#just thinking a wide range of Mary-adjacent thoughts

[whenthegoldrays]

Elizabeth, to Mary: Happy too is she who believed!

Elizabeth, to herself: unlike my HUSBAND—

[yeoldenews]

A Guide to Historically Accurate Regency-Era Names

I recently received a message from a historical romance writer asking if I knew any good resources for finding historically accurate Regency-era names for their characters.

Not knowing any off the top of my head, I dug around online a bit and found there really isn’t much out there. The vast majority of search results were Buzzfeed-style listicles which range from accurate-adjacent to really, really, really bad.

I did find a few blog posts with fairly decent name lists, but noticed that even these have very little indication as to each name’s relative popularity as those statistical breakdowns really don't exist.

I began writing up a response with this information, but then I (being a research addict who was currently snowed in after a blizzard) thought hey - if there aren’t any good resources out there why not make one myself?

As I lacked any compiled data to work from, I had to do my own data wrangling on this project. Due to this fact, I limited the scope to what I thought would be the most useful for writers who focus on this era, namely - people of a marriageable age living in the wealthiest areas of London.

So with this in mind - I went through period records and compiled the names of 25,000 couples who were married in the City of Westminster (which includes Mayfair, St. James and Hyde Park) between 1804 to 1821.

So let’s see what all that data tells us…

To begin - I think it’s hard for us in the modern world with our wide and varied abundance of first names to conceive of just how POPULAR popular names of the past were.

If you were to take a modern sample of 25-year-old (born in 1998) American women, the most common name would be Emily with 1.35% of the total population. If you were to add the next four most popular names (Hannah, Samantha, Sarah and Ashley) these top five names would bring you to 5.5% of the total population. (source: Social Security Administration)

If you were to do the same survey in Regency London - the most common name would be Mary with 19.2% of the population. Add the next four most popular names (Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah and Jane) and with just 5 names you would have covered 62% of all women.

To hit 62% of the population in the modern survey it would take the top 400 names.

The top five Regency men’s names (John, William, Thomas, James and George) have nearly identical statistics as the women’s names.

I struggled for the better part of a week with how to present my findings, as a big list in alphabetical order really fails to get across the popularity factor and also isn’t the most tumblr-compatible format. And then my YouTube homepage recommended a random video of someone ranking all the books they’d read last year - and so I present…

The Regency Name Popularity Tier List

The Tiers

S+ - 10% of the population or greater. There is no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. 52% of the population had one of these 7 names.

S - 2-10%. There is still no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. Names in this percentage range in the past have included Mary and William in the 1880s and Jennifer in the late 1970s (topped out at 4%).

A - 1-2%. The top five modern names usually fall in this range. Kids with these names would probably include their last initial in class to avoid confusion. (1998 examples: Emily, Sarah, Ashley, Michael, Christopher, Brandon.)

B - .3-1%. Very common names. Would fall in the top 50 modern names. You would most likely know at least 1 person with these names. (1998 examples: Jessica, Megan, Allison, Justin, Ryan, Eric)

C - .17-.3%. Common names. Would fall in the modern top 100. You would probably know someone with these names, or at least know of them. (1998 examples: Chloe, Grace, Vanessa, Sean, Spencer, Seth)

D - .06-.17%. Less common names. In the modern top 250. You may not personally know someone with these names, but you’re aware of them. (1998 examples: Faith, Cassidy, Summer, Griffin, Dustin, Colby)

E - .02-.06%. Uncommon names. You’re aware these are names, but they are not common. Unusual enough they may be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Calista, Skye, Precious, Fabian, Justice, Lorenzo)

F - .01-.02%. Rare names. You may have heard of these names, but you probably don’t know anyone with one. Extremely unusual, and would likely be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Emerald, Lourdes, Serenity, Dario, Tavian, Adonis)

G - Very rare names. There are only a handful of people with these names in the entire country. You’ve never met anyone with this name.

H - Virtually non-existent. Names that theoretically could have existed in the Regency period (their original source pre-dates the early 19th century) but I found fewer than five (and often no) period examples of them being used in Regency England. (Example names taken from romance novels and online Regency name lists.)

Just to once again reinforce how POPULAR popular names were before we get to the tier lists - statistically, in a ballroom of 100 people in Regency London: 80 would have names from tiers S+/S. An additional 15 people would have names from tiers A/B and C. 4 of the remaining 5 would have names from D/E. Only one would have a name from below tier E.

Women's Names

S+ Mary, Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah      

S - Jane, Mary Ann+, Hannah, Susannah, Margaret, Catherine, Martha, Charlotte, Maria

A - Frances, Harriet, Sophia, Eleanor, Rebecca

B - Alice, Amelia, Bridget~, Caroline, Eliza, Esther, Isabella, Louisa, Lucy, Lydia, Phoebe, Rachel, Susan

C - Ellen, Fanny*, Grace, Henrietta, Hester, Jemima, Matilda, Priscilla

D - Abigail, Agnes, Amy, Augusta, Barbara, Betsy*, Betty*, Cecilia, Christiana, Clarissa, Deborah, Diana, Dinah, Dorothy, Emily, Emma, Georgiana, Helen, Janet^, Joanna, Johanna, Judith, Julia, Kezia, Kitty*, Letitia, Nancy*, Ruth, Winifred>

E - Arabella, Celia, Charity, Clara, Cordelia, Dorcas, Eve, Georgina, Honor, Honora, Jennet^, Jessie*^, Joan, Joyce, Juliana, Juliet, Lavinia, Leah, Margery, Marian, Marianne, Marie, Mercy, Miriam, Naomi, Patience, Penelope, Philadelphia, Phillis, Prudence, Rhoda, Rosanna, Rose, Rosetta, Rosina, Sabina, Selina, Sylvia, Theodosia, Theresa

F - (selected) Alicia, Bethia, Euphemia, Frederica, Helena, Leonora, Mariana, Millicent, Mirah, Olivia, Philippa, Rosamund, Sybella, Tabitha, Temperance, Theophila, Thomasin, Tryphena, Ursula, Virtue, Wilhelmina

G - (selected) Adelaide, Alethia, Angelina, Cassandra, Cherry, Constance, Delilah, Dorinda, Drusilla, Eva, Happy, Jessica, Josephine, Laura, Minerva, Octavia, Parthenia, Theodora, Violet, Zipporah

H - Alberta, Alexandra, Amber, Ashley, Calliope, Calpurnia, Chloe, Cressida, Cynthia, Daisy, Daphne, Elaine, Eloise, Estella, Lilian, Lilias, Francesca, Gabriella, Genevieve, Gwendoline, Hermione, Hyacinth, Inez, Iris, Kathleen, Madeline, Maude, Melody, Portia, Seabright, Seraphina, Sienna, Verity

Men's Names

S+ John, William, Thomas

S - James, George, Joseph, Richard, Robert, Charles, Henry, Edward, Samuel

A - Benjamin, (Mother’s/Grandmother’s maiden name used as first name)#

B - Alexander^, Andrew, Daniel, David>, Edmund, Francis, Frederick, Isaac, Matthew, Michael, Patrick~, Peter, Philip, Stephen, Timothy

C - Abraham, Anthony, Christopher, Hugh>, Jeremiah, Jonathan, Nathaniel, Walter

D - Adam, Arthur, Bartholomew, Cornelius, Dennis, Evan>, Jacob, Job, Josiah, Joshua, Lawrence, Lewis, Luke, Mark, Martin, Moses, Nicholas, Owen>, Paul, Ralph, Simon

E - Aaron, Alfred, Allen, Ambrose, Amos, Archibald, Augustin, Augustus, Barnard, Barney, Bernard, Bryan, Caleb, Christian, Clement, Colin, Duncan^, Ebenezer, Edwin, Emanuel, Felix, Gabriel, Gerard, Gilbert, Giles, Griffith, Harry*, Herbert, Humphrey, Israel, Jabez, Jesse, Joel, Jonas, Lancelot, Matthias, Maurice, Miles, Oliver, Rees, Reuben, Roger, Rowland, Solomon, Theophilus, Valentine, Zachariah

F - (selected) Abel, Barnabus, Benedict, Connor, Elijah, Ernest, Gideon, Godfrey, Gregory, Hector, Horace, Horatio, Isaiah, Jasper, Levi, Marmaduke, Noah, Percival, Shadrach, Vincent

G - (selected) Albion, Darius, Christmas, Cleophas, Enoch, Ethelbert, Gavin, Griffin, Hercules, Hugo, Innocent, Justin, Maximilian, Methuselah, Peregrine, Phineas, Roland, Sebastian, Sylvester, Theodore, Titus, Zephaniah

H - Albinus, Americus, Cassian, Dominic, Eric, Milo, Rollo, Trevor, Tristan, Waldo, Xavier

# Men were sometimes given a family surname (most often their mother's or grandmother's maiden name) as their first name - the most famous example of this being Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you were to combine all surname-based first names as a single 'name' this is where the practice would rank.

*Rank as a given name, not a nickname

+If you count Mary Ann as a separate name from Mary - Mary would remain in S+ even without the Mary Anns included

~Primarily used by people of Irish descent

^Primarily used by people of Scottish descent

>Primarily used by people of Welsh descent

I was going to continue on and write about why Regency-era first names were so uniform, discuss historically accurate surnames, nicknames, and include a little guide to finding 'unique' names that are still historically accurate - but this post is already very, very long, so that will have to wait for a later date.

If anyone has any questions/comments/clarifications in the meantime feel free to message me.

Methodology notes: All data is from marriage records covering six parishes in the City of Westminster between 1804 and 1821. The total sample size was 50,950 individuals.

I chose marriage records rather than births/baptisms as I wanted to focus on individuals who were adults during the Regency era rather than newborns. I think many people make the mistake when researching historical names by using baby name data for the year their story takes place rather than 20 to 30 years prior, and I wanted to avoid that. If you are writing a story that takes place in 1930 you don’t want to research the top names for 1930, you need to be looking at 1910 or earlier if you are naming adult characters.

I combined (for my own sanity) names that are pronounced identically but have minor spelling differences: i.e. the data for Catherine also includes Catharines and Katherines, Susannah includes Susannas, Phoebe includes Phebes, etc.

The compound 'Mother's/Grandmother's maiden name used as first name' designation is an educated guesstimate based on what I recognized as known surnames, as I do not hate myself enough to go through 25,000+ individuals and confirm their mother's maiden names. So if the tally includes any individuals who just happened to be named Fitzroy/Hastings/Townsend/etc. because their parents liked the sound of it and not due to any familial relations - my bad.

I did a small comparative survey of 5,000 individuals in several rural communities in Rutland and Staffordshire (chosen because they had the cleanest data I could find and I was lazy) to see if there were any significant differences between urban and rural naming practices and found the results to be very similar. The most noticeable difference I observed was that the S+ tier names were even MORE popular in rural areas than in London. In Rutland between 1810 and 1820 Elizabeths comprised 21.4% of all brides vs. 15.3% in the London survey. All other S+ names also saw increases of between 1% and 6%. I also observed that the rural communities I surveyed saw a small, but noticeable and fairly consistent, increase in the use of names with Biblical origins.

Sources of the records I used for my survey: 

Ancestry.com. England & Wales Marriages, 1538-1988 [database on-line].

Ancestry.com. Westminster, London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754-1935 [database on-line].

[ill-skillsgard]

Nothing But Her - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ cheating/mature themes/strong language/spousal conflict

Note: It’s been about 2 months since the last installment of HxM, and I apologize for that. As you all well know, this year has been the topper on the world’s largest pile of shit, and I’ve tried to limit my time on the internet to not lose touch with my present reality. Aside from that, some writing burnout and adapting to the new norm posed some delays. But this is the angsty part I warned y’all about! It’s also a pivotal moment for Henry, so I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think! 

Read past Henry x Mistress imagines here > Masterpost

Quarantine pushed back Henry’s court hearing. While business ground to a halt, you and Henry spent the weeks alone in his penthouse. He had his work meetings via Zoom calls and enjoyed his nights next to you on the couch watching your favourite shows. Over the weeks, you got to know Henry even better, learning and appreciating his quirks and figuring out what made him tick. It was a surreal experience living under the same roof as your lover. After years of being on your own, having another presence to fill the days with conversation and entertainment was a new, exciting notion. Even though you grew bored several times a day, Henry kept you occupied that didn’t involve rolling around in the sheets. It brought you even closer—the opposite effect it seemed to have on some of your friends and their partners.

Three months of domestic bliss oozed by, and soon, the business had to resume. Meetings had to be held in person, and you started arranging his schedule to accommodate his clients and the process of his divorce.

The rescheduled court date took place in two weeks. It was the first time Henry would go in front of a judge and explain the reasoning behind his failed marriage and why he should be granted an even split of the assets. Mary’s lawyers had already outlined her demands, but all Henry wanted was to sign the paper that freed him from her, no matter what she wished to gain from the proceeding. If she wanted the house and the more expensive car, and to sell their Summer cottage and take half the money, he was more than happy to oblige. He had all he needed when he was at home with you.

Henry was on a smooth road toward his goals until a letter arrived in the mail from his soon-to-be ex-wife’s lawyer. Henry opened the envelope and scanned the first few lines, skipping vital information before shaking his head and refocusing his attention. As Henry read, his stomach dropped. The hand holding the page shook before he balled up the paper and threw it on the floor. Anger gurgled in his chest as he took useless deep breaths.

“Fuck!” He shouted, alerting you from across the condo.

You found him in the kitchen, pacing and tugging at fistfuls of his hair. 

“Henry, what’s the matter?” You asked.

“What’s the matter? The matter is: Mary just scrapped our settlement! She wants it all. Everything! She wants the condo, my car... The summer house.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, scoffing. “I thought she agreed to an even split?”

“Says right here, the settlement is up for renegotiation because there are new allegations of infidelity.”

“Infidelity? You mean?—Oh, no. Henry. What does that mean?”

He picked up the paper and smoothed out the creases, slapping it down on the kitchen island for you to read. “It means she’s coming after me because I’m with you. This will maim us. If she has proof... Oh, God. I don’t even want to think of the sneaky shit she’s probably done.”

“There’s no proof! We started seeing each other after you separated.”

“But, we hooked up before then.”

You shook your head. “She can’t prove that.”

Henry went white as the paper glaring up at you from the countertop. “And what if she can? What then?”

“You have job security, Henry.”

“I have a bad feeling,” he mumbled to himself. “A very, very bad feeling something’s up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to talk to her... Figure out why she’s doing this after we agreed to be civil.”

