#that helps Annabelle reconsider

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 44

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 44

Haymitch’s lullaby

Night again. Midnight.

Cleo, June and Annabel’s bearded dragon moved quietly in her tank. Her claws rattled against rock and root in her shadowy world, illuminated only by the pale shafts of moonlight.

Haymitch peered inside the living room, half-hidden by the doorway. Effie had yet to come back to her room. Not that it was any of his business. If she was restless tonight she had good reason.

But an hour passed, an hour-fifteen, and finally he followed her.

Not to try and make her reconsider. About Twelve and all. Her mind was made up. He’d certainly done everything in his power to cement her belief that the children were better off as far away from him as possible. Even if she was too polite to say so.

All he wanted was to check on her. Make sure she was OK.

As OK as could be expected.

And there she was. Curled up in the old armchair. Eyes closed, knees under her chin. Breathing softly.

Their trusty side-kick – the baby monitor - stood on the table, next to a half-finished glass of milk. Goat milk probably. She bought a bottle just the other day. Some local farmer, downtown.

Maybe she misses Twelve, he thought. Katniss and Peeta and … all the rest.

That or she just needed something sweet to help her sleep.

If so, it did the trick.

He watched her pale face, framed by soft strands of strawberry blonde hair. That special hue from the Trinket family tree that she passed on to her children. Their children.

In just a couple of hours, they’d all be gone. Effs, the kids. She already bought the tickets. One for the Capitol. One for Twelve.

He couldn’t even follow them part-way. Not when they were going in two completely different directions.

He’d hinted, several times, at the solution of him setting up camp in her house while she and the twins moved to the Victor’s Village. But every time he tried to open that door, Effie closed it again.

Didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

He would have joined them for the whole trip. Gladly. All the way to the Capitol and home again. It still wouldn’t feel like enough time.

But who wanted to lock themselves on a train for 24 hours with a dumbhead in withdrawal? Not Effie. Especially not when she already had two young children to take care of. The liquor was gone. No hair of the dog available. He’d be a wreck, not two districts later. He couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t expose her or the children to any of that bullshit.

Yeah, the booze really was gone. The hip flask. The bottles. He poured all of it down the drain. Something he’d done maybe never in his lifetime

While he waited for news on Effie.

A feverish act. A mad frenzy. Nothing but a desperate man’s desperate pact with … whoever might be listening. Bent over the sink – blood pounding in his ears, his pipes clenched to what felt like half – he just snapped one seal after another.

As if his tossing the lot would somehow make Effie return home unscathed.

Unscathed? Fuck. Effs hadn’t been without scars in decades and definitely not these past couple of years. Or days, for that matter.

With bated breath Haymitch stepped over the threshold. Occasional splatter of rain drip-dropped down the misty windows as he threaded soundlessly across the carpet.

He wasn’t always a bull in a china shop. Katniss would be amazed (or maybe not) if she knew how quiet he could be still. When he had a mind to. And was sober.

He plucked the baby monitor from the table. Turned it off and slipped it in his pocket. His empty pocket.

Effie only mumbled something in her sleep when he spread the blanket over her. Tucked her in. He touched her cheek with a feather-light hand.

“Sleep well, princess. See ya in the mornin’.”

The brisk breeze elbowed the house in the side. Over and over. Made it creak and groan on Haymitch’s way upstairs.

Just like my place, he thought. It too was a talker. Course, had this been his house and his hour he wouldn’t have noticed. He’d already be three sheets to the wind by now.

Or four or five.

He stopped by Effie’s bedroom. Polished the wood with his ear, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Hand against the handle, he hesitated. Then pushed inside. One inch at a time.

Just to check on them.

The kids usually slept through the night now. Thanks to the tireless hard work of one ms. Effie Trinket. And like a drop’s effort on his part.

So no wonder his heart jumped – like a cat off an electric fence – when Amy turned her head the moment he walked in.

Wide awake. Sitting upright in her side of the travel crib. Not an ounce of fatigue in her Seam gray eyes.

Mostly, when the girl woke up at odd hours – sleepy and overtired – she had no problem making herself heard.

But for whatever reason she only blinked her long lashes. A look in her eyes like “Do you have an appointment?”

Haymitch crouched before the crib.

“What’re you doin’ up, sweetheart?” He whispered the words because Ian was still sound asleep. Eyelashes dark against his chubby cheeks. The beloved binky propped in his mouth.

Haymitch caressed his daughter’s silky hair.

“This is bedtime”, he said. “Not playtime.”

Maybe it was the word. “Play”. That or simply the cadence of his soft dad voice. But Amy instantly put both hands up in front of her, palms facing him. Expectantly.

When he didn’t immediately respond with the double high five (or something equally enthralling) she let out a bright bird squeak, like he was a little slow and she had to spell it out.

Haymitch’s lips curved upwards. But it was a smile that couldn’t quite quench the sadness in his tired red eyes. He flopped down on the floor, cross-legged. Held her perfect little hands between his shaky, timeworn thumbs and forefingers.

