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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

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North To The Future [Chapter 12: Iris]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, sexual content, violence, discussions of suicide, Taco Bell.

Word count: 7.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“It was New Year’s Eve,” you say, you know.

“New Year’s Eve, 1993.” Aegon checks the crimson-stained fistful of paper napkins he’s had jammed against his nose. His face is bloody and swollen and bruising; splotches darken from ash towards indigo as seconds tick by on the wall clock. Aegon winces under the stark florescent lights, stripped of all his shadows and secrets like a suspect being interrogated. A few tables away—far enough to give you the illusion of privacy, close enough to overhear any plots of escape—Aemond is clicking away on his BlackBerry, something you’ve never seen in person before. He is also dissecting, with great skepticism and plastic utensils, a Mexican pizza and Nachos Supreme. You aren’t sure what he had in mind when he asked for a restaurant within walking distance, but it certainly wasn’t Taco Bell.

“What happened?” you ask Aegon gently. It’s bad. It has to be bad.

He tops off his Mountain Dew with the bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum that he added to his tab when the three of you returned to Ursa Minor for Aemond’s luggage: a single green Louis Vuitton suitcase that he had asked Dale to stow behind the bar. You have an order of Cinnamon Twists on your tray, but no appetite; you only sip tentatively at your own Mountain Dew, the ice cubes clinking in the paper cup. The Taco Bell employees watch reticently from their refuge on the other side of the cash register, like skittish animals in a zoo enclosure. The table that Trent mutilated is still wrapped with duct tape.

“Aegon?” you prompt.

“I went to a party.” He drags his fingers through his white-blond, blood-stained hair. It is wet from the snow, chaotic, untamed. His perpetually errant lock rests on his bruised cheekbone. “I was fucked up. I mean, everyone there was fucked up, but I was…combative, I guess. Do you know what a speedball is?”

“No,” you answer honestly. They don’t exactly run segments about things like that on 60 Minutes.

“It’s cocaine and heroin mixed together, and I’d never tried it before. I broke a window, I was shouting, I think I punched somebody. The people hosting knew my dad, so as a courtesy to him instead of calling the cops they called the house. My parents weren’t there. They were on a yacht out in Biscayne Bay, waiting for the fireworks to go off at midnight. Helaena was away at a boarding school in London.” He looks at you, his watery blue eyes slick and fearful.

“Aemond was the one who picked up the phone,” you realize.

“He was home with Daeron. He was sixteen, he didn’t even have a real driver’s license yet. He only had his learner’s permit.” Aegon guzzles down his Mountain Dew, adds more rum, stirs with his straw, takes another few gulps. “Aemond didn’t want me to get in trouble again. My parents were always screaming at me, they were always upset, and obviously Aemond had to live with that. He figured he could pick me up, drive me home, drag me upstairs to bed and my parents would never know the difference.”

You remember the twelve shallow scars blown across his chest like shrapnel. Car accident, he had told you. A long time ago.

“I fought him,” Aegon says. “I fought him all the way to the car, I fought him once I was inside. The security guys working the party handcuffed me to the armrest on the car door, but still, I was fighting. I was trying to get the key from Aemond. I dislocated a wrist and didn’t even realize it until later, my hand was swelling so badly the metal cuff was cutting into my skin. Aemond finally got my seatbelt on. And he was so preoccupied he forgot about his own.”

More rum and Mountain Dew, more self-medication. More cold, iron-heavy dread filling up your chest like seawater hemorrhaging into a sinking ship.

“We got on the MacArthur Causeway. Aemond was yelling at me to shut up so he could focus. He was trying to remember how to get home. It was dark, there were streetlights passing by overhead. There was moonlight on the waves in the channel. I finally broke the armrest off the car door and I…” He shakes his head, like no matter how true it is he still can’t believe it. He looks down at his open palms. “I grabbed the wheel.”

“You what?”

He flinches at the memory. “I grabbed the wheel and yanked it. Aemond was trying to push me away, but it was too late. We swerved into oncoming traffic and hit a minivan. Our car rolled over once, twice, I think four times total. The windshield shattered, glass went everywhere. That’s what happened to Aemond’s eye. He wasn’t even aware of it. I kept wondering why he wasn’t screaming like I was. He got knocked out on impact. He was in a coma for ten days. The doctors said he should have died.”

But he didn’t. And yet the guilt Aegon carries is so goddamn heavy. “What about the van?”

“It went off the road and into the channel. Everyone inside drowned. A mother and two kids.”

“You’re a killer,” you breathe, remembering the tattoo under his left collarbone.

Aegon agrees: “I’m a killer.”

You stare at him, paralyzed by wordless, icy horror.

“Everyone knows,” Aegon says, eyes wet, voice hoarse. “Everyone back in Miami knows. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t see Aemond’s scar, I couldn’t see the resentment on my parents’ faces every day for the rest of my life. I wasn’t just the fuckup eldest son anymore. There was nothing darkly, chaotically amusing about me. There was just plain darkness.”

“They didn’t…you weren’t…you never got arrested or anything?”

“No.”

“…Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s just the way the world works, gravity or nitrogen. “Aemond never told anyone how it happened. People knew, but he wouldn’t say it. And when the cops opened an investigation my dad made it go away.”

“How could he make something like that just…just…disappear?”

“The Microsoft office in Miami generates hundreds of millions in tax revenue each year. He threatened to get it moved to California or Texas. And maybe he threw in a holiday bonus for the police department, more money for pepper spray and flashbang grenades or whatever. All I know is that the lawyers descended and I never had to answer a single question about that night, and toxicology reports showed up claiming that mother driving the minivan had a blood alcohol concentration of 0.35.” He smiles, weakly and miserably. “People like me don’t face consequences, Appletini. They roll off our backs like rain and flood into the gutters to drown the rats.”

You can’t find your words. There’s nothing to say, or perhaps there’s too much to say; your thoughts are churning sickly like waves in a storm. From several tables away, Aemond glances over at you, his sapphire eye glinting under the unforgiving artificial light.

“And now you’ll hate me,” Aegon says with grave acceptance. He can’t blame you. He won’t even try to talk you out of it. “Just like everybody else.”

He’s been punishing himself for six years. And he’ll never stop. “I don’t hate you.”

His blood-stained brows knit together. “You don’t?”

“No.” I should, that’s true, and I would if it was anyone besides him. But I just don’t. And I have a few secrets of my own these days.

“I can’t believe that.”

“Read for yourself.” You offer your palms to him, sliding your hands across the table. At first, Aegon doesn’t understand, he doesn’t remember. And then he smiles, genuinely this time. Aemond is now watching intently and with palpable confusion.

Aegon traces the lines of your left palm with one weightless fingerprint. “It says you’re too good for this place. Maybe you’re too good for anyplace.”

“Do I finally know everything?”

“No,” Aegon says simply. “There’s over a decade of impassioned self-destruction in my rearview mirror. I could never explain all of it, and even if I could I wouldn’t want to. You have to accept that, or you have to move on. But now you know the worst of it. I hope that’s enough.”

You’re still thinking it over when Aemond forces down the last of his uninspiring Taco Bell dinner and approaches, toting his suitcase behind him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“How did you find me?” Aegon asks.

“You gave the hospital a fake phone number and address, and then never paid your bill. They sent it to collections. I got a call asking if I happened to know where you were currently staying in Juneau.”

Aegon sighs deeply and rubs his eyes with both hands. “Goddammit.”

“What about the other cities?” you say. “Aegon mentioned that he saw you in Phoenix and San Francisco.”

Aemond looks at his brother as he answers. “The journals.”

Your stomach drops. Jesse. He’s just like Jesse. “The…?”

“He left all these journals in his room. There were lists of cities in them. Cities crossed off, cities circled. Potential places to hide out, I figured.”

“But…but…” Aegon sputters. “There must have been a hundred different names on those pages—!”

“Yes,” Aemond replies coldly. “One-hundred and twelve, actually. And every weekend, every break from school, every chance I got I picked one city and went there hoping to find you.”

Aegon sinks down into his chair, dismayed and guilty and small like a child. He says in a whisper: “I can’t work for Dad.”

Aemond is disgusted. “I don’t need you to help run the company. I need you to show Mom that you’re okay.”

“Oh, right, because Dad already found a new heir.” He studies Aemond. “MIT?”

“I graduated last year.” And you weren’t there, his tone implies.

“Fantastic. And I bet Dad didn’t even have to buy your way in with a brand new shiny gym, complete with an Olympic-sized pool and a rock wall.”

“He did not, that’s correct.”

“You went to MIT?” you ask Aegon, mystified. You can’t imagine that going well.

Apparently, it didn’t. “Briefly.”

“Three weeks, I think?” Aemond says.

Aegon frowns, slurping his rum and Mountain Dew. “Five.”

“You can have tonight,” Aemond tells him. “We can stay in your apartment. You can say goodbye to your girlfriend, or…whatever she is. And then we’re flying out in the morning.”

Aegon perks up, a lawyer seizing upon an exonerating technicality. “I can’t leave until they’ve captured the Ice Fisher.”

“The who?”

“He’s a serial killer. He’s been murdering people in Juneau for months. Right?” Aegon turns to you for confirmation.

“Right,” you say.

“I can’t leave her alone. It’s not safe. What if she gets killed as soon as I jet off to Miami? That would be a completely avoidable tragedy. I have to make sure she’s okay. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf here.”

Aemond’s remaining eye blinks slowly. “This is a bizarre stalling tactic. Ineffectual, yes, and yet I have to applaud your frenetic ingenuity.”

“Ask them,” Aegon pleads, gesturing to the Taco Bell employees behind the cash register. “The Ice Fisher is real. They’ll tell you.”

Warily, Aemond goes to the counter. He exchanges a few words with the employees—who gape impolitely at his gnarled scar and glittering sapphire eye—and then returns, eyebrows raised. “Well, that was unexpected. How long has this Ice Fisher been terrorizing Juneau?”

“Since October,” you tell him.

“Hm.” Aemond toys with his BlackBerry, gazing out the windows at the dark windswept night. He says to his brother: “How did you manage to end up in the one town in Alaska with an active serial killer?”

“Luck, I guess.”

“Bad luck,” Aemond clarifies.

“No,” Aegon says, looking at you. “Just luck.”

“And once the murderer is arrested, you’ll leave without any complaints?”

Aegon’s face is a mask, consciously expressionless. “Yes.”

“Alright. Then here’s how this will work,” Aemond begins. “You can stay for now. And I’ll stay here with you. You’ll turn over everything to me: id, keys, cash. You won’t go anywhere without me knowing about it. And in return, I’ll make a few calls and see what I can do about this Ice Fisher situation.”

“You don’t need to worry about me disappearing,” Aegon insists. “I told you. I can’t leave until the Ice Fisher is caught. I’m not going anywhere. I’m stuck.”

“Nonetheless.” Aemond’s eye is a primordial, savage blue. “You will do as I say. Or I will drag you home to Miami, serial killer be damned. This isn’t my city. These aren’t my people. Juneau could sink into the Pacific Ocean and my life wouldn’t change one iota.”

They’re that determined? They’re that capable?

One of them, yes.

Aegon is compliant, almost tame. It is a strange skin for him to wear. He shows Aemond his palms in surrender. “I understand completely.”

“Good,” Aemond says, and you bag up your leftover Cinnamon Twists to take home before following him and Aegon to the door.

The three of you walk together back to Ursa Minor. Heather’s Chevy Suburban is still in the parking lot, so you know you can get a ride home with her. This is convenient; your Jeep is at home in your parents’ driveway, and Aegon is drunk. Before you can step inside the bar, Aemond stops you, pulling you aside as Aegon waits several yards away on the snow-covered sidewalk.

He asks, low enough that Aegon can’t hear: “What has he used since he’s been in Juneau?”

“Rum. And whipped-cream flavored vodka.”

Aemond nods. “What else?”

You hesitate.

“I can’t protect him if I don’t know what to look for.”

“Heroin,” you confess. “But only once that I know of.” And in those words is a truth that you hate: you’ll never know for sure what poisons Aegon is dulling the immutable, needlelike pain of his existence with. You will only know what he chooses to show you…and what he is too far-gone to hide.

Aemond closes his eye for a moment. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

Aegon stands in an isle of streetlight luminescence, his hands in the pockets of his parka. He watches you: wanting to speak to you, wanting to do much more. And he doesn’t move until Aemond grabs the back of his coat like the scruff of a kitten and hauls him off towards the apartment building.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you’re done at the vet clinic the next day, you bring Sunfyre to Aegon’s apartment. You figure he could benefit from some cheering up. When you arrive, Aegon is just getting out of the shower and changing into his street clothes, his hair messy and wet, the scars on his pale chest eclipsed by his black and white striped long-sleeve shirt. After much debate—which primarily consisted of Aegon keeping his brother awake with an acapella rendition of Cotton-Eyed Joe until 4 a.m.—Aemond had agreed to allow Aegon to go to work. It wasn’t for the money, Aegon said, which Aemond would confiscate from him anyway. It was so he wouldn’t let his crew down by quitting with no notice. Still, Aemond accompanied him to and from the docks like a parent taking their kindergartener to the bus stop. The golden retriever bounds into Aegon’s outstretched arms, tail wagging manically.

“Hey, buddy!” Aegon gushes, flopping down onto the scuffed hardwood floor to roll around with him. “I missed you so much! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?!”

“What is that?” Aemond asks, glowering as he reaches for the refrigerator handle.

“This is Sunfyre. He’s my dog. And he’s the best boy in the whole wide world, aren’t you, buddy? Aren’t you?! Yes you are!” Sunfyre barks in concurrence.

“You can keep a dog alive?” Aemond opens the refrigerator. “All you have in here are Lunchables and Coca-Cola. And...coffee creamer, for some reason.”

Aegon, still sprawled on the floor and scratching Sunfyre’s ears, shrugs. “Then go to the Foodland. You have credit cards.”

“Foodland…?”

“Ohhhh.” Aegon cranes his neck to grin up at you. “He’s never been to a grocery store.”

“Really?” you ask Aemond, who is grimacing, annoyed but also…uneasy. Embarrassed, even. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rattled. “How is that possible?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Aegon says, squishing Sunfyre’s cheeks together. “Private chefs, personal assistants, five-star restaurants…”

“This town is a graveyard where culture goes to die,” Aemond mutters. He slides his BlackBerry out of his pocket—he’s wearing another black suit today—and begins typing.

“We can go to Foodland,” you offer. Aemond narrows his gaze at you suspiciously. He doesn’t understand why you would want to be accommodating. It’s really not that complicated; the more comfortable Aemond is in Juneau, the longer he’ll be willing to stay. And he seems like a useful friend to have.

Aegon stands, giving Sunfyre one last pat on the head. “Sure. As long as we’re back by 7.”

Aemond puts his BlackBerry away. “What happens at 7?”

Aegon smiles. “My band is performing.”

“Your what?”

“You’ll see,” Aegon says, and grabs his parka from where he had tossed it haphazardly on the couch earlier. Trent, you think, helpless and dismayed. If the band is at Ursa Minor, that means Trent will be there too.

The Foodland is fairly bustling; there is a blizzard forecasted to hit Juneau tomorrow, and locals are stocking up on essentials to last them through the storm. As Aegon fills a basket with Doritos and Dunkaroos, you follow Aemond to the fresh produce section. He picks up a single bunch of broccoli and sets it in the cart.