Your throat constricted as a grave veil fell over Henry’s face. 

“Can you call her?” You asked.

“I could, but I think this would be better suited to a face-to-face conversation. Mary can’t hide anything if I’m looking her straight in the eye.”

“Well, if that’s what you think. But what if she refuses to talk to you?”

Henry threw his hands wide, shrugging. “Honestly, babe, I don’t know what’s going on in her head. She’s... She’s fucked!”

You rose your eyebrows, his cursing a testament to genuine anger. Henry rubbed his jaw, shifting it to one side until it cracked. He couldn’t keep still, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to calm down until he got the newest issue out of the way.

“You should go talk to her. Today. Don’t put it off. I don’t like it when you get in these moods.”

“Neither do I, sweetie. But I can’t just drive over there and demand she explain herself.”

“Why not? It’s still your house. You can do whatever you want.”

He weighed his options, considering your input and gave another long, strained sigh. “You really think I should?”

“Yes! Go to her now before this goes too far to fix. She can’t pull this shit and expect you to roll over and get screwed. You worked hard for what you have, and you deserve half. She’s the one who initiated the separation by treating you like dirt. Now she wants to drain you all of a sudden? After months of negotiations, she just scraps it all? If I were you, I’d go in there guns blazing.”

Henry thought it over, dreading the thought of facing Mary again.

“You’re right,” he bit his lip. “God! You’re right, babe. I have to go over there.”

“I’ll be right here when you get home, handsome. You just let me know if you need a drink ready and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you so much. Gosh, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too, Henry. Now go on.”  

~*~

The street, although familiar to Henry, reminded him of how much life had changed. He drove by the houses he used to see on his morning jogs—structures that all fit a similar style around the block and lent the neighbourhood a comforting intimacy. He remembered the first time he and Mary turned down the avenue; newlywed and eager to get their life started in a quiet alcove of town, on a suburban strip. The houses had all seemed so large and intimidating at the time, but he had struck gold in his career, and nothing was too fancy for them.

The Lexus was in the driveway. That meant Mary was home, and the impending confrontation became more real. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. He knew their exchange would not be a pleasant one and prepared himself with a few calming yoga breaths—the kind his girlfriend had taught him when they worked out together during the quarantine.

“You can do this, Deaver. Just stay calm. No matter how loud she yells. No matter what she says to insult you,” he murmured after turning the engine off, sitting in the driveway until he mustered the courage to get out.

Henry didn’t try the keypad on the door. Instead, he rang the bell to not catch Mary off guard by walking in unannounced, despite no warning of the change of heart on her end that brought him to his former home in the first place. Henry respected her privacy, though he knew she wouldn’t consider the same for him. Flashbacks of Mary storming into his bedroom at the condo while his secret lover hid in the bathroom dried out his throat, and he swallowed as the deadbolt drew back.

Mary gasped when she looked up at him, closing the door slightly in her surprise, then squaring her stance and tossing her hair off her shoulders.

“What do you want, pig?”

“I want to talk.”

“That’s what the lawyers are for,” she began to shut the door again, but Henry splayed his hand over the wood, stopping it from closing another inch.

“Mary. I’m serious. We need to talk. Inside.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m letting you in my house.”

“My name is still on the house, and you have no orders against me coming here. Please don’t make this more difficult.”

Mary studied her husband’s face for a flicker of insecurity, but there was none. The months he spent in the company of a loving woman had revitalized his confidence, and her frigid glare no longer held him hostage. Henry came to Mary prepared for anything she might have left in her repertoire of vilification. She had already accused him of hiring prostitutes, embarrassed him in front of his employees and colleagues, belittled him in the presence of their lawyers and accosted him at the condo. Mary had nothing left with which to shock him.

“Fine,” Mary conceded, stepping out of his way. “Let’s talk, Henry.”

They sat down in the kitchen, old smells embedded in the plaster reminding Henry of different times, unhappier times. His eyes coasted over the stove they had purchased at Sears, the matching refrigerator, the countertop they selected out of catalogue as they sipped sweet tea in the living room and the dark floor laminate that had caused a minor argument. Though the memories were still so vivid, Henry knew not the man who’d fallen in love with Mary all those years ago. Looking at her now, it seemed impossible that he’d had any attraction to her at all. Not enough to justify the lavish proposal he’d given her, the hundred-thousand-dollar wedding and his commitment. Yet the house still possessed the comforting warmth Henry had fallen in love with when the realtor walked them through for the first time. 

“Would you like something to drink?” She offered.

“No, thanks,” Henry lied, throat still parched from secret nerves.

“Very well. What would you like to talk about? And if you can keep it speedy, I’d appreciate it. I have an appointment in forty-five minutes.”

Henry sighed and rolled his knuckles on the kitchen table as she took the adjacent seat. “Why did you change your mind? I thought we had this all sorted out. You get the house, the Lexus, the boat and half the money from the cottage sale. It’s enough for you to retire on, Mary. Why are you coming after the condo now? And the Beamer? You don’t even like the thing.”

Mary pursed her lips. She had thought about this conversation many times in the last few days, and how it might play out, as she expected to hear from either Henry or his lawyer at any moment. What she didn’t expect was her husband to show up at the door, appearing composed and ready to have a mature discussion. But he didn’t know the truth yet, and she suspected, once she revealed it, Henry’s calm demeanour might shift.

“Did you not read the letter? I thought it was quite clear.”

A tendon in Henry’s neck pulled as he snorted and shook his head. “Infidelity. You think I cheated on you.”

“I know you cheated, Henry.”

“I’d like you to explain how you came to that conclusion.”

Mary pushed her chair out to cross one leg over the other, hands clasping around her knee as she gave a sarcastic smile. Henry rolled his eyes at the smug display, waiting for her to get comfortable.

“Witnesses. Timelines. Footage.”

“Footage?”

“After you kicked me out of the condo, I hired a private investigator.”

“We were already separated by then. You can’t hold that over me. It will never play out in court,” Henry explained.

Mary sniffed, flashing delight in her eyes at the chance to prove Henry wrong. “See, I thought so too, but then I started digging a little deeper, asking around, and lo-and-behold, I made the connection. It’s your assistant.”

Henry went pale. Mary’s smirk spread into a full-blown smile.

“Ah, there it is. You were always a terrible liar, Henry. That’s right. I know it’s her. I have irrefutable proof now.”

“No, that’s impossible. I started seeing her after we separated. And there’s no rule against me having a relationship with her. Yes, it may be frowned upon at work, but it’s not against policy.”

“You sure you don’t want that drink, Henry?” Mary asked, getting up to get herself a bottle from the fridge.

“I want you to tell me exactly how you think you have me cornered.”

Mary sat down at the table, looked at her watch, and then sighed. “Well, after I went to the condo to get some things and I saw the state of the place, that’s when I knew you had at least had a woman over. And yes, we were separated, but nobody knew at the time. You were still keeping it hush-hush. So, as I said, I hired a PI to find out if you were seeing somebody. At first, I heard nothing from the investigator. You two were diligent. But then, you slipped up in the parking lot on your way into work one morning.”

Henry knuckled the table, scoffing at what Mary had to say, though his heart hammered a dent in his chest. “That still won’t hold up. We. Were. Separated.”

Mary’s pointed smile disappeared in an instant. Her eyebrows came together, and the delight on her face melted into cold disdain. Henry saw that expression many times, suffered under the weight of it, and it always sent a shiver down his back. 

“Oh, it will hold up,” Mary assured. “Because you made one colossal mistake.”

“Is that right? What, kissing my girlfriend because I was finally happy and in love?”

“No, you nitwit. We went to the benefit. Hundreds of our friends and colleagues saw us together. Theo and his wife sat with us all night and can confirm we were very much together. Couple that with the photos of you grabbing her ass and shoving your tongue down her throat in the lot at work, and you’re screwed. Looks like cheating to anyone but you.”

“Why the hell are you doing this to me? Did I not treat you right for our entire marriage—give you everything you ever wanted and more? I made sure you got the upper-class life and all the expensive little trinkets to go along with it. I did anything you asked of me. But still, any time I have even the smallest flame of happiness, you have to snuff it out! Why are you such a... Such a fucking bitch?”

The insult echoed through the kitchen and rattled in Mary’s head. Her eyes flared. “So you admit it then? You cheated.”

“I’d been miserable for a year and a half, Mary! After trying so hard to get you to come back to me, I was bound to give up. You despised me—you still do! And even after all this bullshit, you still won’t tell me why you treated me like a doormat for all those years.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Henry threw up his hands. “Of course, you don’t! You’re not accountable for any of this, are you? You’re just a poor little victim! You’re so opposed to me finding happiness that you had to resort to hiring some idiot to follow me around!”

“Even if I didn’t hire somebody, I already knew. I knew it was her, too.”

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that? Did you hire someone to follow her around as well?”

“Your grandfather’s pen.”

Henry tweaked his mouth to the side, fluttering his eyes and shaking his head. “What about it?”

“You never let anyone touch it. You kept it on you at all times. Even during our happiest years, you wouldn’t have parted with the damn thing. Not even if I asked to use it. The day I came into your office—after my suspicions were already high—I saw her using it. And then I remembered her face. I’d seen her before. She used to work at the hotel we always stayed at across the city. That’s where you met her.”

Henry dropped his face into his hands, sighing through his fingers. He stayed that way for a long moment; the jumbling thoughts in his head creating fuzzy chaos. Mary had succeeded. He could deny it, but Henry was sick of the lies. Sucking a breath through his nose, he finally looked back up at Mary, his eyes bleary from pushing his palms into them.

“I fucked her in that hotel. In my room. I picked her up from the bar after we drank a tonne, and I fucked her. I ate her pussy all night, and, God... She fucked me like I’ve never been fucked before. And when I went to that big conference in Paris after I asked for a divorce, I flew her out to see me there. I’ve never had my cock sucked that well before. And you know what else? I think... Once we sign the divorce papers and you take everything I’ve earned, I’ll ask her to marry me. We won’t have shit, but I know I’ll be a thousand times happier with nothing but her than I ever was having everything with you.” 

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, you’re the disgusting one! You had every chance in the world to make it right with me, but you drew out my pain like it got you off.”

A gaping silence pervaded the room. Henry felt beads of sweat emerge on his back, and he swallowed, regretting his refusal of the water Mary offered. Stunned by his brash admissions, she stared at the table as though what she would say next was written in the spalted wood. The pulse in his neck choked off any more confessions, though he longed to watch her blanch from across the table a little more. Only the humming of the refrigerator filled the silence.

Mary drew in a shaky breath. “Leave her.”

The two words bounced around Henry’s head for a second before he chuckled. “Never. I love her.”

“Leave her, and I’ll drop this. We can go back to fifty-fifty.”

Henry pushed his chair out swiftly, and rose to his feet, leaning over the table so far he came a foot away from Mary’s face.

“Fuck. You. I’ll see you in court.” 

[cryoculus]

Hello! I was just wondering if you were taking requests right now? If so, could you please write something for Sakusa Kiyoomi? It can be anything from fluff to nsfw. If not, feel free to ignore this ask. I love your writing!

» Word Count: 1,539 wordsCross-posted on AO3

I think it’s painfully obvious at this point that I rarely check my askbox. This oneshot has been posted for a while now on AO3, too. 

---

You're only vaguely aware of the train screeching to a stop when you cracked one eye open.

"We have arrived at Shibuya Station. Please stand clear of the doors and mind the gap between the train and the platform. Thank you."

The groan you wrenched out sounded awfully dry in your throat as you forced yourself to sit upright. Shibuya was the most crowded district in Tokyo, and you'll probably get your ass kicked out of the train if the marshals found you sprawled all over the seats. Your cheek felt cool from where it had been pressed against the cold metal, but you managed to overlook the sensation as you tried to pull yourself together.

"No more yakinikus that lasted until morning," you swore under your breath. "No more."

The train doors finally opened, and you were at awe with the influx of passengers this early in the day. It was barely five A.M but Shibuya was already bustling as usual. As each of the Tokyo commuters filed inside the car, you noticed the way their eyes would latch onto your inebriated form for one second before deciding to sit as far away from you as possible.

You scoffed. Damn, at least you weren't driving drunk.

It seemed like an eternity has passed before you heard the doors signal for a close. The car was pretty much packed now, save for the vacancy to your right. The schoolgirl sitting beside you seemed rattled enough by the stench of sake that clung to your clothes, so it wasn't a surprise that no one had bothered taking the only seat that's left.

That was until he arrived.

"What a pain," grumbled the unreasonably tall man, face scrunching up beneath his face mask.

Rather annoyed, you flipped him off without a second thought, making the elderly woman in the adjacent seat gasp. "You either sit the fuck down or shut the fuck up, buddy."

Little miss schoolgirl squeaked at your uncalled-for antagonism, and your conscience was beginning to nag at you to stop letting the damn alcohol talk. If someone even vaguely recognized you, you were going to get an earful from your coach later in the day.

Tall, snark, and handsome—wait, did you just call him handsome?—narrowed his eyes but then a flash of something you couldn't quite single out shadowed his face. Before you could ponder about it more, however, the train was beginning to pick up speed, leaving the district of Shibuya behind.

When he didn't say anything more, you found yourself being able to sink back in your seat as you closed your eyes. Who knew that cold, subway train seats could be comfortable—

"Quite embarrassing, isn't it? For a V. League Division One libero to be seen in that pitiful state?"

All of a sudden, your wide-eyed gaze snapped itself back at him—expression turning rigid with panic. Fuck. He recognized you?

Then, your stare wandered down to the black gym bag strapped across his lean shoulders. Three large claw marks were plastered across the surface, and you had to resist the urge to vomit all over the floor.

MSBY Black Jackals was printed in shiny, gold lettering, and you could almost see him smirk through that damn face mask.

The next ten-or-so minutes were spent channeling all the negative energy you had on your person and shoving it all on the man before you in a heated gaze. How dare he look so composed, gloved hand clutching the handrail so nonchalantly as if he didn't just insult you?

"We have arrived at Shinjuku Station," the voice of the woman speaking through the PA system rang in your ears. "Please stand clear of the doors and mind the gap between the—"

"Do compose yourself, (Surname)," Black Jackals guy taunted as he made his way towards the exit. "You can't always let the night life run its course until morning."

"I know that, jackass," you hissed, earning yourself even more judgmental stares from the other passengers.

Thankfully, he decided to let you have the last word, the only retaliation you saw from him being the glimmer of smugness that shined in his dark irises. Tall guy stepped off the train and disappeared in the throng of Tokyo commuters within seconds.

