#she was from Liverpool she’s my great aunt in law I think

[notgrungybitchin]

Hanging with my grandma right now and just found out my great aunt Rita dated Ringo for a minute in Liverpool before he was in the Beatles. She broke up with him because she didn’t think he was very cute 😩😩😩

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Sunday 28 August 1831

5 55/..

10 50/..

Out at 7 at which hour Fahrenheit 67˚ and fine morning – sauntered along my walk and the new Lower Brea road to Mr Samuel Washington’s – waited 10 minutes till he was ready – then walked down to look at the slopes of the Lower Brea road which I named my intention of planting – he thought the commissioners would [want] something paying for them – no! when they had walled off the road the slopes would be mine, and I was not therefore inclined to pay anything for them – he at last acknowledged they would be mine – and there being hope of the road being opened in spring, I said I would put off the planting till afterwards – next year –

Then overtook George Robinson on the road – the footpath through Well Royde wood to be set out by Washington tomorrow morning at 8 – then along the Brighouse road till turned down to Yew Trees wood – examined the quarry and went all along the bottom of the wood – the wall on both sides the lane explained as agreed upon with Thomas Pearson junior – then from our own gates went into the Cunnery wood sent 2 men out of it – home at 10 1/2 – found 4 letters on my desk – From Mr Lawton of York with bill of charges for my will £13.13.8 – 

Long kind letter 3pp. and ends and top of page 1 written across from Mrs Norcliffe, Langton dated Friday 26th instant – she and Charlotte going a little ‘tour to Rokeby, Penrith by Keswick to Cockermouth, and Whitehaven, and must be back by the 19th’ - … ‘write to me if before September 6, Post office, Whitehaven’ – my boots from Rutter to be sent off as this evening – Isabella Norcliffe has paid for them – she to be off for Croft on her way to Scotland on Thursday – Hurried letter 2 widely written pp. from Mariana Lawton Friday 26th August – Charles better than she expected ‘though sadly cut up’ – .. ‘John has literally died a beggar…. the money given for Spurfield debts is gone, and the bills yet unpaid, the entire support of widow and 6 children must devolve on Charles – but the greatest of all the disappointments is that Mr Wood has lost the living, my being absent at the time has been a most unfortunate business, and I shall for the sake of others deeply and long lament it’ – thinks advantage has been taken of Charles’s state of depressed spirits to hurry him to a conclusion – William Ford has got the living for his son - … ‘we go to Leamington on Tuesday to the Royal hotel, and remain there I know not how long or how short a time’ – 

Letter too 2 half sheets full, with 1 page and 2 ends of envelope from Lady Gordon, 34 Hertford Street, Friday 26th August franked by her brother-in-law Mr Frankland Lewis – ‘this letter is just like yourself, sensible, agreeable and to the purpose my affairs are still under discussion and till Monday or Tuesday next I can say nothing decidedly’! her own feeling is that she ‘must go – but not in such haste – could you be in London about the 10th or 12th September and be ready to start by land for Spain on the 14th or 15th – If I go my idea is – to take Georgiana’ ….. and leave Alice with one of her (Lady Gordon’s) sisters – ‘to remain in Spain till next spring or summer – when once I had completed my Cadiz business I should be entirely yours as to where to go, or what to do – the blessing you would be to me is not to be told etc. etc. would like me to get in London a thorough understanding of the business she is [going] that I may better know how to help her to decide – Lady Stuart de Rothesay at the lodge – has written to her to know if Miss Hobart will go abroad or not this winter, and telling Lady Stuart de Rothesay her (Lady Gordon’s) ‘possible plans’ – the reason she seemed in such a hurry to be off in her last letter was because the man going out to buy or bid for her property at Cadiz was thought to be going by the 6th of September packet – but it seems is not going till October and this gives her a month longer – the voyage will be 8 or 10 days – no preparations required but ‘mosquito nets, and a case with a few knives and forks, sheets and towels, and a glass or 2 – a black mantilla and a few yards of black silk or fine bombazeen’ – To leave all about carriages and servants till next week when she hopes ‘to write without a doubt’ ….. ‘Should you prefer going by sea and returning by land? Taking one carriage only out in the steamer? – has let her house to Mr Vaughan from the 17th September – 