You laugh, ripping off a translucent plastic bag from the dispenser. “It goes in here.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” He secures the broccoli in the bag, then begins filling another bag with Braeburn apples.

“Wait, wait…you can’t just throw them in like that…you’ll bruise them. Here.” You take the bag and show him. “You pick up each apple, check it to make sure it’s good, no brown squishy spots, and then place it—gently—in the bag. Now you try.”

Aemond successfully procures a dozen satisfactory apples. He’s wearing an eyepatch made of black leather, which is unusual. It’s the first time you’ve seen his wounded eye obscured since you met him.

“Awesome. Be warned though, fruit is super expensive here. Those apples are probably going to be like twenty bucks.”

Aemond smirks. “I think I’ll manage.” He checks his BlackBerry and clicks out a quick reply.

“What are you emailing people about?” It feels odd to even say the word email. It sounds like something you’d hear on Star Trek or the X-Files.

“Napster.”

“What’s Napster?”

“A peer-to-peer file sharing application.”

“Oh, yeah, totally.” You have no idea what that means. “Is Targaryen Enterprises going to invest in it?”

“Probably. But that’s still confidential at this stage in the negotiations.”

“So you’re going to be in huge trouble when they find out you let me in on the secret.”

Aemond smiles, not in a friendly way but not entirely mocking either. “Who could you possibly tell? You’ve never met anyone who matters, and you never will. No one except me and Aegon. And we’ll be gone before you know it.”

You consider him, hushed and regal and stoic and yet…somehow, undeniably…dangerous. “Why did you put on your eyepatch before we left the apartment?”

“I try to wear it if I might be around children. The eye frightens them. And if I take the sapphire out, it’s just a gaping hole. That’s even worse.”

“But you don’t wear the eyepatch all the time.”

“No.”

“Why? Too…piratey?”

“No. Nerve damage.” He signals vaguely to the ruined half of his face. “The eyepatch rubs. It can set it off. And once it gets rolling, there’s no stopping it.”

And because you’re a vet, you know exactly what nerve damage is: numbness, or burning, or blinding electrifying pain, or all three in a rotation like a wheel. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “Aegon, he…he’s never forgiven himself for it. I don’t know if he’s ever said that to you, but it’s true. I think he would take the pain for you if he could.”

“He wouldn’t,” Aemond says bitterly. “He wouldn’t even come home.”

And I don’t think he ever will. I think he’d skydive out of the plane without a parachute first. “Can you tell me what it’s like? Miami? I’ve never been.” I’ve never really been anywhere.

“I can do better than that. I can show you.” He opens his wallet—black leather, just like his eyepatch, gleaming and heavy—and slips out several small photographs. There’s the beach, and palm trees, and the city skyline, and several luxury cars, and a building with a glass spiral staircase and tall white walls speckled with bewilderingly abstract pieces of modern art.

“Oh, is that a museum?”

“That’s my parents’ house.”

“Right,” you reply, wide-eyed.

Aegon appears with a basket so full he has to lug it around with both hands. “Guess who I saw in the snack aisle,” he says to you, heaving his basket into the cart.

“Watch the apples!” Aemond hisses.

“Who?” you ask Aegon.

“Our favorite former-football star.” Icy, stunning fear seeps from your skin all the way down to the bones. Trent. “Congratulations on getting rid of him, by the way.”

You try to keep your voice level. “I got rid of him?”

“Seems that way.” Aegon plucks a banana off the display shelf, unpeels it, and takes a bite.

“You’re paying for that,” Aemond says.

Aegon continues: “Trent’s been super happy recently. Creepily happy, actually. I keep asking him what’s up but he won’t tell me, he just flashes that big stupid grin. Well just now he finally dropped a hint. He’s having luck with some girl he’s really into. Says things are finally looking up for him in the love department. And if he’s not talking about you, Appletini, it’s got to be someone else.”

“That’s wonderful news,” you say, barely hearing yourself. It's me, you think, petrified. It’s me that Trent thinks he’s going to end up with, and how the hell am I going to tell Aegon that?

“Who’s Trent?” Aemond inquires.

“Just a guy,” you reply. “A big, Hulk-like, not terribly intelligent guy.”

“You should probably check him out,” Aegon informs his brother. “I find it hard to believe that he could be a killer—he’s violent sometimes, but not, like, murderously violent—but he’s the only real suspect we’ve got.”

Aemond’s jaw is rigid, contemplative. “Hm.”

Aegon finishes his banana, tosses the peel under a table stacked high with boxes of donuts, and pushes the cart towards the checkout counter. Aemond takes off after him. “Hey, what did I say about the banana—?!”

Trent, you think despondently, staring blankly at rows of glossy apples: red like blood, green like life. I have to tell him about Trent.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Bitch!” Heather proclaims when she spies you, arms thrown wide open. She embraces you, the golden sequins of her shirt snagging on the loops of your turquois sweater. “Whoops, sorry Grandma.” She untangles herself. Joyce, Kimmie, and Brad wave from the usual booth. Rob and Trent are warming up on their instruments. Aegon meanders unsteadily over to join them, downing a rum and Coke assembled by a yawning Dale. You wonder how much Aegon owes on his tab now. It has to be a thousand or more. Maybe Aemond will pay it before he leaves. Before he drags Aegon back home to Miami screaming like stormwinds.

From behind his drumkit, Trent beams at you, showing all his teeth. You shudder when you remember the bruise they left on your neck. Nonetheless, you smile back noncommittally; the last thing you need is to prompt him to make a scene.

Heather gestures to Aegon. “British Kurt Cobain.” Now she points at Aemond. “Albino Fabio.”

You burst out laughing. “Yeah, basically.”

“What’s up with the…?” She taps her own left cheekbone. The scar, she means, The eye.

“It’s a long story. Aemond is Aegon’s brother, he’s here to convince him to go home.”

“I’d like to think I’m a pretty non-judgmental person, but their parents really should have invested in a baby names book. Where’s home?”

“Miami.”

“Well fuck, I wouldn’t mind jetting off to Miami. Think Aemond would take me instead?” But she’s joking, of course. Heather loves Juneau. She would never put it so sentimentally, but she does. Kimmie adores being a big fish in a small pond; she wouldn’t make such a splash anywhere else. Joyce needs the quiet. Only you were cursed with this greedy restlessness that is inked to you like an invisible tattoo; only you inherited this nameless craving for more.

“You should ask,” you tease Heather. “Ask Aemond really, really nicely. And make sure you nuzzle up against him so he can feel that you’re not wearing a bra.”

She gasps. “You can tell?”

“Heather, everyone can tell.”

She grins mischievously. “Good. That’s the point.”

You order drinks together—a Sex On The Beach for Heather, a blackberry Bacardi Breezer for you—and then part ways. Heather joins the growing crowd that is gathering to watch Boat #27’s imminent performance. You sit next to Aemond at the bar. He’s sipping a Caipirinha, taking slow, shallow, meditative tastes. He’s staring at the band, but you’re not sure if he’s really seeing them. Aegon gulps down another rum and Coke—his second in about five minutes—and staggers as he tests the microphone. His white-blond hair falls untidily over his eyes. No one seems surprised to see the mottled bruises or split lip on his face. It’s the sort of thing to be expected from someone like him; drunks wear ill-gotten injuries like diamonds and pearls.

“It’s not good for him,” you tell Aemond. “You being here.”

“Nothing’s ever been good for him,” Aemond says. “I remember being twelve years old and my whole life was trying to stop him from jumping out of a window or in front of a car. When we locked up all the pain pills he found bottles of Vitamin A tablets and swallowed about five hundred of them before we kicked the door down. We got his stomach pumped, brought him home, and the next day he tried the same thing all over again with my mother’s EpiPens.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, agonized.

“I’m not here to torture him. I’m here to help. I want to help my mother move on with her life. I want to help Helaena and Daeron get their brother back. And I want to help Aegon become a better man. It’s possible, I think, if he’ll work for it. But it’s not going to happen as long as he’s running between cities and from one addiction to the next. He’s got to come home. He’s got to face what he’s done and learn how to cope with it.”

The band has begun their song. It’s Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, a peculiarly subdued choice. Aegon sings with his eyes on you and his calloused fingertips scaling the fretboard of his battered green electric guitar.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow.

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be, and I don’t want to go home right now…”

“Hm.” Aemond’s face—half-immaculate, half-mutilated—holds a quiet, intense curiosity that might even be a dash of awe. “I’ve never seen him play before.”

“Really?”

“Really. He’s not bad.”

“He’s perfect,” you murmur.

“So you’re in love with him too.” Aemond nips at his Caipirinha. “I feel so sorry for you.”

You glare at him, flushing and furious, the kind of flame-red rage you can only conjure for someone when you know they’re right. Aemond is aware of this, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He is as cool as his Caipirinha: frosty and still and sharp like glass. His sapphire glints, his scar grows darker in the twilight dimness of Ursa Minor. You miss the Christmas lights; you miss what could have been if Aemond had never walked with his light and yet decisive steps into Juneau. You swallow your Bacardi Breezer like reckless, venomous words.

When the song is over, Trent begins making his way through the crowd towards you. You hop off the barstool and evade him, weaving from one end of the packed room to the other. He gets drawn into a conversation with Matt and Gary, but he’s still scanning the sea of faces for yours.

If he finds me, it’s going to all come out into the open. He’ll say something, or I’ll say something, or Aegon will say something, and then it will be out of my hands. I have to tell Aegon first. He has to hear it from me.

Aegon finds you, smiling in that warm, dreamy, tipsy sort of way. “Hey, Appletini—”

“I have to talk to you.”

Immediately, it startles him: your voice, your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I just have to talk to you about something. Right now. Where can we go?”

“Uh, uh…” He glances around, and then he points to the staircase. His disobedient lock of hair is a white stripe across his cheek. “The roof?”

“Okay. Yes, good.”

“Great.”

You go to the coatrack together to fetch your parkas, then make for the steps. Aemond is there to meet you, towering and lithe and silver like lightning.

“Please, Aemond,” Aegon says. “We need ten minutes.”

“You can’t have it.”

“Ten fucking minutes,” Aegon snaps. “It’s a rooftop patio, it’s not in use during the winter. For Christ’s sake, we’re not going to jump off of it or anything. There’s nowhere for us to run. She’s not leaving Juneau. I have no money, no license, no nothing. You have all of that. Don’t you get it? There’s nowhere for us to run.”

Aemond’s BlackBerry starts beeping. He whips it out and reads the message. “Fine,” he snarls, like a verbal shove hard enough to bruise. “Just go. Ten minutes.” And as you and Aegon ascend the staircase, you catch a glimpse of Trent watching from across the crowded bar, knocking back a Heineken and simmering with some pattern of layered emotions that you can’t read.

Outside, the night sky is muted with cloud cover: thick, dark, starless. The moon is a vague blur of eerie ethereal light, a reflection of a reflection. And sometimes, you think you might be something just like that.

“What is it?” Aegon asks. And his face destroys you: seeking but not suspicious, concerned but not fearful. He would never see this coming. Not now. He trusts me too much. He thinks too highly of me. Much, much too highly. And isn’t that what love always does to people? Cold Arctic wind spirals around you both, tearing at your hair, wrenching tears from your eyes like doomed fish from a lake.

“I hooked up with Trent.”

Aegon’s face doesn’t change. He’s heard it, but he hasn’t felt it yet. “Like…a long time ago?”

“No. After the New Year’s Eve party.” After I found you in your apartment.

The first wave of it hits him: in his shoulders, in his eyes, in his tremulous voice. “And when you say hooked up, you mean…what? Second base?”

“No. I mean everything.”

“Everything,” he repeats numbly.

“Yes.”

He takes a step back from you, covering his mouth with one hand. He stares down at the snow around his Doc Martens combat boots, shaking his head and saying nothing. That’s worse than shouting. You had been prepared for shouting.

“Aegon—”

He puts his hands up like he’s barring a door. “I need a minute, I need a minute.” He inhales, exhales, rubs his furrowed forehead with his thumb and index finger. “Why—?” His voice breaks off. He tries again. “Why would you do that?”

“I was angry, I was so goddamn angry at you. And I’m not trying to make excuses, I’m just…I’m just trying to explain. I was so desperate to feel something other than what I was feeling that I made a mistake. A horrible, humiliating mistake. Now Trent thinks I really like him and that’s bad but what’s worse is the fact that now, right now, I have to tell you the truth. I’m so fucking sorry. And I would change it if I could but I can’t.”

Aegon looks at you. “You weren’t…you know…” He flinches like somebody’s struck him. “Afraid of Trent?”

“It was at my house, my parents were around—”

Again, he stops you, holding up his hands. “I can’t hear the details, I just can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whimper. It’s almost inaudible in the roar of the wind.

It seems like forever before Aegon speaks. When he does, there’s no fury. It is a controlled, calm surrender. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all? Okay?”

“It’s my fault, right?” he says. “It would be pretty fucked up of me to blame you for something that only happened because of what I did. So okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with Trent together. We’ll figure something out. We—”

You rush to him and Aegon catches you, shocked but welcoming, harboring. You burrow into him as he strokes your hair and shields you from the frigid wind, soothing you with soft, sighing words, his damaged lips warm against your ear.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, Appletini. I’m not mad. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” you agree, biting back sobs. “Right now I am.”

But what about when you leave, Aegon? What about then?

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re lying in bed—showered, somber, oversized T-shirt and blue flannel pajama pants—and staring at the celebrity posters on your wall when the phone rings. You frown at it as it sits on your nightstand, a beacon of both hope and despair. Trent. It’s probably Trent.

Downstairs, your mom is engrossed in a riveting book club meeting. You can hear the attendees debating the merits of A Walk To Remember through the floorboards. You snatch up the phone before one of your parents can answer and invite Trent over for tea and Tongass Forest Cookies.

“Hello?” you say, with great annoyance.

“Hey, Appletini.”

“Heyyy!” You bolt upright in bed. “What’s up? Why are you whispering?”

“Aemond’s asleep on my couch. I think if I keep him awake again, he might disembowel me.”

You smile. “So why risk it?”

“I had a weird feeling. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“My mom’s book club is getting extremely heated downstairs. I’m currently in bed and staring at my numerous Ricky Martin posters. I’m fine.”

“Just fine? Not better than fine?”

You twirl the phone cord between your fingers. You remember what his bare skin felt like against yours, what he tasted like, the way your fingers twisted in his hair. It’s all you can think about; you can’t stop. Maybe it’s better not to. After all, time is running out. “I want you,” you say simply.

There’s no question of whether Aegon will agree. He goes straight to the logistics. “I think that would definitely wake up Aemond. And even if he didn’t have my keys I’m not…uh…in driving condition.” Not sober, he means.

“I have a Jeep.”

“I’ll look for you in ten minutes.” He hangs up. You wave a bashful hello to the book club attendees as you race by them and out into the driveway, clutching the bear mace that hangs from your purse just in case the Ice Fisher happens to be lurking nearby. You don’t even remember your parka.

As you idle under the streetlight in front of Aegon’s apartment, he comes running out of the building in his black Nirvana T-shirt, green flannel pajamas, open parka, and hastily thrown-on boots, the laces untied and flapping. You get out to meet him in the backseat, locking the doors with a distracted press of a button. Both of you kick off your boots and toss them onto the floor. Neither of you speak; there’s no need for it.