Once the train veered into motion once more, you scooched a little to the side to make space for the first passenger of the day who didn't give a shit sitting next to a drunk. He was busy scrolling through weird TikToks on his phone to care, and that's when you finally allowed yourself to relax.

You decided that, once you got a decent amount of sleep, you were going to hunt that damn Black Jackals guy down.

---

"You were out drinking again, weren't you?!"

Your face twisted at your captain's shrill voice grating at your ears. "Maricchi, I got here relatively on time, didn't I?"

"Relatively?" Mari echoed, tapping her foot with waning patience against the floor. "It's been thirty minutes since warm-ups began, and you had the guts to show up with a hangover? (Name), we've only got two liberos on the team, and Sakura is still on maternity leave. You can't both be out of commission!"

You waved away her fury with a nonchalant gesture. "Right, right. Could you, um, tone it down a little? Your voice is magnified by like a hundred in my head, just so you know."

"Whatever," she told you dismissively. "I bet you forgot we're having a joint training session today, too."

"A...what?"

"Yeah, idiot," jeered your captain. "Or are you too hungover to notice all the damn men with us today?"

You stared at her in confusion before letting your gaze wander across the entirety of the gymnasium. Some were talking among themselves, while others sought out the help of your teammates in doing their sit-ups.

Now, joint training sessions weren't an entirely new concept to you. Division One V. League had a knack for mixing up male and female teams in the said training sessions, so the match-up didn't really come as a surprise to you, but it just had to be that team, didn't it?

Black uniforms with golden claw marks slashed onto the fabric. The gods really were out to torment you today.

"Oi."

You hated yourself for reacting instinctively to the familiar voice. Craning your head to the side, you were met by the same, dark eyes that ridiculed you first thing in the morning. This time, though, he was devoid of the black face mask he wore during his commute, and you hated yourself even more for thinking that yup, he definitely was tall, snark, and handsome.

Sakusa Kiyoomi—that was his name.

"How long can you hold up against outside hitters?" he questioned, carding his fingers through his inky hair. "Division One liberos aren't a joke, but from the way you were half-dead in the train earlier, I figured it would be merciful to go easy on you."

You could practically feel Mari's eyes burning holes in the back of your head. However, you opted to save the explanations for later.

"Listen here, you punk," you ground out through gritted teeth. "You don't give a rat's ass about my well-being, got that? Send a thousand spikes my way and I'll dig every. Single. One."

His mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile, but there was an unspoken challenge in his eyes that you'd want nothing else but to take on. Before he could speak again, though, another party has joined the fray.

"Oomi-kun, you aren't usually one to talk unless spoken to," the Jackals' setter, Miya Atsumu sighed, slinging an arm around Sakusa—a show of familiarity that the latter didn't seem to enjoy. "What're ya doin' canoodling with the enemy, huh?"

"None of your business, Miya," Sakusa scoffed before turning back to you. "I'll take your word on that, you drunkard."

You gasped, steeling your expression. "Bring it on, asshole."

"My, my. Such competitive spirits this early in the season!" Miya hollered at your unbridled hatred for the other right off the bat. "Well, Oomi-kun and I are gonna get goin'. He still has to spike some of my tosses."

"What—"

The blond tutted Sakusa before he could get another word out, pushing him by the shoulders as he sent a wink your way. "Let's have a good game, libero-san!"

Once the odd duo left you to your own devices, you should've expected Mari to explode on you like a nuclear meltdown.

"How did you know Sakusa? And Miya, too? Just what did you get yourself into, (Name)?!"

The sigh you let out is a bit strained as your gaze riveted itself on the other side of the court. True to his word, Miya really did force Sakusa into hitting his tosses, and the sound of a volleyball landing on the floor with a clean spike was music to your ears.

The devil really had no business making him look so cool as he did so, too.

"I have no idea," was what you told your captain. "Come on, help me warm up. No way am I letting that jerk score any hits off me."

[cocaine-communist]

“The King and I” {Cornell Stokes x Reader}

(Gif Source @diana-prince​)

Fic for: @thranduilsperkybutt​

Trope #17 The post-fight, nursing back to health trope

AU #17 Sugar Daddy

Warnings: some language, blood, gore

Word Count: 2412

How could the King ever truly love you?

You… a lowly peasant in his court… a serf in need of his service.

You wake up to another day filled with hard labour, a full schedule, and a yearning heart. He occupies every crevice in your mind. When at work, all you can do is think about the few moments he’s embraced you and think about how you just want to be held. Every memory shared between him and you, whether they be happy or sad, plays through your mind on an unstoppable loop.

The money he provides for you helps, but that is not what you require the most from him. It is not the cold pay he gives to your university because paying it by yourself is impossible, it is not the distance of the relationship, it is not the sex, it is love. You need love more than all of that and he is the only one that you desire.

This emptiness, this yearning needs to end. You reached for your phone and tapped Cornell’s name bar on your contacts app. He will either reciprocate and you both can live in your happily ever after dreamscape or you could at least come to terms with the fact he might never love you.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you?” Cornell’s unexpected voice rang like a song to your ears this early in the morning.

Despite the beauty of Cornell’s voice, Anxiety shook your body. “Hey -um. I’m -um- I’m doing find-fine. I just -a- need to talk to you like -um- after work tonight. It’s -uh- really important to me.” You finally managed to get it out.

“Okay. See you then. I may be a bit busy, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Have a good day.”

“Um, okay. You too.”

You waited until he wanted to hang up to end the call.

“Damn, after three whole years, finally gonna drop the big question on him!” Your roommate Antigone mummed sleepily.

You thought about biting with an inflammatory remark, but she was right and she caught you at an early morning grogginess disadvantage. She knew you better than you knew yourself. “I can’t help my feelings. He deserves to know, at the very least.”

“We can always choose who we fall in love with. You chose him, deal with the consequences.”

Morning Antigone was always harsher than After Coffee Antigone. “Thanks, at least I can always count on your biting honesty. My one constant in life…  ”

“What else am I here for?”

“Being a pain in my ass.”

“Yep. An’ I enjoy every part of it.”

Today was just one class, your Asian Religions class you took for an easy A, and work, but that’s not going to be the hardest part of your day. Asian Religions was quite easy to breeze through. Two hours of the day were gone trickling like coffee in the pot. Your job swept on by as well. Even though there was a couple of disgruntled employees that did not spoil your day. That comes later.

It became dark outside, as it typically does at night, so traversing through the New York City landscape became quite a task. People were throwing trash on the ground, a guy with a suit and tie walked along with only a cigarette for company. You try not to look, try to keep your head down and focus on getting to Harlem’s Paradise to finally after three fucking years confront Cornell about your feelings.

Throughout the day, you were already deciding on what to say, what would be the best way to say it to ensure that the point comes across clearly.

“We can continue this transaction the way it is going and let me finally be at peace with the fact you will never love me, or if you do love me then we can move further on into developing something that I would very much like, which is a real relationship.” That was what stuck in your head the best after the big declaration. You repeated the phrase in your head as much as possible, to make sure that you’d never forget it.

Finally, the purple lights of Harlem’s Paradise appeared in front of you. You skirted down the alleyway to the secret backdoor entrance Cornell told you about. It had an entry door keypad with a simple four-digit code you made sure to never forget. The secondary, less-used stairway that led to Cornell’s office was adjacent to the door. You wanted your steps to be quiet so you would not attract any attention.

Halfway up the stairs, the distinct sound of bones breaking ricocheted into your ear. You rushed up to the stairs to see what was happening thinking Cornell was hurt and you see Cornell hurting someone.

“Cornell, what is this?” Your voice delaying his assault.

The red light on his skin made him look regal. The way it reflected.

“Just business, Y/N.” Cornell stated nonchalantly. “I’m done with him anyway. Can you help me with cleanup?”

Seeing as you did not have much of a choice, you dug through his office desk to the lowest drawer and retrieved the first aid kit. Meanwhile, the poor boy’s body was removed by Cornell’s king’s guard from the office, leaving splatters of blood where his head once lay.

“I need ice.” You muttered aloud to yourself, walking to the ice machine next to Cornell’s wine cooler. Cornell handed you his stained handkerchief for you to wrap the ice up nicely. “This is only enough for one hand. Let me go down to the kitchen and get another rag for your other hand. I forgot to put a rag in the kit in replacement for the last time something like this happened.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Cornell said after a long swig of Scotch, his hands struggling to keep the glass steady in his hand.

Tears swelled in your eyes as you traipsed down the stairs. Your eyes became warm. Why does he have to hurt himself like this, you thought. You wetted your sleeves with the tears that fell down like cowards.

You stormed through the crowd in the kitchen politely so you could get to the laundry storage, quickly grabbing a rag and leaving the scene as quickly as possible.

Once you arrived up in the office you wasted no time inserting the ice into the cloth. “You need to clean it up a bit first.” You murmured, getting a bottle of refrigerated water to pour over the growing wounds a bit.

You placed the ice on the table next to where Cornell was sitting. The bottle, already unscrewed, only needed a bit of tilting to get some water out.

“Why are you crying? Did someone say something to you?” Cornell winced at the exposure of the cold on his sensitive skin.

“No, it’s ‘cause you are -um- hurt.” Tears choking you up.

He let out a little chuckle, “It’s not like I’m dead.”

“You keep this up, you just might be.” You tried to keep that to yourself, but it softly escaped.

“You shouldn’t worry about me. It’s rotten work.”

His face shrivels up at the feeling of you wrapping the makeshift ice pack around his hands with self-adhesive bandages. “If you stop doing this type of stuff, you wouldn’t have to go through with that.”

“What other anecdotes do you have in store for me, Saint Mary?”

“I gave you two for free, the other ones you’ll have to pay for.” You hope your joke landed.

A light huff escaped from his nose. Relief washed over you. Good, he liked it.

“Earlier today, you said you wanted to talk to me about something… ” Cornell’s voice wavered.

The relief was only short lived. It felt as if someone had shocked you with an electrical outlet. You eyes grew wide. The red light of the room, while dim, made it easy for your emotions to be seen. Panic. You always knew this moment would come at some point today, in fact you’ve envisioned the grand expose that you would give him in your fantasies that kept you sane at work, but now that it was happening words were struggling to form. Every phrase you had memorised went out the fucking door. Every eloquent word that was to be said evolved into caveman speak. You couldn’t even think.

“Umm. I -umm��” The words choked up in your throat.

Cornell reached for your hand, gliding his thumb over the flat of it. You quickly released your hand from his grip and ran as far away from him as you could. It wasn’t right to ask it, you thought. Of course he won’t reciprocate, you daft bastard.

But what if he does? Your second voice said after closing the door, stopping you in your tracks.

You’re just being a stupid girl, of course, he’s not.

You ran the rest of your way back to the dorm.

“So? Does he love you back?” Antigone asked after you slammed your dorm room shut, not even looking up from her books.

“When the moment came, I was too scared to ask.” You said after slamming your purse down on your desk.

“That man is going to be the death of you. And wash off your hands, I can smell the blood from here.”

Cornell was left in his office dumbfounded. There was one other person in the room with him, Tone.

“What was that?” Cornell asked.

“I don’t know, boss.” Tone said.

Cornell didn’t sleep at all that night. He lied awake pondering what words you were going to say, were they about his behaviour, did you no longer need him for college, did you want to end the relationship, did you find in someone else? And the way that you left him like a scared dog. Where you really afraid of him? Tears were threatening to pour…

“Y/N, you got company.” Antigone nudged your shoulder.

She knew you were awake. Your tossing and turning kept her up.

“It’s your boyfriend. The guy you won’t stop talking about. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

You slowly sat up in the bed and had a mug of hot black tea was shoved into your hands.

“Okay, so get some of this tea into your system. I have my Bio lab this morning, so I’ll leave you two alone to talk about your feelings cauSE IF I HEAR YOU TWO HAVEN’T PROFESSED YOUR ABSOLUTE ADORATION AND DEVOTION TO EACH OTHER, I WILL TEAR YOUR EYEBALLS OUT!! So have a lovely day lady and gentleman.”

Antigone stormed out the room, slamming the door behind her.

After she left. A pregnant pause ruminated throughout the tiny, cramped room. Neither of you could say what you wanted to say to each other.

“Antigone doesn’t have Bio lab this morning, today’s Saturday.” You muttered through your terrible morning voice while bobbing the tea bag up and down in the mug. The effectiveness was in question, but it was a great distraction from the nervous feelings that emerged.

“Why did you run away, Y/N? And don’t deflect.” Cornell demanded although the demand is far less serious when the person making the demands has no power in his voice.

You rubbed your head with your hand. “I didn’t think it was important to say anymore.”

“That’s no need to run away, though. Something or someone scared you, what was it?” Cornell lowered himself onto your bed.

“I don’t know.” Tears again.

“You know I’m not leaving until you tell me what you wanted to say to me, important or not.”

Your throat clenched. The tea didn’t do much to help. You looked up at him, his eyes were red, bloodshot and he had the look of someone who had just got done sobbing. His hands were shaking and his leg was doing that thing where it bobs up and down and no matter how well you try to control it and make it stop, it always makes a reprise.

“Please don’t hate me.” A timber ran through your spine.

“I could never.” He placed his hands over yours that were clamped around your mug.

You cleared your throat. You might as well get it out as fast as possible. Rip the bandaid off.

“I love you.” You said in a barely audible voice.

“Come again.”

“I love you.” A little louder this time, and there is no way that he couldn’t have heard that in this tiny dorm.

“Come again.”

In annoyance that he was making you repeat that again, “I LOVE YOU, CORNELL STOKES. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I know.” Cornell said. “I love you, too.” His eye contact with you broke.

“So why didn’t you say anything!? I was miserable thinking that you could not love me back. I woke up every day thinking that our relationship was never going to be anything more than what it was. My heart sank after I woke up from every dream that I had with you knowing that they were just going to be dreams. Every dream that I’ve had was of you except that one when Spongebob Squarepants and Walter White from Breaking Bad were my parents and that’s only because I was Netflix and VPN hopping that night, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...”

“I’m sorry. I was not aware of that. I thought to keep our relationship transactional would help you more, so you could find a better person for you. I thought I was helping you.”

“But I want you. I need you and nobody else is ever going to do. I wanted to tell you that, but I backed out thinking you would never feel the same way about me as I do you. Thinking that I was just being a stupid lovesick little girl.”

Cornell was at a loss for words. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say. He needed to do or say something fast though, or else his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Do you have any classes or work today?”

“No. Why?”

