means he’s good at it. The crowd went just as wild as it usually does, even though there were significantly less attendants than two weeks ago. Somehow, none of the arguments he tells himself really convinces him.

“All right!” Catfish says triumphantly from behind him. “Looks like all that training paid off, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Benny trails off as his slightly blurry vision comes back into focus. There’s someone sitting on one of the benches, someone he doesn’t know. It’s a woman; her aura tells him she’s all business, but her clothes tell him she also definitely plays. “Who’re you?”

The woman doesn’t respond immediately; only after half a minute of casually typing away on her phone does she look up and meet his eye. “Name’s Val,” she says, her facial expression one he can’t quite place. “And I’m about to ask you something you won’t be able to ignore.”

It’s important to notice that Benny isn’t particularly patient in his post-fight high, something Frankie knows very well. He becomes a bomb of electric energy that, once set off, won’t stop until every single muscle in his body gives out. And he’s about to be set off.

“Val, is it?” Frankie smiles at the woman, swiftly moving his friend to the showers. “Why don’t we talk while he cools down, hm?”

“You’re not the one I want to ask a question,” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off Benny. “You’re a Delta boy, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you fight. It takes regular boxers years to develop such a sensitive, quick response capability.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes me think that oaf out there’s a long way from even thinking of acquiring your skillset. It’s impressive how easily you had him on the mat.”

“Ma’am, if you want an autograph-” Frankie tries, sensing the ticking time-bomb next to him is about to blow, but Val immediately interjects.

“Which is precisely what caught my eye. These men are no challenge for you anymore, but I think I know someone who could be. Should you accept their invitation, that is.”

“Do I know him?” Benny narrows his eyes at her, trying by god to figure out her angle in all of this. She smirks and closes her eyes a few seconds longer than a normal blink would take; touchy subject, maybe? Or perhaps he’s right and he has seen the guy before.

“You might have seen them around, sure. But I doubt you’d remember them.”

“So, what? I say yes and I’ll fight your friend here next week or something?” Benny snatches his towel from his bag and snaps it against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m afraid my friend’s a little more… complex than that, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, uh, no thanks,” Frankie cuts in, waving his hands as if to dissipate the words in the air. “He doesn’t do illegal fights.”

“He’d have plausible deniability,” Val says with a slight tilt of her head, then turns back to face Benny and hands him a business card. "Anyway, the choice is yours, Mr. Miller, not your friend’s. I don’t need an answer right now. Do take your time to think it over, sleep on it a bit. Once you’re a little more comfortable with the idea, give this number a call. I’ve got a feeling they’d very much like to bruise that pretty face of yours until it looks like a Monet.”

She gets up from the bench and walks out of the changing room without looking back. Benny slips the business card into his jacket pocket, something that catches Frankie’s attention.

“Don’t do it, Ben,” he sighs. “I’m serious. You could get arrested, get your ass thrown in jail. You’ll get kicked out of the army.”

“Stop whining, Fish. I’m not gonna do it anyway.”

Despite explicitly telling Frankie he wouldn’t do it, here he is, standing outside his local gym with his phone in one hand and the curious looking business card in the other. There’s not a lot of info on it, but, hey, what did he expect? That an illegal streetfighter would publish their own name, address and contact info on a bunch of business cards?

There are only two things printed on the grey little card: Nyx, which must be the fighter’s nickname or something, and a phone number. It’s been in his jacket pocket ever since he left his old high school, but it felt like it’s been burning a hole in it the entire time. It’s exactly as Val said it would be. He can’t get her proposition out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

She’s right about the competition. They’re no match for him, not the ones here in Red Feather Lakes. And, sure, he could always just sign up for something three towns over, but it wouldn’t matter much. How she found out he’s in the Delta Force is beyond him, though. It’s policy not to broadcast such a position if you want to stay in it. Maybe she has connections in the army…

That’s another thing; his place in the army. It would be gone as soon as he gets caught, and it’s not like he’s got great job prospects waiting for him back home when all he’s done for the past ten years is train to get where he is now. No college degree, no other jobs to list on his resume, no wealthy parents to fall back on… His whole life would go up in smoke.

But it does entice him. He technically does illegal things for his job all the time, and the matches he engages in when he has some down time aren’t really scratching that one particular itch anymore. Let’s face it: one phone call can’t hurt, right? He can still refuse, say no, put his foot down. Maybe even convince this guy to go legit.

He pushes the little green receiver on the screen, then puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the person on the other side is quicker.

“Ben Miller, I presume?” It’s… a woman. But not Val. “Val told me you’d be giving me a call.”

“And you’re…” he quickly flips over the card just to be sure, “…Nyx, then?”

“Got it in one. I do so hate it when Val forgets to mention my name in the initial interview.”

Benny huffs out a confused laugh. “Interview?”

“You aced it, by the way. Not saying too much is best when talking with my… let’s call her my associate,” the woman says. Her voice is softer than Val’s, and a lot smoother. It sounds like what taking a sip of hot chocolate feels like. “Shall we get on with it and discuss the rules of this little arrangement?”

“I don’t-- rules? I haven’t even given you an answer.”

“Oh, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got any restraint left,” she chuckles. “You want to tell me you called just to say hello to a total stranger?”

“No, but-” Benny splutters, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Then your answer, even if you haven’t given it to me yet, is as clear as the Pope’s Holy Water. Now then, the rules. In order to keep you in the warm, sunny, light side of the law, I’ll arrange a time and place. All you have to do is show up.”

He can’t help but grin. She’s clearly on top of this whole cloak and dagger operation, that much he can tell. Who she is, though, he can’t say. Not yet. Maybe he’ll recognize her when he sees her. “What about my gear?”

“Do take it with you, please. I’m not a charity, giving away free gear to any John, Charles or Mary.”

“All right,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Val will pick you up and get you back home safely, so don’t worry about the whole transport situation.”

“This doesn’t sound very... safe. I mean, you do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right? Or murder, or something like that?”

The woman laughs. It sounds like the melody to a song he knows but has never heard at the same time. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone around laugh as well. “Why would I tell you all this and then still proceed with it if my intent was malicious? You can easily call the cops and have my dear Val arrested for whatever crime you think me capable of, and that wouldn’t be very good for my business.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of Val, she’ll pick you up next Wednesday at nine.”

Benny kicks a piece of gravel onto the street next to him and swallows away the last of his pride and dignity. “All right, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe Val forgot to tell you that, too,” she laughs again, then clears her throat and continues a lot more seriously. “I only dance in the dark. Have a good night, Mr. Miller.”

Usually, waiting takes ages, but not this time. For Benny the rest of the week practically flew by him and before he knows it, it’s already Wednesday. He went training with Frankie just like any other week, only this time he accidentally forgot to mention his fight with Nyx. He told himself that the less people know about his, uh, date, the better, but he also knows Frankie would have immediately pulled the plug.

Val arrives at nine o’clock sharp in the front seat of a cab, which is no surprise. The drive that follows doesn’t take very long; he also isn’t blindfolded or anything like they do in the movies. The car stops in front of an old warehouse in the east side of town, and that’s when Val turns around in her seat and very concisely tells him to get his ass out of her cab himself, since she’s not going to hold open the door for him.

Instead of driving off, Val simply pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him, calling it his ‘insurance policy’. Then she waves her hand as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside, which he promptly does.

Well, that whole dancing in the dark reference seems to have been meant literally; as soon as the warehouse door closes behind him, an inky, suffocating darkness envelopes Benny and makes a shiver run up and down his spine. He takes a few tentative steps, holding out his arms and moving them around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything while he walks.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from a bit further into the sole, big room this warehouse seems to consist of.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller. Let’s get swinging, shall we?”

A/N: Hey there, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading through the whole thing, I hope you liked it. If you’ve got any suggestions or spotted a mistake or two, don’t hesitate to tell me so that I might fix it. I hope you’ll stick around for round two!

#ben miller x you #ben miller x y/n #ben miller x reader #benny miller #frankie morales #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund fic #garrett hedlund fanfic #my writing

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bugsy-maria · 4 years ago

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The Girl He Broke Doctor Who X Reader (11 &10)

Y/N POV

I walked off the TARDIS and looked around and saw a neighborhood, red brick walls lining every yard.

"Just down the block there should be a girl named Martha, she'll help you with your arm." after the instructions the doctor gave me, Amy and him ran off toward some ice cream stand. I roll my eyes at the childfull personality that man can have.

I follow his orders and end up on a street wherein the distance I can see the TARDIS. I walk briskly down the road not paying any mind to the soccer ball that almost hit me by a group of kids playing in a yard.

I open the doors with my right hand that hasn't left my left arm for thousands of years in the future. god, that'll take some getting used to saying that.

"Haha, very funny." I closed the door by leaning back on it eyes closed, "parking a block," I stop talking as I see the man from years passed. same look in his eyes and as surprised as I am. "Sorry," I said embarrassed, walking to the console.

"Don't be," he said. "But one question, why are you here?"

"You told me to come here" I returned my hand to my arm, not liking how gravity was pushing it down. "You said you have a friend, that can help me with my arm." I looked at him for any remembrance but his face showed none.

the door opens behind me, I see a woman there, flat dark brown hair, wearing a red leather jacket, brown skin. she looks surprised to see me. "Hello!" I say with a big smile on my face. "I'm (Y/N) I traveled with the doctor it seems." my smile still on my face. I look back at him. "What happened to me anyway?" I ask him and cock head to the side.

"Nothing. you haven't traveled with me yet," he said knowingly

"Oh! then I’m sorry."

"No, no it's fine. but Martha and I are about to head off, isn't that right? The open road. There is a burst of Starfire right now over the coast of Meta Sigmafolio. Oh, the sky is like oil on water. Fancy a look? Or back in time. We could, I don't know, Charles the Second? Henry the Eighth. I know. What about Agatha Christie? I'd love to meet Agatha Christie. I bet she's brilliant." his goofy gin soon disappeared when he looked at Martha apparently. "Okay," he said flatly.

"I just can't."

"Yeah."

"Spent all these years training to be a doctor. Now I've got people to look after. They saw half the planet slaughtered and they're devastated. I can't leave them."

"Of course not. Thank you. Martha Jones, you saved the world."

"Yes, I did. I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best, but you know what? I am good. You going to be all right?"

"Always. Yeah."

"Right then. Bye."Martha left and the doctor propped his feet up on the console when he took a seat on the chair.

"If you want help you should leave now." just as he finished the comment Martha came back in. he jumped off the chair and looked at her.

"Because the thing is, it's like my friend Vicky. She lived with this bloke, student housing, there were five of them all packed in, and this bloke was called Sean. And she loved him. She did. She completely adored him. Spent all day long talking about him." she made her way from the doors to in front of the doctor.

"Is this going anywhere?" he asked. I stifled a laugh at his comment

"Yes. Because he never looked at her twice. I mean, he liked her, but that was it. And she wasted years pining after him. Years of her life. Because while he was around, she never looked at anyone else. And I told her, I always said to her, time and time again, I said, get out. So this is me, getting out."

"You fancy him too?" I asked jokingly. she smiled at me. she throws a mobile at him and he catches it.

"Keep that, because I'm not having you disappear. If that rings, when that rings, you'd better come running. Got it?"

"Got it."

"and don't go traveling alone, travel with her. just don't hurt her. she's a special one." she says with a wink as she walked back to the doors.

"Martha," he replied sternly

"I know I know, I'll see you again, mister." she waved off and left.

"You better go catch her before she leaves."

"If I do that you'll leave me again." I looked at him

"If you come with, my future self won't know where you are."

"Time machine right?" I ask with a smart ass tone.

"You can't come with."

"Why not?"

"Because I still need you. if you come with you would have never been here."

“Is this a way of saying you don’t want me around?” i asked in, yet again, another smart a$$ tone. He let out a heavy sigh as he grabed onto the railing around the console, his knuckles turning white.

