#featuring marigold harrington

[hellfireheroes]

‘If any of you little shits die down here, IM getting the blame!’

Short Summary:

Steve Harrington was the darling golden boy of Hawkins High. Born into a rich family, with the hair to rival a god’s, Steve was top dog in Hawkins high. The king. The sun.

Until he lost his crown and was shown how feral the world underneath their home is. Now, he spends his time protecting his little family and doing his best to keep them safe.

⚾️ Basic information ⚾️

Name: Steven Richard Harrington.

Age: 19.

Height: 5’10.

Birthday: April 15th 1967.

Zodiac: Aries.

Pronouns: He/they.

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Species: Human.

Race: White but nationality is Italian American.

Languages: English, Italian.

Appearance:

Steve’s main identifying feature is his hair. Soft and voluminous, he takes great care in his hair’s appearance. During the years he’s grown his hair out into semi-mullets and swoops.

He mainly dresses in nice polos and jackets and jeans. With tennis shoes and sneakers commonly with more earthy tones such as dark green and blues. He also wears warm colors on occasion.

His main color of choice appears to be blue however.

Personality:

Alignment: Lawful good.

Archetypes: The Hero, The Caregiver.

Type: ESFJ, The Caregiver.

Originally a harsh and egotistical bully, Steve was labeled by many at Hawkins to be a asshole and a douchebag. Using his popularity and his families money, Steve was anything but a good dude. Drugs, parties and flings were his way to relieve that hole in his heart left behind by his parent’s absence.

Though, his personality changed after getting his face bashed in by Jonathan Byers and quickly his kingdom toppled.

Now humbled by the truth of Hawkins and his own traumatic brain injuries, Steve is rather soft and caring to those he loves and tends to be more snarky than mean. Keeping his loved ones safe is his priority. Though, he knows how to defend himself and won’t take bullshit from people. If need be, he can call forth King Steve to put someone in their place.

Backstory:

Warnings include, Ableism, child abuse, child neglect, blood, injuries, alcoholism.

Born to Richard and Maria Harrington, Steve wasn’t planned. He was an accident during a business trip to London. Though, now struck with the possibility of a new asset to their future, Steve was born at Hawkin’s general hospital on April 15th, 1967.

During his years growing up into a toddler, Steve was strange. Often getting attached to things and never sitting still or such. He became obsessed with marigolds and gardening.

Steve was recommended to get tested by a pediatrician.

When Steve turned 5 he was diagnosed with Autism.

Maria and Richard immediately denied such claims and worked to shape their boy into the perfect, normal child. Years and years of conditioning and training made Steve mask his autism. He was normal.

But even as he tried to appease his parents, to be good to get them to stay, they never did.

At the age of 9, Steve learned of his mother’s heritage as a Italian American. At the age of 9, Steve was left alone to take care of himself. At the age of 9, Steve learned about himself.

He learned how to cook, clean, fold laundry.

Steve grew angry.

He hated it.

Once Steve reached 14, he started Hawkins high.

Having grown a reputation as a golden boy due to his family, Steve was already a name many were familiar with. Finding friendship with a boy named Tommy and a girl named Carol, Steve finally found company that stayed.

Quickly he grew up the food chain and after just 3 months of attending Hawkin’s high, he was labeled their king.

Throwing hatred for the freaks and outcasts at Hawkins high, Steve was efficient in his lashing out at anything different. His parents were proud.

But he felt sick.

He labeled Eddie Munson as ‘The Freak.’

He would throw huge parties and drink and smoke and go crazy. Just to fill that hole in his heart left behind by his parents.

1983

Then, he met Nancy Wheeler.

He fell for her and he fell HARD. She was an enigma to him. He loved her sass and her brain. Loved how she played hard to get and actually cared about people and her friends.

She wasn’t like other girls, she had more to her than her surface.

He had never truly been loved like he was with Nancy. Sure, Steve’s been ‘loved’ but never loved. People love the idea of him. His name. His status. But not Steve.

Nancy? Nancy did.

And then Steve gets the shit beat out of him by Jonathan.

He gets his second concussion that day. His ears ring a little and his headaches ache more than they did but he woke up. He realized just how awful he’s been and wants to make it better. He tries to fix his mistakes, cuts off Tommy and Carol and tries to apologize to Nancy and Jonathan.

And then he’s faced with a true monster.

And he makes a decision.

1984

Steve is there for every single time Hawkins is in peril.

He’s dragged into such by Dustin and slowly over time, bonds with the party and is trusted to keep them safe. It never gets easier as a human shield but Steve has a purpose. He was now useful.

Steve gets his third concussion from Hargrove, their rivalry reaching a boiling point at their showdown at the Byers home. Steve didn’t get along well with Hargove, being seen as a competitor to the throne of Hawkins.

Steve easily loses the fight but he kept them safe enough for max to incapacitate him.

The world is saved again and he officially looses Nancy to Jonathan.

He doesn’t cry about his wounds which remain untreated or about loosing Nancy. Harrington men don’t cry.

He’s offered a scholarship for a swimming team, fully paid for and funded but he turns it down for the sake of Hawkins and the party.

Sometimes he regrets that decision.

1985

Steve graduates in 1985 and he’s cut off from his parents money. Forced to get a job, he applies at the new starcourt mall and finds a job at Scoops Ahoy.

He works there for the summer with one Robin Buckley and is immediately in love with her. Loves her snark, her knowledge and her games. Loves her a person. He grows fond of her and the party now more than ever.

And then shit hits the fan.

Steve, Robin, Erica and Dustin all investigate the strange interference in the Hawkins radio and end up lost under the mall. They are locked in an elevator for one night and eventually captured by Russian soldiers.

Steve gets his fourth concussion and a few broken ribs and bruised organs for their troubles. He can’t hear out of his left ear and his vision is fuzzy around the edges.

But he gained Robin. His soulmate.

His platonic with a Captain P soulmate.

Once Starcourt is burned down, he goes home and licks his wounds alone. His hearing never returned and his vision is worse but it’s fine. It has to be.

He drives the kids where they need to go and helped Joyce load the moving van to California. Helped her pick up other belongings from the kid’s houses.

He was there to see Jonathan and Will off.

He got a job at Family Video with Robin, the two inseparable. He slowly unmasked around Robin. Feeling comfortable in his own skin again.

1986

He became jealous of Eddie Munson. Dustin’s new friend and mentor to the party.

He drove the kids to and from hellfire and bonded with them as much as he knew about their game. He did his best to keep himself useful.

Until, once again, it happened.

A dead cheerleader and a innocent man on the run from things he didn’t understand, Steve was once again met with Eddie Munson. Held against the side of the boathouse, Steve felt a familiar spark rise in him with Eddie.

Love.

However, Steve didn’t realize it.

Being dragged into hell after a late night swim, Steve gets his fifth concussion. He cannot hear out of his left ear at all anymore and his vision and memory is fuzzy. But he keeps going.

He can handle it later.

Once max is okay, once the upside down is once again, stopped.

Later came and went and Vecna ran. He got away.

Eddie was torn apart and Dustin broke his ankle.

Canon divergent route 1

Steve gave Eddie CPR and didn’t let him go beyond life at all. Using his life guard training he kept Eddie alive all the way to the hospital. Carrying Munson out of hell himself.

Once Eddie, Dustin and Max were taken care of? Steve collapsed into a seizure.

When Steve was coherent enough, he was given a government assigned neurologist and was later diagnosed with epilepsy and seizures. He lost his license. He lost his freedom.

He was given medication and was offered the latest in hearing aids and glasses and with pressure from Robin, agreed.

During the apocalypse in Hawkins, Steve never once slowed down. Bringing food and clothes and blankets to the shelter, making sandwiches and helping mothers and families get clothes, he worked and worked to keep others safe and provide for them.

For months, he kept watch of Eddie and Max, in their comas and kept Wayne company.

Then, Eddie woke up.

And he and Steve got together and beat Vecna once and for all.

Canon ending for season 4

Eddie dies and Steve and the crew are left to pick up the pieces of Hawkins. Being reunited with the rest of the party, Steve and Robin help with the relief aids in the high school. Making sandwiches and sorting clothes and waiting and planning.

With El back in their neck of the woods, they plan and wait.

Post canon in which Eddie lives

Steve learned to take care of himself with Robin, Eddie and the party’s help. Keeping up to date on MRI’s and his medication and aids.

He learned ASL with Robin to communicate and he’s been having fun teaching Eddie and Dustin words in ASL. He was loved. Appreciated.

Steve stopped masking at 20 and once Vecna was defeated for good, he got a marigold garden. He and Eddie and Wayne move in together and all share rent.

At the age of 23 Steve goes to college for teaching and at the age of 27, he had a degree in teaching for public schools. He became a teacher for the local preschool at 29.

He and Eddie stayed together for years and eventually they both got their own home in Loch Nora together, fit with a marigold and vegetable garden.

Steve still has seizures and he and Eddie and the party all know what to do when one happens but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He kept them safe.

[mamabear-elinor]

The Forging of Bitter Bonds

III. A Shining Light September 07, 1992; September 14, 1992

[cw for a small instance of ~~casual racism]

The first day of the semester at the University of Edinburgh was insignificant to most. The weather was average; overcast and cool, the wind sweeping in off the ocean and chilling the bone if one was not careful. Elinor found it invigorating as she walked over the uneven cobblestones through the stone corridor that led out onto the street in Old Town. She checked the map that the student’s union had passed out at orientation and then crossed the street and into the warm little pub. 

“Ellie!” A pretty, redheaded girl stood up in her seat and waved rambunctiously, garnering the attention of a few other patrons of the quaint pub. 

Quickly, Elinor headed toward the table and slipped into the seat across from her. “Goldie, crivvens, you’re going to get us kicked out.” 

“Oh, psh. It’s fine. I already made friends with ol’ Tommy.” She wiggled the whiskey in her hand. 