“Because I’m taking you on a date. A proper date. Of your choosing. I’ll pay, but you choose the place. I have tons of making up to do.”

“I’d like that. There’s this new Cajun place, I’m really excited seein’ about it.”

“It’s a date then, love.”

[hurt-care]

I’ve had a hard time writing anything of any length lately, but this one sort of tumbled out of me tonight. It’s pretty gratuitous....some historical porn with some light plot and no editing...18+ at the end. F, allergies. Set around 1909ish.

---

“Please pass along my regrets. I will not be able to attend any social engagements for several more weeks, I fear."

Katherine Hastings lowered her chin and closed her eyes momentarily as the maid stood opposite, waiting.

“Your mother, madam...” the girl began but Katherine raised her hand and opened her eyes once more.

“Forgive me, Mary,” she said. “I feared another spell might overcome me but it has passed. Please have my regrets sent to the Millers and tell my mother that she can come see me herself if she does not believe the severity of my condition.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mary said, bobbing slightly with a curtsey as she turned and left.

Katherine sunk back into her chair with a sigh and touched her nose with her ever-present handkerchief, careful to avoid irritating the raw skin of the area too much. For weeks now she'd been holed up in her chambers, afflicted with a spell of the rose cold that kept her in fits of sneezes and with wheezing breath. Her eyes, normally rich chestnut brown and cheerful, swelled and itched and ran with tears so often that she was forced to spend hours each day with a compress covering them. The affliction was such that might progress to a bit of clear-headed peace enough to allow her to take afternoon tea with her mother but by evening, it would return with its swollen grip and send her sniffling and sneezing into her rooms once more.

Her mother was profoundly irritated by the situation, as Katherine's husband was overseas on an extended business trip and as the lady of the house, it was Katherine's duty to be keeping up with the social elites of the area. They'd moved into the estate after Katherine's marriage to James Hastings and it was the first spring in the new home. Instead of enjoying the gardens and the tea socials held at neighbouring estates, Katherine was forced to turn down all invitations in favour of spending her day in her bath, reclining on a divan with cool towels draped over her face or otherwise trying steam treatments to ease her breathing. Once, Katherine had dressed fully for an attempt at a tea social in her own parlour with a young woman from a nearby home and was forced to retreat to her rooms with her maid halfway through the service, desperate to have her corset unlaced as she sneezed fitfully, unable to get a full breath with the restricting garment.

The village doctor had been consulted and could offer no remedies beyond a course of quiet rest and a solution of quinine to be applied inside the nostrils with a small brush. It offered little relief, so Katherine abandoned it along with the bitter lozenges that the doctor offered up for her occasional coughing. For weeks, Katherine had been playing out scenarios in her mind about her husband's return and how she might explain to him that their new home did not agree with her. They'd been married only two months when he'd left on the trip to Austria and he was due home soon. Their last correspondence from him had been three weeks ago when he'd written to say he was to make the last crossing to England on May the 6th.

It was nearing the end of the month and in spite of her congested head and weeping eyes, Katherine ached for his return. Perhaps, with his gentle spirit and guidance, she might find relief from the condition at last.

There was a knock at her chamber door and she sat up taller, giving her nose a cursory dab to relieve it of any lingering moisture.

“Yes?” she said. The door opened and her mother entered followed by Mary carrying a tea tray.

“I thought I might join you for your breakfast,” her mother said, sitting down opposite Katherine at the small table in the bedroom's adjacent parlour.

“Mother,” Katherine began, but her nose flared with a sudden insistent tickle and she took a small, fast breath before turning away, shielding her face with her handkerchief.

Eh'tshchHTT! Ngh'TSCHHI!

She pinched her nose hard to try to stop the itch but succeed only in stifling another sneeze.

Ngh'GXT!

Her mother frowned and made a soft tutting noise.

“I wonder what James will make of all this when he returns.”

Katherine sneezed a final time and wiped her nose gingerly before turning back to her mother.

“I suspect he will feel a great concern for my suffering,” she said, reaching for her teacup as Mary finished pouring. She took a careful sip of the hot liquid, willing it to soothe the deep irritation in her throat and nose.

“I maintain that you are just too high-strung and you are bringing this condition on yourself. If you would only accept your position and enjoy these socials, you would find you do not suffer so.”

“You want me to leave this home and socialize with a nose as pink as a cherry and eyes weeping with tears non-stop?” Katherine snapped. “I would certainly be a topic of conversation. I can barely stand to wear a corset; my lungs struggle so. And ten minutes out-of-doors sends me straight into spasms of sneezing. You have seen it yourself, mother.”

“I only think that holing yourself up here in your rooms every day has done little to alleviate things. You have become a recluse at twenty-three, Katherine.”

“I would love to be able to be visiting dear Celia and Vivienne and Edith, but I-- heh'TSGH!”

Katherine was interrupted by another volley of sneezes. She stood up with her handkerchief held to her nose and rushed off to her adjacent washroom, shutting the door behind her. The cavernous bath chamber echoed with the fit as she sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub, head bobbing with each small outburst.

Heh-TSGHT! Tsh'CHT! Ngh'TSCHT! T'CHTT! Ehh—TSCHHTT!

When she'd stopped the sneezing, blown her nose as politely as possible, and splashed a bit of water onto her swollen eyes, she emerged into her bedroom to find her mother gone.

Katherine didn't much feel like eating and the congestion of her nose made everything taste bland anyhow. She sipped at her tea and then rang to have a bath drawn.

An hour or so later, when the water was cooled, she dried off and slipped into a fresh lounging robe and let her hair loose down her back. Just as she was considering sitting in her parlour to read, she heard a great ruckus and voices downstairs in the main entrance of the house. There was a knock on her door and Mary came in, smiling widely.

“Mister Hastings has returned, ma'am,” she said. “Just pulled up in a motorcar from the station.”

Katherine felt her heart skip a beat.

“Oh, Mary!” she said. “Will you help me? I should put on something else.”

“The purple tea dress,” Mary suggested. “No corset needed for that and it's perfectly suitable.”

“You're divine, Mary,” Katherine said gratefully, stepping out of her lounge robe as Mary gathered up the silk dress and helped her into it.

“I'll pin up your hair if you sit a moment,” Mary offered as she fastened the back of the gown.

“Please,” Katherine said, taking a seat at the vanity and reaching for a fresh handkerchief from the pearl-inlayed box that sat nearby. She pressed the white cloth to her nose and inspected her reflection in the mirror.

“I do not know if I can stand to powder it,” she said, gazing at the bright pink nostrils in the centre of her face.

“He will be more delighted to see the whole of you than one little pink nose,” Mary assured her, pinning the last of her hair up. “Put on the necklace he gave you before he left and let's be done with it.”

Katherine fastened the gold and emerald locket around her neck and stood for a final inspection.

“Radiant,” Mary declared. “He'll be in the library. I heard your mother call for brandy.”

Katherine tucked her handkerchief into a small beaded handbag and descended the stairs towards the library. As she approached, she could hear her mother's voice.

“I swear, it's half in her head. She gets herself into these endless fits and she is exhausted by the end of it. If you ask me, it's hysteria that's led her to this. I hope that your return will bring some sense back into her head and rid her of it. She's been an invalid for near a month now.”

Katherine felt herself flush with anger to hear her mother tell it. If she'd had any control over the miserable state she'd been in all spring, she would have cured herself long ago.

Steeling her nerves, she walked into the library.

James was seated opposite and he looked up as she entered, his face splitting into a wide smile. She felt herself grin in return.

“James,” she said breathlessly.

He stood and strode across the room to embrace her.

“Dear heart,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he hugged her close. “Your mother says you've been so unwell. You didn't have to dress on my behalf. I was coming up to you soon.”

“I couldn't wait when I heard you were back,” she said into his shoulder. She could feel tears in her eyes, but whether they were from joy or her rose-cold she did not know. The coarse linen of his coat rubbed against her irritable nose and she knew he'd been travelling for a long while in the garment. Whatever damnable particles caused her to react so violently to the outdoors seemed to cling to his jacket and she pulled her face back, nose wrinkling as she struggled to get into her beaded back.

“James,” she stammered, trying to pull further away. “I'm sorry, I--ehhh-TSGHTT!”

She was unable to get her handkerchief in time and settled for turning her face away from the present company and sneezing into her wrist. She felt the gentle press of his hand as he withdrew his own handkerchief and offered it to her. She had no choice but to take it and she sneezed into it loudly, with a sound that make her blush to be heard.

Hurhh'TSGCHHHTT! Ehh—hehh-TSGHHT! James' hand rested on the small of her back as she bent fully in surrender to the attack.

“Do you need to sit?” he asked gently. She nodded, feeling faint as the sneezes tore out with vicious energy.

Ehh-TSGH! Nh'GHT! TsGHTT! GHXHTT!

She stumbled into the waiting armchair and fitted desperately, tears streaming from her swollen eyes.

“My love,” James whispered, crouched at her side. “My dear heart. You poor thing.”

She took a shaky breath, managing to stop sneezing long enough to look at him.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “It gets like this sometimes.”

“Would you be more comfortable in our chambers? Can I ring for Mary to come and escort you upstairs?”

Katherine nodded.

“I think that's-- ehh-TSGHT!-- I think that's wise.”

He kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear, “I'll be up soon, I promise.”

Mary arrived shortly thereafter and guided the teary, exhausted Katherine back upstairs and into the safety of the bedchamber. Katherine sat on the edge of the bed as Mary gently unfastened her necklace and gown, helping her to change into her nightdress and robe. Then, with the practice of several weeks of care, Mary guided a wet cloth across Katherine's face, wiping away the gathered tears and congestion.

“That's better,” she said gently. “Why don't we get you into bed with a compress for your face?”

Katherine nodded silently, imagining the reaction of her husband entering to see such a pitiful sight. Still, her swollen face demanded it. With a mound of pillows at her back, Katherine reclined slightly in bed and allowed her face to be draped with the cool cloth.

“Rest well, ma'am,” Mary said as she took her leave.

Katherine tried to relax but the sudden attack of sneezing had congested her sinuses to the point of a dull, throbbing headache. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come before she had to face James in this condition, but no sleep came.

The bedroom door opened quietly and James slipped inside. He sided up to the bed and gently removed the cloth from Katherine's face.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

She blinked open her eyes.

“Hello.”

“Don't you move one bit,” he said, leaning in and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I'm going to dress for bed and then we'll talk.”

She watched through half-lidded eyes as he removed his suit and shirt, revealing familiar olive skin that made her curl her toes with the memory of its touch. He put on a lightweight pair of pinstriped pyjamas and came to sit on the bed at her side.

“Now,” he said, reaching out and curling his hand into hers. “That's better. I missed you.”

“I missed you,” she repeated back. “I wish I was in a better state to say it.”

“Any state is fine so long as I'm here in this room alone with you,” he replied with a grin. She felt herself blush at his boldness.

“May I?” he asked, reaching for the covers to pull them back. She nodded and he slid back the quilts, gently gliding his hand down the length of her leg. As he reached the edge of the fabric, he curled his fingers across her skin, sliding the nightdress up.

Katherine's breath quickened and she coughed softly.

James turned his leg up over hers, coming to sit straddling her lap. He leaned in to kiss her and she returned the kiss briefly before pulling away.

“I want to,” she said. “But my nose is so clogged...I can't breathe.”

“I know,” he said gently. “It's okay.”

He kissed each cheek and then her forehead and her chin and down her neck, pausing to nuzzle his nose against her breasts before continuing down. He pushed the fabric of her nightdress up further and parted her legs, touching her briefly with his fingers. She almost objected, fearing her was about to enter her too suddenly, but instead he lowered his face and his tongue slowly stroked across the rise of her. She made a sound of surprise and heard him laugh.

“Just relax,” he said.

A sensation rippled through her unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She spread her legs wider, pressing eagerly into his touch. He increased his speed and she could not help but make a sound as her body responded to him. Her nose, so clogged and irritated, began to shift and clear. And then, like a wave, a sensation hit her so strongly that she gasped and her arms trembled.

She went boneless, giggling as he raised his head and looked at her.

“Any better?”

“I might need a handkerchief,” she said, blushing as she pressed a wrist to her newly-streaming nose. “But yes....better.”

[firethatgrewsolow]

Swiss Time - Chapter Sixteen

**The adventure continues (and this time it didn’t take ten years between chapters lol). Side note - it’s come to my attention that the little separator lines don’t work on mobile, so if the transitions in the chapter seem abrupt, that’s why. Apologies! Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it! <3**

Natalie jumped at the sharp crunch behind her, dropping the phone into its cradle. She spun around to find her aunt gnawing on a piece of celery, a devilish grin firmly planted on her face.

“How’s David? Enjoying the land of the rising sun?”

Nat’s mouth fell open. “Were you … eavesdropping on my conversation?”

“Of course.” Another crunch rang the room. “Would you expect anything less?”

Natalie snatched the stalk away, tossing it onto the bar. “Has anyone told you how obnoxious you are?”

“I do my best.” Sue gingerly reclined onto the sofa, nursing her bloody mary. “So, what did you talk about?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Since you were listening to the whole damn thing.”

“I just caught the last part. Unfortunately,” Susan added with a wink. “I suppose you didn’t mention where you spent last night, huh? And that you barely made it here in time for the call?”

Natalie sank into the chaise next to the window. “No. I didn’t.”

“Speaking of last night, care to fill me in on the details?”

“Not really.”

Susan cocked her head. “You are on the pill, right?”

“Aunt Sue!”

“Just making sure you’re safe. After all, you’re quite the juggler. Last night with Robert and then our trip down under next week?” Sue’s lips curved approvingly. “My, my, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Maybe I don’t. Natalie’s eyes glided to the sheet of glass beside her. The sun was beginning its descent, casting shimmering shapes across the expanse of Lake Geneva. She watched the elegant crafts threading through them, her mind wandering. She hadn’t meant for things to escalate so quickly with either of them. Truth be told, the connection with David had been somewhat of a surprise. As was how precious he’d been to her. Promising to call and actually doing it. He always keeps his promises. Unlike someone else she knew. There was another truth, though, a painfully obvious one. And that was that it just didn’t matter. Robert could do or not do whatever he pleased, and she’d still be lost. The draw she had to him trumped everything. What am I getting into? What am I already in?

“Out of your head, Nattie. You’re not answering the question.”

Natalie met her aunt’s vexed gaze. “I’m sorry. What was it?”

“Do they know about each other?”

Nat hesitated, rolling her lips. “Kind of.”

Sue’s brow lifted. “That’s a no if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Not true. Robert knows that I … spend time with David.”