“YES!” he shouted at me, i could see the pain in his eyes, almost like he was on the brink of tears. i paused

"Fine. I'll go," I responded after a while of silence. I wouldn’t let his little outburst ruin my day though. "But don't think that this is the last time we'll meet. you owe me a trip now." I make my way to the doors

"I owe a lot of people trips, and I don't remember half of the list. so, why do you think that ill remember you?"

"Like Martha said. I’m special" I closed the door behind me, and saw Martha heading back to her door. "Wait! Martha!" I shout to gain attention luckily she turns around.

"You're not going with?"

"No. I have my own doctor anyway."

"Right. now I remember." she sighed in remembrance

"Remember what." she paused before answering like she didn't know if she should answer or not or maybe like she didn't know-how.

"You mentioned it on the Tardis." she finally said

"Right." I say "But my shoulder. he said you could help."

"Right." she grabs my shoulder and pushes it back in the socket without warning. a squeak escaped my mouth. "Sorry, didn't warn you."

"Yeah." I hold back my tears but my voice creaks. "Thank you nonetheless."

"Of course. tell the doctor I said hi" and with that, she went into her house. with a sigh, I made my way back down the street but stopped halfway down because my mobile started to ring. looking at the name I answer.

"Hi, Amy." I tried to say but was rudely interrupted halfway through by the doctor.

"So sorry (Y/N), but something came up. I might not be there when you are there. just wait for 5 minutes I swear." after that, he hangs up. I don't know whether to be mad or feel as though I saw this coming. when I get to the spot that the doctor had dropped me off at I sit on the curb and wait.

it's not that bad. Amy waited for 14 years, the least I could do was wait for 5 minutes. when I lean on the grass I felt something on the ground. I grabbed and looked at it. it was my watch!

I held it close to my chest. "Thank god I found you," I whisper to myself. continuing to wait.

if you like the story so far check it out here

The story is currently on pause and will continue on my main account around December 2021 and/or January 2022

#doctor who #11th doctor #10th doctor #david tennant #martha jones #matt smith #x reader #doctor who x reader #bbc #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

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thatoneguitargirl · 3 years ago

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𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘴 | geoffrey charles poldark x sister!reader

headcanons about being geoffrey charles’ twin sister (tw: this is so fucking sad)

my masterlist

»»————-　　————-««

immediately after being born you two were the love of elizabeth and francis’ lives

francis took a liking to you more (always wanting a girl)

and you really helped bring him back home

helped him escape from all the prostitutes and gambling

the four of you were a really happy family

you and geoffrey charles played together in the yard

and we’re often scolded for being to rowdy

agatha wanted you to be just like her

even teaching you to read tarot from a very young age

also don’t forget about how kind ross was once your families were mended

the poldarks were finally free from hardship

until tragedy struck

and francis drowned

after news broke, you cried for months in your room

not letting anyone in except geoffrey charles and elizabeth on occasion

your mom promptly remarried george warleggan

he hated both you and geoffrey charles

always talking about your last name like it was disgusting

but you and geoffrey learned to be proud of it

“WE’RE CHANGING OUR MIDDLE NAMES TO FRANCIS”

your mother didn’t do much to discourage george so you found much comfort in nampara

and in little valentine

you knew he was a warleggan but you couldn’t help but love him

you carried him around as if he were your own son

and soon enough

it was time for geoffrey charles to start school

morwenna was hired as a governess

teaching geoffrey charles about math and you about how to be ladylike

as if anyone could do that

the three of you frequented nampara beach

where you and your brother would become matchmakers for morwenna and drake

purposefully bumping them into each other

“Wenna, you really must be less clumsy! Drake won’t always be here to catch your fall!”

come nightfall, you and your sibling would sit in each others’ rooms and share stories

talking about what you would do when you grow up

listening to the frogs a certain lovesick puppy put in the pond

your brother telling you that you’d never leave trenwith

that’d you’d stay here together forever

at least until george sent him to school

far far away

farther than you’ve ever been from him

you wrote him every day

but the only things that gave you solace were agatha and valentine

elizabeth did much less for you now

and your love for her seemed to lessen by the day

no doubt george was the cause

you spent your days reading books to your younger brother

and hearing old stories from your great aunt

soon, her “100th” birthday came around

but george being the ass he is cancelled it

and she died

you become utterly and completely depressed

accelerated by the fact that george moved you to truro…

this broke you like never before

everything is changing

and you’re but a teenager

to have your father, brother, aunt, and home stripped away was more than you could bear

upon moving, elizabeth paraded you around like a prize

though you were never in a mood for parties

no matter the endless streams of boys who danced with you

you just wanted your family back

and for everything to be like it was

even just one year ago

so you went through the motions

trying to best to keep up appearances

for the sake of the family

but only one person knew how much you were hurting

no, not elizabeth

not valentine

not ross

and definitely not george

it was the one person you could always trust

geoffrey charles poldark

and if anyone besides him saw your letters

they might die from a broken heart on the spot

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foreverlostinliterature · 4 years ago

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11/24 Book Deals

Good morning, everyone! I wasn’t planning to do a post today, but then I saw a lot of books on sale.. and I’m feeling better... and I’m just feeling like this would be a nice distraction to share as well, so here we are! How are you all doing today? I hope you’re hanging in there. :)

There really are a ton of awesome books on sale today, though! (Also, I forgot to include Her Last Flight by Beatriz Williams, but it’s also on sale!--https://amzn.to/3392Daf) I really enjoyed Tade Thompson’s Rosewater Trilogy, and Joe Abercrombie is also always awesome. Be sure to have a look because there’s a ton of great variety for you all. :)

I hope you all have a wonderful day and happy reading!

Here is the link to find resources on how you can help out with the BLM movement! Keep the momentum going!

Today’s Deals:

A Curse So Dark and Lonely by Brigid Kemmerer - https://amzn.to/3pXy4Ow

The Darkest Mind by Alexandra Bracken - https://amzn.to/3m2pQSV

Her Last Flight by Beatriz Williams -

The Only Woman in the Room by Marie Benedict - https://amzn.to/3l86muY

Lady Clementine by Marie Benedict - https://amzn.to/2JadgSN

The Paris Architect by Charles Belfoure - https://amzn.to/2KDyIAz

City of Thieves by David Benioff - https://amzn.to/3pRvRnP

The Royal Ranger by John Flanagan - https://amzn.to/2UWH08z

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley - https://amzn.to/33d7yXK

Beatleness: How the Beatles and Their Fans Remade the World by Candy Leonard - https://amzn.to/3m1Gim9

Anyone by Charles Soule - https://amzn.to/2KwKUmt

The Poppy Wife by Caroline Scott - https://amzn.to/39bV6eH

The Hidden World of the Fox by Adele Brand - https://amzn.to/2J7XgB2

Theodore Rex by Edmund Morris - https://amzn.to/2UTTLRc

Woman 99 by Greer Macallister - https://amzn.to/3nTvWp7

The Exiles by Christina Baker Kline - https://amzn.to/3fwzlYc

The Black Swan of Paris by Karen Robards - https://amzn.to/2UTITD3

Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy - https://amzn.to/3l1sN4O

A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness Bk. 1) by Joe Abercrombie - https://amzn.to/2J5jrrq

Fate of the Fallen by Kel Kade - https://amzn.to/2Hv2ia7

They Wish They Were Us by Jessica Goodman - https://amzn.to/2J1x9vr

Rosewater by Tade Thompson - https://amzn.to/33g2sKd

Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco - https://amzn.to/3l2iSfo

Cinder by Marissa Meyer - https://amzn.to/3mebyhS

Hercules Poirot's Christmas by Agatha Christie - https://amzn.to/3fu4mMc

NOTE: I am categorizing these book deals posts under the tag #bookdeals, so if you don’t want to see them then just block that tag and you should be good. I am an Amazon affiliate in addition to a Book Depository affiliate and will receive a small (but very much needed!) commission on any purchase made through these links.

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1917-boys · 5 years ago

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Ice Cream (Dean-Charles Chapman Fluff)

Requested: Yes / No

Word count: 1,289

Author’s Note: I finished a book the other day called Death on the Nile by Agatha Christie and it was super good. And then I found out it’s being made into a movie and it’s coming out later this year, and I was thinking maybe I’d put Dean in it? So that’s where I got that idea :) Also I totally suggest reading it if you can, it’s honestly great! Plus, I got a lot of Tom Blake vibes from Simon at the beginning, so that’s who I said Dean would play

You first met Dean when you were 16 years old. You met him at an audition, in which neither of you got the part. As bummed as you were to hear that, your hours waiting for the news had been passed eventfully, chatting with a boy named Dean, who would soon become your best friend.

Now, almost 7 years later, the two of you were still the best of friends. Your acting career was still getting off the ground, compared to Dean’s extremely successful one. He was always so supportive of you, calling you before an audition and wishing you luck. If you got the part, he’d cheer for you and invite you over to his house for a celebratory dinner.

Although you two were still going strong as friends, a part of you wanted more. You knew Dean in and out, and could picture yourself with him for the rest of your life. Waking up next to each other in the morning, cooking dinner together in the evenings, maybe even having a kid to play with and take care of together. You were always quick to suppress these thoughts, though, knowing that if you were to dwell on them you would only be more upset if it didn’t happen.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Dean had been thinking thoughts similar to yours. He wanted to grow old with you, buy a cute house and move in together, having some kids and watching them grow up. But Dean treasured your close friendship, and it was something he feared would be torn apart if he were to tell you of his hopes.

One day, the two of you were walking through London, admiring the fancy shops and restaurants you passed. Dean had recently been cast as Simon Doyle, one of the main characters in a new film, Death on the Nile, and you had decided to take him out for ice cream to celebrate.

As the two of you walked together, you felt Dean brush against your arm. Glancing up at him, he smiled apologetically down at you before shifting himself away from you a bit. If you were being honest, you liked the contact. Feeling Dean against you, in close contact, it excited you. But you weren’t sure how Dean felt about it, so you kept it to yourself.

You two continue walking the streets of London, approaching a stoplight. As you approach the small crowd of people waiting to cross, you slow your pace, coming to a stop. Since the small crowd was packed tightly together, Dean had moved behind you, rather than beside you. When you stopped, Dean hadn’t stopped yet. As a result, he had walked right into you. Thankfully, there hadn’t been too much pressure or you would have pushed into the others standing nearby.

You turn around to face him, smiling slightly. “You’ve got to be careful, Dean,” you reprimand him, although your tone is light. Dean hears the light tone of your voice and plays back at you. “Okay, mum,” he replies, grinning.

You slap his shoulder playfully, stepping back slightly to hit him again. Dean’s smile widens at your actions, laughing at you. Your smile grows as well, and soon the two of you have fallen into a fit of giggles, each laughing happily at the other.

The walk sign is soon lit up, and you and Dean move forward to cross the street along with the now slightly larger walking crowd. When you have successfully crossed the street, Dean is able to move up and walk beside you again. When he’s next to you, your eyes dart to look at him from the side, praying that he doesn’t notice your ogling. Dean’s head doesn’t turn back to look at you, so you continue your appreciative glance over his features.

His eyes, so bright and blue. They’re captivating, you think to yourself. God, I would look into those eyes all day if I could. You move to scan his cheeks and nose, taking in the innocent mounds of his face. If only I could squish his cheeks, just once, you find yourself thinking.

Dean’s head turns suddenly, catching you admiring him. Your face heats up immediately, a deep blush spreading rapidly up your neck and across your face. You can feel the warmth of your cheeks, and you’re sure Dean’s going to say something about it.

“Like what you see?” Dean asks cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows at you. Your blush deepens, but a shy smile makes its way onto your face. In a desperate attempt to shift the attention off of you, you quickly throw your hands out, pushing Dean’s arm.