“You’re underage,” Elinor pointed out, torn between disapproving and impressed.

“That’s such a nice name, don’t you think?” Marigold DunBroch ignored her. 

Elinor turned and looked over her shoulder at the bartender, who was nothing to look at. Old and balding, with a red nose and a missing front tooth. “No,” she replied primly after her assessment.

Marigold made a face but just sat back in her seat. “How was it then? I don’t have class until tomorrow, thank God.” 

Finally, Elinor smiled. “Wonderful! My professor for Art History 101 is a woman, Professor Howell. She’s amazing. I want to be just like her.” 

“You got all that from one class?” Marigold curled her fingers in a wave at a strapping young lad a few tables away, not looking in her friend’s direction. 

“Have you ever heard of Artemisia?” 

“Bless you.”

“Hilarious. Listen.” Elinor tugged her friend’s arm. “She was this woman painter in the seventeenth century. She was the first woman to be a member of the Accademia di Arte del Disegno. I didn’t even know women were painters then! It’s only my first day and I’ve already learned so much. Oh, there was another one. I can’t remember her name, shoot.” 

Elinor dove for her notebook in her satchel, which was made from fine leather. Her father had given it to her as a gift. She pulled out her notebook and sat back up. 

There was a girl standing in front of their table. 

“Oh, hello,” Elinor said with a tight smile, her brow furrowed slightly. “Can I help you?” 

Marigold had turned her focus on the newcomer as well. 

“You’re in Professor Howell’s class.” Her accent was Scottish, but there was something strange about it. Elinor could not place it.  

“Yes?” Elinor had a feeling it was not a question. 

“Me too,” the girl smiled. “I’m Sorcha. Can I sit with you? All the other tables are full and it’s started raining.” 

Elinor glanced over her shoulder to the rain, then over at Marigold, who shrugged a little and moved her stuff over to make room. “Yeah, sure, sit. Please.”

“Fabulous.” Sorcha did not need telling twice. She plopped down in the spare seat as soon as the table was clear. Her gold jewelry glinted in the low light, almost too bright for the dim pub. There were raindrops in the tight curls of her black hair. They caught the light too, twinkling like stars. She reached up and shook out her hair. A few droplets fell onto the table. “Sorry. I forgot my scarf at home today. It wasn’t supposed to rain.”

“That--that’s alright,” Elinor said after a moment. 

Sorcha smiled at her. “You’re sweet. I didn’t get your names--?” 

“I’m Marigold DunBroch.” Marigold held out her hand. “And that’s Elinor Briar. We call her Ellie, though.” 

“No, no we don’t,” Elinor corrected, feeling the tips of her ears heat slightly. 

“No worries,” Sorcha said, leaning back in her chair and spreading her legs so that one of her knees bumped the table, making Elinor jump slightly. Her posture was horrid. It was alarming. “I like Elinor better. It’s pretty. Do you know what it means?” 

Elinor furrowed her brow, her eyes jumping up from Sorcha’s thigh which was encroaching into her space. “What? No, uh--I think it was my grandmother’s name or...something like that.” 

“Shame. You know, a name can tell a lot about a person.” 

“How’s that?” This was Marigold, her eyes sparking bright as she leaned forward slightly.

“Well, you were named after your grandmother or something?” Sorcha was still looking at Elinor, her dark eyes assessing. 

Elinor couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Do Marigold,” she mumbled, but cleared her throat and laughed once. 

“Yes, tell me about my name.” 

“Alright.” Sorcha’s eyes lingered for another moment on Elinor and then turned to Marigold, who was sitting primly, shoulders back, and wide, dazzling smile. Ever since they had been young, Marigold commanded every conversation her and Elinor were in. They did not see each other often, but if anyone asked, Marigold DunBroch was Elinor’s best friend in the whole world. 

“Well, from what I know marigolds are used for Día de los muertos.” 

“What’s that?” Marigold asked, grinning like a loon now at the attention being lavished on her.

Outside, thunder rumbled and the rain began to come down more steadily against the window pane. Elinor realized she was still clutching her notebook. She wondered, if she just took a peak, if she would be able to remember the name of the artist they’d learned about in class. Maybe the artist had a name that meant something important. 

“It translates to the Day of the Dead. A day when the veil between worlds is thinnest and the deceased walk amongst the living.” 

Elinor shivered as if one of the cool raindrops from the windowpane had slipped down her spine. 

Marigold deflated slightly, her blue eyes a bit more cautious. “Oh. Well! Do Elinor’s. I bet it means something lame like--dark-haired. Her parents are so unoriginal.”

“I--don’t know, actually,” Sorcha admitted with a little shrug, but when she looked at Elinor again, she had the sense that Sorcha knew more than she was letting on. “At least you have a family name. That’s nice. To have a legacy like that.” 

“Yes, I suppose.” Elinor took a sip of her water. 

A legacy. That was certainly something her family had given her. Or, more accurately, placed on her shoulders without her consent. She felt it heavy now, her first day of classes behind her and now a countdown until her new first day of classes. Elinor had yet to tell Marigold that she would be transferring to Oxford. In fact, she had yet to tell her that she was no longer seeing Francis Smith. She didn’t want to think about any of that. She wanted to enjoy her semester. To learn what she could. The comment had brought her back down again, though, as she was reminded that this was not permanent. Professor Howell would not be her teacher next year. Nor even next semester. She couldn’t write her thesis with the woman. It was silly of Elinor to have even been thinking of it. 

“What does your name mean then, Sorcha?” Marigold asked, not sensing her friend’s withdrawal. She put an elbow on the table (unladylike.) 

“It means brightness,” Sorcha said and those dark eyes of hers sparked, her white teeth stark against the dark lipstick and her dark skin.

“I have an Aunt Sorcha and she is not bright at all.” Marigold laughed loud enough that she snorted. 

“I think you’re very bright,” Elinor blurted without thinking and then felt her ears burn.

The look that Sorcha fixed her with made Elinor’s stomach churn. She felt as if somehow Sorcha had looked right through her. Or, perhaps, more accurately, directly into her, like she could see Elinor’s soul. This time, though, Elinor couldn’t look away. Their eyes locked. 

Then, Sorcha’s face broke out into another grin. “Aw, thanks, sweetie pie,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Elinor’s forearm. Her nails were long and bright red. (Garish, Elinor’s mother said in her head. Only women of certain proclivities paint their nails bright like that, pale colours only or don’t paint your nails at all.) “You’re not so bad yourself.” She winked.

“Oh, uh--I just meant--”

“I know what you meant.” Sorcha patted her arm. “Now, what’s in that notebook? I saw you pulling it out when I came over.”

“I was just--we can talk about something else.”

“Well, how am I gonna say if I wanna talk about it or something else unless you tell me what it is?”

“It was just some artist she was trying to remember,” Marigold waved. “I’d much rather know more about you, Sorcha. Where are you from?” 

“Spain,” Sorcha replied offhand. She was still looking at Elinor. “What is the work from the artist? Was it one of the ones we were shown in class?”

“Spain? But you sound like a Scot!” Marigold said, looking like a dog with a bone. She was even more curious now.

“That’s because I grew up here. Now, what artist is it?” 

“It’s really--I can’t remember at this point,” Elinor said, leaning over to slide her notebook back into her bag. “It’s not important.” 

“You’ll just have to tell me next class. Looks like the rain has cleared, so I’m going to head out.” She stood up, the chair scraping behind her. 

Elinor blinked rapidly. “Oh, well. It was nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” She gave a little salute and then sauntered off.

“That was...odd,” Elinor commented, shifting in her seat slightly, crossing her ankles. 

“I liked her,” Marigold replied with a grin. 

→ → → 

The next week, after classes, as Elinor headed back out into the misty evening. Someone called her name.

“Elinor!” 

Turning, she saw Sorcha waving at her, then jogging down the steps to meet her. She had a bright yellow scarf tied around her thick hair this time. 

“Did you remember the artist?” 

“Oh, uhm, yes,” Elinor said as she began walking back toward her dorm. “It was Leonora Carrington.” It was a good thing the wind was brisk, for it hid the warmth of her cheeks. 

“You would totally like Carrington,” Sorcha agreed with a sage nod of her head.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I just figured she’d be your style.” 

“How?” 

“I don’t know. Just a hunch.” 

They walked silently for a few steps. Elinor had assumed that Sorcha would peel off again, but instead she stayed right next to Elinor, her wide hips occasionally bumping Elinor’s own. 

“I looked up what my name means,” Elinor admitted after a few more moments. 

The smile Sorcha gave her made Elinor think that she had somehow known this too. “And?” Sorcha prompted. 

“Light of God, I suppose. There were a few other meanings but--”

“That was the one that stood out to you?” 

“No, I mean...that is probably what my parents intended anyhow.” 

“Who cares what they think? That’s not what I asked.” 

Elinor, if she was not so well-schooled in walking gracefully, might have tripped over a cobblestone. She clutched her books tight to her chest. Who cares what they think? What an absurd thing to say. 

“Well--it also means shining light or...the bright one.” Elinor’s heart felt like it was beating extremely fast for a casual, brisk autumn stroll across campus.

“We match!” Sorcha sounded extraordinarily pleased with herself. “That’s brilliant. Would you like to join my study group?” 

“Oh, I--” Elinor had a feeling saying no would be rude. She didn’t want to say no. Or...did she? There was a part of her that did. She was only going to be here for one semester. Gone before the snow melted and the spring bloomed again. Making friends had never been a priority for her anyway. She wanted to do well in school, so that her parents would give her freedom. If she failed, they would drag her back to the castle kicking and screaming. 

Education for women was a privilege, after all. 

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

“Very well,” Elinor agreed stiffly. 