I must think of all this – the one carriage taken out would be mine, which would cost £30 I should suppose i.e. one half more than my own passage – say £30 and £20 and Cameron £20 and a man servant £15 and ten days living at £10.10.0 that would = £95.10.10 Take the distance from Calais by Paris and  Bayonne to Cadiz at 300 postes, at 6 1/2 from per poste, and therefore suppose postage 2000 francs, suppose 30 days for the journey at 25 francs per day self and 2 servants for living = 750 francs – then I should look after things in Paris, Travel in comfort, and see a great deal of the country for 2750 francs and £10? from London to Calais = £120 or for 20, or 25 £ more than by sea – So far, good – But the chances are 10 to one we should be robbed near Madrid or before or after or both! Il faut y purser – then I must have a passport exprès, to allow me to carry about as much and whatever money I like, to make written notes, to be armed, have an escort if I demand it, and let my carriage pass the frontiers duty free – 

Breakfast at 11 – Read my aunt all my letters except Lady Gordon’s, and read extracts from that 

Saying Lady Gordon had business in Spain but not saying what – 

Thought of staying a day or 2 longer here – Read the whole of the morning service and 1 of Mr James Knight’s [discussion] on the parables – then slept 1/2 hour and came upstairs at 1 20/.. – looking at maps and writing the above of today till 3 1/2 – then till 5 wrote 3pp. to Mariana (rather a good deal in them) and 1 page of 1/2 sheet paper to Cameron to say circumstances had occurred which would delay my leaving here for four or five days – if she had taken her place, must lose the 1/2 fare – shall hear from me again the day before I wish her to be off, but to hold herself in readiness – glad to hear from Langton very good accounts of all the family in the minster court – to apologize for my directing to her there – do not know how to direct to her at Miss Pearson’s – Tell Mariana to tell Watson to get me the stockings ordered for Madame Galvani or I must go without them – grieved more than I can tell that Mariana has so much reason to lament our tour – ‘But, Mary, who could foresee what was in the womb of time, and coming thus speedily to the birth? nor you, nor I, dreamed of what awaited us, or both had hurried home’ – 

Letter from Lady Gordon this morning who cannot fix decidedly till tomorrow or Tuesday ‘that it will still be 4 or 5 days before we can make our final arrangements’ Shall be off however as soon as I can – ‘To prolong my stay much, would now be peculiarly uncomfortable to myself as well as to Marian; and at all rates, I shall make all the haste I can’ – If they stay a week at Leamington shall hope to catch them – now think of being off from here tomorrow week, but want time [cut]. Mariana to go to Liverpool and back by steam – ‘I suppose I could do this, and still be at Leamington on Tuesday week by nine or 10 at night, at latest’ – mention Mrs Norcliffe’s having heard I was going to Paris with Lady Stuart – Charles would surely not have given the living to Mr Ford’s son, had he preferred giving it to Mr Wood – ‘as there was no Lawton for it, what strikes me as most to be regretted is, that any very young man should have it – I fear I should have thought, the next incumbent ought to be 60 at least’ – 

A little at my accounts – Dinner at 6 5/.. in 25 minutes for Mr Briggs waiting with my father and the rest – then had him in for 1 1/4 hour till I had thoroughly talked over all I had to say to him – about [Kerton’s] lease – not signed – desired the man to be told that if he did not sign before the 2nd of August next, he should have notice to quit – gave Mr Briggs the estimate for cellar and 2 chambers over it at Hardcastle’s £20 and £5 already paid by Mallinson and still owing to him for the drain that is made – spoke about Lower Brea mill, and the notice to Emmet about spoiling the black brook with the [canker] water from the colliery he is making – and about Benjamin Bottomley’s farm letting and the pew at Saint James’s for Whitley – and about planting the Lower Brea slopes and Godley Road ditto and about filling up Cunnery wood with 2000 oaks, and filling up Freeman’s quarry entirely with oaks and about the willow stakes to keep up the Tilley Holm and Dolt railing -

(Came to my room at 8 5/.. – Mr Briggs went at 7 55/..) Sent off at 8 10/60 by George my letter to ‘Mrs Lawton, Lawton Hall, Lawton, Cheshire’ and to ‘Mrs Cameron, Mrs Belcombe’s, Minster-Court, York’ – wrote the last 7 lines – then a little at my accounts again and went down at 10 1/4 – came back to my room at 10 1/4 – fine day – rainy evening after about 7 1/2 and windy – Fahrenheit 68˚ now at 10 1/4 p.m. -

[littledidtheyknow]

PASS THE HAPPY ALONG!! :) When you get this, answer with five things that make you happy, and pass the happy along to ten nice people! 🌸

I don’t know why I didn’t see this message, but here you go. I increased it to ten because I need happy, and I was feeling it. 