“Darling, you may spend time with David, but you spent the night with Robert.”

Nat shook her head. “But we didn’t do anything … much. Just watched a movie and hung out.”

“Hung out,” Susan repeated, barking a laugh. “I like it. Nice euphemism. I wonder exactly what was hanging out.” She grinned as her niece cut her eyes at her. “You do realize what you’re doing here, right? A game of cat and mouse with some pretty big egos.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sighing, Sue propped her feet up on the coffee table. “You know these aren’t boys from school, Nat. They’re grown men, and they’re not typically fond of sharing.”

Natalie shrugged. “There’s nothing to share.”

“You spent the night in Robert Plant’s hotel suite, honey. If that’s nothing then it’s a whole lotta nothing.”

“Bullshit is what it is. They have girls in every city. Probably more than one.” Nat crossed her arms. “Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“Hypocrisy is the principle they live by. And you’re well aware of it. Look, all I’m trying to say is that you’re getting in a little deep. And that’s something, coming from me.” Susan rose, padding toward the bar. “You’re playing with fire, love. And somebody’s going to get burned.”

Nat’s attention returned to the glittering lake. Maybe Sue was right. It was a lot to handle. And she’d promised herself she’d not get involved. It was a load of trouble, but more importantly, a potential career killer, and she was just starting to gain real traction. The rattle of glass against crystal filled the air, and Natalie glanced at her aunt. “Isn’t it a bit late in the day for bloody marys?”

“My day just started, sweet. This is breakfast.” Susan tipped the vodka, pouring liberally. “Would you like one? I hate to drink alone, and seeing as how Christian’s stuck at the casino with your boyfriend-”

“My boyfriend? Really?”

“Well, one of them,” Sue drawled, capping the bottle.

“What’s he doing down there?”

Susan rifled through the swizzle sticks, finally opting for her discarded stalk of celery. “Why, it’s the soundcheck, darling. Don’t you remember?”

Oh, shit. Natalie stole a peek at the clock on the bookcase. “Sue, will you call a car? I’m late.”

* * *

“So, you shag her yet?”

Robert rolled his eyes. “It’s none of your business, Bon-”

“That’s a no.” Bonzo cackled, his gaze for an instant darting lower. “You must be in a bloody bad way then, yeah?”

The singer expelled a tense breath, partly in frustration at the lack of filter on his friend but mostly because he was spot on. The night had been magical … sweet, loving, and far from chaste, but not quite the scenario that he’d hoped for. Robert clenched his jaw as Bonzo droned on.

“Well, never mind that. We’ll be in the States before long. Plenty of birds there.”

The drummer spoke the truth, but somehow the words were far from consoling. Robert needed Natalie, not some random girl from the third row. He’d resigned himself to the fact that it was probably going to take time, and he wasn’t going to pressure her or speed things along. He wanted her to want him so badly she couldn’t wait another minute. He knew it would be worth it in the end, but, fuck, he wished the clock would tick just a tiny bit faster. Still, it had been a joy simply being with her, their playful kisses and quiet whispers as they explored each other. Christ, he’d never seen somebody get so wet. It drove him completely mad. She knew it, too, flashing him the wicked little smile usually reserved for when she got her way, which was most of the time. And how she would secretly study him when she didn’t think he could tell what she was doing. Absolutely adorable. Ahh, and her eyes, so big and dark, one second wide and nervous, the next sly, devious. And sexy. Fucking hell, so sexy. He’d watched them close as she’d fallen asleep in his arms, the moonlight finally melding into morning. She’d woken up in them, too, a tangly-haired, sleepy-eyed mess. His tangly-haired, sleepy-eyed mess. He clenched his jaw again, tamping his body’s response.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, mate. You’re a fuckin’ lost cause.”

Robert blinked, finding Bonzo through the film of the reverie. “What?”

“Get out of your head. And I’m not talkin’ about the one on your shoulders.” The drummer lit a cigarette, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. “I was saying you’re a lost cause. And that your girl’s even later that you thought she’d be.”

Robert canvassed the clock hanging haphazardly above the catering table. Bonzo was right. She was going to miss the soundcheck. Damn it. For a moment, he considered ringing her, as he’d done earlier. Meh, it’ll probably still be busy. They must have it off the hook. He snagged a Chimay from the small aluminum tub they’d set up as a makeshift cooler. What was she doing? She’d been gone for over three hours. It didn’t take that long to shower and fetch fresh clothes. Odd, very odd. His stomach rumbled as the aroma of newly delivered short ribs wafted through the room, and with a sigh, he pushed the thought away.

Nat sprang out of the taxi, hustling across the street before the light changed. She rounded the corner, bound for the casino, stopping in her tracks at what awaited her. A throng of people encompassed it, packed shoulder to shoulder along the sidewalks. She scanned the smoky crowd, lingering on a trio of girls that were casing those around them apprehensively. They know they aren’t getting in. In truth, most weren’t. There were simply too many of them. Some were seemingly stoned enough not to care, but that wouldn’t be the case with everyone. Summoning her reserve, she dove into the thick of it, worming her way through with resolute determination. Weathering a few scowls and cross words, she finally reached the tall double doors that marked the entrance to the concert hall. She rapped on the glass, waving to Tom, who was in conversation with a security guard she didn’t recognize. She slipped through the crack he made for her, leaning back against the doors as they shut.

“You should have come around the other way.”

Her eyes flickered to his. “Appreciate the advice, Captain Hindsight. I thought this way would be quicker. I had no idea there would be so many people.”

“You missed the soundcheck.”

Nat waved her hand dismissively. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“Robert didn’t look too happy.”

She ignored the ribbing and the goofy smile on his face. “Are you going to get to film? I did my best.”

“Looks like it. But that Grant guy ... he’s, um-”

“Formidable. I know. Just don’t fuck it up, and you’ll be fine.” She smirked, brushing past him as he turned a shade paler.

She located the boys in the private anteroom adjacent to the hall. Robert and Bonzo were in the corner, hovering over one of the catering tables while Peter and Christian reclined on the sofa, discussing McCartney’s new band, Wings. John Paul and Jimmy were in opposite folding chairs, quietly tuning their guitars and sipping Heineken. Such a contrast to the wild sea of fans just meters away.

“You’re late. You missed the sound check.”

Natalie glanced toward the source of the grumpy proclamation, squelching her amusement. Robert was posing, hands on hips, pouting like an overgrown toddler. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for having a life. I had to go back home at some point.”

The singer grumbled. “There was a song I wanted to do for you.”

“Sneak it into Whole Lotta Love. You put everything else in there.” She blew him a kiss, falling into the sofa next to Peter, who patted the top of her leg with a beefy hand.

“What’s it like out there, love?”

“It’s a madhouse. I mean, everyone’s being cool, but I bet there are four or five thousand people. And this place only holds two.” She caught Jimmy appraising her out of the corner of her eye. “Have you thought of maybe piping the sound outside?”

“Bloody hell, no!” Peter scoffed, crushing his cigarette. “We do that and there’ll be twenty fuckin’ boots on the shelves before it’s even bloody over.”

Natalie dropped her bag on the end table. “So what? Christian’s filming the damn thing.”

“Yeah, but he’s not trying to sell it.”

“Well, I think you’re making a mistake. These people came from miles away, and some of them are going to be pretty pissed off when they realize they can’t get in. You should give them something.”

“Peter, I agree with Natalie. They deserve it for travelling from so far away.”

She pursed her lips to quell her smile. The band leader had spoken, and that sealed the deal. With a grunt, Peter stood, gesturing to Christian, and the two men disappeared into the hall. Nat kicked off her sandals, curling her legs underneath her.  “If it’s any consolation, I believe you’re doing the right thing.”

“T’was a good idea.” Jimmy angled his guitar against the sofa. “Peter’s a bit too protective at times.”

“It means quite a lot that you’re allowing Christian to film the concert.”

Jimmy rose, taking the manager’s former seat. “He’s promised us discretion and full authority to destroy it if we deem that necessary.”

“I see.” The cagey nature of the group was no secret. They ran a tight ship and a closed shop, the collaboration with Sandy Denny being one of the rare exceptions. If something didn’t show Zeppelin in the best possible light, it didn’t get shown. Or it disappeared. Nat had heard rumblings about an episode in Bath the previous year. The boys meant business. “Do you ever think you might regret being so heavy-handed about things like bootlegs? Maybe one day you might wish there were more.”

Jimmy met her gaze. “Regret isn’t in my nature. It’s wasteful. And I tend to believe that events transpire as they’re meant to.”

Nat had forgotten what a curious color his eyes were. Not quite green, but not quite hazel. There wasn’t really a name for it. “Like destiny, you mean?” She watched them narrow for a fraction of a second, his response lost to the raucous shouts behind her.

“Bonzo, you fucking git! You’ve ruined it!”

“I told you not to touch my food, mate.”

Nat twisted around to find an extremely furious Robert holding up his black bolero, which was slathered in a reddish-brown sauce. As Bonzo dissolved into a fit of boisterous laughter, she did the same, her hand sailing to her mouth.

“Fuck you, mate.” The singer shoved him mightily, stumbling backwards as his friend returned the favor.

Nat jumped up as they repeated the action, warily circling each other. “Cut it out, you guys.” She yanked the blouse from Robert’s grasp, surveying the damage. “Don’t be such a baby. This will come out with a wash. It’ll be as good as new by tomorrow.”

“Well, what am I going to wear tonight, then?”

“Who gives a fuck, Percy. Just prance around like you always do.”

Robert flew at him, but Bonzo was ready. With surprising agility, he skipped to the side, sending the singer straight into Natalie. She hit the ground with a resounding thud. “Goddamnit! What are you doing?”

“Christ, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Robert held out his hand, but Nat smacked it, grabbing Bonzo’s instead. “You’re like a bull in a china shop. Too rowdy.” She dusted the dirt from the back of her dress, freezing as she spied a newly formed rip in the sleeve of her cardigan. “Damn it! Look what you did.”

Robert picked up the discarded bolero, draping it on the arm of the sofa as he peered over her shoulder. “Did I do that? It’s not so bad.” He grinned as she glared at him.

“I just bought it.” Sliding off the sweater, Natalie inspected the tear. “And now I’ll have to get it mended.”

Robert tugged the cardigan away, his mouth curving as he admired the white and yellow daisies along the placket and collar. “This is rather nice. Blue, too, my favorite color.” He nibbled his lip. “I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me-”

“I want it back. Fixed.”

“You’re on, lads!” Peter’s voice rumbled through the room. It was time.

[gray-autumn-sky]

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, Chapter 1- Mask

For SpookyOQ 2018.

Set in Salem, Massachusetts during the Witchcraft Trials, Regina Mills is an accused witch and Robin is a thief who refuses to let her hang for it.

Regina Mills sits in the dark, damp jail cell, staring out at the nothingness before her, too numb to even cry.

She’s vaguely aware of the others there--guards in an adjacent room, prisoners like herself chained in their cells and somehow asleep--but she can’t quite feel their presence, as though she’s already left this world.

She knows that it’s raining outside--she can smell it and hear it. The droplets tap at the open stone window, pooling on the sill and spilling down over the edge and trailing down the wall, dripping down and forming a little puddle beneath the window, ticking like a clock.

They’d given her a thin dress made of burlap and grayed with overuse and lack of washing to wear, and her hair was wound into a tight bun at the back of her head, tied with twine and leaving her neck exposed. Her jaw trembled as she cowered on the stone bench in the corner of her cell. Her hands were bound in shackles behind her and her feet were tied together with rope that was wet from the rain, rubbing against her skin and rubbing it away. It should have burned, and maybe it did, but she couldn’t feel it anymore--just like she couldn’t feel the cold.

It was late in October and the rain chilled the air even more than usual, and in her cell, she didn’t have as much as a blanket to keep her warm and hours ago, she’d stopped even trying to warm herself, knowing that it didn’t matter and if she died in the night from cold or exhaustion or even just by sheer will, it’d be for the better.

Guilty.

Guilty and sentenced to hang at dawn.

It played again and again, over and over, behind her eyes and the words rang in her ears.

She could still feel their hands on her, holding her down and removing her clothes for the examination in open court. She hadn’t looked at any of them as it happened--not as they pointed at blemishes and scars, and asked her to recite random passages of scripture she was far too scared to remember. They pricked her with pine needles and touched hot metal to her skin--and it seemed her most natural reactions to these tests only proved her guilt.

The final test before her trial had been the worst, and for a moment, she thought that would be the end, that she’d die right then and there. Still naked, they tied a rope around her waist and bound her hands behind her back. They led her out of the church and to the water, and the closer she got to the coast, the harder she tried to dig her heels into the sand--but every time she tried to stop, they shoved her forward and whipped her back. Finally when they reached the coast, they led her down a dock that suddenly felt like a plank, and spun her around so that she was facing them--and before she could even muster the courage to plea for her life, they shoved back and stood on the dock, watching as she struggled in the water.

For a moment, she sank down and water filled her lungs. Her feet kicked and her shoulders rocked back and forth, her movements frantic as she tried to loosen the rope--and when she finally succeeded, her chest ached and her head was dizzy as she swam up the surface. But as she struggled for air and tried her best to stay afloat, a gasp shuttered through the crowd standing on the dock.

A witch, they’d said. It’s true!

She didn't have time to comprehend it, and then next thing she knew, they were dragging her roughly from the water.

What happened next was a blur, and in so many ways it felt a dream--like it hadn’t actually happened.

But she knew that it did.

They let her get dressed, but not in the one she’d been wearing that morning. No, they dressed her in prison rags and told her she should be fortunate that they weren’t going to cut the hair from her scalp and let her bleed out--and when they bound her wrists with tight rope that cut through her skin and rubbed against the open wound, she wondered if what they did was worse.

She barely listened as they presented the evidence of the tests--and when she turned away from the judge who’d already decided her fate, she caught the eye of her husband, Leopold Blanchard, and a rage filled her.

Her jaw clenched as she remembered how he’d pointed and called her a witch, how he hadn’t even allowed her to explain what had actually happened. His daughter, Mary Margaret, stood behind him, her green eyes wide as she watched in horror--and Regina found herself wondering if she regretted her accusation or if her the look of shock was all for show.

She wondered if it’d all been a set-up.

It was no secret that her marriage was not a happy one or a godly one, and it hadn’t quite been what either of them had anticipated on their wedding day. They were each sold something that wasn’t quite real. She’d been promised a good, easy-going husband who only wanted her as a mother for his young daughter, and he’d been promised a good, god-fearing wife who’d obey his every request. But his indifference was cruel and nothing she did was ever good enough, and for him, she was strong-willed and a burden.