“Perfect, we meet in classroom 124B on Wednesdays from 6pm to 7pm. I will see you there!” Abruptly, Sorcha turned on her heel and struck off straight across the quad. As she went, she removed the scarf from her head, allowing her hair to spring free, even though the rain had just begun in earnest. 

[aion-rsa]

HBO Max New Releases: February 2021

https://ift.tt/2MlHkNh

When it released Wonder Woman 1984 to its HBO Max servers in December, WarnerMedia made it abundantly clear that it was ready for a new era of movie distribution. Now, in its list of new releases for February 2021, Warner is attempting another grand experiment for HBO Max.

Judas and the Black Messiah premieres on HBO Max this Feb. 12 and is by every indication the kind of film that awards shows go gaga over. Both Daniel Kaluuya and and Lakeith Stanfield look to be at the top of their respective games in this story about Black Panther Party chairman Fred Hampton and the FBI that wants to take him down. Will this have the same rhetorical oomph on the small screen? Guess we’ll find out!

Read more

Movies

How Wonder Woman 1984’s Practical Effects Set it Apart

By Delia Harrington

Movies

Why It’s Important that Themyscira Is Back for Wonder Woman 1984

By Rosie Fletcher

The rest of HBO Max’s February 2021 offerings are uncommonly film heavy. The other two original movies of note are quite different from one another. There is No “I” in Threesome arrives on Feb. 11 and the decidedly more family friendly Tom & Jerry premieres on Feb. 26.

HBO Max will feature the U.S. premiere of It’s a Sin on Feb. 18. Beyond that, however, it’s another round of intriguing library title additions. A whole host of Batman films and DC properties arrive throughout the month including Batman (1989) and Aquaman (2018).

Here is everything else coming to HBO Max this month.

HBO Max New Releases – February 2021

TBA Close Enough, Season 2 Premiere Esme & Roy, Max Original Series Season 2D Premiere

February 1 All Good Things, 2010 (HBO) The Amityville Horror, 1979 (HBO) The Amityville Horror, 2005 (HBO) American Style The Apparition, 2012 (HBO) Austin Powers in Goldmember, 2002 Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery, 1997 Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, 1999 Backdraft, 1991 (HBO) Batman & Robin, 1997 Batman Forever, 1995 Batman Returns, 1992 Batman, 1989 Batman: The Brave and the Bold Be Cool, 2005 (HBO) Blade Runner: The Final Cut, 2007 Butter, 2012 (HBO) Captain Blood, 1935 Chewing Gum Death Row Stories, Season 5 Deep Down, 2021 (HBO) Drumline, 2002 (Extended Version) (HBO) The Four Feathers, 2002 (HBO) Get A Job, 2016 (HBO) Get Shorty, 1995 (HBO) Getting Even With Dad, 1994 (HBO) Ghoulies II, 1987 (HBO) Ghoulies, 1985 (HBO) Giant, 1956 The Graduate, 1967 Growing Up Milwaukee, 2020 Head of the Class The Investigation, Limited Series Premiere (HBO) Jacob’s Ladder, 1990 (HBO) Jason Goes To Hell: The Final Friday, 1993 (HBO) Justice League Justice League Unlimited La Deuda, 2021 (HBO) Lars And The Real Girl, 2007 (HBO) The Last Exorcism, 2010 (Extended Version) (HBO) Lay The Favorite, 2012 (HBO) Life Of Pi, 2012 (HBO) Love & Basketball, 2000 The Lucky One, 2012 (HBO) Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, 1983 Man of Steel, 2013 The Matrix, 1999 The Matrix Reloaded, 2003 The Matrix Revolutions, 2003 Monkey Shines, 1988 (HBO) Murder On The Orient Express, 1974 (HBO) My Bloody Valentine 3-D, 2009 (HBO) The Neverending Story II The Next Chapter, 1991 (HBO) Outbreak, 1995 Pathfinder, 2007 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Presumed Innocent, 1990 Raw Deal, 1986 (HBO) Robot Chicken, Season 10B Safe House, 2012 (HBO) Saw II, 2005 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Saw III, 2006 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Saw IV, 2007 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Saw V, 2008 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Saw VI, 2009 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Saw, 2004 (Extended Version) (HBO) Saw: The Final Chapter, 2010 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Selena, 1997 The Shadow, 1994 (HBO) Sling Blade, 1996 (HBO) Stop-Loss, 2008 (HBO) Sunshine Cleaning, 2009 (HBO) The Goonies, 1985 The Tank, 2017 (HBO) This Must Be The Place, 2012 (HBO) Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, 2011 (HBO) Training Day, 2001 Unforgiven, 1992 United Shades of America, Season 5 Up In The Air, 2009 (HBO) Wildcats, 1986 (HBO) Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, 1971

February 2 A Rodeo Film, ABFF HBO Short Film Competition Finalist (HBO) A Storybook Ending, ABFF HBO Short Film Competition Finalist (HBO) Black Boy Joy, ABFF HBO Short Film Competition Finalist (HBO) The Cypher, ABFF HBO Short Film Competition Finalist (HBO) Dolapo Is Fine, ABFF HBO Short Film Competition Winner (HBO) Fake Famous, Documentary Premiere (HBO)

February 3 Tacoma FD, Season 2

February 4 Haute Dog (S1C), Max Original Series Selena + Chef, Season 2 Finale

February 5 Aquaman , 2018 Earwig and the Witch (Studio Ghibli Premiere), 2021 In Other Words, 2021 (HBO) Vengeance: Killer Coworkers Vengeance: Killer Lovers Vengeance: Killer Neighbors

February 6 Irresistible, 2020 (HBO) The Windsors: Inside the Royal Dynasty, 2019

February 7 We Bare Bears: The Movie, 2020

February 9 Black Art: In the Absence of Light, 2021 (HBO) Gen:Lock, Season 1

February 10 C.B. Strike: Lethal White, Season Finale (HBO)

February 11 There Is No “I” In Threesome, HBO Max Documentary Premiere

Read more

TV

Does Game of Thrones Really Need to Be a Shared Universe?

By David Crow

TV

Harry Potter: What an HBO Max TV Series Could Be About

By Nick Harley

February 12 Dunkirk, 2017 (HBO) El Inconveniente (AKA One Careful Owner), 2021 (HBO) Havana Street Party Presents: Beatriz Luengo (HBO) Judas and the Black Messiah, Warner Bros. Film Premiere, 2021 Very Scary People, Season 2

February 13 The Book of Eli, 2010 (HBO)

February 14 The Lady And The Dale, Documentary Series Finale (HBO) Last Week Tonight With John Oliver, Season 8 Premiere (HBO)

February 15 30 Coins, Season Finale (HBO) The Batman Food Wars! The Fourth Plate (Dubbed) (Crunchyroll Collection) Hot Ones, Season 1 Jimmy Carter: Rock and Roll President, 2020 Static Shock

February 18 Arthur’s Law (Dubbed), Max Original Series Premiere Ben 10, Season 4B It’s a Sin, Max Original Limited Series Premiere

February 19 The Killer Truth, Season 1

February 20 Argo, 2012 (Extended Version) (HBO)

February 22 Beartown, Series Premiere (HBO)

February 23 Real Sports With Bryant Gumbel (HBO)

February 26 Blade Runner 2049, 2017 (HBO) Lupe, 2021 (HBO) Painting With John, Season Finale (HBO) Tom & Jerry, Warner Bros. Film Premiere, 2021

February 27 Bill And Ted’s Bogus Journey, 1991 (HBO) Bill And Ted’s Excellent Adventure, 1989 (HBO) How It Really Happened, Season 5

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Leaving HBO Max – February 2021

February 5 Storks, 2016 (HBO)

February 15 Little, 2019 (HBO)

February 20 The Conjuring, 2013

February 22 Us, 2019 (HBO)

February 28 American Pie, 1999 (HBO) The Astronaut’s Wife, 1999 Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, 2012 (HBO) Blow-Up, 1966 Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, 2005 Chinatown, 1974 Cold Mountain, 2003 (HBO) Congo, 1995 (HBO) Cowboys & Aliens, 2011 (Unrated Version) (HBO) Crazy Rich Asians, 2018 The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button, 2008 (HBO) The Descendants, 2011 (HBO) The Devil Inside, 2012 (HBO) Dick Tracy, 1990 (HBO) Doctor Sleep, 2020 (Director’s Cut) (HBO) Dolphin Tale, 2011 G.I. Joe: The Rise Of Cobra, 2009 Gangs Of New York, 2002 (HBO) The Good Liar, 2019 (HBO) Gun Crazy, 1950 Happy Feet Two, 2011 (HBO) Harriet, 2019 (HBO) I Think I Love My Wife, 2007 (HBO) Idiocracy, 2006 (HBO) Lean On Me, 1989 The Legend Of Bagger Vance, 2000 Life, 1999 (HBO) The Little Things, 2021 Logan’s Run, 1976 Lola Versus, 2012 (HBO) Motherless Brooklyn, 2019 (HBO) Muriel’s Wedding, 1995 (HBO) The Mustang, 2019 (HBO) My Dream Is Yours, 1949 The Omega Man, 1971 On Moonlight Bay, 1951 The Sitter, 2011 (Unrated Version) (HBO) Soldier, 1998 Soylent Green, 1973 Spies Like Us, 1985 Stephen King’s Needful Things, 1993 Tango & Cash, 1989 Teen Witch, 1989 (HBO) Westworld (Movie), 1973 Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, 1971

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[catherinepl1996]

Stay Golden: Dressing in Marigold by mariots22 featuring a harrington jacket ❤ liked on Polyvore

Acne Studios white tee, £100 / Balenciaga harrington jacket / Yves Saint Laurent mini skirt, £1,445 / Balenciaga slip on shoes, £555 / Prada purse, £1,415

[mamabear-elinor]

BDRPwrimo Day Six – Family Ties

The Forging of Bitter Bonds

Write a one-shot revolving around your character’s family, include 3 family members minimum. (This can include whatever your character’s definition of family is.)