In no particular order:

1. Being an Aunt

I married into this, but my sister-in-law is one of my best friends, and I have to convince her that I’m really the one getting something out of watching her three kids. We have sleepovers, do science and art projects, wander around Target… And I get the chance to educate them in the ways of 1990′s Disney and Nickelodeon - which is important. I also go on one-on-one adventures with them throughout Portland when I have the time. Little kids get so excited about the simplest things, and they can drive you crazy, but they also show you what it’s like to be loved unconditionally. 

2. Sweet people 

My friends and family, and my wonderful Tumblr family @meinhiding @irelandhoneybee @musings-from-liverpool-street @trombonesinspace @favrielle @fadedtoblue @music-is-love-90 and many more. Whatever brought us together, it has made me happy and it inspires me to write, so thank you. 

3. My dog

Some mornings my dog Ellie decides I’ve been laying in bed too long, and she likes to tell me so. She climbs up my bed, stretches over me so that her paws end up on my cheeks or lips, and then rolls her body so that I can scratch her belly. She is a pretty independent dog, so these moments are special, and even though I know she’s trying to tell me I’m not doing enough, I am the actual winner. 

4. The Daredevil/Defenders universe 

Charlie Cox, Jon Bernthal, Matt Murdock, Karen Page, Karedevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, The Punisher, Claire Temple, Foggy Nelson, Colleen Wing, Misty Knight, & Elektra…

I freaking love these shows/characters, they still make me giggle, and I always want more. I love reading their comics, watching movies featuring their actors, and writing about them. I cannot stress this enough…

5. Writing

It inspires me to wake up in the morning and it’s typically the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I’ve only been doing it a few months, but I really love it. 

6. My home - I’ve lived in different states before (ok, California), but Oregon is my favorite place in the world except for #8. My childhood escape is currently burning right now, which kills me, but I love my city, trees, rivers, mountains, and (most of the time) people.

7. Feeling healthy

I’ve had weekly/sometimes daily migraines for the last six years, and it makes it really hard to live and work some days, and that gets me down. Breaks from this make me incredibly happy because I love to be productive, and it makes me want to be around people.

8. Disneyland 

I worked here for a little while, and it is really my happy place. I walk through the gates and just get an indescribable feeling that I’ll simplify and call happiness. I don’t get to go often, but when I do, I can’t wipe the smile off my face for weeks. 

9. Volunteering 

I’ve been trying to work in non-profits, but health issues and the fact that it’s a really hard profession to break into have prevented me from getting an actual job. So I volunteer with a number of non-profits serving underrepresented kids. The kids are wonderful, the work is fulfilling, and I’m hoping it’s taking a step to making the world a better place. 

10. Nerd stuff

Comics, Star Wars, Marvel, literature, Harry Potter, Wonder Woman, Hamilton, TV, great female-driven film/TV, and classic movies and musicals. I learned I was somewhat obsessive as a teenager, and I haven’t been able to stop. But all of these things make me smile, and if that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right. 

[mistress-new-mistress]

King’s Landing, California: Ch 2 - O Sight of Anguish

The brutes yield refuge to his woe, Men, the worst brutes, no pity show, Nor give him friendly aid.

“No, don’t!"

Sandor jerked awake at the voice and was met with the barrel of a gun. His gun. It took a second, but Sandor realize where he was—still on the prairie, with the sun shining in a crystal blue sky, and that rat-faced cock named Joff stood over him with the shotgun aimed at his eyes.

Blind instinct jolted through Sandor and he knocked the barrel of the shotgun away. A loud BANG! echoed across the wide grassland, followed by a sharp, high-pitched whining in Sandor’s good ear. He clutched his head and rolled off his blanket, muffle voices shouting nearby. Sandor looked up and saw Sansa trying to wrestle the shotgun away from Joff, but her husband hit over the head with the butt of the gun. She fell to the ground, crying.

Sandor scrambled to his feet, the shrill note in his ear fading. He charged at the young man, knocking him to the ground. “What the bloody hell are you thinking, boy?” Sandor cried.

“Get off me!” Joff yelled.