But still, she hadn’t expected it to end this way.

She hadn’t expected to walk into her step-daughter’s room and see a man hovering over the bed. She didn’t know who it was or what he wanted, but she knew that he could be there for no good reason. He was there to do harm, whatever that might mean. So, she grabbed a silver candlestick holder from the dresser and let out a cry, drawing attention away from Mary Margaret and drawing it toward her. The man turned and she thought she saw the glint of a knife, so she screamed louder and pummeled him with the heavy bottom of the candlestick holder. Though it was dark, she could see a bloody gash above his brow, and when she struck him again, he stumbled back, getting blood on the girl’s blanket as he rolled across the bed and lept toward the opening window. He left her there, standing bloodied in the bedroom, still screaming.

Mary Margaret cried out, shrieking as she scurried off the bed as her father entered the room. She hugged his legs and looked on in horror--and when he asked her what had happened, her eyes shifted to Regina.

Witch.

She’s a witch!

She tried to explain, but no one would listen--and while what they called her wasn’t necessarily untrue, it didn’t mean what they thought they it meant.

But they wouldn't listen, so she’d stopped trying to making them, hoping that if she just played around and did what they asked, the truth would come out and she’d be exonerated.

That hadn’t happened though, and at the end of it, when she pleaded for them to just hear her out and listen, they listened to everyone but her.

Leopold told them he always knew, deep down, that she was wicked; he always suspected her a sinner, but as a good man he wanted to give her the benefit of doubt, wanted to see something in his wife that simply wasn't there. But after a time, it became hard to ignore. She didn’t repent as she should and she was lax in her church attendance, and he could smell the incense she burned. Again, she tried to explain how harmless it all was, but he didn’t want to hear it--no one did.

They gagged her then, in an effort to silence her, and she nearly choked as they tied the kerchief around her mouth--and when they did, all she could think of were the times that Leopold bound her and locked her in an attic closet as punishment for her evilness. Her heart beat faster as she thought of that darkened closet and quickly her relief would fade when the door opened to see Leopold standing there with a bottle of holy water and his bible.

Guilty.

Guilty and sentenced to hang at dawn.

Those were the words that snapped her back into the present moment, and it took her a minute to understand what they meant--and when she did, she came to realize that her life was over. Then, from that moment on, they repeated over and over, echoing in her ears again and again in an almost deafening way.

And now, all she could do is listen to it as she sat idly and waited to die...

“Hey…”

Her brow furrows as she looks toward the window.

“HEY!”

Swallowing hard, she holds her breath. Her mind was playing tricks on her—it had to be, because no one in their right mind would be out in this rainstorm, risking their life to come and simply say hello to her. No one was that stupid.

“Hey! Regina Mills!”

Her brow arches. Maybe someone was and she considers that maybe it’s a hallucination, that maybe the voice is just in her head and maybe--

“Are you Regina Mills?” the voice calls again as a little pebble sails in through the open window. “Hey!” Her brow arches as she stares at the pebble--she may be an accused witch, but even she doesn’t have that sort of power, and when the voice calls her name again, it’s clearer and more direct, and in an odd way, the stranger’s voice is almost comforting to her.

Getting up, she moves carefully and slowly toward the window, mindful of the rope and chains that bind her wrists and ankles. She narrows her eyes at a hooded man standing beneath the window--and as she appears at the the window, he steps in a little closer. “You’re Regina Mills?”

“I… I am,” she murmurs. “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Again, her eyes narrow. “I think it does.”

“We don’t have time to exchange pleasantries when--”

“You know who I am. It’s only fair that I should know who you are, too,” she says, sighing at her own defiance as her arms cross over her chest. “Besides, you came to me to--”

“To break you out of here.”

She blinks. She had to have misheard that--but before she can question it, he steps in and pulls back his hood, revealing bright blue eyes and a kind smile hidden behind a mask.

“How?” she asks. “The guards--”

“Are they near?”

“No,” she admits, looking behind her and suddenly feeling nervous. “But--”

“Well, I won’t very well be going through the front door.”

Again, she blinks, her eyes focusing in on the bars on the window as her heart beats wildly in her chest and a thousand questions swirl thought her head--yet, the one that comes out of her is the least important of all of them. “Surely, you don’t think I’ll fit through--”

His brow cocks. “I’m going to pick the lock.”

“Oh--”

“Keep a lookout, alright?”

“But, I don’t--”

“Look,” he cuts in, looking around himself as his voice drops an octave. “We don’t really have time for explanations right now, and with all due respect, you don’t really have many options at this stage of things, do you?” He pauses as her jaw tightens--and though defiance prickles at her, he makes a valid point. Even if she were caught escaping and even if he was a madman, neither of those things matter because at dawn, she’s sentenced to die, and she has nothing to lose by trusting him. “I’ll work the lock, just… make sure no one comes,” he says. “My goal is to get both of us out of here alive. Please don’t make that any more difficult than it already is.”

Nodding, she moves to the front of the cell, fumbling with her fingers as she cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of the guard--and she breathes out a sigh of relief to find him sleeping by the hearth.

“No one’s--” She stops, her voice halting as the masked man grins and the window swings open. “I can’t believe--”

“I mean, it’s not witchcraft, but--”

A little grin tugs onto her lip as he reaches through the window and her eyes fall to his hand--open and reaching for her--and for a split second, she hesitates and looks back at the guard sleeping just beyond the cell. She has no reason to trust this masked stranger and this masked stranger has no reason to help her, but it’s not like she has anything left to lose. So, she takes hold of his hand and climbs up onto the stone bench beneath the window, letting him pull her up and through it. He pulls an arrow from the quiver on his back and slices it through the rope that binds her, then no sooner than her feet are free, he’s picked the lock on the shackles on her wrists--and before the shackles fall to the mud at their feet, he grabs her hand and they steal away together into the night.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #31

Note: I~ had to look up what the hell Youthberry is, and it turns out it’s a white tea made of orange blossoms! And that it’s good for taking care of yourself, so I decided to use that as inspiration for the following prompt.

This is the end of the 31 Days of January Collection, and I’m...really proud to have made it here. With this prompt, I will be 31 for 31, as I set out to do. I actually finished something! I hope it’s been enjoyable for you, too, Monica, and that it’s allowed you a break from reality to enjoy our Family in new and exciting ways. ♥ And don’t worry--this may be the end of the month, but it’s just the beginning of my writing for this year.

Thanks for coming along for the start of a journey with me. :)

Youthberry

Sometimes, it isn’t even about the medicine. Sometimes, it’s about the act of kindness from the person behind it.

“Do you know they’ve still got the alien locked in the sub-basement?”

Monica paused as she was plating a batch of fresh cookies in the barracks kitchen. As a nurse on loan to the Metropolis Military, she wasn’t required to bake cookies or serve tea to any of the injured soldiers but she became a nurse to help others and some TLC was just as effective as a shot of morphine. The other two nurses in the kitchen were whispering none too quietly amongst themselves, their backs to Monica so they hadn’t noticed she was paying attention; if they had, they would have gone quiet. Monica wasn’t a military nurse, she had no military experience but the experience she had was in saving lives and bringing others back from the brink of giving up, of dying, and that put her leagues ahead of any other nurse on the barracks. As far as anyone was concerned she was Head Nurse for as long as she was willing to remain at this post and she was given that respect without having to demand it.

“I thought Dr. Luthor was ordered to shut that program down?” The blond whispered back, and her brunette companion’s eyes were wide as she delighted in spreading gossip.

“He was, but I guess he refused. He’s determined to weaponize us with that thing. Don’t ask me how.”

“So do we need to prepare a snack for him, too? He probably needs it. I can’t imagine what they’ve been doing to him has been...pleasant.”

The brunette shook her head. “He’s on a strict no-food diet...if you could call it that. Dr. Luthor wants to see how that affects him--”

Monica set her spatula down sharply, causing both young women to jump at the adjacent counter. Monica had to inhale and exhale before she could speak, reigning in her agitated temper. “Ladies, why are we here?”

“T-To...To take care of the sick and injured, ma’am.” The blonde immediately offered. The brunette looked sufficiently chastised, eyes on the floor.

Monica turned, resting her hip against the counter with a look of censure. “Do I need to educate the two of you on what affects starvation is known to have on the body?”

“N-No ma’am.”

“Then the next time Dr. Luthor issues an idiotic order for anyone here on the barracks what are you going to do?”

“...O-Our jobs, ma’am.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you ladies this. Either you know what’s going on in this barrack’s basement is wrong, or you need to find a new profession.” Monica turned from her current task, setting aside a small platter and beginning to load it with a plate of cookies, a teapot, and a single cup. “I’m going to take our patient in the sub-basement his snack, since I can’t trust the two of you to have the spine to do it if you run into Dr. Luthor. Finish plating the cookies I started and then make your rounds as usual.”

Twin nods of contrition showed remorse enough to satisfy Monica. “Yes ma’am.”

The alien being kept in the sub-basement had a name for anyone who cared to know it--well, he had two, actually. Kal-El, the last son of Krpyton, but here on Earth he was simply Clark Kent. Simply would be the word he’d use to describe himself but it wasn’t what anyone else would likely use. At the moment, Clark had no one to ask. He was lying on the metal slab that was meant to serve as his bed, but he hadn’t been given a mattress so he wasn’t going to call it a bed. He had no blanket, either, and the sterile environment encasing him only served to rub salt over his numerous wounds. The experiments he’d been subjected to ranged from educational to simply satisfying that Dr. Luthor’s sadistic enjoyment of torturing someone who could handle it and Clark didn’t know why he was putting up with it. He had enough strength to get out, more than likely, but...getting out for what? He was now a hated figure in the eye of the media, thanks to the spin of the media and the police. He couldn’t be the hero he’d been raised to be, the hero he believed he could be, because no one was grateful for his help. The S on his chest used to stand for hope but Clark figured he’d be smarter to change it to stupid for thinking he could make a difference on a planet that hated differences rather than celebrating them. These weren’t his people and this wasn’t his planet--

No matter how badly he wanted them to be.

“Dr. Luthor said no food--”

“Lenny, you’ve got two seconds to open that door or you’ll be the one unable to eat.”

Clark’s sharp hearing picked up the exchange outside his reinforced door and his bright blue eyes snapped open. Lenny’s voice he recognized, he was the guard responsible for watching Clark during the evening hours, but this second voice Clark didn’t recognize--but he knew he would, had he heard it before. Despite the whip of anger in that harsh tone Clark slowly pushed his tired body to a sitting position, turning to look over his broad shoulder toward the sound of her voice. She sounded like an angel, a soothing balm on the open wounds that had long ago begin to bruise and ache. Outside, Lenny muttered a half-hearted follow-up argument but Clark had to chuckle quietly at how weak it sounded; truthfully speaking, he wouldn’t want to argue with the owner of that voice, either. She sounded like she meant business.

The reinforced door slammed open a moment later and Clark froze, his pain-filled world suddenly dropping away like a dying star from the sky, leaving only a void to be filled by the presence that just walked into his life. She was dressed in a nurse’s uniform, complete with white tights and Mary-Jane wedge heels, the cap on her head complimenting the beautiful bob that framed an even more beautiful face. Skin kissed by an eternal sun looked petal soft and Clark’s fingers actually twitched with the desire to touch, to feel for himself. If he wanted to fool himself he’d say it was the lack of contact he’d been allowed to have since being imprisoned but this was more than that. She was the most beautiful woman Clark had ever seen.

“Good evening,” Monica set the snack tray down on the offered shelf beside the alien’s bed, inwardly...stunned this was what they said the alien looked like. He looked like a normal man--except, you know, way hotter than the average man. She cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down the front of her stainless white dress. “I brought you some tea and cookies. I thought you might be hungry.”

Clark blinked a little helplessly as she spoke to him, her voice so alluring he would have sworn he could feel it over his skin, a caress against bruises and lacerations.

Monica took his silence a different way, frowning lightly. “I’m...so sorry, do you speak English? Can you understand me?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Clark shook his head, planting his bare feet on the floor to stand, and in that instant he was made very aware how petite this young nurse was. He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Clark.”

Monica blinked up at him, slowly putting her hand in his, swallowing thickly at how easily he dwarfed her in every sense of the word. “M-Monica.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Monica.” Clark lowered himself back onto the side of his bed with a quiet sigh. “And...thank you for the treats. I know you’re not supposed to be feeding me.”

Monica couldn’t believe this. The containment door had slammed shut behind her almost before she’d gotten past the threshold but all she could think was...all these idiot men were afraid of this overly polite gentle giant? She had no doubt he possessed the strength to crush her hand but he’d shaken her hand like it was made of glass. And from what she’d heard since he arrived, he hadn’t hurt anyone--even though she was more than convinced he absolutely could if he wanted to.

“Yeah, well, I don’t often agree with Dr. Luthor.” Monica paused, not keeping the disdain from her voice or her face. “In fact, I don’t think I ever have.”

Clark laughed, resting his elbows on his knees. “Smart girl.”

“He’s a dick.”

Clark’s laughter was louder, sounding surprised as he looked up at her.

“What?! He is. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him.” Monica turned to the tray, picking up the teapot. “Anyway, I’m going to make sure you get fed when we make our rounds for the rest of the patients here.”

Clark, even with how distracted he was by the feminine way she moved, with such careful purpose as she began to pour his tea into the awaiting mug, could appreciate that she regarded him as a patient rather than...well, the monster everyone else seemed to think he was. He didn’t want her to think he was a monster.

“This is youthberry tea. Have you ever had it?”

Clark shook his dark head. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“It’s a white tea, made with orange blossoms. It’s medicinal but tastes good, I promise.” Monica added two teaspoons of sugar before stirring the steaming cup. “Has anyone looked at any of your injuries, Clark?”

“Ah, no,” Clark took the cup in his large hands, immediately feeling the warmth seeping into his fingers. He took a delicate sniff of the steaming liquid and made a content noise. “This smells good.”

Monica’s face relaxed into a smile as she turned back to the tray.

“So do you.” Clark glanced up at her, as if he couldn’t stop the thought from leaving his mouth. Before Monica could react, he took a sip of the tea. “Oh wow!”

“It’s hot,” Monica immediately reached over, lowering the mug from his mouth. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

Clark shook his head, his body reacting immediately to her touch; she was warmer even than the tea in his hands, and when he locked eyes with her, he couldn’t help but smile--it flustered her, clearly.