A chuckle leaves his mouth, a slight rosy tint to his cheeks. “What was that for?” he asks, playfully offended. You bite your lip, struggling to contain a bright smile. “No reason, you’re just cute,” you reply, quickly turning your head to face forward. A few moments of silence pass, the two of you beginning to quicken your pace as you continue to walk. Your eyes don’t leave the street in front of you, though you feel Dean’s gaze boring into you.

As you approach the small ice cream parlor, your eyes flit up to meet Dean’s. His cheeks are still a soft, rosy pink, and you can’t help but think how much you’d like to give them just one little squish.

Dean awkwardly coughs, causing you to turn your full attention to him. “You think I’m cute?” he asks, shyly glancing from your eyes to his feet. You glance down at his feet as well, watching as he shuffles them nervously. You take a deep breath, ready to admit your feelings. All you can do now is hope that Dean reciprocates them.

“I do,” you state confidently, your eyes turning up to look at him squarely. You feel your face heating up, but this time you’re standing your ground. Dean’s face darkens, a much deeper blush painting his face.

“You know, I kinda like you, too,” he manages to admit, struggling and stuttering his way through the words. His hands move from his sides to your arm, guiding you gently to the ice cream parlor entrance. A bright smile is on your lips now, a happy laugh leaving your mouth. Dean’s smile grows, his grip tightening slightly on your arm.

Dean steps back, letting go of your arm to open the door for you, following you into the small shop. Both of you are blushing and smiling and laughing, and the young man working the counter smiles upon seeing you two. Dean follows you up to the counter, each of you ordering before the worker makes your order and hands it to you over the counter. You volunteer to pay, since it was your treat to Dean for his new role, but he quickly shot your idea down.

You roll your eyes, sighing softly as Dean pays and you find a table. You sit across from each other, enjoying your ice cream quietly. The comfortable silence is soon broken by Dean, who says your name to get your attention.

“What now? I mean, we’ve both established that we like each other, so what happens next?” He asks. You hear in his voice that he’s shy and nervous to be asking, but you can’t blame him. I mean, you two had been friends for years. What happens when two best friends suddenly admit that they like each other?

Without warning, you lift yourself slightly off the seat and lean over the table, pressing a sweet kiss to Dean’s cheek. His face is once again painted a light pink, and a soft laugh leaves his mouth. “Well, Y/N, that works just fine.”

#dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman fluff #dcc

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shitty-check-please-aus · 5 years ago

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2020 Books Read So Far

Note: Most of these are audiobooks (listening to books counts as reading books and if you disagree I’d ask you to consider why you believe that), books I started and didn’t finish will be listed but not reviewed, and all my opinions are extremely subjective. I’m putting this on this blog because I want to and I think it’ll help me keep track of what I’ve read if I write it down in a couple places.

Some notes:

I’m surprised that most of these are nonfiction! I don’t usually think of myself as a nonfiction reader.

Having audiobooks has made me way more productive as a reader, since I can read while I’m doing repetitive tasks at work, when I have to stand on the bus, when I’m running, etc.

Naked, by David Sedaris

3/5, the audiobook was “unabridged selections” which means “we didn’t edit the individual essays but you’re only getting half the book”– it would probably have been a 4/5 if it was a whole book. I liked that Amy Sedaris was reading parts of it, but that’s because I like her more than I like her brother. This is sort of an example of the difference between “comedic” and “humorous,” because it’s definitely the latter.

Read it if: you want to read something pretty fucking weird.

Lafayette in the Somewhat United States, by Sarah Vowell

4/5, I saw this recommended a lot when Hamilton first came out so it’s been in the back of my mind for a good while. The book had a great cast, and having different people reading the historical quotes was an excellent touch!

However, I think Vowell’s conversational style is a little jarring here sometimes. It’s like “wait, why are you talking about Bruce Springsteen, I’m not that familiar with his work but he definitely isn’t from Revolutionary War times.” I got her book Assassination Vacation at a used bookshop recently as well, and both books suffer from post-2016 hindsight, where she’ll say something about how incompetent and foolish the politicians of her time are, and I just have to snort to myself and say “Sarah, you’re going to lose your goddamn mind soon.” That’s a bit of an unfair reaction, but it’s hard to avoid having it.

I was also, maybe unfairly, expecting to learn more than I did. The problem is that I know a Lot about the Revolutionary War, and from the introduction I thought we’d hear more about Lafayette’s later life (my knowledge drops sharply after about 1810). The book basically ends after the Battle of Yorktown, though.

Read it if: you have not seen/listened to both Hamilton and 1776, or if you want to read a summary of the Revolutionary War with a focus on one French captain.

Assassination Vacation, by Sarah Vowell

3/5, honestly maybe a 2.5/5. Okay, so. Either I know a lot more about American History than I felt like I did or this is again a very surface level thing. Part of it is because she spends 123 pages on Abe Lincoln. There are 255 pages total. 2/3 of the states I’ve lived in are Indiana and Illinois, two states that fight about claiming Lincoln as their own, and I’ve been to D.C. 4 or 5 times, so I feel like I know enough about Lincoln. I know about John Wilkes Booth, and his brother Edwin who saved Lincoln’s son’s life, and the death train that took Lincoln’s body around the country. I did enjoy learning about the doctor who was probably conspiring with Booth and how he ended up saving tons of lives in prison when there was a yellow fever outbreak (also to be briefly unbearably nitpicky: I think she might have mixed up dengue and yellow fever? She calls yellow fever “breakbone” but I can only find instances online of people calling dengue fever that. Maybe they called them all breakbone in the late 1800s. If anyone reading this is an epidemiologist, let me know).

It was interesting to hear that Charles Guiteau, killer of President Garfield, was part of the Oneida cult. I’m trying to think of anything notable she said about Leon Czolgosz, killer of President McKinley. I guess she talks about how people assumed he was a foreigner because of his name, but I already listened to “The Ballad of Czolgosz” in Assassins, so I knew “Czolgosz, angry man, born in the middle of Michigan.”

This one is from 2005 so the politics stuff is a little more interesting, since at the time I was busy learning multiplication and spending one entire baseball season learning about baseball and following my team (they won the world series, I have excellent timing). I will say that in 2005 we did have Google, so I am again annoyed with some of her asides and personal anecdotes. Look, if you go to the Hemingway house and you don’t know there will be cats there, that’s on you if you don’t bring your Claritin. Hemingway is associated with only two good things, six-toed cats and Daiquiris.

She also does not acknowledge that the parties basically switched platforms? Lincoln’s Republican party is not today’s Republican party, in fact kind of the opposite, so it’s weird that she starts the book with a dedication that’s like “to my lifelong Democrat grandpa, he’d be pissed I dedicated a book about 3 Republicans to him.” I guess she does sometimes say stuff like “how did Lincoln’s party become Reagan’s” (paraphrase), but she doesn’t actually get into it.

Speaking of Democrats, she literally spends more time talking about Pablo Picasso than she spends talking about JFK. She doesn’t explain why she didn’t talk about JFK, but it seems bizarre to me to write a book about American assassinations and to leave out John Fucking Kennedy. Literally I’ve talked more about JFK in this section than she did in her assassin book. It’s not until page 253 that JFK gets a full paragraph. There are 255 pages total. Truly, if she’d taken a paragraph to be like “I’m focusing on the presidents who were elected before 1900″ or “the presidents whose immediate families aren’t still alive” or even “I didn’t want to travel to Dallas for research” or SOMETHING to explain why she left out JFK, I would have understood it more instead of flipping through the pages wondering what was going on.

Read it if: You do not listen to too many history podcasts and you didn’t read the Wikipedia page for the musical Assassins. And I guess if you don’t want to acknowledge that JFK did also get assassinated and that was kind of a big deal. Actually just listen to Assassins instead.

And Then There Were None, Agatha Christie

5/5 as a mystery, 0/5 for its original title (not gonna say it here but if you’ve ever googled the name of HP Lovecraft’s cat, it’s along those lines). Less than 6 hours, narrated by Dan Stevens from Downton Abbey, fairly ideal as an audiobook. I am 95% sure I’ve already read this, because I spent the summer before I started high school reading every Agatha Christie book in the library (I do not have a list of all the Agatha Christie books in my library the summer of 2010, so there is some question).

Read if: you want to hear the guy from Downton Abbey deliver the line “I’m not a complete fool!” in a tone that makes it sound like “I’m not a fucking moron!” Sidenote: Can anyone tell me if Brits say “solder” by pronouncing the L that I’ve always heard as a silent L? Or if Dan Stevens just fucked up that one word?

Over The Top: A Raw Journey to Self-Love, by Jonathan Van Ness

4.5/5

This was a super enjoyable audiobook! It’s a testament to JVN’s considerable charisma that this book is full of him giving people in his past who would rather be anonymous Russian names, and it doesn’t get grating (as a Marina, however, I was shocked to not hear my name at any point; most of the other Marina’s I’ve met in my life are Russian). JVN has had a wild ride in life, and it’s a really raw, honest story of how he became who he is. I will say that if you are interested in reading this, please look up the trigger warnings; there are a lot of things that could be triggering to people.

I feel a little bad at how much more I liked this one compared to Tan France’s memoir, but I also feel like whoever was ghostwriting that one did a bad job at making Tan seem... not extremely defensive, cocky, and prickly (it seems that JVN did not use a ghostwriter; Tan’s on the other hand, let the phrase “I’m proud to be a petty bitch” make it into the final proof several times). Also JVN advocates going to therapy in his book, while Tan kind of says that you should only go to therapy if you have no friends or family or life partner to talk to, which I fundamentally disagree with. I don’t know. I also feel like, if I were to get a makeover from the Fab 5, Jonathan would love my hair (I have great hair) while Tan would say that I’m dressing too old for a 24 year old and then take me to fucking Lane Bryant or Torrid (I wear a size 16 US so IRL options are limited).

Read if: You like Queer Eye or Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness

Medallion Status, by John Hodgman

4.5/5

I really like John Hodgman’s podcast, and I got to ask him a question at an event he did at the Field Museum and he was very nice, so I went into this inclined to enjoy it.

And I did! I had a good time reading it. I read it the first week of January and now it’s the second week of February so I have already erased much of the book’s content from my mind, but he somehow made the perspective of being a formerly kinda famous person really interesting. I would also recommend Vacationland, particularly if anyone wants to write an au where Nursey, as a New Yorker, has a vacation home in Dex’s town in Maine. That’s right, I brought it back around to the topic of this blog. And that would be a fucking fantastic au.

Read it if: you like memoirs! it’s a good one.

Murder on the Orient Express, by Agatha Christie

Gonna give this one a 3/5 for performance, because Dan Stevens (again, because I liked his narration in the other one) does a really annoying American accent for a few characters, and an extremely bad Italian accent for another. I’m starting this review only a few hours in, so if it turns out that the Italian man is not Italian, I’ll revoke my criticism. Still a 5/5 mystery, though. I did have to stop many times when they were talking about Istanbul to go over to Spotify and play “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” by They Might Be Giants.

Books abandoned in 2020 (so far) (no real spoilers, I didn’t get more than a few chapters into any of them):

The Unhoneymooners, Christina Lauren

I got to a point where the main character was telling a lie that would put her newly accepted job into jeopardy, and it stressed me out so much as a relatively new hire that I stopped listening for the day and started another one, and then the week had passed and then the library took it back. I think I’d enjoy it more if I was reading it physically and I could control how fast I got through awkward parts (I am practically allergic to secondhand embarrassment). The performance was good and I did get a hankering for cheese curds.

Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris

I had like three audiobooks checked out at the same time, and even though this was again an abridged version, I just didn’t have time for all of them. My mom has a physical copy, I’ll borrow that at some point.