You yank off Aegon’s parka and T-shirt as he drags you into his lap, one hand pressed into the small of your back and the other cradling your face, kissing you with vicious desperation. His split lip, still healing, is rough against yours; the bruises on his face are shadows under the murky streetlight glow. You knot your fingers in his hair, drawing him in closer, closer, never close enough. He tugs your shirt over your head and finds nothing underneath but bare, needy flesh that aches for him like lungs burn in the cold.

As his hands wander, he murmurs against your throat, breathless and urgent: “I missed this. I missed you.”

“Show me,” you beg him. You can tell how hard he is; you can recall exactly what it will feel like once he’s inside you, filling and safe and deeply, immensely good. You grab his hands and put them on the waistband of your pajamas. “Aegon, please, I need you so fucking badly. Show me how much you missed me.”

He throws you down across the backseat, cushioning your head with one hand so it doesn’t hit against the door. Then he positions himself between your thighs, panting as he hooks his thumbs under the elastic of your pajamas. They’re gone in an instant, your legs bare and shaking with the rush of adrenaline. Aegon is pushing your thighs apart so he can kiss his way up the inside, his rough wounded lips pressed to your vulnerable skin. You can feel the heel of his palm kneading you through your panties, simple blue silk that is soaked for him; he’s about to take them off.

“Yes,” you moan, almost unable to stand it. The Jeep windows are clouded with sweltering fog. “Yes, yes, oh god, Aegon, yes—”

There is a deafening sound, a breaking, a crashing; someone is screaming, and it takes a moment for you to realize that it’s you. The Jeep door rips open, startlingly cold night air flooding in and ravaging your bare skin, slick with the sweat of now-vanished lust. Something grabs your hair and—with horrifying, relentless force—drags you out into the snow. There are shards of glass littering the ground from the broken window. One of them cuts into the side of your right thigh, spilling blood that is more black than red under the dim beam of the streetlight. Aegon is shouting, and someone else is too, a rumbling voice that at first you can’t place. Then you look up and see him. Trent stands above you, one hand still gripping your hair, the other holding a rock as big as a human skull. He’s calling you a slut, a whore, a bitch. His hand is bleeding from when he used the rock to break the Jeep’s window so he could unlock the door. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Trent, Trent!” Aegon is screaming, standing in the snow with bare feet and wearing only his green flannel pajama pants. His hands are outstretched, but there’s nothing he can do. “Trent, let her go. Let her go—!”

“You?!” Trent roars. “She’s been cheating on me with you?!”

He yanks you by your hair again and you shriek, punching at his knuckles and trying to curl your legs beneath you so you can stand and then—

And then what?! your mind howls like the wind. You can’t run away from him. You can’t fight him off. You probably can’t even put a mark on him. So then what? So then WHAT?!

“You’re not mad at her,” Aegon says, trying to stay calm, trying to reason with him. “You’re mad at me, Trent, you’re mad at me, it was my idea, I talked her into it, I’m the one you’re mad at, so let her go and then we can—”

“You bitch!” Trent thunders down at you. You try to bolt away and he jerks you back again by your hair, a scream tearing from your throat. You’re trembling all over; you’re drenched in snow and blood. “You fucking bitch—!”

“Let her go!” Aegon is out of ideas. He charges Trent, having no chance at all and knowing it. And just as he reaches him—

For the second time, there is a sound that seems to split the world in two. You cover your ears; you pinch your eyes shut. Trent’s hand releases your hair, and when you fall into the snow—your arms buried up to your elbows in it—you scramble for Aegon, sobbing and shivering uncontrollably. He pulls you against his bare chest, his eyes huge. You turn to see what he’s gaping at. Under the streetlight is Aemond with a revolver in his right hand. At first, it’s aiming into the sky. Then he brings it down to point at Trent.

“You want to get out of here,” he says in a low, blade-sharp voice.

Trent—not out of defiance, you think, but rather out of sheer, witless disbelief—doesn’t move.

Aemond pulls down the revolver’s hammer with his thumb. “Or, if you prefer, we can all find out what your brains look like.”

Trent, sufficiently mobilized, stumbles through the snow to his truck, climbs inside, and speeds off into the night. Aemond dumps the rest of the bullets out of the revolver and into his palm, then stows them in the pocket of his black sweatpants.

Aegon reaches into your Jeep to get his parka, throws it over you, and zips it closed. Then he yells to Aemond, waving at the revolver: “What the fuck, they let you on a plane with that?!”

“Private jet.”

“Oh, right. Obviously.” Aegon cradles your face with both hands. “You okay, baby? You okay?” You nod forcefully, too cold and shell-shocked to speak. He doesn’t believe you. “Come on, let’s get you inside, let’s get you warmed up, let’s take a look at that leg—”

“That’s the guy, right?” Aemond says. “The one you think might be the killer.”

“Yeah,” Aegon replies distractedly, still focused on you.

“What’s his name?”

“Trent,” you say, finding your voice. “Trenton Desormeaux.”

Aemond stares out into the night, his pale eye fixed on the place where Trent had stood just seconds ago. He betrays nothing, his face lined with enigmatic concentration. “Hm,” he says. And then again: “Hm.”

#Aegon Targaryen #Aegon II Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x y/n #Aegon x you #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #nttf #north to the future

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0maisie0 · 5 months

Note

how about an idea for a fic about y/n and Toymaker: y/n is kind of in a relationship with him and can't help but wonder what it would be like to date someone else? and Toymaker doesn't like it and is a little angry with her. but in the end there is a hippie ending?

(I hope this is what you wanted.)

The vibrant red paint on Mr Emporuns toy shop shimmed in the sweet afternoon sun as you hurried down the street. A single handmade bag, filled with a variety of sewing needles, threads and fabric, rested in your palm as the ceramic doll heads in the window seemed to face you. Their dull black eyes seemed to shine at the sight of you and you were sure if they could move you would have felt fifty little china hands wrapping around your ankles in a twisted hug.

The bell chimed through the overstimulating shop as you shuffled past the red curtain. Toys lined the walls as you walked up to the empty dark oak counter and placed the bag down on it. The familiar grin of the toymaker was nowhere to be seen as you fiddled with the little merry-go-round that spun under your touch. The snow white horses spin around and around.

“Maybe he went out…” you muttered to yourself and stepped behind the counter, pulling out a half-finished doll dress from the shadowed shelf just below. It was one you had been working on in your free time, a small gift to adorn the doll the toymaker had gifted you when he had first confessed his feelings.

A soft smile covered your features as you remembered that day, but it was slowly replaced with a frown as the voices of your friends swam around your mind. The blushed mutter as she talked about her adoring husband and the extravagant evenings they had shared in London's finest locations. The new jewellery and gentle touch.

Your hands tranced over the miniature dress as you wondered when the last time you and the toymaker even went out for dinner. You supposed it can't have been for at least three months. He treated you like another one of his delicate dolls lying in his hands as he combed through their hair.

Before you could stop yourself your mind wandered to the other men that wandered the streets of Soho. Did they take their partners out as much as your friend said? Did they spend the last few coins they had on a new shiny bracelet just to see the smile on their wife's face?

A sigh escaped your lips and floated around the room, still no sign of the toymaker as your hands moved automatically to switch the side of the dress. Watching as the yellow threat pierced through the fabric over and over.

Would the man next door let you wake up alone almost every morning? Would the beggar around the street give his wife the warmest blanket in the heavy winter? Would the old landlord go three years without any sign of taking his relationship further?

“The landlord is a man of the town who likes much younger women.” a rich voice broke through the air behind you as two firm hands spun you around. You were so lost in your own head you didn't hear the door open behind you and the toymaker's face drop as your thoughts echoed through his mind.

The toymaker's hypnotic blue eyes stared down at you. He could see right through you as his hands rested on your hip, his thumbs rubbing over the soft fabric. His grey hair was perfect as always while his collar shirt wrapped around his neck and stayed fastened with a bow. Meanwhile the soft breeze outside had definitely swept itself through your hair and ruffed your dress.

“Something wonderful about me is,” he leaned down closer to you, his breath fanning over your face. His voice seemed to drop an octave. “I always know what you're thinking.”

A shiver of fear ran up your spine as the toymaker grinned down at you, pulling your body closer to his. His arms kept you locked against him, unable to escape his warm gasp even if you wanted.

“You were gone a while, doll, I hope you enjoyed your lunch,” he whispered in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your temple as he continued. “What friend was it again?”

His lips stayed just hovering over your skin as you muttered back, your voice wavering slightly. “Oh, umm, f/n, I grabbed some more thread on the way home… and there was fabric on offer…”

“Enough. I want to know what she put into your pretty little head to make you think of others.”

Your voice trailed off as the toymaker's words bled into it. Every part of him felt hypnotic as your face flushed and your body radiated heat. His hands gripped your tighter, leaving little ink marks from his nails. His waistcoat rubbed against your blouse as he stared down at you. Waiting… Expecting an answer.

“I…”

Nothing came as you stared up at him, your lips parted slightly as you stared deep into his icy blue eyes. He glared down at you, before his face soured and he hissed out.

“Don't protect her, I have been very lenient with you daring…” his face darkened as he continued. “letting you go out, giving you everything you so much, but you're mine, only mine and I will not let those petty little men out there take you away from me.”

You stayed silent as he pulled you through into the ever-twisting back of the shop. This time it was a long hotel-looking corridor with rows and rows of doors on each side. He pressed you against the wall, his hand pressing just below your neck.

“This is my domain, my universe governed by my laws. I will not have you thinking of other men.” slowly his hand moved down to your chest and his voice softened slightly. He could feel your heart racing, shaky and laboured breaths filling your lungs under his touch.

“I can feel your breath. It's so human…” his voice dropped to an affectionate mutter. “My beloved human.”

“Toymaker?” you muttered, pulling yourself away from the wall and into his body. “I don't… mean it. It's my thoughts, I can't control them and I want to be with you.”

He pulled you close to his chest, pulling open the nearest door to reveal the familiar sight of a warm bedroom. You had slept there for many years at this point with the burgundy french loveseat near the fire being a favourite of the toymakers as he sat you down on it.

“My precious doll, your poor human mind is too susceptible to the distractions of the world. I am all your mind needs to think about.” he ran his hand through your hair, smiling softly as you leaned into his touch and relaxed to his hypnotic voice.

“Il take you out to the Ritz, i'll show you the universe one day.”

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #the toymaker x reader #the toymaker #my favorite insane toymaker #drabble #dr who #the giggle

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heytherejulia · 1 year

Text

It's nice to have a friend ~ Polin

pairing: modern!penelope featherington x modern!colin bridgerton

warning: some swearing, sexual innuendos, fat shaming, shitty mother, usual bridgerton chaos, insomnia, insecurities

summary: a walk through colin and penelope's relationship based on it's nice to have a friend by mother, doctor, taylor allison swift

word count: 2,9k

Penelope Featherington was walking home after a long day at the university and her only company was the ringing bell of the nearby primary school. January didn’t treat London nicely this year and everything around her was completely covered in white fluff. She was barely able to see a chalk drawing on a sidewalk as it was also covered in thin layer of snow. She smiled to herself when she realised that three little people were drawn on the pavement and signed “me and my best friends”. She thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. She’d never been very sentimental about stuff like that but today she felt like she might actually cry because of how freaking cute that was.

She regained her composure when she felt a piercing cold air on her bare fingers. She put her hands into the pockets of her coat only to realise that she lost her gloves, and it was freezing outside, and she still had at least half a kilometre walk to her flat.

‘Awesome,’ she muttered under her breath.

Penelope felt a tap on her shoulder and she thought her soul had just left her body for good. She didn’t have time to reach for pepper spray nor was she half a decent runner to escape the intruder. She waited for the inevitable when a person revealed his face. It was only Colin. Her life long crush, Colin. Her best friend’s brother, Colin. Her best friend too, if she let herself be bold enough to assume so.

‘Hello, Pen.’

‘Colin! I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘Yeah, I was just walking by and saw you and thought I’d say hi. You’re going home?”

‘Thousand times yes.’

He laughed. She liked the sound of that. It felt nice to hear him laugh at something she said. Even if it wasn’t even a little funny. Still, even Colin’s warm laugh couldn’t prevent her body from shaking from how bloody cold it was.

‘You cold?’

‘I lost my gloves. But I’ll be fine, don’t worry.’

‘Here, take this.’ He handed her one of his blue gloves. Penelope blushed slightly at the gesture but hoped he wouldn’t notice as her cheeks were already pink from the wind. They walked for some time when he suddenly stopped.

‘Wanna hang out? At my place? It’s closer than yours.’

‘Yeah, sounds like fun.’

***

Penelope found herself in Colin Bridgerton’s childhood bedroom for the hundredth time in the past few months looking at him playing some weird video game. Eloise still had classes and Penelope didn’t feel like sitting on her own in their shared flat so she accepted Colin’s invitation to his game session. She was never into such things, not even as a child, not with her mother towering over her shoulder all the time, forcing her into reading educational books instead of some ‘muddling activities’, so she had never played them when she was a kid and now that she’s twenty something years old she just couldn’t find any will in herself to start it. She just didn’t see a point in doing that. Old habits die hard.

‘C’mon Pen, play with me, it’s just Mario Kart.’

‘I can’t.’ He frowned.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know how. I’ve never done that before.’

‘NO WAY! You’re friends with Eloise and she has never forced you into playing Mario Kart with her?!’

Penelope just looked at him with a small shrug.

‘It’s okay, I’ll teach you. Sit here.’

He tapped a place between his legs on his bed. She blushed. There was no way she would be able to sit there and play a stupid game while Colin's arms were wrapped around her body. But she did as he told her and sat in front of him and took a pad from him.

‘Are you ready?’ She nodded. ‘Alright, you have to press this button to start and those to move…’

***

Penelope was so happy to finally have vacation. As much as she loved journalism and literature, she was more than ready to unwind and rest during her leave. Her newly landed job was intense and so was her new boss. Charlotte Queen did not let anybody off the hook unless they did everything perfectly and Pen freshly out of university had a bit of hard time adjusting. She was at the annual Bridgertons’ barbecue sitting next to Gregory chatting her ear off with his attempts of flirting (no matter how sweet that was she couldn't really put her heart in it, he was still a kid in her eyes) and trying to ignore the piercing gaze of her mother, who definitely did not approve of her short fitted blue dress. It was too short, too fitting, and definitely too blue, and not yellow enough. She stood up from her seat, took her plate and went to Anthony who was grilling some meat.

‘Classy apron, Viscount Bridgerton.’ He was wearing an apron that said ‘sexy cook’. Probably a gag gift from one of his siblings.

He glared at her but then laughed.

‘Do you want a sausage?’

‘Yeah, I would like one, thank you.’ As he was putting a sausage on her plate she heard her mother's shrieking voice.

‘I don’t think you should be eating that, Penelope, you can skip some of your meals, dear.’

Suddenly she wasn’t feeling hungry anymore. She left her plate on a table next to Anthony and went straight to her seat. Anthony tried to call after her but she ignored him. In another part of the garden, Colin stopped mid track his conversation with Kate about India when he heard Portia’s words. He furrowed his eyebrows on the fact that Pen really listened to her mother and refused to eat. He didn't like it a bit.