VIII. Off to the Races Late June, 1994

“Did you hear that the Knightley boy will be bringing a girl to the Summer Promenade?” Elinor’s mother mentioned casually at dinner one night in late June. 

The dining room suddenly felt much smaller than it was, the walls closing in. No one said anything for a few moments and the air filled with the sound of cutlery scraping plates. 

“Oh, no I didn’t, Mama. Who is she? What family is she from? Is she that de Chateaupers girl?” 

“She isn’t from the Order,” Una sniffed.

Elinor’s head jerked up, startled, and she could see the glint of displeasure in her mother’s eye. Elinor felt like a deer who had just heard the braying of a hound. Her muscles tensed and she felt like if she moved a single one, her mother would hunt her down. 

“Not an Order girl?” came her father’s gruff voice. Elinor didn’t want to turn her head to look at him, knowing she would only find disapproval hanging from his brow. She already heard it in his voice. And while much of that was probably directed at the Knightley boy, she knew it would only be a matter of time before it swung back around to her. It always did. 

“No. Apparently he met her at Oxford. They have been seeing each other for over a year now, if my sources are correct.” They usually were. Una just liked to pretend to be aloof about these things. 

Collum shook his head and stabbed at his steak, blood oozing from the meat. “A shame.” As he chewed, his gaze swung towards Elinor, who was eating dainty, slow bites. She did not look at her father, deliberately keeping her eyes focused on her plate. “Soon, all the eligible men will be snapped up.” 

Elinor kept eating.

“Elinor,” her father demanded.

Reluctantly, she raised her gaze and turned them towards her father. Her focus fell on the juices dribbling from the corner of his mouth into his grey beard, staining it dark. She would rather look there than the rest of his face. 

“Do you understand the gravity of what your mother is saying?” 

Elinor’s cheeks heated with embarrassment and she wanted to be angry. To yell at them and say: no, I don’t. Why does it matter?

But Elinor knew why it mattered. Because her grandfather had brought shame to this family. Because her father, the eldest son, only had daughters. Useless, beautiful daughters whose only purpose was to marry. If Elinor didn’t do well for herself, she would doom her sister too, then her father’s family line would cease to exist. 

Shannon sat across the table from Elinor, watching her too with a curl of her lip. Elinor wanted to slap her. Shannon had always been good with words and insults, but when they had been younger, Elinor used to pinch her until she cried, used to smack her and push her and steal her toys. Now that they were older, she couldn’t do those things, so she sharpened her wit instead. 

That wit was useless against her father and the heavy burden of expectation. 

“That I will be told to marry the first man you see fit to marry me.” All Elinor had was a weapon of truth. If she said it first, her father could not use it to hurt her.

“Yes,” Una cut in, unwavering. “We will.”

-> -> ->

The first day of the tourney was always the most exciting in Elinor’s opinion. Everyone was seeing each other for the first time in months, there were reunions and rivalries. It was a whirlwind of excitement. Though, it was not Elinor’s favorite day. That was always the second: the women’s race. There was nothing much to winning, just bragging rights, but Elinor loved it anyway. It felt like the only time she was able to show off her own skill. And this year, it was especially important that she do well. Winning the race might catch the eye of an eligible bachelor.

Elinor twirled through the crowds. Several tents had been erected on Lindisfarne, the Harrington family hosting this year. Which was excellent, considering their ability with horses. Elinor had brought Dawn along, of course, but it meant the track they’d be using would be tough, and many of the daintier horses of the other women would not know what to do with the terrain.

“Marigold!” Elinor called when she finally spotted her friend.

“Ellie!” Marigold beamed back and tackled Elinor into a hug, squeezing her tight. Marigold had been in the middle of a conversation with a few others, but Elinor hadn’t even taken them in. She knew Marigold wouldn’t care if she interrupted, and it was clear that she hadn’t. Elinor chuckled as she squeezed her friend back just as tight. It had only been a month since school had gotten out, but they hadn’t seen each other since and after spending nearly every day together in their little apartment, it was weird not to have her right next to her every moment. It felt like there was so much to say.

“Who is this?” came a voice that Elinor didn’t know, which was odd for the Summer Promenade. Everyone knew each other here. They had grown up together, their parents and grandparents had grown up together. The woman standing in part of the semi-circle that Elinor had just interrupted was beautiful, with strawberry-golden hair, but also a stranger to Elinor.

“Oh, right,” Marigold said, slipping her arms from around Elinor, though she held her hand as she drew her into the circle.

Now that Elinor saw the other faces, she realized she’d just walked into a nightmare: Tom Harrington was standing on Marigold’s other side. Next to Elinor was Fergus. They weren’t the problem. The problem was Francis and his wife, a ring glittering on her finger. This wasn’t new and Elinor was no longer upset (she hated him but that was different.) It still was not ideal, considering Francis seemed to have memory loss when it came to their relationship. Next to Francis was Hubert Knightley and clinging to his arm was the woman who spoke.

The new girlfriend. The not an Order woman. The woman that Elinor’s family felt she had lost out to, even though Hubert had never spared her anything but a passing glance.

“Elinor, this is Edelgard. Edelgard, this is Elinor Briar. Her family has a seat in Scotland.”

“Oh, it is so nice to meet you,” Edelgard said, her dazzling smile a weapon as she held out her hand. “I have heard so much about you. Francis, is this the same Elinor you went out with a few years ago?”

Elinor felt her stomach curdle as she dropped Edelgard’s hand as if it had burned her. The woman might not be Order, but she would fit in. Elinor wanted to speak first, but she was sure whatever she would say would only threaten Francis’—and the Smith family’s—precious ego. She held her tongue.

Though, it wasn’t Francis who spoke, but Fergus.

“Aye, and she’s also an excellent horsewoman.” His big, warm, heavy hand came down on her shoulder. It felt as if she had just sunk down into the mud beneath her boots. She felt steady. “She came in second in the woman’s race last year,” Fergus said, as if it was a brag that he was proud of.

Elinor blushed. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t have time to address it. She realized that Fergus had given her an opening and she was going to take it eagerly. Her chin lifted slightly. “That’s right. I did. And this year, I plan to win,” she announced confidently. “Will you be participating this year, Edelgard?”

“Oh, am I allowed?” And Edelgard, acting as perfect as any Order girl, turned to look up at Hubert.

“I don’t see why not. I am sure one of the women can let you borrow their riding gear, and the Harringtons have a whole stable of champion horses for you to pick from,” Hubert replied.

“Excellent,” Edelgard smiled sharply again and looked at Elinor. “It seems you have new competition.”

Elinor’s own gaze sharpened, and she opened her mouth. A threat on the tip of her tongue. Fergus’ hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly. She blinked and glanced towards him, but he was looking ahead, smiling pleasantly at this arrogant newcomer.

“It seems I do. Good luck then,” Elinor managed to grit out and then dropped her shoulder so that Fergus’ hand slipped off. “I think I heard someone call me, so I will see all of you later.”

Turning on her heel, Elinor left in a huff, her braid whipping behind her. She stepped back out into the corridor of tents, a sharp breeze blowing in off the ocean and funneling through the makeshift buildings. Shivering, she headed in the direction of the wind, wanting to walk along the ocean and cool her head before finding anyone else and only digging herself deeper.

She thought she heard someone calling her name for real this time, but she did not slow her gait and soon hit the shore and began to pick her way over black stones sure-footed. For once, the sun was bright, the clouds moving quickly through the sky, the day was warm, but the breeze was still biting.

“Jesus, woman! Hold yer horses!” Fergus called behind her, making Elinor stop in her tracks. He was picking his way towards her over the slippery stones. Her eyebrows raised as she watched him teeter and swing an arm out before he managed to make it to her.

“What are you doing, Fergus?” she raised her voice over the roar of the ocean and the wind.

“I just—” As soon as he stopped in front of her, he looked confused. As if he wasn’t sure how he had gotten there.

Elinor’s eyebrows rose further and she crossed her arms. “I want to be alone.”

“I know. That’s why—I mean...you aren’t mad at me, are ya?”

Yes, Elinor thought to herself.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Beats me, but I got a funny feeling ya were.” It was odd to see him squinting against the sunlight to look at her, his shoulders rounded slightly as he tried to keep his balance. For a moment, he didn’t look like the warrior that Elinor knew him to be. (She had watched his tourneys too and knew that he could hold his own even against the Golden Trio.) He looked like an unsure boy and there was something sweet in his face that endeared Elinor.

But no, she was annoyed at him.

“You—held me back,” she accused. “I don’t need your help! I can handle myself just fine.”

“That’s what I was worried about.” Fergus straightened up slightly, a twinkle to his eyes. “Thought that punch I showed you might come in handy and I figured you didn’t really want to give that Sassenach a black eye.”

“Aye, I did,” Elinor admitted forcefully, without meaning to.

The two of them blinked at each other, both shocked at the honesty in the words. And then, after a moment, Fergus laughed, and Elinor blushed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elinor sniffed, lifting her chin. “You don’t get to decide—or pick my battles for me. As if you wouldn’t challenge someone who was challenging you.”

“Aye, you’re right about that. Difference is: you’re a woman.”

Elinor bristled, even though it was true.

Fergus continued. “And ya’re better than throwin’ a punch at every slight.”

“What if I’m not?” Her arms around herself squeezed and she suddenly felt tears in her eyes that she couldn’t blame on the wind.

Fergus shrugged. “I know ya are.”

Elinor glanced away and took a breath, though it was more shaky than she wanted it to be. “Right, well—I am not going to say thank you, if that’s what you want.”

That caused Fergus to laugh again. “Naw, you just beat the stuck-up outsider at the race tomorrow. That’ll be all the thanks I need.”

Elinor looked back at Fergus sharply. “If I win tomorrow, it won’t be for you.”