The Witch Elm, Tana French

This is one I may revisit someday. The main character is kind of an asshole, which is the point of his character I think, but it made it hard to get into the story. It’s also a 22 hour audiobook, which is kind of insanely long. Additionally, the narrator has a very slow way of talking, but if I tried to speed up the rate of playback I had trouble understanding his accent (I think I just have trouble processing really fast speech in general as well, but I would’ve had an easier time understanding someone with the same accent as me). Anyways, someone put a hold on it at the library and then I didn’t check it out again.

#long post #off topic #Marina Reads #edit: put under a readmore bc I forgot to earlier

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upstartpoodle · 5 years ago

Note

George & Elizabeth + 62 please :D

Hi, thanks for the ask! Sorry it’s taken so long--I initially had another idea for this request but it was taking way too long to write so I’ve gone with this instead. I hope you like it! :D

George x Elizabeth + “please, don’t cry”

“Oh my love, please, don’t cry.”

It was deep into the night at Trenwith house, and Elizabeth Warleggan was pacing to and fro in front of the nursery window looking out onto the shadowed grounds, a wailing Valentine cradled in her arms. The baby boy’s face was scrunched up, red from crying, and nothing she did seemed able to persuade him to stop. She had long ago sent the nursemaid to bed, after a feed, a change of napkin, and even a good long cuddle was not sufficient to calm him. None of those things, she knew, would have been able to soothe him much. He was crying, after all, because he was ill, and in pain, and she felt all the more rotten a mother for not being able to alleviate either.

Elizabeth was not generally inclined to be uncharitable--quite frankly, her husband had enough critical opinions of their peers for the both of them--but here, in the dead of night, with her crying son in her arms, she couldn’t help but curse Dr Choake not only for not diagnosing Valentine’s rickets when consulted, but also for failing to do a single useful thing about it. Really, she would have preferred not to consult Choake at all--his less than comforting presence at Geoffrey Charles’ birth had made her infinitely glad of his indisposal at Valentine’s, and his failure, too, to correctly diagnose the putrid throat when the house had fallen ill with it stuck in her mind--but at the time, there had been little option available to them. Now, she wondered if she might persuade George to call upon Dr Enys instead. Dwight’s methods may often be unorthodox, but she could not deny that they were more often successful than not.

A creak of the nursery door brought her out of her train of thought, and she stilled her pacing, turning about to see who it was that had entered. To her surprise, she saw that it was George. He was in his nightshirt and dressing gown, his soft curls rumpled from sleep--or, she suspected from the tiredness in his eyes, plain to see even in the dim candlelight, the lack thereof. He looked as exhausted as she felt.

“No luck?” he asked quietly as he pushed the door to behind him. She had slipped out of their bed some time earlier upon hearing Valentine’s cries, insisting that she see to him. George had offered to go, but he had some business with the Magistrate’s Court on the morrow and Elizabeth hadn’t wanted him to tire himself out sitting with the boy all night--as she suspected he might well have done to ensure that she got some rest in his stead.

“None,” she sighed, shaking her head, lips pursed. “We have tried all manner of things, but none seem to have made the slightest difference.”

It was George’s turn to sigh. There had been several nights--and days--like this one already, and with each one that passed, the pair of them were becoming increasingly worried.

“What is this, then?,” he spoke again, this time directly to Valentine. “What is all this, hmm?”

He stepped forward, taking one of the baby’s tiny curled up fists gently in his hand. Valentine was so surprised by the sudden appearance of his papa that he momentarily forgot to cry, staring up at him with wide, tear-filled brown eyes. Then, in the blink of an eye, he pitched his chubby little arms forward and practically launched himself into his father’s arms.

“There we go,” George said as she settled the little boy safely in his arms. Though the sudden change had startled him, Valentine was still crying, and he started bobbing him carefully up and down in an attempt to soothe him. “Oh, none of that now, young man.”

Elizabeth smiled at the sight, despite her tiredness and worries. Ever since she had known him, George had always been awkward and uncertain in showing anything which might be construed as weakness to others, and so she had been pleasantly surprised when she first witnessed the blatant, open, and unashamed affection which he showed their son. And as much as the sight of it brought forth a web of emotions so tangled that she could not hope to separate them, it only made her all the more certain that he was their son. No matter what claim Ross might have thought he had on him should he suspect, no matter how Agatha sneered and crowed, it was not he, the supposed “better man” that she had been waiting for who had stayed to hold the boy whilst he cried.

“I think he might need a doctor,” she said, a frown marring her brow as the unpleasantness of the situation caused her smile at the tender moment to wane. “He doesn’t seem to be showing any improvement at all.”

George hummed distractedly. Valentine had captured his forefinger in both hands, without, it seemed, even the slightest intention of relinquishing it.

“I fear Choake may not be of much use,” he remarked. “He hasn’t been so far.”

Relieved that his opinion on the man seemed, to an extent, of a match with hers, Elizabeth nodded.

“Perhaps,” she suggested, “perhaps, Dr Enys...”

George stared down at the floor with a frown, contemplating the idea.

“I suppose he might,” he conceded. “If he has any chance of succeeding, it would be foolish not to summon him. Maybe I should send a note to him in the morning.”

Elizabeth smiled at him, glad of his easy agreement. Relieved as she was, however, the expression was still a little strained, just as his was when he returned the smile. He had started humming under his breath, and Valentine’s cries began, slowly, to quieten to soft, hiccupping sniffles as he listened to his father’s voice. Elizabeth listened too, some of the strained quality beginning to fade from her smile. She had heard him sing to Valentine before, from the other side of half-closed doors when he thought she wasn’t listening, and each time he did, it seemed to utterly transfix the little boy. He had a pleasant, clear tenor which, outside of little refrains caught whilst passing by the nursery, she had only heard sounding out deeply unenthusiastic hymns at her side in St Sawle Church. She half wanted to ask him to sing properly now, but she knew it would only serve to embarrass him if she were to draw attention to it.

“I don’t mind staying with him if you wish to rest, my dear,” he said after a while. Elizabeth, who had been lulled into a sleepy haze listening to his soft humming, jolted suddenly upon realising he was addressing her. Valentine, she noticed, had not stopped crying, but instead of the loud wails of before, he had quieted to the odd gentle sniffle. George was attempting to wipe away the tears on his chubby cheek--with some difficulty, considering the boy was still holding his finger resolutely captive. “At least one of us should get a little sleep, and you have already been here with him for half the night.”

Elizabeth shook her head, reaching out to help dry the tears with her thumb. She doubted she would sleep any better--alone in bed with her son crying and her husband awake all night trying to comfort him--than he had before her.

“I doubt either of us will sleep much tonight, whatever we do,” she said. “Let us take him back to our chamber.”

And with that, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the high arch of his cheekbone. When she pulled back, he smiled at her with tired eyes.

“We shall stay with him together.”

Drabble List

#poldark #poldark fic #elizabeth warleggan #elizabeth chynoweth #george warleggan #george x elizabeth #elizabeth x george #georgibeth #valentine warleggan #fic #mine #my fic #sfw

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shit-she-wrote · 5 years ago

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Genre: Crime

Summary: An elder woman enjoys a splendid morning in her house. Her husband, however, is unusually quiet.

Word count: 1954

Content warning: murder, blood, death

Author’s note: Another prompt-fill for a Reedsy contest (with Agatha Christie inspired prompts, I really couldn’t resist!) a while ago and y’all, I had so much fun writing this!!! Also a big shoutout to all the lovely fellow writers on my favorite writing discord that were cheering me on – if you see this, y’all really motivated me to write this, thank you so much!!! Enjoy reading this! :D

(also, if anyone would be so kind as to by me a coffee on kofi for my work, it would be greatly appreciated 😅💗)

Barely Alive

a short story

For the first time in quite a while, Mrs. Merlyn Marble wakes up with a smile on her face. What a beautiful morning, she thinks, quiet and peaceful and fresh. A breeze of morning air is coming through her open window and she half sits up, regarding the curtains in their slow morning dance against it. Getting up, she crosses the room to catch a glimpse of the view from her bedroom, for the day outside was truly something to behold. Her garden blooming with spring flowers, her grass greener than green, and the slow-paced stream of the River Eye right beneath her window alight with a silver sparkle of the grey skies.

She puts on a morning robe and ties her gray curls into a low bun before heading downstairs. She stops in the living room for a second, determined to tidy it up a bit, just to make it as pleasant as she feels. She rearranges the pillows on the sofa, places the remote control by the television, pushes the big vase on the cupboard just a little to the left to have it right in the center. To top it all off, she even turns on the old gramophone, switching her husband’s favorite record for her own, and she hums along to the evergreen songs of Ella Fitzgerald as she is finally satisfied with the way her living room looks. Her husband isn’t going to like it one bit, especially not the new pillow arrangement and the fact that he will have to get up to get the remote, but today Merlyn hardly cares about his possible complaints.

Speaking of her husband, she finds him in the dining room, still sat at the same spot as last night.

“Good Heavens, Joseph,” she playfully berates him. “Did you even move since last night? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

Joseph Marble very pointedly doesn’t answer her. Alright, so maybe he is still a bit sour about their fight at dinner. Nonetheless, Merlyn isn’t going to let him spoil her pleasant mood with his stubborn antics.

Putting on the kettle, she hums along to the sweet music coming from the living room, as she rearranges the boxes of tea before picking a bag from her favorite brand, then a bag of her husband’s favorite for him. Maybe they have had some disagreements last night, but she isn’t going to be too petty to make him a cuppa because of it.

Glancing out of the window, she notices the postman approaching their house. Oh, Charles! He is always so delightful when it comes to exchanging pleasantries. She rushes to the door to greet him, smiling brightly.

“Oh, Mrs. Marble, good morning!” he calls to her when he sees her stepping outside and carries the mail straight to her instead of placing it into the mailbox.

“Merlyn, Charles, please. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yes, yes, of course, apologies. How are you doing today?”

“Oh, quite well, thank you! It’s such a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” Merlyn exclaims. “Joseph and I were just fixing to start breakfast. Care to join us? For a cup of tea at least.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Charles chuckles and starts rummaging around his satchel. “Besides, the new issue of Lower Slaughter Gazette came today. Joseph was telling me just last week how you keep your nose buried inside their crossword puzzle section whenever you get your hands on it.”

“And the day gets better!” Merlyn cries gleefully as she accepts the local newspaper. “Thank you, Charles. Have a nice day.”

He leaves just as she hears the kettle whistling. Of course, Joseph doesn’t care to take it off the stove, she has to do everything herself.

“One or two sugars, darling?” she calls out to him. No answer. Very well. One sugar, then. He has to watch his blood pressure, anyway. She sets his cup of tea in front of him and hers by the newspaper. She cuts up a few loaves of bread and sets it on the table along with some butter and her cousin’s homemade strawberry jam, which she usually saves for truly outstanding days.

“Oh, the Mill Museum is getting renewed, that’s nice,” she mutters around her cup of tea. “Don’t you think it’s nice, dear?”

She flips through the pages, glancing idly at the titles, and stops at the obituaries.

“Oh, dear,” she says remorsefully. “Gilbert Blight has passed away two days ago. What a shame. He’s always reminded me of you, you know? A bit rough around the edges, but quite sweet when he wanted to be. And now he’s dead, just like that. We’ll have to attend the funeral, of course. Tomorrow afternoon, at three o’clock. Oh, and those poor children of his! I’ll have to ask if there is anything I can do.”

She puts the newspaper down to spread butter and jam on her slice of bread.

“I’m surprised how long you’re keeping up with the silent treatment, Joseph. I’m just talking to myself at this point. You usually have a snide remark to go with everything I am saying. Am I not rambling on too much today?” She pauses, waiting for an answer as she bites into her breakfast. “Well? Nothing? Hm. You know, this just proves my exact point last night. But I’m not getting back into that. Let’s just have a nice, silent breakfast.”