‘I’m sorry, Kate, I have something to do.’ She just smiled at him and made a ‘go ahead’ gesture.

He took his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Penelope. When she felt her phone buzzing and picked it up from the table, she saw a message from Colin.

Wanna hang out?

yes

She took her handbag and denim jacket and followed him to the entrance of the garden. He gestured to her to get into his car.

‘Where are we going, Col?’

‘Eat.’

‘But we just ate.’

‘No, WE didn’t. I did.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I don’t care. I am.’

Of course he cared and he didn’t listen to her protests, and soon after they were sitting in a car-park eating burgers and chips that Colin got at a drive through.

‘Don’t listen to that shit.’

She snapped out of the haze.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t listen to the shit your mother is saying to you. You’re perfect just the way you are. And you have to eat to stay healthy, Pen.’

She blushed at his words. She knew he didn’t mean anything by that but it still made her heart flutter. If she wanted to get over her crush on him, he really had to stop saying things like that. But that was that and she couldn’t change his feelings nor could she forced herself to stop loving him. She tried and failed. She just had to accept that he simply saw her the same way he saw Daphne, Eloise, Francesca or Hyacinth. His friendship had to be enough.

‘Thank you, Colin, it's nice to have a friend.’

She broke her own heart by saying those words. But this was for the best.

***

In August, Colin, Penelope, Eloise and her new friend Philip, decided to go camping. Their idea was brilliant until they realised that they live in England and it’s bloody raining all the damn time even during the summer. When it wasn’t pouring outside they tried to make the best of their time, but there wasn’t much left to do, because even when it wasn't raining, there was so much water everywhere and so much mud. So really, all that was left to do was sitting in their tents playing some stupid secondary school games.

Penelope was a little bit miserable during this trip because Eloise obviously wanted to hang out with Philip and Pen as her tent roommate had to spend half of her time outside to give them some privacy. After two days, Colin just ordered Philip to switch the tent with Penelope cause there was no point in them getting rid of her every two hours. So for the rest of the stay, she slept in Colin's tent. She was totally cool with it and her heart wasn’t making somersaults at all.

On the last (rainy) night when she was about to go to sleep, Colin broke the silence.

'I want to travel.'

Penelope smiled at him because she knew that for some time now. Well, at least she was suspecting it. She knew he was searching for a purpose and he couldn’t find it in England and he longed for adventure.

'Then do that.'

'I also want to write.'

'Then do that too.'

He looked at her like she was a bit crazy.

'What if I'm not good enough at it?'

'Then you'll get better, no one's born a perfect writer, all of those great novelists and poets had to start somewhere or otherwise we wouldn't know them now. You've got this, Col, I know you do.'

He grabbed her hand in the dark.

'Thanks, Pen, it's nice to have a friend.'

***

In the last week of summer, after Colin's got back for a short break from his almost the two year trip, Pen and Colin decided to make the best of the last few days of warm weather, before the rainy autumn comes back and enjoy their last days in each other's company before he gets back to travelling and she gets back to work.

She looked up from her spot on a blanket and stared at the light pink sky up on the roof of Aubrey Hall. It was getting dark and late as the sun sunk down.

'Do you want to head back?'

Colin was a considerate type of guy in comparison to Eloise, who usually tended to forget about other people and their needs, unless reminded. The two were completely different but Penelope still adored them both equally. Okay, maybe not. She definitely wouldn’t want to jump Eloise’s bones as much as attractive she was.

She looked away from the sky and towards Colin. She didn’t want to burst the bubble they were in. She liked being alone with him. She liked the fact that he listened. Simply listened. And he saw her, the real her. Even though he clearly couldn’t see or chose to ignore how much in love she was with him.

‘No, not really. I mean, there’s no curfew, right?’

He smiled thinking about the one time he actually sneaked into her house, way past the curfew, and almost got caught just because he wanted to tell her about his plans for a gap year.

‘No, there’s no curfew… Wanna play twenty questions?’

‘Is there a need for that? I’m almost a hundred percent sure we know each other better than that.’

‘C’mon Pen, it’s going to be fun, here, I’ll start. What is your book about?’

‘Romance.’

‘And? That’s it? There has to be something more.’

‘That’s another question, Col. My turn. When are you going to send your journals to the publisher?’

‘I’m not sure I am.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Two additional questions, wait for your turn. Have you been sleeping well?’

‘Uhm, sure?’ Colin didn’t look convinced. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want to use your question for?’

‘Yeah. Pretty sure. Also, the unwritten rule of twenty questions is telling the truth, so please, tell me the truth, Pen.’

She licked her lips considering how much of her late struggles she was supposed to share with Colin without lying and worrying him too much.

‘Okay, not so much. It’s the heat, I can’t sleep because of it.’

Technically not a lie. The temperatures were not helping her insomnia.

‘Anyway, my turn. Why do you not want to show the publisher your journals?’

‘Because they need editing and I can’t edit them myself to make them decent enough to be actually published.’

‘That’s bullshit, Colin, they’re already brilliant as they are but if you want, I can help you. Editing is kinda my job anyway.’

He looks at her gratefully.

‘I’d love that.’

He kept looking at her until she asked if he wanted to ask his next question.

‘Oh, yeah, sure, you’ve been stressed out lately?’

‘Sort of, yeah. It’s hard to keep up with the pace at work and my mum is so behind with paying off her loan and she keeps asking for help and my salary stops covering my and her bills. You?’

‘Yeah, me too. But it’s not important, wanna talk about your mum?’

‘No, I want you to tell me why you’re stressed.’

‘I think I want to stop travelling that much. I’m applying for a job here and I’m getting a flat. I’m thinking about settling down.’

She looked away from him. Colin staying in the country was a dream come true but Colin settling down with some woman was like a nightmare coming to life.

‘Wow. That’s a big decision. Good for you, Col. So, who finally convinced you to stay?’

At that moment Colin felt it was the right moment. He didn’t really want to wait any longer. He didn’t know when he realised that he wanted a future with her nor did he understand that. But he did come to his senses and waiting any longer was not an option. He needed her in his life in more ways than as just a friend. He felt that something finally gave him the nerve to touch her hand.

‘You, Pen.’ He whispered. ‘Cause it’s nice to have a friend.’

***

Penelope was walking home to the sound of church bell rings that carried her all the way back. She wasn’t sure if that was a real wedding or maybe her madly in love mind made that up. As she was passing by the old church, she saw the rice on the ground and thought that it actually felt like snow. And she wasn’t delusional after all, some couple really did get married that day.

She was so happy that the weekend has started because it meant at least two and one third of a day with Colin, doing absolutely nothing, just chilling. But then her phone rang and it turned out to be a call from Portia Featherington herself. Penelope was so worn out after the workload she's been having lately that even a thought of her mother’s nonsense idea of family dinner made her want to crawl into a hole and cry. She knew that the meeting would be a mess. She knew that Philippa and Albion would be a bit too loud and detached from reality but not cruel. She knew that Prudence would be making fun of her for everything and Harry would just smile and agree with whatever his wife said. She knew that everything Portia would say would be nothing more than a bunch of bullshit, but her mother did know where to hit so it would leave a bruise. So Pen was more than happy to bail and stay at home.

What she was not so happy about, however, was the fact that her mother would never give her peace, if they ditch the dinner with her side of the family. It felt almost bizarre, using that phrase, because technically Colin was not her husband, not even her fiance and relatively speaking, her family was simply her family, he didn’t have any obligations towards them.

But Colin was a good boyfriend. He knew what a bitch Portia and Prudence could be, and would never allow Pen to deal with them on her own. The years she spent dealing with their crap alone were more than enough, and now that he finally came to his senses about his feelings, he was going to be there to protect her for the rest of their lives.

Colin was looking at Penelope as she was driving to her family house and couldn’t help but notice how tired and distracted she was. She was still driving safely but her sour mood was visible.

‘Hey, Pen, wanna switch? I can drive for the rest of the way.’

‘No, there’s no need to. I’m fine, it’s not a long drive.’

‘Are you sure? I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.’

She really didn’t. Her insomnia kicked back and she hadn’t been able to sleep for more than two hours every night for the last two weeks. She tried to convince him that she was fine, but he could call her bluff at the blink of an eye.

‘Fine, you can drive.’

He smiled at her as she pulled over and gave her a quick kiss as they got out of the car.

‘Thank you, babe.’

***

The dinner was an absolute and utter disaster. Portia Featherington didn’t disappoint with her nagging comments and unsolicited criticism. She knew how much Pen was working and that she didn't sleep well, and yet the only thing she could say to her was that she should start wearing more makeup and that her figure was not suitable for someone with her height. Colin had enough of her bullshit.

‘Penelope is working really hard because Mrs. Danbury offered her a possible promotion but she has to prove herself and she works her arse off, which you should be proud of. And she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and if you can’t see the value of your own daughter, then you’re fucking blind.’

Colin stood up from his chair, grabbed Pen by hand and dragged her out of the fucking madhouse. He was so furious he realised that he hadn’t said a word to Penelope until they were half way through to their flat.

‘I’m sorry, love. I know they're your family but I couldn’t just sit there and listen as they offended my brilliant girlfriend.’

‘No, I wanted to thank you for having my back there.’

‘Everyday.’

Penelope has realised that for a long time now, she stopped associating home with a place but with a person. At this very moment, their old beat up ford was home, because Colin was there with her. She didn’t need her shitty family when she got him. He was more than enough for her. And Bridgertons were a package deal, with one you got the whole bunch, so she knew that she had more people that she could count on, than she could ever dreamt of.

‘What do you wanna do for the rest of the day?’

She thought about his question for a while. She wasn’t in the mood for anything really, she just wanted to lay in bed and maybe sleep. And maybe she wanted cuddles too.

‘Stay in bed.’

Colin looked at her and smirked.

‘Colin Bridgerton!’

He just smiled and kissed her knuckles.

‘We can stay in bed the whole weekend. We’ve got all the time in the world.’

Later, Penelope sighed happily, as she was lying in his arms in her comfortable clothes. It truly was nice to have a friend. And she was bloody lucky that it was Colin.

#colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #bridgerton #polin #polin fanfiction

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livvyofthelake · 5 months

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ok dead poets society album as a concept album about my special little guys…

fortnight- i mean. come on. how long does tda take place over. one month? ish? exactly. sidenote why did we doubt post malone so much he gave lana del ray in snow on the beach here. yay <3

the tortured poets department- i am going to be honest i did not like this song. or. i liked it in the way i liked slut in the 1989 vault tracks. which is to say i can see myself listening to it on repeat but i don’t like. Like it. do you understand? anyway we could say it’s about kit herondale but i fear it’s one of those taylor swift songs that’s about taylor swift. and. dear god. matty healy. girl… lucy dacus mention though

my boy only breaks his favorite toys- i fuck with this song heavy first of all. anyway this happened to my buddy kit herondale… “i knew too much there was danger in the heat of touch he saw forever so he smashed it up”!!!!!! i can’t get into it 😐

down bad- this is literally about emma carstairs and jules blackthorn…

so long london- in many ways this happened to cordelia carstairs at the end of chain of iron. i don’t care about this song

but daddy i love him- i’m sorry i liked this song so much i forgot to think about characters during it hold on let’s give it another go! i’m gonna be real. this happened to my friend blue sargent. that’s not relevant to the shadowhunter chronicles except in all the ways it is do with that what you must. this also happened to my friend belle. the artful dodger….. sorry for loving straight people as if that’s a fucking crime oh my god… in a way this also happened to my buddy gabrielle. let’s not get into that. some absolute bars of lyrics in here it must be said also… taylor calm down wow

fresh out the slammer- i shan’t speak on this one. don’t ask me about it i’m not supposed to even be thinking about this shit dear god.

florida!!!- made me cry. sorry for being emotionally moved by florence welch’s beautiful voice singing about the state my dead aunt lived in my whole life. i’m fine

guilty as sin?- elio pearlman you would’ve loved this joint. anyway we move on. this happened to my friend kit. in a sense. to me…

who’s afraid of little old me?- we must break from form and say a very midnights era thing. this literally happened to my good friend morgana pendragon bbc merlin. and i fuck with this song immensely

i can fix him (no really i can)- first of all this one is going to be huge for ao3 fanfic titles it’s already formatted…. i digress. in my beautiful world this will be dru blackthorn… and i believe her

loml- well. who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway. we embroidered the memories of the time i was away stitching “we were just kids babe”. must it even be said. let’s not be gauche. divorce ass song…

i can do it with a broken heart- taylor swift ass song… but i loved it…. in a way this happened to kara. don’t worry about it

the smallest man who ever lived- THIS HAPPENED TO MY FRIEND ALINA STARKOV. I HOPE THAT MAN DIES. both the darkling and joe alwyn. put him in jail actually i decided. he’s not seeing the pearly gates.

the alchemy- so happy my travy made it to the big game….. i’m sorry. i love the song genuinely it’s camp. it’s CAMP. it’s riverdalian. america strong fr! clace core they’re the blueprint to me idc…

clara bow- clary…….

#finished the first part… yayyyy #beth.txt

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facewithoutheart · 2 years

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I saw this TikTok, thought, “SIMON” and anyways. Here we go again.

A Face Full of Cake

General, Lady Ruth & Simon Snow, Slight Angst, Fluff, Cake and Fluff

It’s been two years since I last saw my Lucy, and one year since I woke up in the dead of night to the sound of a distant bell that almost sounded like my kitchen timer.

So I did what I always do when faced with the vague inkling of some distant stress:

I baked.

One cake, and then two. Three. More. Until I’d covered every flat surface on the ground floor of my house in frosted sponge.

The next day I sent Jamie off with as many as he could carry (three, one in each arm and one balanced on his head). When I tried to send home a fourth with his wife she shook her head and suggested I find a place to donate the rest.

That’s why I’m here, at this care home. It’s one of many which takes whatever I bring, and I like to go a bit nutty with the decorations. When was the last time these boys had cake baked with love and decorated with enough buttercream dinosaurs to send them into a sugar coma?

One of my favorite volunteers, Mary, answers the door with a feigned sigh. “Have you baked all of London out of sugar yet, Ruth?”

But it’s hard for me to joke along today; I have nearly baked myself crazy, twice as much as normal, and all with one eye on the calendar.

Two years ago today.

I must be more transparent than the plastic carrying cases which contain my homemade desserts.

“Would you like to come in?” Mary offers. “It’s perfect timing. We were hoping to do a cake smash for one of the boys. Today’s his first birthday, we think.”

The ‘we think’ twists my heart; it hurts to think this child may never know his actual birthday. “I’d love to,” I say, following Mary into the home. “But what’s a cake smash?”

She chuckles. “You’re in for a treat. Especially since this will be Simon’s first sweet, that we know of.”

“Simon,” I smile, “that’s a lovely name.”

When we enter the dining room there’s a few boys gathered ‘round. One other worker. I’ve only brought in two cakes but one is smaller than the rest so I place it on the tray next to a high chair and set the other on the table.

“Here’s the birthday boy,” someone says walking into the room, bouncing a chubby-cheeked toddler with curly, blond hair.

Just like my Lucy.

I’ve never believed in love at first sight but when this child turns his big, blue eyes on me I know he’s meant to be mine, somehow.

I blink away the tears threatening to fall.

As the room’s occupants sing an off-pitch rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Simon stares back at me. Like he feels it too.