-> -> ->

Dawn snorted and stomped a foot, shifting beneath Elinor, who was poised atop of the chestnut mare. She reached down and pat her horse’s shoulder lightly, steadying her. They stood at the starting line of the race, waiting for the gun to go off and announce the start. The silence was loud with anticipation. The waves crashed and gulls cried overhead, but Elinor could only hear the pounding of her own heart as she crouched and gathered Dawn’s reins, adjusting them in her sweaty hands.

The gun fired. Its echo was drown out by the thundering of hooves as about twenty horses took off. The crowd gathered by the start line (which was also the finish line) cheered rancorously as the herd galloped by. Dawn surged forward, following the horses around her and Elinor let her. This was a distance race, twelve furlongs, as opposed to the average six, and many were going to forget that. As they made their way towards the ocean. Half the race would be run along the shoreline and then back over the fields to circle to where they had started again.

As they settled into the ride, Elinor pulled up Dawn slightly. The mare snorted in protest, grabbing the bit between her teeth, but Elinor just curled her fingers on the left rein, then the right, seesawing the bit gently from between Dawn’s teeth.

“Gotta conserve our energy,” Elinor murmured to the horse, as if she would understand. But Dawn was just as competitive as Elinor and she felt her straining against the tails of the horses in front of them. Elinor tried to focus on just the sound of her own breathing and the rhythm of her horse. Her heels pushed down to keep her balanced as Dawn picked her way over the terrain, familiar with uneven ground, as Elinor often rode her across the moors and near the lake. Elinor trusted the horse to know the best path and didn’t correct her when they took the long way around a fallen log instead of jumping over it.

Even still, they managed to pass several people within the first three furlongs, who had burst out of the gate in a sprint and were now falling behind. By the time they got to the halfway marker, they had passed a solid chunk of their competitors who were only used to running so far. Elinor silently thanked the Harringtons for making this more challenging. Their own horses were distance runners, so it made sense.

They bided their time until they hit the grass again, 9 furlongs to go, the crowd and finish line in the distance through the haze. The ground smoother here, even if Dawn’s hooves sunk into the mud with every step. Pushing her heels against Dawn’s side, she let the reins slip through her fingers somewhat. Dawn understood the signal and picked up the pace.

They came upon Edelgard easily, who was just ahead of them on her borrowed horse.

Elinor clucked her tongue and sank lower over Dawn’s neck, spreading her body weight and resisting the sharp wind. “Let’s go!” she encouraged Dawn.

She didn’t know if it was the sound of her shout or Dawn’s quickening hoofbeats that made Edelgard look over her shoulder, but Elinor knew they had them beat that moment. She stayed focused and when they passed the woman, she didn’t even glance in her direction. Her eyes were focused on the two people ahead of them.

“Come on,” Elinor urged, giving Dawn her head and feeling as Dawn’s neck stretched with the freedom of it, her stride elongating. They crashed by the eleventh furlong marker in the same moment that they passed the person who had been in second place. Elinor thought she saw a flash of red hair but was too focused to notice if it was Marigold.

They came up parallel against the final horse just as they heard the cheering from the crowd. The bay’s coat was lathered with sweat and Elinor could hear it snorting as it strained. Dawn had no such trouble. The chestnut pulled ahead easily, with energy to spare and shot over the finish line a whole body’s length ahead of the horse that came in second.

It took several strides for Elinor to slow Dawn down. They ran all the way through the crowd before she managed to settle the horse into a brisk trot and get her turned around. It gave the organizers enough time to stand at the finish line, holding the silver cup that was passed from family to family every year and a garland of roses to drape over Dawn’s neck.

Elinor’s fingers blackened from dirt as she rubbed them against Dawn’s sweaty shoulders and kissed her horse’s mane. “Oh, you were brilliant,” she cooed at her horse as they stopped in front of the family who had won last year. They gently laid the roses over Dawn’s neck and handed Elinor the trophy which she hoisted into the hair, flinging her sweaty hair back from her face as Dawn walked in a circle, cooling down after the run.

Her mother and father had pushed their way to the front of the crowd and Elinor stopped in front of them so that she could lean down and let her mother kiss her cheek and take the trophy from her. Elinor didn’t protest this, as it gave her a hand to pat Dawn’s shoulder with again as they made another lap, the final horses pulling over the finish line.

Marigold trotted over on her horse and threw an arm around Elinor. “That was bloody brilliant,” she laughed breathlessly.

“You were too.”

“Guess third is my place,” her friend joked good-naturedly.

Elinor laughed too and her eyes scanned the crowd again. This time, she saw Fergus, clapping along with everyone else. Their eyes caught for a moment and Elinor didn’t know why she did it, but she winked at him. The gesture made him throw his head back and let out a laugh that she could hear, even over the cheers. Her cheeks flushed and she sat a little straighter in her saddle, feeling as if, perhaps, she had won more than one thing today.

[mamabear-elinor]

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

V. Five Times Sorcha Flirted with Elinor...and one time Elinor flirted back. January 1993-June 1993

[cw -- some vomiting (from illness) that’s it for this one tho woo!]

→ → → January → → → “I got you something!” Sorcha’s arm appeared in front of Elinor’s nose, her bangles jangling loudly in the library, as she wiggled the little bag with colorful tissue paper sticking out of it. She moved into Elinor’s line of sight the next moment, plopping into the chair next to her.

“We’re in a library,” Elinor protested, but she took the bag from her. Sorcha just shrugged and lounged in the seat as if she was in her living room. She had a way of looking comfortable wherever she was. Elinor was jealous of it, considering she had spent the last few months of school not wanting to get comfortable anywhere. And, besides that, didn’t know how to be comfortable. Sometimes, she felt as if she was either five years older than her peers or had somehow grown up in a different universe. Their behaviors alien, their laughter loud, their words crass. Of course, Marigold took to it like a fish to water. Elinor had always felt stiff and awkward, like there was a tattoo on her forehead that branded her as a fish out of water. 

“How did you know it was my birthday?” Elinor asked suspiciously, keeping her voice low. It was the middle of the day, so there weren’t many people around. She liked to squirrel away in the darkest parts of the library, where no one could find her. A habit leftover from childhood, she suspected. 

“I asked Marigold, of course. I needed to know that I was right?” Sorcha replied with a smile, her voice the same volume it always was: loud.

“Right about what?”

“Your birth chart. And I was, by the way. You’re such a Capricorn.” She flicked a page of Elinor’s book, which earned her a scowl. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Elinor sniffed primly, pulling her book into her lap where it would be safe from further abuse. 

“I’m a Pisces, so don’t worry. We will get along.” 

Elinor didn’t know what to say to that. She blushed slightly and grabbed the bag, just for something to do. Pulling out the tissue paper, she reached in and grabbed something small, smooth. It was a keychain of a golden sun, its rays stretching outwards. The metal work was lovely and carefully crafted. Elinor knew how delicate such work would be. 

“Thank you,” Elinor told her, realizing that she had not received many gifts for her birthday. A new dress from her father and mother (though, Elinor had a feeling someone else had picked it out. Considering her mother could hardly look at her.) A set of hair pins from her sister. Wool for knitting from a few of the staff at the castle. Marigold had gotten the book for her that Elinor had mentioned she wanted, but that was as personalized as gifts got. “It’s lovely.” 

→ → → February → → → The weather was cold and damp. One of the worst months of the year, in Elinor’s opinion.

Of course, Sorcha did not think so. As they walked back from class, Elinor hurried along, only to notice that Sorcha was no longer next to her on the way back to the dorms. When she looked over her shoulder, she found her standing in the middle of the field, her hat off, snowflakes caught in the tight curls of her dark hair. 

“Sorcha!” Elinor hissed, backtracking and stomping toward her friend through the snow. 

“Let’s make snowmen!” She flopped back into the snow. 

“You’re going to catch your death,” Elinor told her matter-of-factly as she came up to her and peered down at her. 

“And what a glorious way to die!” Her hand, which had been moving back and forth to create her wings, reached out and grabbed Elinor’s ankle and swept it out from under her. 

Elinor yelped and lifted her foot up, trying to shake Sorcha off, but she just gave a tug, knocking Elinor off balance and sending her sprawling to the ground next to Sorcha. “Hey!” Elinor gasped as the cold snow started seeping into her trousers. She shivered but she reached behind her, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it right into Sorcha’s face. 

“Eghad! She fights back!” Sorcha laughed after her moment of shock wore off. She sat up so that they were facing each other, their hips nearly touching. Perhaps it was just because it was cold, but Elinor could feel the warmth of Sorcha’s body, even through her thick coat.

“Of course I do,” Elinor sniffed and couldn’t help but remember the Winter’s Ball. Of course I did. Something curled in her stomach, a tug that made her look away from Sorcha’s dark eyes, dancing with mirth. She swallowed, then stood up, brushing the snow from her clothes and holding out her gloved hand for Sorcha--whose hands were bare, because she was a bloody idiot. Sorcha let Elinor pull her to her feet, but then stayed, clutching to her hand, even as Elinor began to walk off.

When she stopped again, glancing down at their hands in confusion, Sorcha shrugged in that way she did. As if she wasn’t confined by gravity and barely staying on earth. That simple movement was an acknowledgement of how her body wanted to leave this earth. “My hands are cold.” 

They walked back to the dorm hand in hand, not talking. 

→ → → March → → → It’s Sorcha’s birthday this time.

“I want to spend the day with you,” Sorcha told Elinor as she laid, sprawled on Marigold and Elinor’s couch. She was looking at Elinor in that way that made her feel as if Sorcha could see exactly what Elinor was feeling.

Elinor’s arms crossed over her chest and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest. The feeling made her even more nervous than Sorcha’s declaration. She wondered if she should, perhaps, stop seeing Sorcha so much. Something about her burned. After all, she was brightness incarnate, if names were to be believed. 