And silent it is, for the next ten minutes. Joseph doesn’t touch his food, nor does he drink the tea before it gets cold, but Merlyn lets him sulk in peace. They have said everything that needed to be said last night, no need to drag it all on forever. At least she can look past her anger to have a lovely breakfast and enjoy a morning as nice as this one.

She flips over to the end of the newspaper where her beloved crossword puzzle is waiting, gloriously blank and absolutely perfect for a morning such as this one. Ella Fitzgerald is still playing in the background – it’s almost odd to hear it, having grown used to the perfect silence that Joseph has always demanded at breakfast. But Joseph doesn’t seem to mind it this morning and it makes Merlyn happy to finally enjoy this simple pleasure.

“Hm, what was that actor’s name again? Grant something, four letters … Hugh!” Victoriously, she writes the name down. “Oh, and that makes for a … murder … of crows, across.”

Usually, Joseph would already start complaining about her annoying habit of thinking out loud. Just as he would complain about the music and the rearrangements in the living room, and about his tea not being sweet enough.

“You know,” Merlyn ponders aloud, “I quite like this new you. The strong and silent type, who opts to suffer in silence rather than just complain about everything that’s bothering him. This silent treatment isn’t so bad. In fact, I’m wondering why we haven’t had last night’s argument sooner.”

She takes another sip of her tea and adds another word to the crossword.

“Well, I suppose this is not even that different from any other time. You never really enjoyed talking to me, did you?” She discloses the statement in a half-whisper as if it were an unspoken secret between them. “It makes me wonder sometimes, why you even married me at all, a chatterbox you didn’t care for. Because you never actually cared for me, did you? Not enough for us to have any children that I have always wanted, anyway. Not enough for you to even notice when I’ve dyed my hair a different color. At some point, I even stopped dying my hair altogether and your only comment was that I suddenly looked older than before.”

Even after such an earnest speech, not a single word of protest comes from Joseph. She is almost delighted to be finally saying this to his face, even if thirty-four years too late.

“I don’t even think you noticed how miserable I was, not really. You were too wrapped in your own misery to think of my own, weren’t you?” Turning her attention back to the crossword, she almost laughed at the irony of the next clue. “Would you look at that, Joseph. End of marriage, seven letters across. Do you have any guesses? Of course you don’t. Had you ever thought of the word divorce, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. It’s kind of lucky I thought of another word that is just as effective, wouldn’t you agree?”

Still smiling, she looks up at him and beams at what she sees. Her dear husband, Joseph Marble, whom she had promised to love until death did them part, is half crouched in his chair, sickly pale and unmoving. His glassy eyes are staring into empty space before him and he no longer needs to blink, nor close his hung-open jaw. His shirt is painted red-brown with the dried stain of blood that spread from the wound in his chest, right where Merlyn had rammed the kitchen knife into his chest last night and left it there. She is going to need to take it back and clean it by lunchtime, of course, it would be a nightmare cutting up the vegetables with any other knife. But for now, it looked quite nice with the blade stuck inside of Joseph’s torso.

“So? You’re still not going to say anything?” she taunts him, almost mercilessly. “Well, you can’t really be this bitter about me killing you. Let’s be honest, you’ve barely been alive for most of our marriage, anyways.”

Sighing, she regards him for a moment. He looks unreal, like a disgusting puppet set up clumsily in a chair. Some of the blood has sprayed the table, she will have to clean that up. She always had to clean up after his own messes. But it’s not like he can lift a finger to help her with household chores now. What a perfect excuse to sit around all day death has given him.

“So, what am I going to do with you now?” she asks him, leaning her head a little to the side to catch his empty stare. “I can’t just bury you out there in the garden. Whatever will the neighbors think? And I can’t move you to the basement, you’re far too heavy and I am no longer as young and spry as I once was. I must say, this is the one consequence of mariticide I hadn’t thought of.”

Joseph, bless his soul, remains compassionately silent. She really doesn’t need him telling her how stupid she is for not planning ahead.

“Well, I suppose you can stay here for a few more days until I think of something,” she decides after a brief consideration. “It’s not like we’re expecting any company soon. And I can open up some windows when you start to smell.”

She sets the crossword down for a moment to clean the table after breakfast and pours herself some more tea. Sitting back down, she looks at the deadman across from her and helplessly allows another giddy smile to spread across her face.

“So, do you have any plans for today? Anything that needs doing?” She is met by blessed silence. “No? Well, then I am sure you’ll be more than excited to hear all about my plans for today and for the rest of the week. Just stop me if you feel like I’m talking too much.”

Joseph simply sits there, eyes open and unblinking, chest bloody and unmoving. He has never been such a great listener as he is now.

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years ago

Text

Beneath the Flap

Steggy Week 2k19, day 4 Prompt: AUs and crossovers

Summary: The serum doesn’t work out as planned. Steve gets a new role in the SSR.

AO3 link here.

With Dr. Erskine dead, no one can entirely explain why the serum worked, or why Steve woke up the next morning to find that it had entirely stopped working and left him just as he had been before. The vein in Colonel Phillips’ neck gets a worryingly energetic workout as he moves between yelling at Steve (again) for getting himself on the front page, and yelling at Howard for having created a single super soldier for about twelve hours and now not even that.

“What’s done,” Agent Carter says firmly from her place against the wall behind the desk, “is done. And I think, sir, that we all just need to move forward. We’re still meant to fly to London, I presume?” She doesn’t give Steve more than a casual glance, but he still appreciates her speaking up on his behalf.

“The three of us are,” Phillips says, moving on to a more businesslike crabbiness. “But now I don’t have many options for what to do with this one.”

Steve stands as straight as he can now that his scoliosis is back. “Sir, I’d like to reiterate my request to come to London with you.”

Phillips gives a snorting little laugh. “‘Reiterate your request.’ Son, I’d like to remind you that I turned you down yesterday during your fifteen minutes of being Charles Atlas. Now you’re back to being a shrimpy little thing who barely survived basic? I’m sorry, but the senator doesn’t want you on his plate, and neither do I. We’ll just have to see if the lab boys will still take you.”

Stark steps forward. “Actually, I’d like to keep looking at him. At this point, I’m the most familiar with the process. Maybe by figuring out what went wrong here, I can figure out how to get it working again.” Phillips still looks dubious, so he adds, “Might be able to make it more broadly applicable, get the whole program working like we had wanted.”

There’s a split second where Steve thinks the answer will be no, but then Phillips says gruffly, “Alright, pack your bags. But Stark, this had absolutely better not interfere with your other work.”

“It’ll be a side project,” Stark swears, raising a hand.

“And perhaps when Private Rogers is not being a test subject, we could find him some other duties,” adds Agent Carter, and while it’s phrased as a suggestion, it borders on an order. Phillips looks amused so briefly Steve isn’t entirely sure he saw right, but then points a finger at Agent Carter.

“You’re right, Agent. I suppose I can find him something else to take care of.”

“Like I said, most people are pretty good by now about keeping it clean,” says Private Allen, “but if you catch something…” She snips her scissors through the air over the shared square desk in their back office in demonstration.

Steve eyes his pair warily. Sure, he’s had his own mail censored, he knows that. But being the censor is different. Time of war, he reminds himself, and winces at what a slippery slope that is.

Once he gets started, though, he finds that it is pretty easy, just as Private Allen had said. Most of the folks detailed to the SSR know how to keep a secret, and the stuff they write to siblings or sweethearts or fellow soldiers is pedestrian - about the food, or how they're feeling, or the guy in the next bunk who talks in his sleep. Steve snorts reading through the half dozen letters Corporal Daniels has copied out exactly to different girls at different addresses, and rolls his eyes at the way Private Ellerby describes his duties to his mother with a sort of loftiness that is entirely unearned by the guy in charge of divvying out new boots.

He hasn't even touched his scissors, and hasn't entirely realized the morning has passed when Allen says, "One more each and then we'll go have some lunch?" and he agrees.

Dear Kitty, says the letter that he opens next

The weather isn't exactly welcoming, but it is nice to see familiar scenery again. I know things might wear for you a bit, seeing the inside of the same four walls most of the time, but it wears on me sometimes not to always know where I'm going to hang my hat from one night to the next.

(Not that I wear my uniform hat very often - it gives me a bit too much of a jaunty recruitment poster look - but you'll forgive a turn of phrase, I hope?)

Steve laughs a little, and Allen, not looking up from her own letter, asks, "Is that one of Patterson's? If he's trying to hint again about what he’s packing down below, I'll tell you that he's certainly exaggerating." Steve waves her off and continues.

Things haven't been going quite as smoothly as I'd wished - we lost an excellent man recently, and in some senses more - but we go on. I'll be travelling a bit and I'm not sure where, but I'm sure the service will do its best to make sure that your letters find me. I know that you enjoy a good chat more than sitting down to compose a letter, but I'll ask your favor in continuing to write. Since Michael— the writer censors herself, a thick black line drawn through whatever she had written next. Steve refrains from holding it up to the light to try to identify the words.

Hearing news from old friends always brings a smile to my face, and reminds me that we aren't fighting alone. And, of course, your care packages are always appreciated. The one you sent last time was a treat. The Body in the Library and a pair of your hoarded Dairy Milks were just what I needed - bless you, and twice again!

As for the issue we spoke about last time we were together, I'd ask that you remember to speak up. I know you think that you were brought on only because you are excellent at adding numbers together in your head, but I'll remind you that the skill is more than that and I wasn't the only one who noticed. Mr. G can certainly build a head of steam, but steam is simply the venting of heat and we’ll all be better off if you hold your ground, wait for it to dissipate, and make sure that he understands what you're saying. I appreciate knowing that people like you are helping us work through our problems, and I'll sleep even better at night if you would push through the stubbornness of others and allow your solutions to truly shine. You are brilliant, you've been right more often than nearly anyone, and if they aren't going to listen, you must make them.

I'll leave off my scolding here (I am still holding out for something sweet next time, after all) but remember that I'm thinking of you even through everything else. Speak out, Kit!

Much love,

Peggy

When he comes to the signature, something in him isn't surprised. It isn't that he and Agent Carter are best friends - little could be further from the truth - but the letter shows the tenacity and intelligence and subversive bits of humor that he has already noticed in her. The handwriting is clear and readable, although there's a bit of a patchwork quality to its composition, a smudging to the ink in some places, that makes him think that it was dashed off in odd moments, pieced together as she found the time, and that touches him too: the thought of her remembering to jot down advice and comfort to a friend even with everything he’s seen her taking care of. He notices the places where she'd done her job for him too - "the issue we spoke about last time," “Mr. G” - and his eyes move again to the thick black slash in the center of the page. There's still a place or two where he should probably do a bit of a snip (the reference to Erskine's death is on the borderline), but he decides to let it slide. Steve was chosen for this job, as much as Phillips had chosen him for anything, because he had knowledge of some of the SSR's most top secret work and would be able to pick up references to it. Someone without that knowledge, though, wouldn't understand what was truly being said.

Or at least that's what Steve tells himself as he slips the letter, whole and untouched, back into its envelope, marks it with his censor’s label, and places it in the box set aside for mailing.

"Time for lunch?" Allen asks, getting to her feet, and Steve, considering whether he’ll have time to eat and still run out to find a bookshop with Agatha Christie, agrees.

Kitty -

Just a brief note to wish you a happy birthday. Imagine me singing if you’d like, though I think we both know that it isn’t truly a strong point of mine.

Considering geography, weather, battle lines, the whims of fate, etc., I’m not entirely certain that this will reach you before your next birthday, but hopefully my gift will arrive in a timelier manner (it needs some more particular handling than a letter; you’ll understand my meaning when you receive it).