Or maybe he’s just a baby. Babies stare; I shouldn’t read into it.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Mary asks.

With a nod, I walk over to where Simon’s sat in his high chair and pull off the plastic lid to reveal a cake nearly the same color as Simon’s eyes, decorated with a red lumpy dragon.

Simon tilts his head to one side and I can almost hear him asking, “For me?”

I push the plate closer to him. “All yours, love.”

His chubby hands clench in fists on either side of the cake. He opens them, then closes them, then circles his arms around the dessert.

His eyes widen in disbelief. He smashes his face right into the frosting.

I snap my head over to Mary who’s barely holding back laughter, her eyes twinkling.

Smash cake. I get it now.

With his arms wrapping around the cake, Simon brings it closer to him like one might give a hug. All the while he opens his eyes wide and his mouth wider, falling onto the cake like he could eat it with his whole face.

“Simon,” Mary finally releases her laughter, leaning forward to pull frosting out of his nostrils.

It doesn’t deter his actions; in fact, I think it encourages him.

He face-plants into the cake once more.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a bell ringing. It sounds familiar.

I sign the foster paperwork that night.

It’s a month or so before I can bring Simon home. Jamie thinks I’m crazy.

“What will you do with a toddler, mum? You’re so old.”

But I have magic, I have love. I have a network of friends and my son to help.

And, okay, it’s not exactly the most important part of a growing boy’s diet, but I have a cake for Simon every year. All different designs though he’s got a soft spot for dragons. And every year I show a picture I snapped on my phone of Simon covered in frosting during that first cake smash.

And every year Simon lets me take another. He never minds posing for it; says it’s the first tradition he’s ever had.

“One day I’ll take this photo at your wedding,” I tell him, the first time he brings a boy home.

“Muuuum,” he whines, keeping his big, blue eyes anywhere but on the gray ones that belong to someone Simon insists is, ‘just a friend.’

Simon Snow was five years old when he first lifted my husband’s Excalibur and one day I’ll tell him what that means. But for now I’ll let him enjoy his sixteenth birthday, the stolen glances from his first love, and, as always, a face full of cake.

#drabble #Simon snow #lady Ruth #cake

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 1 year

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In the middle of Valancy Stirling's fourteenth year, a great excitement came to Deerwood. Valancy heard the news from Cousin Olive, who had heard from her parents. Olive pulled Valancy aside after school one day and told her with great importance, "Have you heard? A Princess is coming to live here!" Sara Crewe meets Valancy Stirling.

Chapter 3: Valancy and Sara meet at last and Olive makes an unfortunate discovery.

Please excuse the lack of formatting on AO3. There was a glitch in posting that ate all my italics, and fixing italics on my phone is a nightmare. I will edit it tonight when i'm at my computer again. The formatting has been fixed! Italics and proper paragraph spacing are restored.

Click the AO3 link for the whole fic this far, or read just chapter 3 below.

"Oh I am so sorry!" exclaimed Sara. Valancy saw that she held in her hand a pen whose cap now sat on her desk. It had been this noise, of Sara dropping the cap as she opened it, that had startled Valancy. "You looked so peaceful, and I was so trying to stay quiet and not disturb you. I was only about to write to my friend Ermengarde."

Valancy flushed red. The very idea that someone like Sara would make an effort not to disturb her! "It's all right," she said. Then, because Sara still looked distressed, she groped for something else to add. She could think of nothing except, "Is it time for school to start again?"

The moment the question left her lips she berated herself for it. Of course it was not time yet. The rest of the class had yet to start coming inside, and the clock on the wall above Miss Bryant's desk showed plainly that there were still ten minutes left until the bell. She braced herself for condescension.

But Sara only shook her head. "No. I wanted to come in from the cold. It is still such a luxury to me, to come in from the weather when I want to."

Valancy dearly wanted to ask what Sara meant by this. Surely someone like her could do whatever she pleased. Certainly Olive never had to go out into the cold unless she wanted to -- on especially cold days Uncle Wellington would wrap her in blankets and drive her the few blocks to school in his buggy, so that she did not have to risk catching cold on the walk to school. Sara, who was even richer than Olive, must have had the same luxuries. But Sara looked sad, her large eyes downcast and her pale hands clasped together tightly, and so Valancy once again tried to change the subject. "Is it very cold in India?" she asked.

"No, never," Sara said. She laughed a little. "The first time I ever saw snow I was seven years old."

This seemed nearly unbelievable to Valancy, who had grown up with yearly blizzards that coated the world in glittering ice. Sara seemed to read this on her face, because she laughed again. It was a kind laugh, one that made Valancy feel as though she were being invited to share a joke, not made into one. "When I was a little girl, my papa would tell me stories about London. The place, I called it. He was preparing me to go to school, and didn't want me to be afraid. He told me about winter, but I didn't understand what it was to be cold. I fancied it would be enchanting, to dance in the snow in bare feet, like I did in the rain during the wet months."

"Did you try it?" Valancy wanted to know. She tried to picture seven-year-old Sara dancing in the snow. An image came into her mind, but it looked rather more like Port Lawrence than London had any right to.

"No." Sara shook her head. "We arrived at about this time of year, and I was so shocked by the temperature that I vowed never to set foot outside again."

This did nothing to clarify her earlier comment about coming in from the weather when she wanted to, but Sara had finally stopped looking so melancholy, and Valancy did not want to cause her further pain. Instead, she said, "Did it rain a great deal in India?"

Sara's eyes lit up. "During the wet months, yes," she said. "We would have monsoons for weeks. Great storms, with wind and rain so strong you couldn't see more than two paces in front of you sometimes. I used to sit with my papa in our parlor and watch the storms through the big windows. The wind would be so strong that some of the trees would bend over sideways. I used to pretend that there were fairies who played in the wind, and that they must have their time to play outside just as I did when it was dry." Her eyes had gone soft and distant, as though she were looking at something that no one else could see. Although Valancy did not know it, it was the look she herself wore when she retreated to her Blue Castle, and it was this look that Sara had recognized on her face.

"I remember one time," Sara said. "I was very small still, perhaps four or five. I had been playing outside with my ayah when a storm came in. She scooped me up and brought me in just as the biggest wind gust swept through the courtyard. She said it was lucky she had me in her arms, for otherwise I'd surely have been carried off like a seed pod in the wind. I told her I thought being swept up by the wind would be a grand adventure, although I was sorry she and my papa were too big to come along." She laughed, and this time Valancy joined in. She imagined tiny four-year-old Sara, with her black hair and her wide eyes, flying through the air like an oversize elm seed.

Suddenly Sara's eyes widened. "Oh I do beg your pardon," she exclaimed. "I have just been horribly rude. I haven't introduced myself!"

"I know who you are," Valancy assured her.

"But that's not the same thing at all," Sara said firmly. "My name is Sara Crewe."

"I'm Valancy Stirling," Valancy said, a little bewildered.

Sara smiled brightly. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Valancy," she said.

For the first time in her life, Valancy felt grateful that her relatives had spent so many hours drilling her on good manners. "I am very pleased to meet you," popped entirely unbidden out of her mouth.

"There," Sara said. "We are properly acquainted. Now we can be friends."

Valancy's mouth dropped open into a most unladylike expression, one that would have made Cousin Stickles remind her sharply that it was unseemly to have feelings had she not been safe at home. "You want to be friends with me?" Valancy burst out, too stunned to watch her words.

"If you'll have me for a friend," said Sara, unaware of how ludicrous a response this was.

"Why me?" Valancy insisted.

"Because you didn't fall over yourself to impress me," Sara said simply. "I want friends who like me, not just my or Uncle Tom's money. After all," and here her voice took on a distant, pensive tone, "you never know when everything could change."

This made even less sense. Before Valancy could even begin to formulate a reply, Miss Bryant entered the schoolroom to collect the bell. Sara smiled brightly at Valancy, who did not manage to smile back, and took her seat at the front of the room.

***

By the time she went to bed that night, Valancy had convinced herself that the whole thing had been a mistake on Sara's part. What must have happened, she decided, was that Sara did not realize who she was. Olive would, of course, have only referred to her as Doss when talking about her, and Sara was new enough in town that she must not have realized that there was only one Stirling family.

For a moment, Valancy considered not telling her of her error. In those brief minutes of conversation she had gotten a glimpse of what it must be like to be Sara's friend, and she could not deny to herself how badly she wanted it. Sara was kind and clever and never once made Valancy feel unwanted. But then she shook her head. No. She would not lie to Sara, not even by omission. Besides, if she didn't tell Sara the truth, one of the other girls undoubtedly would, and that would be far worse. Valancy imagined Olive's look of sly triumph as she told Sara that Valancy and poor Cousin Doss were one and the same. The other girls would laugh, and Jane Bryant would give Valancy a look of pity that she ever thought she could have been liked, and Valancy would have to slip away, humiliated and alone. No. Far better to tell Sara herself, where at least there would be no one around to witness it.

So resolved, Valancy lay down in bed. She entered the Blue Castle the moment her eyes closed, of course, but found that it had begun to storm, forcing the duel to be pushed to a different day. Instead, Valancy took to her correspondence. She looked at her writing desk for a moment then, with a confidence she never felt in her daily life, sat down and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.

Dear Princess Sara, she wrote. It would be my greatest honor to host you for a time here at the Blue Castle.

***

In all her life, Olive Stirling had never had a day like that Wednesday. It started perfectly normally, with nothing to hint at the upheaval to come. She rose at her usual time and carefully did her curls. Sara Crewe had set a new fashion at school and, although Olive was not fully convinced that the style suited her face, she was determined to experiment until she found a version of Sara's curled and pinned hairdo that flattered her. The effect she achieved that morning was very nearly satisfactory, and she spent so long tweaking her pins trying to get it perfect that she almost missed breakfast. Her mother had to call her three times before Olive reluctantly abandoned her glass.

The temperature had continued to drop overnight, and Olive walked to school amid a crisp morning frost. But her boots were warm and she had a new wool coat with fur on the inside and around her neck. She wore extra petticoats under her good school dress, which made the skirt puff out almost as though she had the shape of a woman. The only disappointment was in her gloves. Olive wore thick mittens knitted for her by Aunt Alberta. They were fine mittens, and a week ago she had been perfectly contented with them, but now they looked old and drab to her eyes. She resolved to speak with her parents that very afternoon about procuring a muff like Sara had. One that matched her coat, she thought. After all, Olive too deserved nice things sometimes.

She arrived at school a little later than usual, and found her friends already waiting. Jane Bryant, who was a year older than Olive but deferred to her at every turn. Blonde Alice Patterson, who liked to stand next to Olive for the pretty picture that their contrasting hair colors made and her sister Amy. Augusta Green, Olive's particular friend, who always had the best gossip to share. And, of course, the newest addition to Olive's gang, Sara Crewe herself. Sarah stood in her thick fur coat and matching muff, her dark blue velvet skirts barely brushing the icy pavement. The cold had put a flush into her pale cheeks, and her grey-green eyes seemed to sparkle against them. She wore her hood up over her head, protecting her ears from the weather. Olive made a note to look at Sara's hair once they entered the schoolroom, to see how she did her pins.

The girls welcomed Olive eagerly into their knot. Amy had been telling the group about her father's latest catastrophe -- Mr. Patterson fancied himself something of an inventor, and he was forever getting into scrapes as his latest contraption fell apart in his face. Olive's mother had strictly forbidden her from going over to the Patterson's house, after she had returned from tea one day with ink all over her skirt and a story about Mr. Patterson's newest attempt at perfecting the self-inking pen.

The invention this week was no less dramatic. Mr. Patterson had tired of how long it took to get his toast to its proper state, and had determined to invent a way to make the process faster. From Amy's account, it was going poorly, and Mr. Patterson had gone to his business in Port Lawrence that morning with only the charred remains of a heel of bread for sustenance. Amy was a good story teller, and she had the whole group in laughter when the bell rang, although Sara was looking contemplative, as though she felt sorry for Mr. Patterson. Olive did not. Her parents had long said that he deserved every misfortune that came his way as a result of his tomfooleries. Inventors, Wellington Stirling had proclaimed once, were one of society's necessary evils. You couldn't have progress without them, but you certainly didn't want them to settle too close. The Pattersons lived three streets down from Olive and her parents, and that was more than close enough.

The bell rang just as Amy was finishing the story, and she rather spoiled the conclusion in her rush to get it all out. It was then that Olive got her first inkling of how the day would go. Doss and her mother had arrived a few minutes earlier, as usual, and Doss had slipped into the schoolroom straight away, as she always did. So she was already seated when the rest of the girls made their way to their desks. Sara paused on her way to her desk to greet Doss. This in and of itself would have been cause for comment. But what rattled Olive deeply was that Doss not only greeted her back but, with a glance back at Olive, said, "I need to talk to you later."

There was not time to speak further. Already, Miss Bryant was looking at the pupils still standing with a stern gaze. Olive hurried to her desk, although she could not help one final backwards glance at Doss. Her cousin sat hunched in on herself, her thin little shoulders standing out sharply under her ugly brown wool dress. She looked the same as she always did, and Olive could not think of even one thing that Doss would want to say to Sara.

Olive found it impossible to concentrate on her lessons that morning. How could she possibly be expected to learn about Julius Caesar when Doss, of all people, had presented her with a mystery? Miss Bryant was obliged to repeat her question about Caesar's legions three times before Olive heard it well enough to answer.

At long last the bell rang for the end of morning lessons. Olive made a show of having lost something in her desk, so that Augusta and the Patterson girls would go out ahead of her. Soon enough, only she, Doss, and Sara remained in the schoolroom. Olive, head still bent over her desk as she searched for her entirely fictious handkerchief, held her breath.

"You made a mistake yesterday," Doss said, and Olive frowned. What possibly right did Doss think she had, to say something like that to Sara? "You said you wanted to be friends, but you don't know who I really am."

Olive let out her breath. That explained things. She had thought it queer, when Sara excused herself from the group yesterday noon, but Sara was always doing or saying queer things. Good old Doss, she thought with a sudden and uncharacteristic rush of fondness for her cousin. Of course she wouldn’t let Sara humiliate herself by being seen in public with Doss in her old brown dress and silly, old fashioned cap. Really, Olive felt almost grateful to her for stepping in quickly, and she thought perhaps she would allow Doss to walk with them that Saturday, if she wasn't home with cold again.

But Sara said only, "You're Olive's cousin, aren't you?"

"So you know then," Doss said. "Of course, Olive must have told you after school. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Sara said. "What does that have to do with anything at all?"

"No one is friends with me," Doss said bluntly. "Everyone wants to be friends with you. I thought you must not have known who I was, to talk to me instead of anyone else here."

Sara laughed that low, queer laugh of hers. "I told you yesterday," she said. "I want a friend who isn't trying to impress me just because I have money."

Olive's breath caught, and her face flushed as though she had been insulted. She felt as though both girls were staring directly at her, and she redoubled her efforts to pretend to look for that pen she knew she had dropped somewhere. By the time she found a stray hairpin on the ground and, tired of theatre, snatched it up as precisely the thing she'd been searching for this whole time, Sara had Doss by the hand and was telling her something or other. Olive did not care to stay and listen. She marched out of the schoolroom, head high and eyes bright with anger.