Sandor grappled the shotgun from the boy and stood over him, aiming the barrel at Joff’s chest. “I knew you were a cunt the moment I saw you,” Sandor growled.

“Sansa!” Joff yelled. “The pistol!”

“Stay where you are!” Sandor shouted.

The young woman stood on wobbling legs. She held a hand to her forehead as blood trickled down her face. Sansa blinked a few times and fell back to the ground on her knees.

“Get the pistol, you stupid bitch!” Joff cried.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sandor cocked the gun. “I’m gonna gather my things now and leave. And you’re gonna stay on your back like the asshole you are.”

“Sansa!”

“I said shut up!” Sandor yelled, pushing the shotgun barrel to Joff’s chest. He glanced at Sansa and said, “Are you alright, Little Bird?”

Sansa looked up and nodded vaguely. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry . . .”

Sandor looked back down at the whimpering blond boy. “Stay down like a good dog,” he ordered. “If you move, I’ll blow a hole in your guts.” Sandor stared down hard at the boy to make his point.

Joff held his hands up slowly in surrender. A smirk slithered across his face.

Sandor moved the gun away from the boy and stepped back. Joff remained in the dirt, breathing heavily, his eyes watching the hulking man as though he were a mountain to conquer. Sandor turned away for his wagon. One step, everything was fine. Two steps, there was no movement. On his fourth pace, Sansa’s voice cried out, “Look out!”

Sandor whipped around, finger on the trigger of the shotgun. Joff barreled at him in a blur, the boy’s eyes thirsty for blood. Without blinking, Sandor shot the gun and a loud crack ripped across the landscape. Joff flew back, a burst of red escaping his chest.

Sansa screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

As quickly as it happened, Joff was in the dirt, blood pooling around him. Sansa didn’t move, only held her hands over her mouth and sobbed as she stared at her now late husband.

“Fuck,” Sandor grumbled.

It was no great loss. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sandor killed a man, nor would it be his last, but hearing the young woman’s cries ignited a twinge of fear within Sandor. It was one thing to take a man’s life; it was quite another to do it in front of an innocent, wide-eyed woman.

Sandor lowered the gun to his side and approached the body. He kicked Joff’s boot to see if he would stir, but the boy was stiff. A look of surprise was stuck on Joff’s face. It would have been funny if Sansa wasn’t crying.

The Hound sighed, rolled his eyes, and set his gun down. He advanced towards Sansa and suddenly she gasped for air, gulping and wheezing as her crying became hysterical.

“Easy, Little Bird.” Sandor knelt to the girl’s height and took her shoulders. She flinched under his touch. “Breathe. You’re alright.”

“He’s . . . dead,” Sansa rasped.

“Aye.”

“H-he’s . . . he’s going to—”

“He’s not going to do anything, Little Bird.” Sandor reached in his back pocket and pulled out a stained handkerchief. He gently dabbed the cut along Sansa’s hairline.

“W-wanted your supplies,” Sansa whispered. She took a deep breath, her sobs diminishing. “He wanted your things.”

“I know,” Sandor said. He cupped his giant hand on the side of Sansa’s face, wiping the blood from her temple and cheek.

Sansa raised her eyes to him. He was surprisingly gentle. His face and voice and breath were harsh and gruff, but his hands—for how calloused they were—touched Sansa as though she was glass. Joff’s hands and been smooth and clean from a lifetime of idleness, but when he touched her, it was like being stabbed with knives. Sansa never knew a man could be so tender as The Hound.

“He has family,” Sansa said. “They’ll look for him.”

“No, they won’t.” Sandor stood and tucked the handkerchief in his front pocket. “People die out here all the time. The coyotes will get him soon enough.” He held his hand out for Sansa.

The young woman took Sandor’s hand and he lifted her to her feet. She looked down, avoiding the man’s face, avoiding Joff’s dead body.

“Do you have any family?” The Hound asked. “Mother and father?”

Sansa shook her head. “They’re dead. My brother’s in the Navy. My sister is with our aunt in Liverpool.”

“Any relatives in the States?”

Sansa shook her head. She felt another wave of tears rushing to the surface but held them down. If The Hound thought she was an emotional wreck, he might leave her out here to die. Gentle as his touch was, he seemed like the kind of man who didn’t like others leeching from him.