I hope everyone there is planning to celebrate you properly. And if they’re still reluctant to have a real party there after the one they threw for me and Fred, please pass on from me that I don’t actually consider what happened between us a tragedy and that things in fact are looking even better for me now than they were then - in more ways than one, actually.

I know it seems a bit defensive, but speaking honestly, Kit, I look back on the person I was then and it’s as if I only dreamed being her.

Anyway, you can pass on my official lifting of the curse, along with my greetings to everyone (except Noreen - we both know why). But many happy returns mostly to you, Kitty. I hope things look even better at this time next year for all of us.

Best, Peg

“So why did they pick you for this detail?” Steve asks as they sit at their traditional table in the mess.

“I’m usually in the secretarial pool,” says Rainy. Maybe it’s not professional and he should still be calling her Private Allen, but she’d told him her nickname and he figures they’re friends now. “It was in my file that I speak French, and after the last girl who did got married, they asked me to step in. You know that we can’t just pass through letters because there’s no one to understand them.” Steve is meant to be taking a similar role for the SSR’s secret and science-related assignments - last week he’d finally been given some heightened clearance, and several encyclopedias worth of classified files to read - but sometimes he wonders if assigning him the letters not actually written in English would be more effective.

Rainy pushes away her plate, the little leftover lump of stew, with its approximate meat and perhaps once potatoes, jiggling slightly. She examines her bread, crinkling her mouth, but butters it anyway. Steve doesn’t take any such issue. Meals here are served on time and in what he considers plentiful quantities. Plus the doctor who’d done his physical when he’d arrived had put him on some sort of extra milk ration in an attempt to “get some heft on these bones of yours” (and given him the glasses he’d known for years he’d needed and also known he couldn’t afford). Steve can still sometimes grasp the feeling of those hours of having been taller, broader, of not struggling to breathe, of having a straight spine and eyes that just worked. But even without all that magical science he had hoped would change things, being a little guy in the army he’s in some ways better off than he’s ever been.

“Everyone from secretarial who has the night off is going to the pictures after supper, if you want to come,” offers Rainy. “They want to see Mrs. Miniver, but I have the feeling I’ll end up crying. I’d much rather see Yankee Doodle Dandy, but I’ve been outvoted again.” She puts on a little pout, which makes Steve laugh.

“Getting your performance ready?” he asks, and Rainy sticks her tongue out at him.

“The girls are much harder to convince than boys ever were,” she reflects, sighing as she tosses hair that Steve can now see clearly is a bouncy and beautiful blonde wave. With the glasses to help him actually pick up on details, he itches for his sketchbook and pencils more than ever. Rainy really does have a fascinating face, beautiful if not classically so, brimming with confidence and a bit of mystery. He wonders if he could get her to sit for him.

“Steve, are you going to answer the question, or are you just going to stare?”

“Sorry.” He decides to ask her later, maybe after the film and the inevitable follow-up visit to a pub. “I’d love to come. Thanks for asking me.”

She stands to clear her dishes. “Well, everyone’s been wondering about you, so coming out tonight and meeting them might settle the questions.”

He knew that he stuck out among the staff here. The only surprise is that no one’s confronted him yet about how he’d gotten in. “So what’s everyone been saying?” He gulps down the last of his prescription milk and stands too.

“Top theory is that you’re the secret son of some higher up,” she tells him seriously, and he almost drops his tray.

“Which one?”

“Most people are split between Marshall and Nimitz, and there are some who are sure it’s actually Phillips, but I think Hap Arnold’s the best looking, so that’s where my money is.” She elbows him as they finish scraping and sorting their plates. “Want to give a pal the real story so I can get a jump on things?”

He shrugs, a little uncomfortable even as he’s amused by her matter-of-fact tone. “Someone took pity on me, I guess. Not a general though, and certainly not Phillips.”

There’s that theatrical nature again: Rainy looks disappointed only for a beat before she perks back up again, says, “We’ve got to come up with something better than that by tonight,” and starts proposing stories as they walk back to the censorship office.

Agent Carter is seated at a table by the back wall. For a second, Steve thinks he sees her eyes following him, and actually considers waving to her although they haven’t spoken since he’s been here. But then he blinks and she is just eating absently while paging through a file on the table in front of her.

Maybe the glasses just don’t work as well as he thought they did. He goes back to work, trying to forget the moment that he had apparently just imagined.

Steve starts saving her letters until the end of the day. He knows that it isn’t exactly professional of him, but he can't help but want to savor them. He tells himself it's alright - he doesn't give special treatment to all her letters, only those to Kit. The dutiful missives to her parents, those that go to the other relatives and acquaintances with whom she occasionally corresponds - they are all read and processed in the order he comes across them, just as he does with all the rest of his load. But when he comes across one addressed in her now-familiar handwriting to Katherine Moore, he tucks it aside, uses it as an incentive to get through another day of the work that wears and weighs on him more and more.

He is angry at himself, that all he wanted to do was make a real contribution to the war effort and here he is in the heart of it all and still it isn't enough for him. He is angrier that he has given up asking Phillips for more that it seems he will never receive. And he lies guiltily in his bunk at night thinking about how much he loves reading over Peggy's writing, hating that he thinks of her as Peggy now only because he's listened in on her talking to a friend. Sure, it's his job, and sure, she must know that someone would be doing it, but it doesn't give him the right to take so much joy in it. No one else would give them more than a cursory glance - they're perfectly ordinary letters on the face of it; whoever reads Kit's letters on the other end probably doesn't remember them by the time they're through - but Steve can't help it. When he forgets himself, he wonders what she is going to say the next time, what little turn of phrase will make him laugh, what observation will make him think, what detail she will reveal about her life that will only make him fall for her further.

Dear Kitty,

When I said that you should speak out, I had no idea that I would be encouraging you to do so against me. I am proud of you, however. Excellent preparation for the next time someone tries to speak over one of your ideas (and we both know there will come a next time).

You say that you're ashamed that I'm happier now during wartime than I would have been otherwise. Sometimes I'm ashamed at it myself. But then I remember that it is not my choice to make it better for many women in Britain now than it was when we were at peace. Yes, the franchise has been extended by a lordly and reluctant hand, but I'll remind you that it was through strenuous efforts on the parts of our mothers (well, not mine, perhaps) both in civil protest and in another time of war. Do you truly think you would have been allowed to learn higher maths, the advanced calculus over which I despair and in which you so revel, to truly exercise your brilliant mind, had the opportunity at B— (she's blacked out the name, although Steve has read enough of his classified files to insert "Bletchley Park"; he snips carefully to take out the redaction completely) not been opened to you? Do you think that I would have been allowed to show what I was truly made of in a world where women were meant to aspire only to a man, home, and family - and where a nice man, a fitting man, was neither required, nor encouraged in developing?

This war has devastated me, Kit. I've seen its ravages more closely than you can imagine and they terrify and sicken me, and make me even more determined. I am doing absolutely everything in my power to make sure it comes to as clean, fast, and righteous an end as can be hoped for at this point. But I would make myself a liar to my own mind and to you if I ignored the ways that it has given me things that I never would have had, showed me things I might not have discovered until too late otherwise.

I would trade my life for the war to be over. I would trade my life for it to never have started. But it has, it is here, and it has opened doors that would have remained firmly shut - and I know not only for me.

Peggy

P.S. Had a report from Hew that you're in high spirits, and that you were very thankful for the birthday gift - I will politely refrain from imagining how you might have showed your appreciation. Don't worry, it wasn't hard to have him reassigned to courier duty in line with your special day, and I’m sure I’ll have another urgent message to send along with him. Perhaps just around New Year’s?

“What are you sighing about?” Rainy asks, eyes almost crossing as she focuses on cutting out some single incriminating word inconsiderately placed in the exact center of the page.

Steve hadn’t even realized he had been sighing. “It’s nothing,” he says, thinking about how Peggy had so perfectly, so precisely and vehemently, expressed something he had felt himself and felt terrible for feeling, something he had never been quite sure how to say.

It made him feel a little less lonely. He wonders what she would say if he went up to her and said, “That strange and awful kind of lucky feeling? I understand it too.” Probably she wouldn’t say anything, just wonder who in the hell he was and get him shipped back home.

It might be worth it, though, just to see her in real life again, instead of the vague paper outline he has to conjure up every time he reads her words.

“Now I’m not calling this a solution,” Stark says as Steve buttons up his shirt and smiles at the nurse slipping out of the exam room. “But I’ll comfortably consider it a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough that came totally by accident,” Steve points out.

“So did X-rays and the Toll House cookie.” Howard grins unconcernedly and claps his hands together. Steve’s been coming to see him every week or two for the last three months and he’s never looked this delighted with the progress. And it wasn’t even Howard who did anything: apparently a lab tech had brought one of the portable sun lamps which are so popular at headquarters over to his work station where he had a couple of vials of Steve’s blood.

“And you’re sure the ultraviolet in there caused some sort of reaction?” Steve asks.

“That’s the theory as of now. We’ll keep running isolation tests but,” Howard smacks a file gleefully against his palm, “the samples that were exposed to the UV look almost identical to the ones we had taken right after the procedure.”

“And you think you’ll really be able to get things back to how they were?”

For a minute, Howard looks more cautious. “I don’t want to get your hopes too far up, pal. It’s looking good, real good, but this really was Erskine’s baby and I’m just the understudy here. I don’t want to make any promises.”

“How much longer are you looking at for testing?”

“If it goes well, maybe another month and we’d be ready to try again. You still willing?”

Steve tries to give a simple nod, nothing overeager, nothing to jinx it. Last time had turned out to be too good to be true, but maybe this time… “Come find me when you’re ready.”

“Good enough.” The door opens, and Howard’s secretary enters. “Good to see you, sweetheart,” Howard tells her in that smarmy tone of his as she hands him a stack of papers to sign with a smile. He nods to Steve, who says, “Hi, Millie,” and sees himself out.

He’d told Rainy a couple of weeks back that he didn’t understand why girls like Millie put up with that kind of stuff from people like Howard or worse, and she’d just laughed and said, “Of course you don’t. The thing of it is, Steve, when this war finally gets done, most of us are going to have to go back to the way things were, which means that this is a perfect time to find a half decent husband. You have to keep smiling to keep the options open, even with the beasts around base.”

“Why would you want to settle for half decent?”

Her smile turned slightly brittle at the corners. “It’s not really about want, more about what’s going to have to happen. There aren’t as many nice men as you might think. I have standards - I keep my ear to the ground, so never anyone with a wife or a fiancee or a steady, and no one who’s given another girl a problem - but I have to jump on it, or I’ll be back home with a dud or everyone whispering about what I might have gotten up to with all these men here.”

Steve didn’t even feel overly affronted by the remark - he’d spent his whole life firmly in the dud category when it came to women, and at least Rainy was his friend - but something must have shown in his face because she’d pointed a finger and said, “You’re lucky I haven’t jumped you, honestly, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re taken, considering all the sighing and mooning you do when her letters come through here.”

“What do you—I’m not—I don’t moon.” But she was already grabbing a letter off her desk and staring at it with big dopey blinks, heaving her shoulders about and taking in huge, dramatic breaths, occasionally letting out a little ha-ha-ha chuckle. He guessed that it was probably a pretty decent impression of him reading one of Peggy’s letters, but he wished he wasn’t so obvious about it.

He’s not exactly being subtle now, but he never is on the way back from his appointments with Howard. He doesn’t get many other opportunities to wander around with his eyes casually peeled - usually he’s meant to either be working, at chow, or in his bunk, not moving through the more essential and top-secret SSR areas where people like Howard and Phillips and Agent Carter do their work.