"Where's Sara?" Alice Patterson asked. "She's not ill, is she?" Alice was a worrying sort, always concerned that tragedy was just around the corner. Living with a man like her father, it was a reasonable attitude to take. But Olive had no patience to indulge Alice's worries today.

"I'm sure I have no idea," she said tightly.

"What on earth has happened to you?" Alice wanted to know. "Surely your button couldn't have been that important?"

"Nothing has happened," Olive said. "I just don't care to spend my every waking moment pandering to someone who doesn't want my company."

The other girls looked at each other. All of them knew with certainty something momentous had occurred inside the schoolroom, but it was just as clear that Olive was in no mood to discuss it. After a moment, Augusta brought out the catalog her mother had just received and engaged the others in a discussion of the latest fashions from Montreal. Olive, though she remained furious, eventually consented to be coaxed back into conversation, although the other girls took great care to avoid even thinking about the missing Sara Crewe.

#Blue castle book club

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laresearchette · 9 months

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Friday, December 22, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: SAGO MINI FRIENDS: NEW YEAR'S STEVE (Apple TV +) WOULD I LIE TO YOU? (BritBox) THE SECRET GIFT OF CHRISTMAS (W Network) 8:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT? 25TH ANNUAL A HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS (CBS Feed)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA AFTER WE FELL

CRAVE TV ACTING GOOD (Season 2) THE BLACKENING A CHRISTMAS FOR THE AGES A CHRISTMAS STAR CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON FEAR THY NEIGHBOUR (Season 9A) IT’S ALL GONE PETE TONG JACKIE BROWN JERSEY SHORE: FAMILY VACATION (Season 6) THE JINGLE BELL JUBILEE LISTING LARGE (Season 1) LONG LIFE, HAPPINESS AND PROSPERITY MTV CRIBS (Season 19) NESTING (Season 1) ONE YEAR OFF RIDICULOUSNESS (Season 35) SCORE: A HOCKEY MUSICAL SOMEWHERE IN QUEENS SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE TEEN MOM OG (Season 9) TEEN MOM 2 (Season 11A) TEEN MOM: THE NEXT CHAPTER (Season 1B) WATERMARK THE WEAPON

DISNEY + STAR WHAT IF…? (Season 2 Premiere)

NETFLIX CANADA GYEONGSEONG CREATURE (Season 1 Part 1) (KR) REBEL MOON — PART ONE: A CHILD OF FIRE SING 2

2024 IIHF WORLD JUNIOR PRE-COMPETITION (TSN/TSN4) 9:00am: Canada vs. Switzerland

MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE (CTV Life) 6:00pm: Rival real estate agents both make the same wish during the first snow of the winter: to win the most coveted listing in town. As the business competitors begrudgingly work together, they learn the house comes with a special commission: love.

NHL HOCKEY (SNOntario) 7:00pm: Leafs vs. Sabres (SN1/SNEast) 7:00pm: Hurricanes vs. Penguins (SNWest) 7:30pm: Oilers vs. Devils (SNPacific) 8:00pm: Canucks vs. Stars (TSN3) 8:00pm: Bruins vs. Jets (TSN2) 8:30pm: Habs vs. Chicago (SN/SN1) 10:00pm: Flames vs. Ducks

WHITE HOUSE CHRISTMAS 2023 (HGTV Canada) 7:00pm: It's the most wonderful time of the year to get inspired by the stunning holiday decorations at America's most iconic home: the White House.

NBA BASKETBALL (TSN4) 7:30pm: Nuggets vs. Nets (SN360) 8:00pm: Clippers vs. Thunder (SN Now) 9:00pm: Lakers vs. Timberwolves

THE HOLIDAY (CBC) 8:00pm: Two women, one (Cameron Diaz) from America and one (Kate Winslet) from England, swap homes at Christmastime after bad breakups with their boyfriends.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1951) (CTV2) 8:00pm: Dickens' London miser Ebenezer Scrooge (Alastair Sim) meets the spirits of Christmases past, present and yet to come.

AN ICE PALACE ROMANCE (CTV Life) 8:00pm: A journalist faces old fears when she returns to her hometown ice rink to cover a story. With the help of the owner and his young daughter, she begins to reevaluate her life's purpose.

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF JERSEY (Slice) 8:00pm: Baby Steps and Battle Lines

BRINGING CHRISTMAS HOME (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm: A professor of military history teams with an antique store owner to help track down the original owner of a historic World War II uniform and the love letters in its pockets.

MURDER AT CARTER COUNTY MINES (Investigation Discovery) 9:00pm: A beloved couple go missing from their rural Kentucky home, leaving behind a mysterious crime scene; clues emerge across state lines, sending investigators on a wild chase until an unlikely source reveals the shocking truth.

SOMEWHERE IN QUEENS (Crave) 9:00pm: Leo and Angela Russo live a blue-collar life, surrounded by the big personalities of their overbearing Italian-American family. When their son's chance at a life-changing basketball scholarship is jeopardized, Leo risks everything to help him.

#cdntv #cancon #canadian tv #canadian tv listings #the real housewives of jersey #iihf world juniors hockey #nhl hockey #nba basketball

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timelessxmemories · 11 months

Text

Rating ALL the Mario Kart 8 Deluxe soundtracks because I'm autistic!

------

Mushroom Cup ;;

Mario Kart Stadium: 7/10. It's the first soundtrack in the first cup. Classic, but good. I like it.

Water Park: 8/10. Genuinely really enjoy this one. It sound very beachy which I really enjoy.

Sweet Sweet Canyon: 4/10. Definitely not my favourite. When I play Mario Kart I expect upbeat and playful music which is exactly what this is, but I just feel like it's missing something.

Thwomp Ruins: 3/10. Eh. Doesn't do it for me.

------

Flower Cup ;;

Mario Circuit: 5/10. It's just okay.

Toad Harbour: 8/10. It gives me Pokémon vibes and I don't know why. I vibe with it.

Twisted Mansion: 10/10. Honestly really fucking good. Lives up to its name and is a banger tbh.

Shy Guy Falls: 10/10. Yes please. Give me more of this thank you.

------

Star Cup ;;

Sunshine Airport: 0/10. I just don't vibe with it. I don't enjoy.

Dolphin Shoals: 9/10. Again, beachy vibe. I like it.

Electrodome: 6/10. Meh. Could be better, but still pretty good.

Mount Wario: 5/10. Another meh for me over here.

------

Special Cup ;;

Cloudtop Cruise: 10/10. It's a classic. Ya gotta love it.

Bone-Dry Ruins: 4/10. Genuinely thought I'd like this a little more, but nope.

Bowser's Castle: 10/10. It's Bowser. Need I say more? It's a head-banger for sure.

Rainbow Road: 2/10. Eh.

------

Egg Cup ;;

Yoshi Circuit: 10/10. Again, a classic. Absolute banger.

Excitebike Arena: 2/10. Where'd the excitement???

Dragon Driftway: 9/10. Okay, now we're talking.

Mute City: 10/10. yes please.

------

Crossing Cup ;;

Baby Park: 5/10. It's okay.

Cheese Land: 0/10. Why does this even exist.

Wild Woods: 0/10. Too calm for me personally.

Animal Crossing: 10/10. I'm an Animal Crossing enthusiast.

------

Shell Cup ;;

Moo Moo Meadows: 2/10. ????

Mario Circuit: 3/10. I kindly ask you to stop.

Cheep Cheep Beach: 7/10. Kinda lost the beach element, it's still there, but it's also not.

Toads Turnpike: 0/10. Stop.

------

Banana Cup ;;

Dry Dry Desert: 9/10. Feels nice.

Donut Plains 3: 0/10. No thank you.

Royal Raceway: 1/10. Where is the royalty feeling???

DK Jungle: 10/10. No regrets.

------

Leaf Cup ;;

Wario Stadium: 5/10. Got a bit better than last time.

Sherbet Land: 0/10. Can I leave?

Music Park: 0/10. No.

Yoshi Valley: 7/10. Gives Yoshi.

------

Lightning Cup ;;

Tick-Tock Clock: 9/10. Silly. I like it.

Piranha Plant Slide: 7/10. It sure is.

Grumble Volcano: 10/10. Is it okay??

Rainbow Road: 10/10. Genuinely enjoy it.

------

Zelda Cup ;;

Wario Goldmine: 0/10. Please stop.

Rainbow Road: 0/10. Gives me anxiety. What is even happening.

Ice Ice Outpost: 10/10. Toads always come in clutch.

Hyrule Circuit: 1/10. As much as I love TLOZ, this one doesn't do it for me.

------

Bell Cup ;;

Neo-Bowser City: 1/10. Nuh-uh.

Ribbon Road: 8/10. Okay, alright, I hear ya.

Super Bell Subway: 0/10. No thank you.

Big Blue: 100/10. Y E S.

------

DLC WAVES:

------

Golden Mushroom Cup ;;

Paris Promenade: 0/10. French people don't exist silly!

Toad Circuit: 0/10. Carbon copy of Mario Circuit.

Choco Mountain: 0/10. No.

Coconut Mall: 100/10. Get coconut malled idiot.

------

Bell Cup 2 ;;

Tokyo Blur: 4/10. It exists.

Shroom Ridge: 10/10. It's a vibe.

Sky Garden: 6/10. Nice feel to it.

Ninja Hideaway: 10000/10. TOP FUCKING 3.

------

Turnip Cup ;;

New York Minute: 0/10. I don't vibe.

Mario Circuit 3: 0/10. Im in hell.

Kalimari Desert: 0/10. ???

Waluigi Pinball: 10/10. Only because Waluigi got recognition.

------

Fly Mushroom Cup ;;

Sydney Sprint: 0/10. Help.

Snow Land: 9/10. Getting somewhere finally!

Mushroom Gorge: 100000/10. AGAIN, TOP FUCKING 3.

Sky-High Sundae: 0/10. No.

------

Rock Shroom Cup ;;

London Loop: 10/10. I vibe.

Boo Lake: 5/10. It's here.

Rock Rock Mountain: 8/10. I like it!

Maple Treeway: 10000/10. NOT TOP THREE THO. JUST BECAUSE WIGGLER.

------

Moon Cup ;;

Berlin Byways: 10/10. Fuck yeah!!

Peach Gardens: 0/10. Please leave me alone.

Merry Mountain: 6/10. Merry chrisler

Rainbow Road: 0/10. I can't escape.

------

Peach Cup ;;

Amsterdam Drift: 7/10. I'm vibing, I'm vibing.

Riverside Park: 2/10. ok.

DK Summit: 5/10. Yeah it exists.

Yoshis Island: 10/10. Please do more of this. I like this.

------

Boomerang Cup ;;

Bangkok Rush: 0/10. It's certainly... unique..?

Mario Circuit: 0/10. STOP. PLEASE. LET ME FREE.

Waluigi Stadium: 100/10. MORE RECOGNITION FOR OUR BOY.

Singapore Speedway: 2/10. Uh.

------

Feather Cup ;;

Athens Dash: 10/10. Sounds regal, I love this one.

Daisy Cruiser: 6/10. Yeah.

Moonview Highway: 10/10. I'm vibing!!

Squeaky Clean Sprint: 100/10. For the ducky alone. It's a mecore track.

------

Cherry Cup ;;

Los Angeles Laps: 0/10. No.

Sunset Wilds: 10/10. Feels very Shy-Guy and I'm 100% here for it.

Koopa Cape: 10/10. Yes please.

Vancouver Velocity: 10/10. Familiar for some reason.

------

Acorn Cup ;;

Rome Avanti: 5/10. Fancy.

DK Mountain: 10/10. Oooo!

Daisy Circuit: 10/10. Just because it has Daisy and Luigi dancing.

Piranha Plant Cove: 8/10. I can vibe with it!

------

Blue Shell Cup ;;

Madrid Drive: 10/10. I vibe.

Rosalinas Iceworld: 10/10. Again, more recognition for our girl is needed Nintendo!!!

Bowser Castle 3: 100000/10. TOP FUCKING 3. HOLY SHIT.

Rainbow Road: 7/10. Got a bit better!

#{ cryptid ; ooc }#mario kart 8 deluxe #mario kart 8 switch #mario kart 8 dlc #mario kart 8 booster course pass #mario kart #mario kart soundtracks

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bubonicrogainecake · 2 years

Text

Filmography to Love and Adore (1900 - 2022 AD)

1900:

-Joan of Arc

-The One-Man Band

1901:

-History Of A Crime

1902:

-The Coronation of Edward VII

1903:

-Life of An American Fireman

1904:

-The Impossible Voyage

1905:

-Esmerelda

1906:

-The Story of The Kelly Gang

1907:

-L'Enfant Prodigue

1908:

-Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde

-Fantasmagorie

1909:

-Princess Nicotine/The Smoke Fairy

-The Golden Louis

1910:

-Frankenstein

1911:

-Little Nemo

1912:

-The Beautiful Leukanida

1913:

-The Adventures of Kathlyn

1914:

-The Squaw Man

1915:

-Are You A Mason?

-Carmen

-Barnaby Rudge

1916:

-Civilization

-The Mystery of the Leaping Fish

1917:

-Charlie Chaplin: The Cure

1918:

-The Tenth Symphony

1919:

-Intoxication

1920:

-The Saphead

1921:

-L'Atlantide

-Charlie Chaplin: The Kid

1922:

-The Toll of The Sea

1923:

-The Unknown Tomorrow

-The Man in The Iron Mask

1924:

-Dante's Inferno

1925:

-Alfred Hitchcock: The Pleasure Garden

-The Phantom of the Opera

1926:

-The Great Gatsby

-The Devil's Wheel

-The Devil's Circus

-The Golden Butterfly

1927:

-The Jazz Singer

-Alfred Hitchcock: The Lodger (The Story of the London Fog)

-Metropolis

1928:

-Noah's Ark

1929:

-Alfred Hitchcock: Blackmail

-The Broadway Melody

1930:

-Hell's Angels

-Young Man of Manhattan

1931:

-The Man Who Came Back

-Bad Girl

1932:

-Smilin' Through

-Tarzan The Ape Man

-Strange Interlude

1933:

-Little Women

-Gold Diggers of 1933

1934:

-The Lost Patrol

-Riptide

1935:

-Alfred Hitchcock: The 39 Steps

1936:

-Reefer Madness

1937:

-Walt Disney: Snow White & The Seven Dwarfs

-The Good Earth

1938:

-Jezebel

-Alfred Hitchcock: The Lady Vanishes

1939:

-The Wizard of Oz

1940:

-Walt Disney: Pinocchio

-Alfred Hitchcock: Correspondent

-Walt Disney: Fantasia

-Charlie Chaplin: The Great Dictator

-Boom Town

1941:

-Alfred Hitchcock: Suspicion

-Orson Welles: Citizen Kane

1942:

-Casablanca

-Road To Morocco

1943:

-For Whom The Bell Tolls

-Alfred Hitchcock: Shadow of A Doubt

1944:

-Gaslight

-Double Indemnity

-Laura

-National Velvet

1945:

-Alfred Hitchcock: Spellbound

1946:

-The Best Years of Our Lives

-Alfred Hitchcock: Notorious

1947:

-Forever Amber

-The Egg And I

1948:

-The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

-The Search

1949:

-I Married A Communist

-The Man From Colorado

-The Heiress

1950:

-Walt Disney: Cinderella

1951:

-Quo Vadis

-Awaara

-That's My Boy

-The Thirteenth Letter

1952:

-The Big Sky

1953:

-The Robe

-Walt Disney: Peter Pan

1954:

-Magnificent Obsession

-Godzilla

1955:

-Sissi

-The Man With The Golden Arm

1956:

-Francis In The Haunted House

-And God Created Woman

-Anastasia

-The Rainmaker

1957:

-The Bridge on the River Kwai

-Yellow Crow

1958:

-Gigi

-The Defiant Ones

-I Want To Live!