“It isn’t that. It’s just good.”

“I-I’m glad,” Monica took her hand off his, turning back to the tray so fast she missed the look of disappointment on his handsome face. “These cookies are Ginger Nut, should pair with the tea nicely and they’re not too sweet.”

Clark waited for her to turn toward him before he shot her a wink. “Because you’re a nurse? Don’t want to indulge my sweet tooth?”

“I didn’t know aliens had sweet teeth.”

Clark laughed again, openly, his heart filling with warmth that had nothing to do with the tea soothing his soul and everything to do with the company he was keeping. Monica may be a nurse, tasked with caring for others, but she pulled no punches and he could respect the way she’d come in here to do her job, to take care of him, without knowing if he would harm her. The more time he spent with her, the more respect he had for her.

“I’ve got lots you probably don’t know about yet,” Clark teased back, a little...unaware of the innuendo he’d just opened up. Monica glanced down to his lap for a split second before looking back to his face as he spoke. “The cookies sound delicious. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Monica. Are you going to get in trouble?”

Monica opened her mouth to retort, but the containment door snapping open interrupted. Clark paused with his mug near his mouth; he’d been so distracted by Monica’s presence and company he hadn’t even heard anyone else approaching his cell.

“This is unacceptable!” Dr. Lex Luthor strode into the cell in a fury. “I was expressly clear with everyone that It isn’t supposed to have any food.”

Immediately, without thought, Monica turned her entire body so that she was standing in front of Clark, stopping Dr. Luthor’s mad stampede in it’s tracks. Monica may be slight of stature but she was not one to be pushed around, and Clark watched her shoulders square and her spine straighten--and when she spoke, even he flinched.

“You are not my superior, Dr. Luthor, and my duty to this barracks is to provide care for all it’s patients. That does include ones subjected to your inhumane experiments and torture.” Monica folded her arms beneath her generous chest. “You are not going to be starving anyone under my watch.”

“It has nothing to do with you or anyone else here at the barracks. It belongs to my team and most importantly to me.”

Monica’s expression went from angry to incredulously pissed off in a fraction of a second. “...Are you calling him an it?”

“Because that’s what It is--”

“There’s absolutely no reason for me to talk to you about this further, if you can’t even dignify my patient by treating him like a person.” Monica turned back to Clark, even as she pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket.

“It isn’t a person, Monica, it’s dangerous.”

Monica made a single noise at the back of her throat as she began to fit the latex over her fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“My job, Dr. Luthor. I’m to care for all the sick and injured in the barracks and this patient has not been declared a terrorist or enemy of the state, correct?” Monica asked, then paused as Lex didn’t answer. She turned with an expectant stare. “Has he?”

“...No.”

“Then I’m going to treat his injuries while he eats. Unless you’d like to stay and assist?” Monica turned back to Clark, who was having a hard time trying to keep from smiling--but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Dr. Luthor. Monica had her back to him, trusting that he wouldn’t retaliate but Clark wasn’t going to take any chances with her safety, not when she was so protective over his.

Dr. Luthor just sneered, his anger clear on his face before he spun and stalked away--Clark had a feeling he wouldn’t go far, but Monica’s posture relaxed as the door slammed back shut and she began her examination of him, beginning with his face.

“You didn’t...have to do that.” Clark’s baby blues met Monica’s gaze and she gave a half-shrug, the tips of her fingers gentle as she turned his head to one side to examine a bruise beneath his eye.

“I snap at him all the time. He doesn’t scare me.”

Clark’s smile brought out the slight dimple in his chin. “Not a lot scares you, I bet.”

“You don’t.” Monica answered honestly, without missing a beat.

Clark’s eyes went wide and his heart stammered in his chest, his breath hitching in his lungs. Two little words that shouldn’t have meant much, probably wouldn’t to most anybody else, but to Clark it was the world. This little human woman had likely risked her career and she’d definitely risked her safety coming in to take care of him but she’d done it anyway. She didn’t know him, she didn’t know what he was capable of but she was smart and she could piece it together...and in spite of all that, she was protecting him, taking care of him. Clark blinked back tears as he cleared his throat, allowing Monica to tilt his head to the other side. If she noticed his emotion, she didn’t comment on it.

“Drink your tea.” Instead, she focused her attention on making him feel better, offering him hope that even if the entire planet thought him a monstrous alien...she didn’t. “And eat one of the cookies or I’m going to get offended.”

Clark found himself laughing, again, reaching over for one of the cookies arranged on the tea plate. With an earnest snap! he bit into the wafer, chasing it with a sip of tea.

“Thank you, Monica.” Clark poured every ounce of his gratitude in his sentence, hoping she could hear it. Feel it.

She smiled, reassuring him she had. “You’re welcome, Clark.”

When the time came for Clark to make his move out of this place, he’d be taking Monica with him. No one should expect a flower to grow from concrete, and though his little hole in the wall apartment wasn’t much...he had plenty of sunlight to give his little ray of hope.

[multifandom-damnation]

Roy’s Birthday Bonanza

“Kori, Princess, for the love of all things holy can you please help me with this?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do Jason. You’ve stopped me every other time.”

Scanning the kitchen, Jason’s eyes landed on the suds in the kitchen sink and the close-to-toppling pile of plates and washables. “Can you do the dishes?”

Floating over to the sink, Kori tied up her hair and rolled up her sleeves. She dumped her hands in the hot water and started washing. Jason sighed through his nose and turned to his laptop where a skype call was ongoing. “Now what Alfie?”

Alfred’s kindly smile put Jason at ease as he placed the cake precariously balanced on his arm into the oven, hot air blasting Jason in the face and making him blink. He closed the oven door and whipped his hands on the tea-towel hanging from his shoulder. “I think now you should make the frosting, Master Jason.”

“Frosting?” Jason asked, “We’re covering this in frosting?”

“Of course. I mean no disrespect, but I’m not sure how well the cake is going to look once it bakes. A good frosting-cake ratio is always desirable.”

“What flavoured icing?” Jason probed, suspiciously giving the laptop the side eye.

Alfred’s ageing face turned fuzzy as he chuckled and looked down to page through one of the many recipe books he had opened to random pages on the Wayne kitchen counter. “Would chocolate suffice?”

“Alfie, you don’t even need to ask that.” It was true. Alfred also knew the answer was yes. It was always yes. “Very well Jason. To melt the chocolate, shall we do a Ban Marie? Or would the microwave be easier?”

Jason froze, turning his head ever so slightly to glare at their microwave, with its missing parts and wires that Roy had disassembled to use in his newest project and had not yet replaced. “How long will the Band Mary take?”

“A Ban Marie, Master Jason. And close to 10 minutes, depending on how much chocolate you wish to melt.”

Kori’s head snapped up and she brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaving soap suds on her forehead. “When do you think Roy is going to be home? It can’t be long now.”

Jason closed his eyes and ground out through grit teeth, “How do you do a Ban Marie?”

“A pot of hot water and a porcelain bowl filled with chocolate. Stir it and add more as required.”

Jason sighed and rubbed his hair, ruffling it and making it stick out in odd places. “Fine. We’ll do that.” Walking to the pantry, Jason pulled out two blocks of chocolate and grabbed the pre-whipped cream and caster sugar on his way back to the stove. He pulled a chopping board from a cupboard and after being unable to locate a clean knife, he pulled one from his hip holster and started cutting the chocolate into small pieces.

Alfred cleared his throat and Jason looked at him from the corner of his eye to see him dragging a hand down his tired face. “I hope that knife has been cleaned and disinfected since you last used it, Jason.”

Snorting, Jason finished with the chocolate and handed the knife to Kori so she could clean it. “It’s a new knife, Alfie. I bought it yesterday. I’m sorry to say that the only thing it’s done so far since I’ve gotten it is chop up chocolate chunks. We’re safe”

The sink gurgled as Kori drained the water from it and left the dishes on the rack to dry. She suddenly froze and whipped her head round to stare at Jason, eyes wide. “Oh no…” She gasped.

“Princess?” Jason asked, abandoning his task and stalking over to Kori to grab hold of her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Did you wrap the presents?” She whispered.

Jason’s heart stopped. “I thought you did?”

Kori shook her head, bug-eyed and sprinted to the bedroom to pull the gift’s out from under the bed. She dragged them out to the living room adjacent to the kitchen and sat down to wrap them. Jason was secretly thankful that she had grabbed the wrapping paper with little heart-shot-arrows and not the ones with naked women on it. Not like Roy would have minded anyway.

But they still had standards.

Jason turned to his task and poured the chocolate into a porcelain bowl, placing it over the pot of water and stirring it as needed. “What do we need to do after this Alfred?”

“You may decorate it however you wish once you put on the icing. Have you got any idea’s in mind?”

Hell no, Jason thought. “Of course” he lied, gently adding in the whipped cream and butter.  “I always do, don’t I?”

“Of course, Master Jason. Would you be needed my assistance any longer?”

Jason looked around at the bombshell of a kitchen and thought about what he would give for Alfred’s help. “I think I’ve got it. Thanks’ Alfie. If There’s any left, I’ll send you some.”

“Knowing Mr Harper, I doubt there will be.”

“Heh, see you, Alfred. Love you.”

“I love you too Jason. Come by for dinner soon. I’ll tell the family you called.”

The laptop beeped to signal the end of the call, and Jason turned the heat up on the stove. “How we looking Kori?” He called to the Tameranian on the floor, who was currently trying to wrap a pile of trucker hats.

“Good, but then we’re always looking good.” Kori joked “If you’re talking about the gifts, it’s pretty slow going. But I should be done by the time the cake is done.”

“Good,” Jason sighed, spooning in the last of the icing sugar as the chocolate became fully liquefied. “That’s good.”

He brought the plate over to the sink and stirred it so it didn’t harden, and poured the cooling chocolate into the bowl of whipped cream and folded it through. The cream white gave to a satisfying light brown and Jason relaxed as the oven dinged to say the cake was ready. Maybe the rest of the night will run smoothly?

Jason’s phone rang and he looked at the name before he opened it. “Roytoy,” and a photo of Roy shooting targets greeted him. “Oh Jaybird…” Roy greeted sing-song as soon as Jason had answered the phone, not even giving him the chance to say ‘hello’. “I’m coming home now. Is there anything you need?”

“How far away do you think you’ll be?” Jason asked.

“Maybe 30 minutes. Why?”

Jason cast a look at Kori who was still struggling to wrap the presents and around the safe house. The kitchen was a mess and the house looked… boring. This won’t do. “Make it 60,” Jason said hurriedly.

“60… minutes? An hour? Jay, what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know” Jason hissed, pulling the cake out of the oven and unclipping the spring-form pan, placing Roy on loudspeaker and laying the phone on the counter. “Figure it out. Go see Wally and Artemis. Go take Lian out. I don’t know. You just can’t come back yet. Got it?”

Roy sighed. “Got it.” The phone beeped and the call went dead.

Leaving the cake to cool on a cooling rack, Jason bolted to the storeroom and pulled out streamers and paper lanterns and glitter, even though Jason knew he would regret it later. He hung them up all around the room and decorated the table in festive celebration bullshit. He made a banner that said “Roy’s Birthday Bonanza” and even though he knew it wasn’t really a “bonanza” it felt like it.

At some point he had gone to help Kori wrap the gifts, folding them and covering them in sticky tape then placing them under and around the table. Kori had dashed off to get changed and to clean up the rest of the house.  He placed the cards they had all written in a line of envelopes. Kori’s an elegant purple, Jason’s a deep red and Lian’s a bright pink and Jason smirked as he thought of Roy’s face when he opened it up and got covered in a thick film of glitter and sprinkles and confetti.

Jason had run over to ice the cake, smacking on globs of icing and smearing it with a bread knife so it was smooth, running it up and over the cake. He went through the pantry and pulled out sprinkles and cake toppers that looked the ball bearings and poured them all over the cake. He tried to make a pattern, but when Roy texted him to say he was on his way home, Jason lost all the patience he thought he had and gave up with that.

He placed the cake in the centre of the table and stuck some candles in, leaving one of the many lighters they had around the house next to it and dashed to get changed.

When they heard keys jingling in the lock and complaints of the heat from the front door, Kori rushed to turn off all the lights and Jason lit the candles. He quickly slipped the lighter into his pocket as he realised it had an image of a dead deer on it for some reason, and if Lian was there, she didn’t need to see that.

When Roy burst through the front door with Lian in his arms, Kori and Jason screamed “Happy Birthday!” loud enough for him to slip on a pile of glitter at the door and land on his ass, covering them both in a sprinkling of glitter.

Roy’s smile didn’t fade at all that night.

Hi! So, I found out it was Roy’s birthday on the 1st, and because it’s still technically the 1st in America, I didn’t miss it, right? Right? I hope this is ok, I wrote it in 3 hours and it’s really late. Happy Birthday, Roytoy, I hope your babes gave you a good night. Both in and out of bed.  Bye!

[sharistonecom]

Recuperate in Style. Our Top Tips to Relax After your Cosmetic Procedure.

During award season, celebrities from all a wide range of industries walk the red carpet with flawless faces. The trick to their red-carpet beauty looks is very frequently the result of cosmetic surgeries. High cheekbones, plump lips, and proportioned noses are several of the most seen end results in celeb culture. According to a survey by the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery (AAFPRS), 97 percent of AAFPRS members think that stars have an impact on facial plastic surgery.

Embed from Getty Images

Cardi B made news recently after publishing an Instagram live talking about her recent procedure. She mentioned that she had to cancel some of her shows following surgery in order to heal properly. In an interview with ET Online, the 26-year old rapper said “It is just such a long, hard process, almost like the same process as after you give birth to a baby and you see your body change and snapping it back.”.

Healing time depends on the kind of procedure you get done, however similar measures are needed, particularly for face surgeries. “You can prolong the bruising and swelling if you do not follow your surgeon’s instructions to the tee,” says Mary Lynn Moran, M.D., F.A.C.S., and 2019/2020 president elect of the AAFPRS.

For face surgeries, which are in demand among celebs and young adults, Moran advises that patients keep their head elevated at 45 degrees or higher to reduce bruising and swelling. Furthermore, clients should avoid any strenuous activities, such as performing on stage. Most importantly, all patients should follow their doctor’s recuperation instructions thoroughly and ask questions if something doesn’t make sense, says Daria Hamrah, M.D., F.A.A.C.S. at Nova Surgicare.