“Aw, I think that’s so cute!” Marigold says from her spot curled up in the arm chair. “I would totally come with you but it’s the women’s rugby match and I can’t let the team down.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Elinor asked Marigold, turning desperately to her friend. “I’ve never missed a match.” 

“And we’ve never won one!” Marigold laughed brightly. “Besides, Thomas is coming up from Oxford and we’re going to be spending the weekend together anyway. He will be my new lucky charm, so don’t worry about me.” 

That made the clawing in Elinor’s stomach worse. “Fine. I mean--yes. I’ll go.” 

“Oh, you’re the best, Ells.” 

Elinor wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call me that.”

“Alright, sunshine.” 

Don’t call me that either. Elinor blushed. 

→ → → April → → → “You don’t look so good, sunshine,” Sorcha appeared in the mirror of the bathroom behind Elinor. She hadn’t even heard the door open, or a knock. 

“Ugh, get out,” Elinor mumbled from where her face was in the toilet. 

“You’re not pregnant are you?” Sorcha asked as she came and sat on the lip of the tub, leaning her elbows on her knees. Her brow was furrowed with uncharacteristic concern. 

“What? No!” Elinor used the rest of her energy to shout in alarm. Just the idea of something like that. Hilarious. Laughable. Her mother would kill her. “I must’ve eaten--” her words were cut off by another bout of sickness. She heard the water running in the sink and the next moment, there was a cool cloth on the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed as she laid her cheek on the disgusting toilet seat and reached up to flush. 

It had been a long time since someone had taken care of her while she was sick. Her mother had never had the stomach for it and as soon as she’d outgrown her nanny, it was up to her. Thankfully, she did not get sick often. Which she credited to her great love of the outdoors. 

“Go away,” she croaked.

“And leave you to drown in chunder and toilet water? I don’t think so,” Sorcha chuckled. “Don’t worry. If I catch whatever you have, you can put a cool cloth on my neck whilst I vomit.” 

“Why are you doing this?”

There was a long pause. So long that Elinor thought maybe she’d imagined saying it. 

“You’re my friend.” 

“Marigold and she went to stay somewhere else so she didn’t catch it.” 

Sorcha didn’t say anything, she just got up from where she was sitting. “I’m going to go make you some ginger tea and then maybe we can move you to the couch and get you a pail. Maybe watch a movie.”

“Do not,” Elinor feebly protested.

“You’re lucky you look so helpless and cute right now,” Sorcha laughed at her before disappearing. 

→ → → May → → → “This is so cool,” Marigold giggled as they made their way down into the basement of the art history building, dragging Elinor by her sleeve. It was dark and cold and damp. The building was old, but it was not a castle. It had been built specifically as a university and not one that was supposed to have stood for four hundred years. Which meant that the basement leaked. It smelt of mold and the cold. 

They found the door that they had been directed to and stepped inside. There was not a single light except for candles that flickered off the wet walls of the little storage room. Elinor and Marigold crammed into the room, Elinor doing her best not to brush against the walls, unless she get some sort of slime on her fine wool sweater. A shiver ran down her spine and while she knew nothing nefarious had ever happened in these catacombs, she really also hoped that she wasn’t about to be part of one.

“Do you think Sorcha tricked us down here for a ritual sacrifice?”

Marigold barked a laugh, making several people turn and look at them. She did not get a chance to respond, however, for the next moment Sorcha appeared on the stage as if by magic. Her dark skin seemed to absorb the light from the candle around her, making it a warm brown, reminding Elinor of summertime, not a damp, dingy basement with grey walls and unnameable sludge. 

There was a smattering of clapping, Elinor followed along, not sure what the protocol is. (If you don’t know the etiquette, follow others. Always follow. Never lead.) It wasn’t until the sound of her own clapping, loud and harsh, reached her ears that she realized everyone else had been snapping gently. 

Elinor blushed, just as Sorcha’s eyes found her in the near darkness. “This poem is for my friend, who inspired it.” 

Another round of snapping. Elinor did not join in. Instead, her heart was clenched in her chest. 

Elinor had read all the greats of poetry, of course. Dickinson. Wordsworth. Yeats. Keats. Blake. She had, also indulged a bit in Maya Angelou. Hughes. Plath. Elinor loved poetry. She loved the stories that the lyrical words could tell. 

She did not know how she felt about this poem about dark, straight hair like a river at night or pale, rosy cheeks. Noses in books. Heads in toilets. Brightness. Illumination.

When Sorcha’s poem finished, Elinor turned on her heel and fled. 

→ → → June → → → Elinor was drunk.

Elinor never got drunk. Usually, at uni parties, she trailed behind Marigold to make sure she didn’t get in a fight or fall down a flight of stairs and break her neck. But Marigold was in London, visiting Thomas. Her exams had finished before Elinor’s and--Elinor didn’t want to go home. She didn’t have a sweet, handsome boyfriend to visit. 

All she had was her cold castle and her cold mother to return to. Her disappointed father and her judgemental sister. The only person she missed was Dawn. And Dawn, as her mother often reminded her, was not a person. 

“Hey there, sunshine.” It was Sorcha, having found her sitting on the back steps of whatever house this party was at. Elinor couldn’t remember.

“Of course you’d be here,” Elinor scoffed, gesturing at Sorcha. 

Sorcha just chuckled and shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.” She sat down on the steps next to Elinor.

Elinor scowled. “You aren’t disappointing me with your--” Elinor gestured again. 

“My--?” Sorcha’s eyebrows were lifted now. 

“Yes, your--the way you--how do you do that?” 

“Er, not sure I’m following there, sweetness.” 

“Do that thing where you make it seem like nothing bothers you.” 

“Nothing does bother me.” 

“How is that possible, how can it not bother you? Don’t you worry? Don’t you care?” 

Sorcha just glanced out into the dark. “Sure, I care. That’s not the same thing as being bothered.” 

It was to Elinor. She was bothered by everything, because she cared so much. She was bothered by the roundness of Sorcha’s shoulder, like a stone. She was bothered that she wanted to touch it. Feel Sorcha’s warm skin under her fingers. That Sorcha made her feel this way. Made her feel seen, understood. Elinor didn’t even understand herself half of the time, but Sorcha just seemed to know. What she needed. When she needed it. 

She turned to look at Elinor now, her chin resting on her bicep from where she’d wrapped her arms around her knees. She smiled. It was a soft smile. An inviting smile. Her lips looked smooth and inviting as they curled in the corners. Her eyes were two warm, dark pools like the lochs that Elinor had been warned about as a child. The ones she used to dip her toes in anyway, just to feel that shiver of daring. 

Before she could think about it, she dove in--pressing her lips against Sorcha’s. 

They were chillier than she expected and it made her draw back after just a moment, though she didn’t fully pull away. Sorcha’s breath ghosted over her lips and that was warm and tasted like honey, despite the cheap beer they’d been drinking. It was Sorcha who nudged her chin forward the second time and kissed Elinor. Her hand snaked around Elinor’s neck and drew her in. 

And Elinor was right: Sorcha was warm. She warmed Elinor. All the way down to her toes as their kiss deepened. Her own fingers curled against Sorcha’s bicep as if she needed to hold on, as if Sorcha had sucked the gravity out of Elinor and made her feel weightless.

When the kiss broke, Elinor felt like rain on a window pane, like falling snow. 

“I do care,” Sorcha repeated softly. “I care about you.” 

[mamabear-elinor]

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

IV. The Winter’s Ball December 19, 1992

[cw for a comment on weight/body image, blood, violence (just a punch)]

“Mother, I cannot wear this,” Elinor wrinkled her nose in the direction of the dress bag that she was holding in her hands, a monstrosity of ice coloured lace and tulle spilling from it, as if the bag could not contain its contents. 

Elinor was standing in the middle of her mother’s suite at their hotel across from the ballroom that the Order always rented for the Winter’s Ball. It should be noted that she was barefoot. Una Briar sat at her vanity, looking at her eldest daughter in the mirror with a pinched expression.

“Why are you not ready?” she asked, as if she had not heard Elinor’s protest. She probably hadn’t. Una never heard anything that she didn’t want to. It was what made her so impossible to argue with. So hard to rile. Elinor was convinced her temper was all Briar. Her mother was as unfeeling as stone. 

“I can’t wear this!” Elinor repeated. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, unless you’ve gained weight since starting university. I had you measured on fall break. The tailor is never wrong.”

“No--I don’t--I mean it’s hideous. I won’t be able to dance in this! I’ll look like--like an icicle.”

Una stood from her vanity and moved towards Elinor, taking the dress bag from her and pulling the dress out. “Undress,” she commanded.

“Ma--” 

“Do you want another chance with Mr. Smith or do you want to disappoint me? Your father? Your sister? Again?” 

Elinor’s cheeks flamed red and she reluctantly dropped her robe and pulled her shift up over her head. Her mother held out the gown expectantly and Elinor stepped into it, letting the itchy fabric be drawn up over her thighs, scraping at her stomach. It felt like rolling in a patch of nettle. She reached over and adjusted her bust as her mother tugged at the zipper. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and sucked in a breath, trying not to cry. 

It wasn’t that Elinor hated dresses. She just hated this one. And she--didn’t want to go to the ball. The expectations her family had were as constraining as the tightness around her ribs as she was stuffed into the dress.

“There,” Una hummed, coming around to Elinor’s front and brushing some of her hair back from her face. “You look beautiful, Mr. Smith won’t be able to say no.”

Elinor was not as confident, but she allowed her mother to fuss over her for a few moments more and then watched as she pinched her own cheeks in the mirror and they headed out of the door. 