He’s distracted from thoughts of getting a glimpse of her when he comes across the huge map that dominates the tactical room. He tries to just peep from the corners of his eyes as he strolls through, but even with his new glasses he can’t see quite that well. Then again, no one’s around at the moment, the last of the SSR personnel striding out with a stack of folders and not even a glance at Steve. He takes advantage, placing his hands at the edge of the massive model as his gaze sweeps over the little markers that represent troops and bases. He frowns, and not only because those little wooden figures are too insignificant for what they’re meant to stand in for: Bucky and his friends, people who Steve grew up with, millions of exhausted and foolish and jubilant soldiers, each with their own past and future. How can a war ever end when all the people fighting it are reduced to game pieces? How can a war ever end when the people in charge are overlooking something so major?

“That’s not right,” he mutters to himself.

“What isn’t right, Private?”

He spins, not quite believing that she is here, that he didn’t sense her behind him or at least hear her heels approaching.

“Your map’s wrong,” he blurts, thinking of the way Bucky would cover his face in embarrassment because even after all that tutelage Steve still couldn’t get a simple sentence out to impress a lady.

Her mouth twitches upward, just the left side, and she lifts a meaningful brow at him. “I did well at geography and I’m fairly certain that we’ve labeled everything correctly.”

“It’s not that.” He gestures to the Alps between Italy and Austria. “Why isn’t there a fortress marked there?”

“Why should there be?”

She is studying him intently now and he stumbles a bit with his words before getting back on track. “You’ve got a half dozen units which have encountered Hydra troops in a pretty small area and a short time span. They have to be coming from somewhere, and I’d say the likeliest place given the information is about here.”

“I’ve been informed by experts in six different disciplines that it’s absolutely impossible for someone to build anything there because of the bloody great mountains on either side. And until we can get further aerial surveillance of the site, it’s known around here as Agent Carter’s magical base theory,” she says with a wry bit of challenge in her eye. He just shrugs.

“I don’t know about magic, but I do know that logic dictates an enemy base around that location. And besides, isn’t this a rogue Nazi science operation we’re talking about? Maybe they could come up with a way around the problem of...what was that? ‘Bloody great mountains?’”

"Cheeky," she says quietly, but she's smiling as she does, and the affection in her tone startles him and turns something sour in his belly. Because she's here talking to him as an equal without knowing that he's been peering into her private thoughts, mulling over and coveting them in a way he doesn't with anyone else's feelings. If she knew that, she would probably never look at him with politeness much less friendliness.

"I should get back," he says abruptly, and he shoves his hands into his uniform pockets and finds the first exit he can.

Kit!

The news came through the grapevine before Hew arrived back - I should have known that soldiers would be such massive gossips, but honestly - which is how I've gotten this letter out in the early post.

Congratulations to the both of you. I know you have that lovely rose-covered church back home that will make the perfect spot for the ceremony - even if you decide on a winter wedding, everything will look absolutely picturesque all draped in snow. And while Hew might argue for Edinburgh, I do encourage you - as always - to put your foot down. Although goodness knows you would merely have to think about a trinket you saw on holiday as a child and the man would already be crawling on his knees over the ocean to fetch it for you. He really is a darling where you're concerned, and I say you couldn't be luckier.

I certainly have no wish to intrude on your happiness, but you did ask about my own romantic prospects, and I'm afraid to report that they're a bit stalled at the moment. (I don't wish to ruin things further, but "grim" might be putting it better, if I'm to be frank.) I wasn't actively seeking a single thing in that area, and I think you’re well aware how thin on the ground suitable prospects are, especially someone who would find me suitable in return. (If Fred was frightened off by a bit of light introductory work, he would barely give me the time of day in my current position.)

But then the man I’ve been writing about came across my path and I could suddenly think of little else. Do you recall the letter your sister sent years back describing the Ideal Man, the one we all laughed over that night until we couldn't breathe? I know it’s a silly old thing, but I keep thinking to myself that he ticks each box: kindness and compassion, intelligence, respect for who I am and what I stand for, looks (it must be mentioned), and that special something that works its magic on you in particular...Things are a bit sticky, given our relative positions, and he seems rather dense about the whole thing, but those factors could be overcome. We had a conversation recently that made me think he thought of me in the same way. However, it ended with a definite rejection, and I have seen him many times in close company with a woman, so I wonder if he is perhaps very privately spoken for. I'm nearly ready to give up, if you'd like the truth.

I know. You're the romantic of the two of us, Kitty, and I can practically hear you telling me to seize the day and not rest until I've properly done the job.

I suppose that attitude is why you are the once announcing an engagement and I'm the one moping over people who don't seem to notice a thing.

I'll take the advice, if I can. After all, I would never want to upset the bride before her nuptials.

All my love and best wishes,

Peggy

Well, Steve thinks, swallowing hard as he sets the letter down. That's that. She's had her eye on someone else this entire time and he was a fool to think he ever had a chance. This man is a fool, too, for not seeing the chance he has.

He still finds a smile for Kit: he's never met her, never even read one of her letters, but Peggy's warmth for her has sparked the same within himself. He hopes that she and Hew are happy, that they both make it through and have a chance at a life together.

"Take a walk, Rogers," Rainy tells him kindly. "You're going to fog up the windows with all your sighing, and it's still first thing in the morning."

"No," Steve says, biting down on the wave of sadness inside of himself. Even the letters, illicit as they were, aren't safe anymore. "I can work." He’ll have to get used to it sooner or later.

He starts looking out for the man who has Peggy’s heart. He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until he catches himself staring with furrowed brow at a letter from Corporal Lewis, who he thinks he’s seen talking to her a couple of times. He tries to recall whether he’d noticed between them that particular magic she’d mentioned. He imagines he’d know what it looks like: it’s what he’s felt looking at her, all the way back to Camp Lehigh. With a precision that surprises him, he can recall the quiet amusement, the perfect red upturn of her mouth as she’d smiled at him when he’d climbed into the back of her jeep. The memory of it still makes him smile now, even as he knows that it’s the sort of thing that will have to keep him going from now on.

“Private Rogers.”

He snaps to attention, dropping the letter and saluting from the crisp, commanding tone even before he quite registers who’s addressing him.

“Agent Carter.” He flounders for a minute. “This is Rainy. Private Lorraine. Private Allen, I mean.”

“Private.” Peggy nods at her, but Rainy is too busy letting her eyebrows climb into her hair and mouthing “Is that her?!” at Steve as he tries to subtly wave her off. Unbelievable that he once thought her sophisticated and composed.

“Perhaps we might speak in the corridor? I wouldn’t want to distract Private Allen from her work.”

Steve can practically feel Rainy’s wide eyes on his back as he holds the door for Agent Carter and follows her out into the hallway. He expects that his friend will have her thumbscrews waiting when he comes back.

“Rainy would have let you distract her all day,” he says, trying for a laugh as they find a quiet place around the corner, but Peggy only presses her lips together and says, “Indeed.”

After a space of silence, still waiting for her to speak, he suddenly has an inkling of why he’s been called out here. She’s smart, Agent Carter, and she’s somehow figured out that reading her letters is the best part of any given day, that he sometimes reads them through two or three times before sending them on. She’s probably letting him stew in it, waiting for him to confess. “Was there something you wanted to speak with me about?” he asks through the clenching of his lungs and throat. He stands very straight even as a thread of sweat slides slowly between his uniformed shoulder blades.

“I did.” She gathers something within herself and starts, “Steve—” before he cuts her off.

“Yes, I’ve been reading your letters,” he blurts, barely registering the use of his first name. “It’s my job, but just doing your job is no excuse, and it certainly doesn’t let me off the hook for the way I read them. So I understand if you won’t ever trust me, but I just wanted us to both know.” He lets the last of his breath go as he trails off and faces her like a firing squad.

“Of course you’ve been reading my letters,” she says with what he thinks is a little smile on her face. “All of the higher level SSR correspondence is distributed to you.”

“You knew?” It feels as if he’s six steps behind and he doesn’t quite know how to make his brain catch up.

“Yes. Just as I know that you aren’t particularly good at the job. Agnes who empties your wastepaper basket says that the others in the department are full while you barely ever seem to have anything thrown away.”

“People don’t speak out of turn too often,” he says uncomfortably, but then adds with a bit more fire, “And there’s also the little matter of free speech, unless we just decided to hell with the whole Constitution around the same time we locked up all the Japanese folks.”

“Not quite,” and she’s certainly smiling now, eyes softened at the corners. “It sounds, however, as if you aren’t entirely satisfied in your current position. I was wondering whether we might put your skills to better use elsewhere.” She holds up a file folder he hadn’t even noticed before and flips it open to show far off shots of snow and dirt and trees and an incongruous steel fortress. “The surveillance flights came back. The Hydra base in the Alps is no longer simply my pet theory.”

He can’t help the way his voice picks up, turns serious and strangely professional, as if he’s really part of it all. “So you’re formulating an attack plan?”

“We have something in the works,” she says briefly. “And I actually— Well, I was here to offer you a chance to be involved.”

“In strategy? With you?”

“It would be nice,” she says slowly, “to work with someone with a mind of his own. Someone who can listen.”

Steve’s instinct is to glance around to make sure there’s no one else there she could be referring to. He smothers it, but ends up pointing stupidly to his own chest, which isn’t much better. “Are you sure—Do you really mean me?”

“Who would I be speaking of otherwise?” She tilts her head at him, a bit of hesitance to the motion. That’s not like Peggy, he thinks, and it’s so strange that he knows that she is cautious only in a tactical way when this is one of a bare handful of conversations between them. “Steve, you have been reading my letters, haven’t you? Even the most recent ones?”

A disbelieving little snort escapes him. “You can go back and ask Rainy that question and she’ll laugh herself sick.”

“Is she—Are you...in a relationship?”

“No,” he says in careful confusion, and then adds recklessly, “She says she wouldn’t even take a chance on a guy as hung up as I am on...someone else.”

He remembers the way that remade body of his had reacted, careening around corners, rushing too fast for control. That’s how he feels now, on an edge too rapidly, recklessly, approached. He’d always accepted that he wasn’t exactly a catch for any girl, no matter what Bucky had insisted, and he’d made himself stop caring about it all, given up reaching. Except for now, apparently. Except for her.

She says, “If you’ve read the letters, why would you assume I meant anyone else? Unless—” and something is dawning on him, terrifying and bright and impossible: the idea that she is reaching back.

“Why wouldn’t you just say something?” It’s bewildering to even ask the question, to even be entertaining the possibility that this is what she meant, but she acts as if it isn’t.

“I thought I was, after a fashion,” and he thinks he sees a bit of a blush rising in her cheeks. “Apparently I hadn’t taken into account your obtuseness.”

“And you still want someone that obtuse on your team?” The words contain too much yearning hope for them to simply be about a new army assignment.

“A little obtuseness can be charming, under the correct circumstances,” she says, and he hadn’t noticed that they were so close until a door slams down the hall and they shift apart as if they’re being chaperoned.

“Why don’t we say you report to me at 0800 tomorrow?” She folds the file against her chest with one arm. He has a sudden, delightful image of Peggy as she would have been at school. “I’ll have you officially reassigned by then.”

He nods. “Rainy’s going to be furious. She says it took long enough to break me in, she’s not going to be pleased to have to do it to someone else.”

“Yes, well, I think it’s someone else’s turn to break you in.” Even with her bland, businesslike tone, he feels the tips of his ears glowing from the insinuation.

“Just so I’m aware, how does—” He clears his throat. “How does Colonel Phillips feel about his people becoming...friendly under his watch?”

“Oh, he takes it about as well as you’d expect,” she says casually. “If he finds out about it.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky to have a crack SSR agent on my side.”

Her eyes meet his, and he sees his foolish grin echoed in hers for the moment she allows it. Watching her tuck it away and become professional again only makes him smile wider.

“I’ll see you in a timely manner tomorrow, Private, or I’ll be sending you a strongly worded letter.”

“That doesn’t give me much incentive,” he tells her honestly. “I’d love any kind of letter of my own from you.”