You might think that billionaire celebrities would have the most relaxing, simple rehabilitation process. In reality, they face the same challenges that any patient would experience. Phillip R. Langsdon, M.D., F.A.C.S., and president of AAFPRS says that the only difference is that celebrities may need to coordinate their public appearances or media production around their procedure. Other than that, celebrities heal the same as any other patient. “A patient is a patient regardless of how many followers they have on Instagram,” says Norman Rowe, M.D. of Rowe Plastic Surgery.

However not all clients, including celebs, follow their doctor’s healing recommendations. Cardi B didn’t want to let her fans down and went on to perform at a concert in Memphis, TN. this past month, against her doctor’s order. However, more recently, the rapper decided to cancel her Memorial Day Weekend Baltimore show after the recovery caught up with her

Our Top Tips To Help You Recover in Style

Where should you go to recuperate after the emotional stress of having an augmented appearance.  Well top of the list has always been the discreet Carlyle Hotel on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.   For example, the hotel apparently  gives a discount to patients of Park Avenue Plastic Surgery, and the doctors are nearby in case you need a house call. Even if you aren’t enjoying the classic cocktails in Bemelmans Bar or music at the Café Carlyle, you’re still sure to feel better at this uptown Art Deco classic. With 188 rooms, the hotel is large enough to assure anonymity, but offers a personal level of service, such as direct dial to the pharmacy, that can help you feel better fast.

Many of Dallas’ pre-eminent plastic surgeons send their recovering patients to The Cloister, a luxury hotel adjacent to the Dallas Day Surgery Center. It’s the ideal setting for someone who wants or needs more around-the-clock, traditional medical care. The rooms have both a hospital bed and a normal queen-size bed for minders or guests, and there is 24-hour nursing aftercare from the staff plus flat-screen TVs and WiFi. The only way to book a room is through your doctor’s office.

Many celebs swear by the service at the Bel Air which has a tradition of luxury and indulgence second to none.   It is really the perfect compliment to your Beverly Hills plastic surgery procedure.  It allows you to recuperate in comfort and total discretion so you can while away you time in its state of the art spa and dine at the Wolfgang Puck restaurant or have your own butler and chef cater for you in your suite.

Yet these venerable old hotels beloved by the Joan Rivers crowd have been overtaken by specialist recuperation spas such as the

Serenity in Santa Monica.  Where, for $1500 per night you cam recover from your nose job or facelift

Unfortunately many of our readers are not ‘red carpet’ celebs or millionaires with access to $5000 per night hotel suites.  More often than not, our readers will find themselves in Istanbul, turkey for their cosmetic procedure.  So here are a couple of suggestions for Istanbul Hotels well known for their quite location for a peaceful recovery.

GLK Premier The Home Suites & Spa-Istanbul

This is a renovated old town, old house, furnished like a comfortable stylish home, facing the Marmara Sea and Little Hagia Sophia. As you pass through the hotel doors,you will be enveloped by the timeless beauty that has made the Home Suites & Spa-Istanbul charming. Experience the perfect blend of modern amenities and historic charm at Istanbul’s professional operating management. Located in the centre of Sultanahmet, you can enjoy the views of historic downtown Istanbul outside, while inside, distinguished décor and thoughtful amenities are evident in every striking detail in each of the 18 luxurious accommodations. Walking distance to Sultanahmet Square ,Topkapi Palace, Grand Bazaar, and many more historical monuments and more. Just 15km (25 minutes) from Istanbul Ataturk Airport.  You can book a room for around €250 per night and hopefully avoid the intrusions of any lurking paparazzi.

Kempinski Ciragan Palace

As always Kempinski offers the ultimate in luxury and glamour of a genuine Ottoman Palace with its 310 rooms including 20 suites in the hotel and 11 suites in the historical Palace. This 5-star luxury Imperial Palace hotel is located on the shores of the magnificent Bosphorus overlooking the ancient city of Istanbul, provides a one-of-a-kind experience with its historical ambiance and excellent Kempinski service.

Recovery Expectations.

The Aesthetics Society issues its own guidelines to recovery protocol tat is probably worth taking into account:

Aftercare & Recovery

Once surgery is completed, you will be taken into a recovery area where you will continue to be closely monitored. If you had an “outpatient” procedure performed, you will be permitted to go home after a short period of observation. If you have undergone a general anesthetic, you must have a caregiver assist you with daily activities continuously for the first 24 hours. If your procedure requires an overnight stay, you will be transported to an overnight observation room after initially waking up in the recovery area.

Short-term Recovery Options

Options for your short-term recovery after undergoing surgery include:

Home When discharged, you will be released to the care of a responsible adult with safe, licensed transportation home. The adult must be competent enough to understand your recovery instructions, monitor your health and commit to stay with you at all times for a minimum of 24 hours after surgery.

Licensed Recovery Facility You will be released to the care of a licensed post-surgical recovery facility where nurses or specially trained medical professionals will monitor your health and comfort until you are able to return home and take care of yourself.

Hotel or Spa You may wish to recover at a hotel or spa location, where licensed healthcare professionals will monitor your recovery around the clock as recommended by your Aesthetic plastic surgeon.

Overnight Hospital Stay An overnight hospital stay may be offered or recommended. In this case your surgery will be performed at the hospital where you will stay overnight. You will be released from the hospital to a capable caregiver to continue your recovery at home, or to a licensed recovery facility.

Realistic Recovery Expectations

Recovery from surgical procedures varies according to the procedure performed, as well as the individual on whom they are performed. For most cosmetic plastic surgery procedures, you will need to restrict your normal activities for a period of time following surgery. It takes time as well for the visible signs of healing to occur. Plan your work and social activities to allow sufficient time for recovery.

During the first 48 hours following surgery, patients experience varying degrees of bruising, swelling and discomfort.

Bruising typically disappears within seven to ten days. Remember that you must not take aspirin or certain anti-inflammatory medications as these will make your bruising worse, and could lead to bleeding.

Swelling is a normal response of your body after surgery, and keeping the operated region elevated will help reduce the swelling. Cool compresses can help relieve discomfort and decrease swelling, but should only be used as specified by your surgeon.

For most procedures, the first 2 to 3 days is when you will experience the most discomfort and you should expect to use oral pain medications on a scheduled basis. The discomfort level then rapidly decreases, and most patients can then reduce their medication to an as-needed basis by the 4th to 7th day after surgery. You will probably benefit from some medication at night to assist with sleep up to 10 days after the operation.

Please remember that the relationship with your plastic surgeon does not end when you leave the operating room. If you have questions or concerns during your recovery, or need additional information at a later time, you should contact your surgeon. You will return to your plastic surgeon’s office for follow-up care at prescribed intervals, at which time your progress will be evaluated.

    The post Recuperate in Style. Our Top Tips to Relax After your Cosmetic Procedure. appeared first on Best Cosmetic Surgeons.

source https://bestcosmeticsurgeons.com/recuperate-in-style-our-top-tips-to-relax-after-your-cosmetic-procedure/ source https://bestcosmeticsurgeons.tumblr.com/post/623881262402256896

[horrorstoriesinhindi-blog]

The Dark Priest of Pontefract, Yorkshire, UK

10 years before the world acclaimed Amityville and Enfield apparition cases came to open consideration, somewhat knew about, however recognized as Europe's most brutal frequenting, occurred in the town of Pontefract. Read More Ghost Stories in Hindi - http://www.rdshayri.com/ghost-stories-in-hindi/

Number 30 East Drive, on the Chequerfields Domain, East Yorkshire, remained on a corner at the highest point of a slope, near what was at one time the site of the town scaffold. Living at number 30 were Jean and Joe Pritchard, their child Philip, matured 15 and little girl Diane matured 12.

The ghost, later to end up noticeably known as the Dark Priest of Pontefract, started exasperating the Pritchard family in 1966 with a wide assortment of paranormal action. Water pools, lights killing and on once more, furniture toppling, pictures being cut, objects flying or suspending, thumping sounds, objects vanishing and seeming once more, foul odors, yard commotions, substantial breathing sounds, sudden drops of temperature, and a puzzling dark robed figure, whose appearances turned out to be increasingly visit were altogether detailed at the house.

The police, a nearby MP and the vicar were all observer to the unprecedented happenings which kept on plagueing the family unit, and all endeavors to exorcize the nearness were unsuccessful and met with joke.

To start with Event of the Ghost

The occasions started in August 1966 amid the August Bank Occasion week. The family had gone on vacation to Devon leaving 15 year old Philip at home with his grandma, Sarah Scholes.

While alone in the house, Sarah felt a frosty whirlwind, in spite of the warm climate outside. At the point when Phillip re-went into the house, he saw white powder tumbling from mid-air all around the front room, onto the floor. Their first suspicion was that it was some way or another tumbling from the roof, be that as it may it had just as of late been rearranged.

Now the match were more befuddled than frightened, so Sarah went to counsel her little girl, Marie Kelly, who lived right over the street. At the point when Marie saw the white powder she went into the kitchen to get a fabric to tidy it up and speedily slipped in a pool of water that had shaped on the kitchen floor.

Various puddles of water started showing up on the kitchen floor. At this point one of the neighbors, Enid Pritchard, had come round to number 30 to perceive what the tumult was about. Being the down to earth sort she quickly went and killed the water at the stop cockerel, in any case it had no effect and the pools of water still showed up. Mrs Kelly at that point chose to report the water holes to the Water Board who exhorted that they would send somebody around as quickly as time permits.

Later that evening the man from the Water Board properly showed up. After much checking of channels, rodding of channels and inducing that the water might be buildup he left to report the issue to his director and after a hour the pools of water quit showing up.

This was just the start however. Later that night at around 7pm, Sarah was sitting in front of the television in the lounge when from the kitchen, Philip yelled "Grandmother, it's going on once more!". The worktop in the kitchen was strewn with sugar and dry tea leaves and as they gazed at it, the catch on the tea distributor went gradually in and out a few times covering the depleting load up in tea.

This carried on notwithstanding when the tea distributor was unfilled provoking Sarah to yell in urgency "Stop it!". As she did as such there came an uproarious crash from the lobby. They gradually opened the entryway prompting the foyer, half hoping to get a thief, just to think that its quiet, dull and purge until the point when the lobby light tapped individually accord, startling them both.

They gradually advanced toward the foot of the stairs and saw what had made the commotion. A plant which was ordinarily at the foot of the stairs was currently sat most of the way up them, missing its pot, which was on the arrival above. As though this was insufficient to shred their nerves another sound rang out from the kitchen influencing them to hop indeed.

On examination they saw that the earthenware cabinet was vibrating as if somebody was caught inside and endeavoring to get out. When Philip grabbed open the entryway the vibrations ceased while very quickly another boisterous slamming clamor began up elsewhere in the house.

Sarah now saw a sudden chill noticeable all around and chose to get Marie Kelly once more. When Marie ventured into the kitchen she was stood up to by the shaking ceramics pantry and the sound of the glasses and plates inside rattling. Sarah at that point went nearby to ask the neighbors, Mr and Mrs Mountain, on the off chance that they were in charge of the slamming clamors. Mrs Mountain looked in surprise at Sarah saying, "We thought it was you". When Sarah restored the clamors had gratefully ceased.

Them three sat talking about the terrifying occasions until around 9.30pm when Marie left seeking it was all finished after the night. Philip chose to go to informal lodging figured a decent evenings rest was required too. In the wake of locking up and turning off the ground floor lights Sarah went into Philips space to wish him goodnight, as she did as such, an overwhelming dresser started influencing without clarification. http://www.ghoststoriestheshow.co.uk/

That was the issue that crosses over into intolerability for the night, Sarah and Phillip went out and rested at a neighbor's out of dread for their security.

The Second Period of Paranormal Movement

Whenever Mr and Mrs Pritchard returned home from their vacation, the unsettling influences had ceased, and subsequently they inferred that the marvels more likely than not had some coherent clarification; particularly since, for the accompanying two years, they kept living in the house without the scarcest indication of any paranormal action.

In any case, as unexpectedly as it finished, the ghost wonders all of a sudden started once more, this time tormenting the family for quite a long while, however they declined to surrender to it and move from their home. So normal was the paranormal movement that the ghost ended up plainly referred to the Pritchard family as Fred.

The fundamental focus of the action amid the second stage appeared to be the little girl, Diane, who was regularly tossed from her bed, and, in one occasion, was dragged up the stairs by her throat, by an undetectable hand that left slashes on her neck.

Noisy peculiar smashing sounds were normal, particularly within the sight of outside organization. Questions too went flying around the air and slamming, or dematerialising and afterward returning in an alternate area. Despite the fact that on two events, expulsions were endeavored, these measures appeared to be just to unsettle the circumstance.

After a concerned family companion splashed blessed water all through the home, the apparition reacted by painting topsy turvy crosses on the front room dividers and entryways, and devastating the crosses that beautified the Pritchard house.

The physical appearance of the apparition did not happen until very late in the frequenting. The figure initially appeared to Joe and Jean Pritchard while they lay in bed. The two purportedly observed a dark shrouded figure drifting over their bed, however it soon dispersed. On a couple of ensuing events, different individuals from the family and in addition guests detailed seeing an assume that resembled a priest, however nobody at any point saw a face underneath the robes. Soon after the physical signs of the priest showed up, the frequenting suddenly stopped, never to happen again.

The Reoccurrence of the Ghost

The creator Tom Cuniff, later distinguished the phantom as a sixteenth century priest, who was hung for the assault and murder of a young lady amid the rule of Henry VIII. ­Ever since, the ghost has been known as the Dark Priest of Pontefract. Intriguingly, the Pritchards' home was said to have been worked by the site of the town's scaffold.

The occasions that happened in the house have been reproduced in executive Pat ­Holden's 2012 blood and gore movie 'When the Lights Went Out'. Jean Pritchard was Holden's close relative and he saw a significant number of the episodes direct.

Be that as it may, as the film about the frightful hit silver screens and open enthusiasm for the unpleasant rose, starting various guests to the house, local people say the Dark Priest of Pontefract is starting to mix once more.

Current adjacent neighbor Ditty Fieldhouse, said things began to take a vile turn not long after the film was discharged. Hymn didn't know the previous proprietor Philip Pritchard had quite recently sold the long-discharge property to the film's maker, Bil Bungay. Ghost Stories

In a daily paper talk with Tune said she had seen Philip cleaning up the ­front plant. "I went out and inquired as to whether he'd sold it to one of his nephews. I figured it more likely than not been one of them since I knew they were hard of hearing and I'd heard the television impacting out throughout the night."

"He said 'There's no television in there. It's ­empty'. At that point he turned pale and said 'God, it's begun once more'. I haven't seen him since." For more :