1959:

-Ben-Hur

-The 400 Blows

1960:

-Mughal-E-Azam

1961:

-The Misfits

1962:

-The Manchurian Candidate

-Sundays and Cybéle

-Francis Ford Coppola: The Bellboy & The Playgirls

1963:

-Nurse On Wheels

-Shock Corridor

1964:

-The Beatles: A Hard Day's Night

-Mary Poppins

-Becket

-My Fair Lady

-Seven Days in May

-The Time Travelers

1965:

-The Sound of Music

-The Beatles: Help!

-The Spy Who Came in From The Cold

-The Shop on Main Street

1966:

-A Man for All Seasons

-Roman Polanski: Cul-de-sac

-La Battaglia di Algeri

1967:

-The Graduate

-The Beatles: Magical Mystery Tour

1968:

-Psych-Out!

-Stanley Kubrick: 2001 A Space Odyssey

-The Girl on A Motorcycle

-Roman Polanski: Rosemary's Baby

-Candy

-Wild In The Streets

1969:

-The Night of the Following Day

-Psychout for Murder

-Medium Cool

-The Arrangement

-Easy Rider

1970:

-Donkey Skin

-I Drink Your Blood

-Night Slaves

-Patton

1971:

-Harold and Maude

-Billy Jack

-Stanley Kubrick: A Clockwork Orange

-Frank Zappa: 200 Motels

-Dirty Harry

1972:

-Francis Ford Coppola: The Godfather

-Slaughterhouse-Five

1973:

-The Hourglass Sanatorium

-The Crazies

-American Graffiti

1974:

-Francis Ford Coppola: The Conversation

1975:

-Satanico Pandemonium

1976:

-Martin Scorsese: Taxi Driver

1977:

-Rituals

-Blue Sunshine

1978:

-Deathsport

1979:

-Mad Max

-Francis Ford Coppola: Apocalypse Now

1980:

-Star Wars V: The Empire Strikes Back

-The Exterminator

-Stanley Kubrick: The Shining

-Altered States

-The Octagon

1981:

-Christiane F.

1982:

-Silent Rage

1983:

-Star Wars VI: Return of The Jedi

1984:

-This is Spinal Tap

-Dune

-The Killing Fields

-Red Dawn

1985:

-The Emerald Forest

-Invasion U.S.A.

1986:

-Gus Van Sant: Mala Noche

-What Every Frenchwoman Wants

-Platoon

1987:

-The Girl

1988:

-Zombi 3

-Brain Damage

1989:

-Drugstore Cowboy

1990:

-Hardware

-Jacob's Ladder

-Les 1001 Nuits

1991:

-Oliver Stone: The Doors

-Richard Linklater: Slacker

1992:

-Batman Returns

1993:

-In The Name of The Father

-12:01

1994:

-The Stand

-The Crow

-Leon The Professional

-Pulp Fiction

1995:

-Before Sunrise

-The Basketball Diaries

-Billy Madison

1996:

-Mike Judge: Beavis And Butthead Do America

-Wes Anderson: Bottle Rocket

-Beautiful Girls

-Mission Impossible

1997:

-Conspiracy Theory

-Harmony Korine: Gummo

-Lost Highway

1998:

-The Truman Show

-Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas

-The Big Lebowski

-Wes Anderson: Rushmore

-Vincent Gallo: Buffalo 66

1999:

-Stanley Kubrick: Eyes Wide Shut

-Fight Club

-The Matrix

-American Beauty

-The Blair Witch Project

2000:

-American Psycho

-Mission Impossible II

-Scary Movie

2001:

-Studio Ghibli: Spirited Away

-Wes Anderson: The Royal Tenenbaums

2002:

-Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones

-Damon Packard: Reflections of Evil

-Demonlover

-Equilibrium

-Panic Room

-Spun

2003:

-The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

-Oldboy

-Just Married

-Vincent Gallo: The Brown Bunny

-Party Monster

-Gus Van Sant: Elephant

2004:

-Before Sunset

-Fahrenheit 9/11

-The Day After Tomorrow

2005:

-Gus Van Sant: Last Days

2006:

-Jet Li: Fearless

-Candy

-Children of Men

-Little Miss Sunshine

-The Science of Sleep

2007:

-Hot Rod

2008:

-Tropic Thunder

-Batman: The Dark Knight

-Robot Chicken: Star Wars Episode II

-The Love Guru

-Be Kind Rewind

-Gonzo: The Life And Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

2009:

-The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus

-Harmony Korine: Trash Humpers

-Enter The Void

-Zombieland

-District 9

-We Live In Public

2010:

-My Joy

2011:

-The Sitter

-Drive

2012:

-Dredd

-Crystal Fairy & The Magic Cactus

-Jim Gaffigan: Mr Universe Standup Comedy

-Artificial Paradises

-Cloud Atlas

-Batman: The Dark Knight Rises

2013:

-A Field In England

-3096 Days

2014:

-Saint Laurent

2015:

-The Road

2016:

-The Love Witch

-Dernieres Nouvelles Du Cosmos (Latest News From The Cosmos)

2017:

-Low Life

2018:

-Mandy

-Waco

-Climax

2019:

-Joker

-1917

-Once Upon a Time In Hollywood

2020:

-Borealis

2021:

-Fear And Loathing in Aspen

-The Beatles/Peter Jackson: Get Back

-Juice WRLD: Into The Abyss

2022:

-Everything Everywhere All At Once

28 notes · View notes

clarasimone · 2 years

Text

Snow Belle and London Blue meet Lady Daenerys and Lord Mormont

Once upon a time, one beautiful spring morning, I believe I was born under lettuce leaves.

It had to be because it’s where I was found by my mistress, Lady Daenerys! Just a wee ball of white fur asleep in the smallest of all the wicker baskets to be found in Holland Park. At the farmers’ market, that is, where Mrs Turnip sold her greeneries… and one tiny rabbit, that fateful day.

“Jorah, look!” Daenerys had exclaimed. “Isn’t she adorable?”

I remember being picked up inside the softest of dainty gloves and cuddled gently, right up to Lady Daenerys’ rosy cheek. “Shall we keep her? Please say yes!”

Well, how could her Lord husband resist… with our porcelain complexion and violet eyes looking up at him with such expectation? He stanced for a second next to the stalls, his tall silhouette protecting us from the sun—and what a dashing figure Jorah Mormont cut in his peacock satin waistcoat, and chestnut long tails, especially as he couldn’t quite hide his amusement behind the ginger gruff of his beard. We barely had time to bat our long eyelashes at him before he bent down towards us feigning needing a better look.

“Mmmm,” he rumbled low, looking at one and then the other. “You are both so pretty, I’m not quite sure which one I should bring home.”

“Jorah!” Lady Daenerys exclaimed, laughing, while I silently hoped he would pick us both.

And he did! (The rest on AO3)

#snow belle and london blue #jorleesi #jorleesi fanfic au #Jorah Daenerys Winter Holidays 2022 #jorahdaenerysevents #jorleesievents #ser jorah mormont #daenerys targaryen #christmas #Holidays #fanfiction #clarasimone #silvergrace

25 notes · View notes

papermoonloveslucy · 2 years

Text

HATS! ~ Part 4

Miscellaneous Millinery

Outside of her four television series, Lucille Ball had a career as a model and a movie star - in both worlds hats were an integral part of the overall look. She also did numerous TV specials where her head was adorned.

Lucille Ball’s modeling career started at Hattie Carnegie, a salon where she worked as a hat model.

A few of Ball’s iconic hats are displayed at the Lucy-Desi Museum in Jamestown, New York.

In a 1950 print ad for Carling’s Red Cap Ale, Lucy wore two hats: a red satin jockey’s cap (the sponsor’s symbol), and a mortar board.

“Lucille Ball, too, has graduated to Carling’s - the light-hearted ale!”

In 1938, Lucy modeled ladies' hats based on characters from Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Needless to say, she looked “charming”.

Lucy’s got it in the bag!

In 1937 Lucille Ball was seen modeling a Coronation Hat. The coronation of King George VI would take place at Westminster Abbey, London, on May 12, 1937. Ball did not attend, but as a young model, was widely seen in this Associated Press photo. As an interesting sidenote, more people watched the birth of Little Ricky on “I Love Lucy” than the televised Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, where Elizabeth receive the ultimate in hats - the jeweled St. Edward’s Crown.

On March 26, 1961, Lucille Ball appeared on the cover of Family Weekly, a Sunday supplement to newspapers to model Easter hats.

The inside article by Margaret Bell was titled “Lucy Loves Easter Hats” and featured Lucy and her daughter, Lucie Arnaz, trying on various bonnets.

On Lucy Day at the 1964 World’s Fair, Lucy was accompanied by the world’s most famous hat-wearing gossip columnist, Hedda Hopper. Not to be undone, Lucy wore a blue straw hat to tour the grounds.

In the International area, the People’s Republic of China adorned Lucy with a traditional pearl headdress. At the Hawaiian Pavilion, another hat for Lucy - this one woven from palm leaves.

LUCY ~ A HEAD FOR FASHION

LUCY ~ A HEAD FOR MOVIES

LUCY ~ TV’S HEAD OF DISTINCTION

16 notes · View notes

redsbrainrot · 10 months

Text

An extremely controversial ranking of Mariokart 8’s 95 courses.

I know there’s 96 but I’ve missed one and can’t figure out for the life of me which one it was. Please help.

Wii rainbow road - nostalgic banger, made easier in this game tho

3DS rainbow road - fucking beautiful, was my number 1 but wii just had a special place in my heart

Big blue - a masterpiece

Mount wario - another masterpiece

Coconut mall - let down by its remakes but still a classic

Maple treeway - pumpkin spice latte

Waluigi stadium - it’s fucking waluigi stadium

Daisy circuit - a beautiful and classic course

Sunshine airport - the star cup in 8 is just the best cup

DK’s snowboard cross - prefer Wii’s but I still love it nonetheless

Waluigi pinball - DS had me in a chokehold

Daisy cruiser - mesmerising

Squeaky clean spirit - probably the best new course out the whole pack

Bowser’s castle 3 - simple but fucking amazing

Bowser’s castle - a banger

Mute city - speed

DK mountain - why are the turns harder to pull off in 8

Peach gardens - was my favourite as a 6 year old

Excitebike arena - carnage

DK Jungle - the great banana

Dolphin shoals - George Michael

Electrodrome - boing

Singapore speedway - shiny

Moonview highway - wii nostalgia

Merry mountain - um overhated it’s fucking Xmas themed

Wario stadium - again, loved it on DS and 8 did it justice as a remake

Koopa cape - the most butchered wii remake

Rosalina’s ice world - SUPER OVERHATED IDC I LOVE IT THE MUSIC WAS BEAUTIFUL IN 8 DEFINITELY A STEP UP FROM 3DS SUCK MY DICK

Royal raceway - pretty pink

Yoshi valley - playing this with noobs is the best

Melody motorway - 3DS nostalgia

Grumble volcano - meh

Mushroom gorge - best on wii

64 rainbow road - meh, still fun

Wario’s goldmine - prefer it on 8 cause wii was just rage inducing

SNES rainbow road - shroom high

Shy guy falls - mew woosh

Kalimari desert - meh

Piranha plant cove - ooh pretty :0

Hyrule Circuit - dun duuuun dun dun dun dun dun duuuuun

Cloudtop cruise - meh

Mario circuit - can’t even remember which one this was

Toad harbour - used to love it but now I get bored

Yoshi’s island - never played it so don’t really care

Boo lake - good remake

Tick tock clock - got bored of this one

Cheep cheep beach - loved it on DS

Vancouver velocity - music is alright

Mario kart stadium - boring

Ribbon road - pretty good (would swap rankings but I cba)

Rainbow Road 8 - I wanna like it but it’s just so meh

Moo moo meadows - fight me

Piranha plant pipeway - alright I guess

Baby park - mehhhhhhhh

Mario circuit DS - mehhhhhhhh

Alpine pass - done dirty

Sydney sprint - eh

Toad circuit - get fucked

Sweet sweet canyon - cool aesthetic lame ass gameplay

Paris promenade - alright

Choco mountain - overhyped

Thwomp ruins - not keen

Mario circuit - again I don’t know which one this is

Sherbet land - no

Snow land - no

Koopa city - I like the vibe but I hate it online

Animal crossing - mEh

Riverside park - a let down

Donut plains 3 - heheheheheb 69

Athens dash - alright

Bangkok rush - mEh

New York Minute - eh?

Berlin Byways - music is good but it’s boring

Tokyo blur - for Tokyo this sucks

Toad’s turnpike - womp womp

Water park - water who

Twisted mansion - just put luigi’s mansion in instead and we’ll all be happy

Madrid drive - this comes up like 50 times online and I hate it

Sunset wilds - boring

Dry dry desert - I hate the desert ones

Ice ice outpost - wouldn’t pick it

Super bell subway - liked it at first but it got old quickly

Wild woods - sick of it

Sky High Sunday - an eyesore

LA laps - not enough shit

Shroom bridge - had enough shit

Sky garden - let down

London loop - easy, boring

Rome avanti - the city tracks just flop huh

Ninja hideaway - I HATE IT I HA IT HATE IT

Mario circuit 3 - why is this in every game

Amsterdam drift - I hate the dutch

Dragon driftway - I cant stand it

Bone dry dunes - worst track ever

Cheeseland - wait no, this is. I hate cheese land. It makes me feel sick. I’m lactose intolerant but I love cheese. But I hate cheese land. Whenever anyone picks it I officially hate them as much as I hate this course. Kill it. Burn it. Erase it. Get rid of it.

#super mario #mario bros #mario kart #mario kart 8 #booster course pass #rainbow road #nintendo wii #nintendo 3ds #nintendo #nintendo ds #snes #gba #double dash #mario kart wii #coconut mall #you just got coconut malled #rosalina #princess peach #princess daisy

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harrison-abbott · 9 months

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They went to London and they went along the bridges at night and the purple white and yellow glitter across the city stunned them in a January blend; they were staying with one of his brother’s mates, because hotels in the city were so expensive – and when they met up with him he (the older mate) took the piss out of him because he was super shy and it was suddenly three’s a crowd in a pizza restaurant; and the girl wasn’t impressed with him at all for his social weakness. And they went to the science museum the next day, and Hampstead Heath and he took photos of her with her in the foreground and that plush skyscraper bit in the background. There was an old graveyard (a super old cemetery) near where they were staying and among the thousand tombs most were ivied over and it was about the prettiest yard of dead people he ever saw and she walked ahead of him in her green felt coat and he photographed her. They rode on the super white flashing underground with its claustrophobic tunnels and echoes and uber famous names in CAPITALS darted about on the tiled walls, as if they were danger signs in themselves.