Sandor pursed his lips and made a grumbling sound. He brushed by the girl and rummaged through her and Joff’s wagon. He threw out sacks of coffee, flour, dried meat, and a spare wheel. “Take only what you can carry,” Sandor instructed. “No sentiments. Only necessities.”

“Why?” Sansa asked.

Sandor stopped and looked at her. “Do you want to stay out here on your own?”

The young woman shook her head.

“Grab your things,” Sandor said.

They loaded The Hound’s wagon with the extra supplies, including Joff's pistol and hunting knife. Sandor hitched Joff’s horse behind the cart, a sturdy gray mare worth a few coins in town. Sansa gathered a burlap sack of her things—an extra set of clothes, a hairbrush, her sewing kit—and threw it in the back of the wagon with everything else. She took the wedding ring from her finger. Sandor stopped her, placing his hand in hers.

“Don’t,” he said. “That’ll be worth some money.”

Sansa looked down as The Hound slid his hand away. She pocketed the ring and rubbed her palm. His touch sent goosebumps up her arms.

Sandor helped the young woman into the carriage next to him. He grabbed Stranger’s reins and clicked his tongue. As the black horse pulled forward, Sansa looked over her shoulder at the now-abandoned camp. She strained to see if any life was left in Joff—the rise and fall of his chest, a twitch of his foot—but he was no more alive than the covered wagon they left behind.

Minutes turned to hours. Sansa’s rear was sore and her back was stiff. She glanced at Sandor occasionally, his hulking frame nearly blocking the sun as they rode. Sansa tried not to stare at the scar on his face, focusing instead on his broad shoulders and strong arms.

“What will we do at King’s Landing?” Sansa asked.

The Hound peeked at her, then back at the road. “I’ll find a place for you.”

Sansa looked at her hands. “What if we get caught?” she whispered.

“Caught?”

“We killed a man.” Sansa raised her eyes to Sandor. “Won’t the Sheriff—”

“There’s no Sheriff in King’s Landing,” said The Hound. “No police, no jail. No laws.”

“How do people get punished?”

The Hound laughed. Sansa’s naivete would have been charming if it wasn’t so dangerous. A woman who didn’t know how the West worked was a woman asking for trouble. The girl was so young and so, so innocent. “People don’t get punished in King’s Landing,” Sandor explained. “You either live or die. If you keep to yourself and mind your drink, you’ll live.”

“You didn’t keep to yourself when you came to our camp.”

Sandor looked at the red-headed beauty. She was naïve, but not stupid. “Aye,” he said. “And it almost got me killed.”

Silence fell. The wagon wheels creaked with every bump and Joff’s horse whinnied as a strong autumn wind blew across the plain. Though the journey had been tedious, Sansa couldn’t overlook the beauty of the countryside. The snow-capped mountains were like hands reaching to the heavens and the long grass swayed like a soft gold ocean. The air was crisp and fresh, better than London or New York or even the sea. She had heard stories of America since childhood—how the streets were paved with gold and women were free to smoke and drink in public. Though she had been disappointed to learn the streets were made of regular cobblestone, she remembered fondly taking her first step onto American soil. There was an overwhelming sense of hope. Anything and everything was possible.

Until Joff slipped that ring on her finger.

“Sing us a song, Little Bird,” said The Hound.

Sansa looked at him. She wracked her brain trying to think of one. Her thoughts strayed back to the campsite where Joff’s body lay. “I don’t feel like singing.”

“I didn’t feel like taking on an extra passenger,” Sandor snapped, “but we’re both making sacrifices. Sing.”

His command made Sansa recoil. She wondered if this was all a mistake, if The Hound wasn’t just another version of Joff with rougher hands and a rougher voice. Would he stop the wagon for a rest, only to rip Sansa’s dress off and force himself on her? Would he turn her on her belly as Joff did, gripping her hair and thrusting inside of her like a burning sword?

Sansa gulped, a cold sweat breaking over her body. “Redemption, ‘tis a boundless theme,” she sang, “thou boundless mind, our hearts inflame . . . with ardor from above . . .”

The young woman trembled, her voice shaking as tears spilled from her eyes. Her loins ached at the thought of being overpowered once again, screaming and crying and begging for mercy.

“With ardor from above . . .”

The Hound shifted and reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. He handed it to the weeping girl, his eyes on the prairie before them. Sansa wiped her tears and handed the token back. Sandor put up his hand and said, “Keep it. You’ll need it where we’re going.”