The ballroom was painted in low light of orange and blue. Real candles flickered and cool tones from the decor gave the whole thing a cool, hushed atmosphere. There were several people already mingling and men in waiter’s suits who stepped up to take her fox fur coat. She drifted behind her parents and sisters, fiddling with the silver necklace around her throat. It was one that Francis had given her. She hadn’t taken it off since then, even after they had broken up. Part of her still clung to a bit of hope, not matter how she argued with her parents otherwise. How could she not? They were so insistent that she just needed to find him. Talk to him. Tell him about how she would be transferring to Oxford--

“Ellie!” A flash of red and someone slammed into her side, grabbing her arm. “Gosh, I missed you so much. You look amazing!”

Elinor snorted. “Goldie, I just saw you on Thursday.” She felt a warm rush of affection for her friend, though, and clung back to her. If she had Marigold at her side, then she wouldn’t be alone in this. Though, she felt guilty, because she hadn’t found a way to tell Marigold that she was not going back to Edinburgh in the spring. She hadn’t told Sorcha either. Or her professors. Or anyone else. It would have ruined it. She had just wanted to enjoy what she had left. 

“So? I know you missed me too.” Goldie tossed some of her hair.

“Yes, alright. I did.” 

“Good, now let’s grab some champagne.” 

The girls made their way around the room, chatting with their peers, catching up with everyone. The Order only gathered together like this twice a year or during Christenings of new sons of the Order. Or for the King’s Melee. The women did not spend much time together otherwise. The men trained together as squires. Went on hunts together. Their bonds were always much stronger. That was, until you married into a family. Then those women became your friends. Elinor and Marigold were so close because they had always felt like kindred spirits, and made sure to keep in touch outside of these other events. Now that they went to school together, they were closer than ever.

Which just made Elinor feel worse about keeping her silence. As they made their way around, Elinor sticking quiet and close to Marigold’s shining aura, she felt awful. Her champagne bubbling uncomfortably in her gut. 

They were standing with a group of girls, Marigold’s head thrown back, laughing loud and bold enough to draw a few eyes when someone approached, attention clearly caught. Thomas Harrington. Elinor knew him, of course she did. He had already completed his Blood Hunt and was a proper Prince. He was also Francis’ best friend. 

“Marigold DunBroch,” he said, his voice a bit too soft. He cleared his throat. 

Marigold’s head whipped towards him, eyes sparking. “Marigold DunBroch is what my Ma calls me when I’m in trouble.” 

“Marigold, then.” 

“I suppose.” Marigold took a drink, but her blue eyes hadn’t left Thomas’ face, though his own eyes darted around a bit. When he looked at Elinor, standing at Marigold’s side, she lifted her eyebrows.

“May I--may I have this dance?” 

A few girls around them tittered. 

“Sure,” Marigold, shrugging a shoulder coyly, though Elinor could tell she was pleased. 

Elinor tried to be pleased as well. If Marigold and Thomas danced and became something and Francis took Elinor back, they could all be the greatest of friends. It was a fantasy, long reaching, but it comforted Elinor just the same. 

“Here, Ellie.” Marigold held out her glass for Elinor to take and slipped her hand into Thomas’, so he could lead her out onto the dance floor.

“I can’t believe he asked a DunBroch to dance,” one of the girls, a de Chateaupers, if Elinor remembered correctly, sniffed. 

Elinor cut her eyes towards her. “Maybe because he doesn’t want to dance with someone who looks like they ran face first into a wall,” she snapped viciously at the blonde and then moved off in a huff. 

“What’s her problem?” Elinor heard as she moved away. She whipped through the crowd, though not as fast as she liked, her dress trailing behind her like a ball and shackle. Its train was heavy and cumbersome. She looked over her shoulder to tug it out from under the foot of a large man, causing her to bump right into someone. 

“Oh, I am so sorry--Francis.” Elinor would recognize those blue eyes she was looking into anywhere.

“Elinor,” he greeted her back, his shoulders straight as she stood tall. “I hope you are well.”

“Well enough,” she told him, trying to remember how she was supposed to be acting. For all she wanted to do was slap him across the face. The urge rose suddenly and she curled her hand into a fist. “And you?”

“Well, thank you.”

There was an awkward beat. Francis looked out to the dance floor. “Would you like to dance? I--think we have a few things to talk about.”

No, Elinor wanted to snarl, but she did as she always did--as she had always been taught: she took a breath and smiled. For just a moment, she wished her teeth were fangs. She wanted to be the thing that frightened men. “You honour me,” she told him. Her voice sounded robotic, but she kept smiling graciously and took his hand. 

He led her onto the floor and placed his hand on her waist. Last year, at the Winter’s Ball, his hand had strayed below where was appropriate and she had stepped on his toes in return with a laugh and a blush, before he’d pulled her into a darkened corridor and stole kisses from her lips.

Since then, he had stolen much more from her. Elinor hated him. Being in his arms now, it made her feel as if she was going to explode. Still, she smiled. “How is school?” 

“Good, thank you.” He told her with a nod. “And you?”

“It’s wonderful. I am having a marvelous time.” This was easy to say. It was the truth and she wanted him to be hurt by it. 

He nodded, still not quite looking at her. “Elinor, I have something to tell you.”

“Alright, tell me then.” Her voice had an edge to it, even though she kept smiling. She tried to remember what her mother taught her: a lady does not frown, a lady always smiles, a lady defers to a man’s wants, a lady dances smoothly, a lady can do all of these things no matter what. The world could be ending, but a lady never has a hair out of place or anything but a smile. 

“I am engaged.” 

Elinor’s feet stopped. She planted herself on the floor and felt as if she had become one of the ice statues that were sweating on the edges of the ballroom. “What?” 

“I am engaged to be married. I need my necklace back. It’s a family heirloom, you know. I need to give it to my bride.” 

Elinor didn’t think, she just reacted. Let her heart guide her.

And her heart told her to punch this bastard in the face.

So that was what she did. The crack of flesh hitting flesh was the loudest thing in the room. Something crunched and Elinor’s hand began to throb, a sharp pain shooting all the way down to her elbow. She hissed a breath and stumbled backward the same time that Francis did, holding a hand up to his nose. Elinor saw a flash of bright red amongst the twirling blues, whites, and golds. 

“You bitch!” Francis shouted, but it came out slurred from behind his hand as he tilted his head forward. 

Elinor didn’t know why, but she started to laugh. 

“Shut up!” Francis snarled at her. 

Stumbling backward again, she tripped on the train of her own dress and then fled, turning down the very same corridor that Francis himself had led her down a year ago. She moved through the hall before opening a random door and shutting it behind herself. Once she was alone, the laughter turned to a sob and Elinor’s eyes began to burn with tears. She crossed the room, throwing open the double doors and stumbling out onto the balcony, catching herself on the railing. She wanted to scream, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. 

Instead, she pressed her head against the cool marble of the railing and sucked in the cool night air. 

“That was the worst fookin’ punch I have ever seen in me life.” 

Elinor whirled around at the sound of a gruff voice behind her, reaching up simultaneously to scrub at her cheeks. “Fergus, go away,” she hiccuped, trying to look as vicious as she had felt just minutes before when she had punched Francis. The fire had gone out, though, and the humiliation smarted something awful. Especially now that her best friend’s older brother had found her and was probably going to drag her back into the ball kicking and screaming. Or worse, go and get her mother. 

He did neither of those things. Instead, he just chuckled and held his hands up in surrender before moving towards the balcony railing. “I am just sayin’ you clearly haven’t ever punched anyone in your life.” 

“Of course I haven’t,” Elinor scoffed, her voice wobbling. She watched him wearily as he moved to lean against the railing. He didn’t seem perturbed by her tears, she supposed she was grateful for that. 

“You have a good reason?” 

“Of course I did,” Elinor snapped before turning slightly so that she could wipe her eyes with her fingers. Fergus, notably, did not offer her a handkerchief. Instead, he just cocked his head at her, red hair washed out in the dark light. She stuck out her chin and took a deep, steadying breath. She didn’t want him to know that she was nervous. Elinor had only been alone with one boy--man--before and when she had darted her eyes about, he had stepped closer. What had been a reckless, fluttering, foolish heart, now felt somewhat sturdier, thanks to Francis. 

“How did you find me?” she demanded when she looked back over at Fergus. 

“The breeze.” He shrugged.

“What?” 

“The windows let in a draft. No other drafts in the hallway except the one coming from this room.” 

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” 

He nodded as if this was obvious. “Your hand alright?” 

“What? Oh--” Elinor looked down at her hand, flexing it once. It smarted, but she didn’t think there was any permanent damage done. “I think so.” 

“Good.” Fergus stood up to his full height. He was not much taller than her, but he was broad enough that he blocked out the light of the moon. His own fist raised between them. “Next time--”

“There won’t be a next time,” Elinor protested, her cheeks heating. 

He held her gaze for a moment. “Next time, put your thumb over your fingers and squeeze down on your middle finger with it. Hit with the knuckle of your middle finger, aye?” 

Much of its own accord, her hand made a fist, copying his and then raising it up for approval. Fergus stepped forward and reached up to adjust her fingers. His hands were big, warm, and calloused, but they moved gently. “There ya are. Now, I’ll give you a few minutes. If I were you, I’d sneak out the back and head to the hotel. Your ma is on a warpath. I’ve seen men quiver less in their boots when facing down a Fear Gorta.” 

That surprised a laugh out of Elinor. She reached up to put a hand on her chest. Her fingers brushed the cool tip of metal from Francis’ necklace. Slipping her hands behind her neck, she unclasped it and then weighed it in her hand for a moment before turning toward the balcony again. She tossed it into the darkness. When she turned back, Fergus was staring at her again.

“What? Are you going to criticize my throwing arm now?” The words were between a challenge and a tease. 

“No, no. That, uh, was an impressive throw. I’ll...take my leave of ya now, lass. Good luck.”

Elinor smiled a bit and it was her first true one of the night. “Thank you. Good night.”