They went to Poland and touched down in Warsaw first and he was immediately struck by a huge city that wasn’t so like the big cities he’d met before; with a difference in neon and a subdued, dazed sense of colour with the electronia in general. They went to Lodz, next. With the rampant high rises and the broken windows and the many other buildings or areas that were still derelict from decades ago; and the bell clangs of the trams and the stalls on the corners of the streets selling fruit; the older cars from what he knew; the cheap beer in the tiny alcohol shops, which were forever followed by pharmacy green crosses a half block away. He fell in love with Poland as he fell in love with her. And he loved the language that he heard in whispers and blasted sentences, the volume of a foreign tongue that you don’t know and yet you appreciate for only its acoustics.

They went to Cyprus. And the dense heat and heavy blue of the sky and the magic span of the Mediterranean filled in him an awe that was quite different from her dismissiveness to it. The dry crackly of the palm leaves overhead and the oranges that grew on the roads that they cycled by. He wrote about it then and he wrote about it now and he wrote stories in the hostel room and sent them off and some of them got published and she made fun of his writing anyway and this hurt him a terrific deal … and all she would do for the most part was sleep. [He drew pictures of her in pencil, making an effort to explore the wideness of her eyes.]

They went to Prague the following winter. Where it reached minus seventeen degrees at one point, at night. She’d been angry with him in glimpses from the get go of the trip. For trivial things. He was reading Raymond Carver stories, and this influenced him to write further stories of his own in his notepad. He typed them up when he got back home and one of them got published. … Throughout Prague he stared around the giant beauty of the centre, with the churches that all seemed competing to be the most spectacular worship place on the planet, with the shining ornaments and statues. And the snow kept making him slip on his boots – that had lost their heels a while back but he’d brought them here anyway because he had no other. He still loved her. It was tricky not to. You should have seen her eyes and heard her little jokes. And each of these cities and these countries will never be the same without her. But it was worth it to go and experience them all the same.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #stories #tumblr writers #spilled words #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #thoughts and feelings

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eirian-houpe · 10 months

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Time's Curse - Chapter 7

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Victor Frankenstein | Dr. Whale Additional Tags: AU, Original Character(s), Non Storybrooke, London, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Pining, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Murder, will add others as necessary Summary:

Never fall in love - such is the admonition given to Rumplestiltskin. Blue sees fit to interfere with his plan to reach a world without magic by sending him there herself so that he can pursue his quest to find his son, but he is not alone in this world without magic, nor does it appear that he is entirely free to live his life as he would wish. In the course of his seemingly fruitless search for Baelfire, Rumplestiltskin takes a job as a history teacher at an exclusive private school, and there meets Isabelle - the French teacher. All of a sudden that interdiction against falling in love seems to be really important.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 7 - Cursed

London, Around 1860

It was cold.

It had been many years since Rumplestiltskin had felt the cold. Life as the Dark One had sheltered him from that, but there was no magic in this world to which the curse had brought him, and so, Rumplestiltskin was cold. Freezing as a matter of fact. Late November, with snow and ice on the ground, and nowhere to go, Rumplestiltskin pulled his tattered clothing more tightly around himself and tried to find shelter.

Everywhere he went, every doorway he tried, people shooed him away, some in anger, most in fear, and who could blame them either way, a ragged beggar on their doorstep with the scales of the Dark One flaking away, little by little, to leave his skin raw and wind burned beneath.

Exhaustion.

That was another thing that the life as the Dark One had made him forget. There had been plenty of times, as the simple spinner and weaver of cloth, that he had fallen into his bed at nightfall exhausted and hungry, but not for all of the years of his life after he had taken the Dark Curse. Dark Ones don’t sleep. Then though, after walking seemingly all over London’s streets, sleep was all he wanted, and finally as dusk began to fall - fearing that the cold and dark might steal his immortality after all - he sank into the lee of a doorway, put his head onto his knees and surrendered to the tiredness and the chill that pulled at him.

The touch of a hand woke him, shivering, and he instinctively shied away, expecting the same treatment he had received in every other place he tried to shelter.

“There now,” a soft voice said, almost singing the words, “Easy, I won’t hurt you.”

Rumplestiltskin looked up at the woman, blinking the wind from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rasping with disuse.

She shook her head. “You, sir, have nothing to be sorry for,” she told him earnestly, “Unless of course you mean to refuse my hospitality, and then you should be very, very sorry, for you will both insult me and hurt my heart.”

Rumplestiltskin let out a burst of humorless laughter, and the woman smiled.

“Well,” she said, “Not exactly a lost or starving dog, but by my guess, you wouldn’t say no to a nice hot bowl of soup?”

“Lost?” he questioned, and found himself drawn to the woman. “Perhaps more lost than you know, but, yes, by your kindness, I would happily take a bowl of soup, and…” he stopped himself, realizing he was being presumptuous.

“And?” she prompted gently.

“A hot cup of tea?” he finished sheepishly.

The woman laughed, but it was a kind laugh. “Come inside,” she said, “and we’ll see what we can do.”

Rumplestiltskin hauled himself to his feet; no easy task as he was stiff and sore from being curled so tightly in on himself. His ankle hurt him a good deal too, and he limped along behind the woman as she led him inside the building, out of the freezing wind, and into a smaller room within it that turned out to be some kind of office.

“Oh, you’re hurt,” she said as she turned to him and caught him limping. He shook his head.

“An old injury,” he said, “and I seem to have lost my cane.”

“Don’t you worry about that now, sit, please,” she indicated a large, over sized chair that was close to a fireplace where an unlit fire was already laid. “Rest, I’ll soon get you warm, Mister…?”

Rumplestiltskin looked around himself, his mind racing to choose some kind of name that would be less conspicuous than Rumplestiltskin. Names usually marked a profession, Rumplestiltskin mused, and he thought of the many things he had done in his lifetime: herder of sheep, spinner of wool, dyer and weaver…

“Spinner,” he said into her expectant face. “Alastair Spinner.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mister Spinner,” she said with a smile, “I’m Mary Tealby, proprietress here.”

“Likewise, Miss–”

“Missus,” she corrected him, though not unkindly. “Or Widow, depending on which you prefer.”

His turn to shake his head then. “You are far too young to be addressed in such a manner Missus Tealby, so that is what you shall be to me.”

“Far too kind, Mister Spinner. Now… let’s see about this fire, shall we?”

She set about sparking a flame beneath the kindling, and he watched her movements; self assured, polite, certainly compassionate. He wondered what else was the truth of her life, so he asked, “You… said you were the proprietress. Forgive me, may I ask of what?”

She turned to him from where she crouched in front of the slowly growing fire, and waved her hand to indicate the printed broadsheet nailed to the wall behind the desk.

The Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs, the title read, and there was an image of a dog with a walking stick and a sack at its feet. The dog was sitting in a begging position.

“There’s a story behind it. Perhaps you’d care to hear it over tea?” she said.

“I’d like that,” he said, “but I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition, Mister Spinner, believe me,” she chuckled a little then and said, “To be frank, it’s rather nice to have a companion that can talk back.” She stood and smoothed her skirt as she did and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go for the tea.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, and watched as she walked to another door that led further into the building, which he realized then, when she opened the door and he was able to see beyond, was actually a house, and not a business as he had first thought. Another door opened and closed within and he heard the sound of barking, three, perhaps four distinct types of bark. She must be caring for those ‘lost and starving dogs’ in her own home.

He stretched out his hands toward the fire which was now burning nicely, and began to feel the warmth had taken away enough of the chill for him to do without the ragged coat he wore. He shrugged it off, folded it carefully in spite of its condition, and set it down onto a small shelf nearby to the seat in which he sat. It wasn’t long before his hostess returned, carrying a tray on which a tea service stood, and a small plate of pastries.

She seemed happy that he was warmer, and she smiled.

“Could I trouble you to bring over that table,” she asked, nodding towards the piece of furniture in question, thanking him softly as he did. She set down the tray, and then drew up another chair, this one straight backed and nothing so lavish as the one he occupied. Not ignorant of his manners he began to rise, but she waved him back.

“Please, Mister Spinner, you’re my guest, and though I commend you for a gentleman, there really is no need to stand on ceremony here. We are as we find one another, and that is sufficient for me.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled at that, though he appreciated the sentiment far more than anyone would ever guess. “As you wish, Missus Tealby,” he agreed.

“The soup will take a little while, I fear,” she told him with a nod to acknowledge his previous words, “But we can content ourselves for now on these small pastries, and perhaps when the soup is warmed through, you can accompany me to the scullery - it’s warmer yet in there - and we can have our meal while we keep the dogs company.”

~~~

For the first few weeks, Rumplestiltskin - or Spinner, as he’d come to answer to - stayed in the house, caring for the dogs, and for some of the domestic tasks, when Missus Tealby was away on other business. It gave him a sense of rhythm, allowed him to find his place in this new world without magic and learn to live without it for the first time in many long years.

Just as he began to feel comfortable in his still flaking skin, Missus Tealby waltzed into the scullery, draped a basket, quite unceremoniously, over his arm, and pushed a list into his hand.

He stared at her as if he were an imbecile.

“There are things I need from market,” she explained, also taking a small purse from her apron and pushing that into his spare hand. “And you, my good man, have hidden yourself away for long enough.”

“No, I–” he tried but she cut him off almost at once.

“You are a respectable man now, Mister Spinner,” at this she nodded to the new suit that he had been able to purchase with the wages the dogs’ home paid to him, “there’s no reason for you not to go out into the world.”

He took a deep breath, and looked down at the list. They were basic supplies, fruit and vegetables, meat - both for the two of them, and for the dogs, soap and scrubbing brushes - there were never enough of those - and last on the list two items that made him look up in question at the woman with whom he was developing a fond friendship.

“There should easily be sufficient money for the purchases, so–”

“It will need to be carded,” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“The raw wool,” he explained, “It will need to be carded before it can be spun.”

“Then you must buy the equipment you need,” she told him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because without it you cannot properly spin the–”

“No,” he said. “Why do you want me to get these things - to do this.”

Missus Tealby sighed, and took a seat on the edge of one of the scullery’s many benches, idly scratching behind the ear of the dog that came to her. “Mister Spinner,” she said softly, “I have seen you of an evening; seen the restlessness and the disquiet that haunts you.” She offered him a smile then and said, “I posit that if you were to spin, it would calm you and put you at ease.”

Spinner took a deep breath, regarding her with growing admiration and more than a little gratitude. “And… what will we do with the yarn I spin.”

“I fear it is going to be a cold winter, Mister Spinner,” she said, coming to her feet once more, “And I rather think people will need hats, scarves… mittens.”

“We could use the profits to help support the Home,” he said.

She nodded, “After you pay yourself a fair wage, of course.”

~~~

He followed her directions to the market with only one or two minor detours, one to follow the sound of one of the newsies selling broadsheets. He purchased one, with his own money, and tucked it into the bottom of the basket. The second detour was to find a florist's cart, that he vaguely remembered seeing those many weeks past when he was first looking for shelter; when he met Missus Tealby, who proved again to be his savior as she had been then, by insisting that he buy equipment for spinning. It had been a while since he used a drop spindle, but he was confident that he would be able to still.

It was when he reached the market that things began to change. People looked at him oddly, some even moving away, and while that reaction had been quite common and expected back in the Enchanted Forest as the Dark One, it was not something he expected in London in the nineteenth century. More to the point, he found, quite unexpectedly, that it hurt his feelings.

Feelings.

He scoffed at himself for that thought. When in the last several hundred years had he suffered feelings of any kind? But that too found derision in his next thought. All the time, you just refused to acknowledge them; shut them away with all of the dangerous items in that vault beneath the castle.

All until Belle.

“No,” he told himself quite aloud, and quite vehemently, causing many more people to shy away. He must look and sound like a madman, he concurred, but he couldn’t afford to think about Belle. She was dead. Tortured and derided by the man that should have cared for her, into a madness that caused her to take her own life… and he had been the cause. “No!”

Again the denial, again the pain of it, but in another though connected thought. “Love of people, the love of a person… a special someone. No. Absolutely forbidden, because otherwise, it will drive you slowly mad.”

The thought sobered him, allowed him to at least find some equilibrium, enough at least to complete the errand that Missus Tealby had tasked him with, and to do it well. Years as the Dark One making deals, pushing bargains, knowing when to push an issue, meant that he was able to haggle, quite well, with the marketeers, and secure the better discount for the items he was sent to buy.

If people’s reaction to his appearance and his demeanor gave him pause, the satisfaction of a job well done, a deal well made, and with his carding brushes, his spindle, and a bag of raw wool tucked under his free arm, his spirits were lifted, and he returned to Battersea Park Road with a spring in his step.

~~~

Spinner straightened from putting another log on the sitting room fire, took his seat once more, and picked up the knitting he had been doing moments earlier. Mary sighed and looked up from her needlepoint.

He paused in his work and looked over to her. Waiting for her to speak what was on her mind. She always did.

“We have far too many dogs here, Ruben, I don’t quite know what we shall do.” Spinner set the knitting into his lap and regarded her for a moment. They had long since abandoned formality, and though their relationship was purely platonic despite their closeness, they were on first name terms with affectionate ease.

“What about the stables you mentioned, behind the building on Hollingsworth Street?” he asked.

“How would we manage it? Just the two of us?” She shook her head. “We would need to take on employees, were we to use the stables.”

“And why not, Mary?” he asked. “We have sufficient income, with the donations, and the proceeds of our handiwork.” He indicated the knitting in his lap. “More than sufficient,” he added, remembering the figures in the ledger Mary kept, and kept strictly.

“Do you think we could?” she asked, and her mood lifted, just a little.

“I do,” he said. “One or two, to begin with, will help. We should be able to take in the same number of dogs again as we have.”

She drew her lip between her teeth in a gesture of hope.

“Would you like me to make inquiries in the morning?”

“Could you?”

He nodded, and was about to return to his knitting when he felt her eyes, still staring at him across the slight distance between them.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Are you happy?” The words surprised him and he frowned, and was about to tell her that of course he was happy when she continued, “Only, I’ve noticed, from time to time, you seem… distressed, agitated even. Usually when you return from going out.”

Spinner sighed, as did she.

“Ruben, I’ve heard the gossip,” she told him. “A woman would have to be deaf or insensible not to.”

“Sticks and stones,” he tried but she shook her head.

“It bothers you,” she said. “Don’t deny it.”

Spinner sighed again, and set the knitting aside to look at his hands, still scaly and uneven. “There’s little I can do about it. I have thick skin. I just have to learn to ignore it.”

“Perhaps you oughtn’t to be so sure of that,” she said, and he frowned again, until she passed over a small sheet of paper.

Alphonson Institution for the Treatment of Non-Infectious Diseases.

“What is this?” he asked, looking up from the advertisement.

“As much as I heard the rumors, I also began hearing stories about this Doctor. Perhaps he could give you some insight into what is causing your condition, perhaps even offer a cure.”

“Mary, I–”

“I just hate to see you unhappy because of idiotic, superstitious… bigots who don’t know you the way I do,” she said. “Please… will you at least think about booking a consultation? For the dogs, if not for me.”

He chuckled, then standing from his chair crossed to where Mary was sitting, and crouched beside her seat to take her hand into his.

“My dear Mary,” he began softly, “Why would I not do it for you?”

#rumbelle #AU #non storybrooke #London #the enchanted forest #angst #pining #eventual romance #eventual smut #murder

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