A week later he gets back to his bunk and finds an envelope tucked beneath the blanket addressed in familiar handwriting. He doesn’t even know how she got it there - he’d just left her after a strategy session and her announcement that they would be traveling to visit troops on the continent - but he sits and tears it open before he can think of anything else.

Dear Steve...

#steggyweek2k19 #Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Attachments by Rainbow Rowell ft. Steggy

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citizenscreen · 6 years ago

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This tradition began four years ago when I thought of no better way to share the joy of the season on this blog than to spread the magic of movies. In a Christmassy sort of way. ‘Tis the season, after all and paying movies forward in hopes that these memorable distractions take your minds off negative goings on is now my December lot in life. I’m asking that you join me, recommend your favorites and #PayClassicsForward on your blogs and across social media.

Give the gift of movies

I realize I am publishing this post much later in December than I have in the past, which leaves you little time to play with it if you are up for the challenge. However, if you are interested here’s the challenge…pick movie recommendations to the “12 Days of Christmas” theme as I’ve done below. Keep in mind that movie choices should be those you think would appeal to non classics fans and there can be no repeats. Let’s grow our community and #PayClassicsForward

Have fun!

On the first day of Christmas, etc., etc., etc…

One dream

Excluding the mother of all dream sequences, that is when Dorothy befriends a Tin Man, a Scarecrow, and a lion in a magical land, then I must go with a telling of Charles Dickens’ 1843 classics, A Christmas Carol. I didn’t set out to choose a Christmas story for this, but perused several lists of dream sequences in movies and was shocked that Ebenezer Scrooge’s legendary journey was not even mentioned. I correct that oversight with this entry as it is a dream to fill the heart.

Of all the adaptations of Dickens’ story about morality, human frailty, and redemption the best is Brian Desmond-Hurst’s 1951 movie starring Alastair Sim as Ebenezer Scrooge. This version of A Christmas Carol is good enough to watch all the year with Sim’s nuanced, affecting performance a standout. If you are a rotten person you might want to dream as Scrooge does in this movie and if you are a kind-hearted sort you might want to be reminded of why that matters.

Alastair Sim as Ebenezer Scrooge

Two islands

I could have gone with fun times and music for this category, but decided on gloom and doom instead. Take a look and you won’t forget Earle C. Kenton’s Island of Lost Souls (1932), which features a terrifically creepy performance by Charles Laughton. Next I suggest you gather with seven guests who are picked off one by one in Rene Clair’s And Then There Were None (1945) based on one of Agatha Christie’s most famous whodunnits.

Island of Lost Souls

Before there were none in And Then There Were None

Three gentlemen

No surprise here. See everything they’ve ever done.

Four speeches

From Chaplin’s The Great Dictator (1940)

Hynkel/A Jewish Barber:

“I should like to help everyone if possible; Jew, Gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness, not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone, and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way…”

From Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (1972)

Don Vito Corleone:

“But I’m a superstitious man, and if some unlucky accident should befall him… if he should be shot in the head by a police officer, or if he should hang himself in his jail cell, or if he’s struck by a bolt of lightning, then I’m going to blame some of the people in this room, and that I do not forgive.”

From Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

Jefferson Smith:

“Liberty’s too precious a thing to be buried in books, Miss Saunders. Men should hold it up in front of them every single day of their lives and say: I’m free to think and to speak. My ancestors couldn’t, I can, and my children will. Boys ought to grow up remembering that.”

From Robert Mulligan’s To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

Atticus Finch:

“Now, gentlemen, in this country, our courts are the great levelers. In our courts, all men are created equal. I’m no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts and of our jury system – that’s no ideal to me. That is a living, working reality! Now I am confident that you gentlemen will review, without passion, the evidence that you have heard, come to a decision and restore this man to his family. In the name of GOD, do your duty. In the name of God, believe… Tom Robinson.”

Five golden rings

Not that kind of ring! This kind…

Mark Robson’s The Harder They Fall (1956)

Robert Rossen’s Body and Soul (1947)

Reuben Mamoulian’s Golden Boy (1939)

Michael Curtiz’s Kid Galahad (1937)

Edward G. Robinson and Bette Davis in Kid Galahad

Eddie Buzzell’s The Big Timer (1932)

Ben Lyon and Constance Cummings in The Big Timer

There are quite a few great boxing movies that most have seen like the ones with that Balboa guy. I chose a few that you may not have and should. By the way, I want extra points with Santa for not listing Elvis’ Kid Galahad (1962).

Six Acting-related Stories

Assuming everyone has seen Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard, Joseph Mankiewicz’s All About Eve, and the Donen/Kelly vehicle with dignity, always dignity, Singin’ in the Rain then I suggest the following glittering stories…

Victor Fleming’s Bombshell 1933)

George Cukor’s A Double Life (1947)

Robert Florey’s Hollywood Boulevard (1936)

Joseph Pevney’s Man of a Thousand Faces (1957)

Graeme Clifford’s Frances (1982)

Stuart Heisler’s The Star (1952)

The Star

Bombshell

Man of a Thousand Faces

Frances

Hollywood Boulevard

A Double Life

Seven drinks

I thought it’d be fun to spread the joy with ideas for classic imbibing. Here are just seven of the many drinks had throughout yesteryear in the movies.

The Thin Man Martini

“…a Manhattan you shake to a Foxtrot, a Bronx to a two-step, but a Dry martini you should always shake to waltz time.”

1 1/2 oz Dry Gin

3/4 oz Dry Vermouth

Instructions:

Pour into a cocktail shaker, shake and strain into a chilled martini glass.

The Casablanca Champagne Cocktail

Victor Laszlo’s drink.

Champagne Cocktail 1 bitters-soaked sugar cube 1 oz brandy or cognac Brut champagne Twist of lemon, for garnish

Place your sugar cube on top of the bitters bottle. While holding it in place with your finger, flip the bottle upside down until the sugar cube is saturated. Drop the sugar cube into a champagne flute and add your cognac or brandy. Top with Brut champagne, garnish with lemon and enjoy.

Margo Channing and the “bumpy night” Gibson

This cocktail is also notable for making a cameo in the train car in North by Northwest, but Margot gets the official shout out today.

Gibson Classic Cocktail

4 parts gin 1 part dry vermouth pearl cocktail onion Combine the gin and vermouth in a shaker over ice. Shake and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a pearl onion.

The Some Like it Hot Manhattan

This whiskey cocktail is popular in Wilder’s film and best served after stirring/mixing with a drumstick, cymbal, and hot water bottle on a trail with Sweet Sue and Her Society Syncopaters.

Ingredients:

2 oz bourbon 1 ox Italian sweet vermouth 2 dashes Angostura bitters

Recipe:

Combine all the ingredients in a shaker. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and enjoy.

Blue Hawaii Mai Tai

1 oz white rum

½ oz Orgeat syrup

½ oz Cointreau

2 oz pineapple juice

1 oz orange juice

Dark Rum float (such as Koloa dark rum)

Pineapple spear and lime (for garnish)

Mix white rum, Orgeat, Cointreau, pineapple and orange juices in a shaker filled with ice. Pour drink into a glass with the ice, and float the dark rum on top. Top with pineapple spear and lime wedge.

Made by Angela Lansbury this is sure to be a hit at any party.

The Breakfast at Tiffany’s Mississippi Punch

2 oz / 50 ml cognac 1 oz / 25 ml bourbon 1⁄2 oz / 12.5 ml lemon juice 1⁄2 oz / 12.5 ml sugar syrup 1 oz / 25 ml dark rum

Shake all the ingredients except the rum with crushed ice and pour into a Collins glass, unstrained. Top the glass with more crushed ice, gently pour over the rum and garnish with an orange slice and a cherry.

The Scotch Mist from The Big Sleep

It’s important to offer a darker choice so I went for the kind of drink a femme fatale would order when sitting next to Humphrey Bogart.

Ingredients :

2 oz. whiskey (whiskey, bourbon)

2 oz. crushed ice

1 twist lemon peel

Pack a collins glass with crushed ice. Pour in scotch. Add the twist of lemon peel and serve with a straw. No garnish because garnish doesn’t fit in a dirty little world.

Eight silents

I know many classic film fans that have not taken the journey into silent film. That was me when I started this blog, but since I’ve made a concerted effort to watch a silent film when time allows. There’s no doubt I would recommend some of the popular greats to the silent movie novice, or films made by the three comedy megastars and the likes of Metropolis or Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, to name just two. This past year I saw most of the following lesser-known gems for the first time and recommend them without hesitation.

Victor Sjöström’s The Wind (1928)

Erich von Stroheim’s Foolish Wives (1922)

Per Lindberg’s Norrtullsligan (The Nortull Gang ) (1923)

Leo McCarey’s Mighty Like a Moose (1926)

Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s The Cook (1918)

Lois Weber’s Suspense (1913)

Paul Leni’s The Cat and the Canary (1927)

Fred Guiol’s Duck Soup (1927)

Duck Soup

Foolish Wives

Mighty Like a Moose

Norrtullsligan

Suspense

The Cat and the Canary

The Cook

The Wind

Nine Child Performances

No explanation needed for this lot of talented young ‘uns.

Roddy McDowall in John Ford’s How Green Was My Valley (1941)

Patty McCormack as Rhoda in Mervyn LeRoy’s The Bad Seed (1956)

Salvatore Cascio as Toto in Giuseppe Tornatore‘s Cinema Paradiso (1988)

Jackie Coogan in Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid (1921)

George Winslow in anything, but for now I’ll go for his performance in Howard Hawks’ Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

Enzo Staiola as Bruno in Vittorio De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves (1948)

Virginia Weidler as Dinah Lord in George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Patty Duke as Helen Keller in Arthur Penn’s The Miracle Worker (1962)

Eva Lee Kuney as Trina in George Stevens’ Penny Serenade (1941)

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Ten Stars and their Dogs

I recently read a startling statistic. It turns out that dogs given to children for Christmas often end up in pounds. Having a pet is a huge responsibility and it should be a choice for life, rather than looked at as a toy. So, if you are inclined to purchase a puppy or kitten for Christmas and haven’t thought about it carefully, spend your time looking at these images instead…

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Cat lovers can feast their eyes on this gallery of Cats and Movie Stars.

Eleven heist movies

Jules Dassin’s Rififi (1955)

Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing (1956)

Sidney Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon (1975)

John Huston’s The Asphalt Jungle (1950)

Joseph Sargent’s The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974)

Norman Jewison’s The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)

Raoul Walsh’s High Sierra (1941)

Jean-Pierre Melville‘s Bob Le Flambeur (1956)

Robert Siodmak’s Criss Cross (1949)

Mario Monicelli‘s Big Deal on Madonna Street (1958)

Fabián Bielinsky‘s Nueve Reinas (Nice Queens) (2000) – I was introduced to this Argentine gem during a course I took on heist films. It immediately became a favorite. Although it’s a contemporary movie, I know all classics fans would love it. It’s a twisty, well-acted labyrinth that’s well worth your time.

Twelve Days

I would have included Dog Day Afternoon and The Taking of Pelham… here, but no repeats allowed. These are movies with stories that take place in one day.

Fred Zinnemann’s High Noon (1952)

George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968)

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope (1958)

Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men (1957)

Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979)

Frank Capra’s Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)

Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon (1950)

Mike Nichols’ Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolfe? (1966)

Sidney Lumet’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night (1962)

Walter Hill’s The Warriors (1979)

Carl Th. Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

Fleming, Cukor et al…The Wizard of Oz (1939)

◊

Till next year, my friends.

#PayClassicsForward

Aurora

#PayClassicsForward for Christmas This tradition began four years ago when I thought of no better way to share the joy of the season on this blog than to spread the magic of movies.

#12 Days of Movies #Classic Movie Recommendation #Movie Recommendations #Pay Classics Forward #Pay Classics Forward for Christmas

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