[mamabear-elinor]

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

VIII. The Tradition June 18, 1996

[cw – panic attack mentions]

Tradition was how Elinor was raised. Tradition was the skeleton upon which the muscle of Elinor’s life was shaped. Tradition was a template. Tradition was a charter, a contract, an inescapable truth. 

Something old…

Elinor was given a necklace of sapphires to wear. Her great-great grandmother’s. It was heavy and cold when it was fastened around her neck. The jewels sparkled and winked in the low light. They were beautiful and old. Elinor felt like, if she listened closely, she could hear them whispering to her. She didn’t know what they were saying. What wisdom was trapped in the beautiful facets of the cut stone. 

Her mother’s cool fingers tilted her chin up.

“Wear them with pride,” she advised.

→ → →

Rain on your wedding day is good luck because it signifies that your marriage will last…

All around her, women flit back and forth. They are like bees. Working diligently to pin her hair back tightly. To button her into her dress, put on her shoes, powder her nose. It is quiet, for the most part, as each woman works diligently on her task. Even Marigold, usually loud and boisterous, is focused. It makes Elinor nervous. There is only the rustle of fabric, the sound of her heart beating, and the rain pattering against the window pane.

“What is the point of doing my hair?” Elinor huffed while her mother combed it through and ran the straightener over it, pulling it back tight enough to make her wince. Her unruly curls did not take kindly to being tamed. “The storm will just ruin it.” 

“Rain is good luck,” Marigold chirped pleasantly. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Shannon scoffed.

“She’s right,” Una agreed, still pulling Elinor’s hair. “Rain makes the wedding knot tighter, so a marriage will last.” 

Elinor didn’t know why that made something twist nervously in her stomach. Of course she wanted her marriage to last, but talking about it, before it had even happened like it might not felt more like bad luck than anything could. She glanced out into the gray fog beyond the window. Her mother tugged her head back into position with a click of her tongue. 

→ → →

Something new…

The wedding dress was lovely and expensive. With miles of satin and lace from France. Wearing it, Elinor felt like a princess of old. It had all been part of the negotiation. Elinor had wanted to be married last year, a six month engagement, but her parents refused to pay for it. 

“It just isn’t done,” her father had said. 

“What does that matter?” Elinor argued. 

“Our traditions bind us,” Collum told her, “they keep our honor intact. Without them, we would not have a way to guide ourselves.” 

Elinor did not believe that. Wasn’t her heart enough? But--Fergus didn’t mind waiting. He told her he would wait for an eternity, if it meant at the end they could be wed. She’d told him that, factually, waiting for eternity meant they would never marry and Fergus had just laughed that booming laugh of his and told her not to worry. She had to finish school anyway and planning a wedding was difficult enough on its own. And he wanted a big wedding. A proper wedding.

“I may’ve proposed to ya unconventionally, but I wanna do right by ya,” he had told her, taking her hand in his. Elinor had sighed. 

“Alright, fine.” 

“Donnae act like I’m forcin’ your hand,” Fergus chuckled. “You want a proper wedding too.” 

Elinor had looked at him doubtfully, but he had been right in the end. Frustratingly.

She could admit that the traditions were helpful. Elinor liked a list. She liked having a plan. And the wedding had given her something to focus on after school had ended. Her degree sat in its pretty wooden frame in her bedroom while she toiled away at floral arrangements. Soon, she would be living in a historic  castle and Fergus had promised her that she���d have run of the place. Her degree would be put to good use, soon. Perhaps, she could even have an office in her new home…

→ → →

It is considered bad luck to cross a nun’s path on your wedding day…

The wedding was in the chapel across the courtyard of the old cathedral. The bridal party had gotten ready in the chapter house, which meant parading through the cloister into the nave of the cathedral and up to the altar. It was covered, but the rain still bounced off the old, worn stone and splashed onto Elinor’s skin, raising gooseflesh on her arms.

She could taste the warm summer air on her tongue. It was sweet and fresh and cleared her head as she breathed it in and tried not to trip on her dress. Olivia and Eloise, Marigold’s daughters, laughed and giggled as they trotted ahead, spilling flowers all over the place in their pretty white dresses. Little Jacquline, Shannon’s daughter, was too young to be part of the bridal party, so Elinor’s best friend’s and Fergus’ nieces were chosen instead. 

Shannon and Marigold held up the train of Elinor’s wedding dress so that it would not sweep the moss covered stone of the old cloister. Elinor’s mother strolled ahead, her chin up as she swept through the doors. Out of them walked a pair of nuns, who were hurrying towards the chapter house--most likely to clean up after them. 

“Go the other way, sisters,” snapped Una at them quietly. She was smiling, but her voice had cracked viciously. 

The sisters stopped in their tracks, offended and shocked. 

“I am sorry about her,” Elinor stepped forward, curtseying a little to the sisters, bowing her head. “She is just nervous.” Elinor smiled graciously. “Please, continue on your way. I hope we did not make too much of a mess.” 

“Bless you, child. Congratulations.” One of the nuns held out her arm and crossed Elinor, before the two hurried on their way. 

Una scoffed. “It is bad luck to cross paths with a nun on your wedding day.” 

Elinor rolled her eyes. “Which is it? Rain is good luck? Nuns are bad luck?” 

“Maybe they cancel each other out,” Marigold suggested helpfully. 

Una simply shot her a look before looking back at her daughter. “Chin up,” she commanded.

→ → →

Something borrowed…

They entered the transept, still out of view of the guests. Elinor could hear the murmuring and shuffling as everyone took their seats and waited for the bride. Waited for her. She felt her breath catch in her throat and she suddenly felt like crying. Or running. 

Neither of those things she could do. She was going to ruin her make up. There wasn’t time to leave again. Fergus was waiting for her. Fergus was waiting for her because after this, she would be his wife. She’d not go home again. She’d go with him to his home. The castle she had run through during her summers as a young girl, never imagining that one day--

She didn’t feel ready. It didn’t matter that her sister had done this already. That Marigold was trying for her third child. She wasn’t ready. 

“Oh, honestly, Elinor,” Una turned back to look at her daughter and rolled her eyes. She reached into her pocketbook and grabbed a cream handkerchief. She shoved it at Elinor. “Pull yourself together.”

Elinor hadn’t even realized that, despite herself, she’d begun to cry. 

Shannon stepped up and took the handkerchief gently from their mother and then reached up to blot the tears off of her sister’s face. Her lip trembled and she wanted to pull back, as if Shannon’s touch burned, but it was surprisingly comforting. 

“It’ll be fine,” Shannon said. 

“My brother’s not so bad,” Marigold ribbed her gently, though her lips were puckered in a small frown.

“I know--I-I know,” Elinor said and breathed in deeply. “I’m fine.” She snatched the handkerchief and clutched it tightly. 

→ → →

And sixpence in her shoe…

Elinor’s father appeared in the shadows at Elinor’s side. Marigold and Shannon took their places between Elinor and Una--who would lead the procession down the aisle. Her father’s hands were big and warm  as he gripped her elbow. 

“I’ve got something for you.” 

Elinor glanced at her father, who was smiling gently at her. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him questioningly. 

Collum nodded and then knelt on the stone. “Give me your foot.” 

“Wh--what?” 

“Quickly, the organ will be starting in a moment.” 

Elinor lifted her skirt enough that her foot appeared and she slid it towards her father. He took her ankle in his large, warm hand and pulled her shoe off by the heel. He slipped something into it. It flashed silver in the low light. Then, he slipped it back onto her foot. She could feel something near the ball of her foot, like a pebble. Her weight shifted as she tried to dislodge it.

“A sixpence, for wealth,” Collum said gruffly as he stood and kissed Elinor’s forehead gently. Then, he took the white veil and placed it over her face, obscuring her view. The tightness in Elinor’s chest came back but before she could say anything--

The organ began, vibrating through the old walls, drowning out Elinor’s ragged breaths. 

→ → →

Something blue…

The ceremony passed in a blur. They’d done this in rehearsals yesterday, but that had felt so differently. For starters, Elinor had been in a short, knee length white dress. Fergus in his jeans. It had felt like--two friends. Like they were children on at recess, playing at getting married. They hadn’t said the words. Or recited the vows. Just stood there whilst they were directed, as if appearing in a play. 

Now, she was wearing a heavy dress, the tulle of which was scratchy and hot. She felt like she was going to overheat. The deacon droned on and Elinor just tried to--not faint. 

Fergus held her sweating hands without flinching. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if it was her sweating or him. He looked nervous too, but also--steady. As Elinor fidgeted from foot to foot (feeling that damn coin), he stood still, looking straight at her. Even in the low light of a stormy cathedral, his eyes were bright, brilliant blue. 

Elinor just wanted to focus on them. 

“Let’s run away,” she wanted to tell him. 

She wanted to run away.

Elinor could not do that. Her family was depending on her. She did not want to disappoint them. What would she do anyway? If she were on her own? Elinor didn’t know. She knew that this was her purpose. To be married. To run a household. She would be good at it. Even if, for her whole life, it had only ever been dress up. A rehearsal. 

This was the real thing. And she felt as if she was going to faint as Fergus slipped her wedding band onto her finger. 

The metal was cool against her skin. For the first time, she glanced away from Fergus’ blue gaze down to the band. She had forged it herself. It was--uncommon, but not, necessarily against tradition. She had made Fergus one too, at his behest. Men of the Order did not wear wedding bands. They wore their family signets on rings on their pinkie fingers. It was only women who were bound by metal to them. Men were bound to their families. 

When Fergus had requested one for himself, Elinor had decided she had made the right choice. 

The bands were made from the same metal as the sword she’d made him--as tradition. 

She slid that ring onto his finger now, it fit perfectly. His eyes were brilliant blue. She recited the traditional words. 

"In the name of God, I, Elinor Aisling Briar, take you, Fergus Hamish DunBroch, to be my wife/husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death.”