“Tomorrow”, he said. “Now’s night-night. OK?”

Amy shook her head violently from side to side. A bull’s eye coincidence but enough for him to flash a hint of teeth.

“No. You gon’ need your energy in the morning. Come on. Lay down your head. And close your eyes. Just like it says in aunt Katniss’s song.”

Ever so gently he helped her down on her back, but Amy’s body had no sooner touched the mattress before she struggled back up again. Shot him a look that was so Effie-like he half-expected “Manners!” to be snapped his way.

He tried it a second time. Put her down. Scanned the room for the pacifier.

Big mistake.

Amy’s bottom lip jutted out. Eyebrows creased, her face turned a darker shade of pink as it crinkled up dangerously.

“No, no, no ...”, said Haymitch hastily. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, girlie.”

Too late.

Fucking hell, he thought as he reached inside the crib. Lifted out his wailing child. When would he learn? Almost a year in and he still made these clueless first dad mistakes.

“There, there, I got ya”, he mumbled into her hot temple. “No need to work on my deafness. I got ya.” Her arms clutched his neck and he rocked her, speaking the same soft words as many a night before.

And, of course, her cries had not yet subsided before her brother stirred. The boy rubbed a fist into his eye, the pacifier slipped out onto the mattress and from him came a few pitiful whimpers.

Before long Haymitch had both arms full of his two cranky children.

Got no one to blame but himself. Why didn’t he just sit with her? Read a bedtime story or hummed some of the songs they liked. Girl would’ve passed out eventually, without him pushing and prodding her.

He gave them both a kiss.

“Whatcha say we go back to my room, hm? Don’t think you’ve ever been there, like once, this whole trip.”

Said and done.

“His” quarters weren’t nearly as neat as Effie’s, obviously. But he put in the effort to make the bed at least. The fact he’d hardly slept in it this whole time helped of course.

Guided by moonlight, he unloaded his precious cargo onto the embroidered bedspread.

And there they felt right at home. Because if there was one thing his little cubs had always enjoyed, it was beds. The bigger, the better. Here, in the Capitol, in Twelve. Everyone’s but their own really.

Their whining instantly stopped, like turning off a tap. Ian flopped forward against the pillow with an excited huff.

“Don’t fall off”, Haymitch warned, head inside one of the wardrobes. “Can’t return you to mama with any bumps. She’ll wring my neck.”

“Aa-mm-uh!” squeaked Amy eagerly, clutching her toes with both hands. “Mmm-amm-amm-amm!”

“Mama’s sleeping”, Haymitch said. Hangers creaked when he nudged the jackets and sweaters and raincoats aside, looking for his secret further in. “Long day. We just gotta look after ourselves for now, yeah?”

Getting a good grip he carried the box out. Just a regular-sized cardboard parcel. Big enough to carry … what? A dozen bottles of beer?

He lifted it onto the bed, before Amy and Ian’s mildly curious gazes.

“I know it should be tied up with strings and all that fancy-schmancy.” He climbed in with them. “But I can’t wrap for sh… A drunk orangutan would do a better job.”

Not like Eff, he thought. Seriously, what’d she do? Apply for a gift wrapping certificate alongside her escort courses?

The old man could’ve probably fixed it. When Haymitch called in the order. But it just didn’t occur to him at the time. To ask the favor.

Ian tugged at him. The usual cue when he wanted to be picked up. Haymitch settled him on his left knee. Amy, on the right.

“Think of this like it’s mama’s cooking”, he said and inched the box closer. “Just cause it doesn’t look right doesn’t mean you won’t like what’s inside.”

The seal was already broken. Earlier. Not with his knife. Effie would have had a fucking asthma-attack had he brought it here. Just a regular pair of scissors with ring handles made out of hickory wood.

He flipped open the flaps. The outer the inner. Reached through the bubble wrap.

It was heavier than he remembered. He needed both hands to get it out of the box. The twins watched with peaked interest as he placed the object, the present, before them.

“You were supposed to have it when you were born”, Haymitch said quietly. “And then again the other day. I messed up but … better late than never.”

Ian reached a hand out. Gingerly grazed his five tiny fingernails against the left one of the three.

Three goslings sitting on a patch of grass.

Amy followed her brother’s example. Touched the bird on the right. The soft down. The pearly eyes. The little beak. Babbled something, questioningly.

“Nah, it ain’t real goslings”, Haymitch said. “Don’t worry, I already made sure. It’s called a music box. I want you to have it. Take it with you when you …”

His voice faltered.

“Crazy day that was.” He kissed the top of her head. Kissed Ian’s too. “First time I ever met ya. Feels like a hundred years now. You were so squished. Both o’ ya. Got these … purplish lil’ monkey faces. Hollering at me like I’d broken your grandmother’s china.”

He smiled at the memory.

“And I knew I’d never seen anything more beautiful in all my life. And yeah, that’s including your poor mother. I was a goner. From the start. Never been more proud, more terrified, of anything. Ever. Lucky too. Cause out of all the people in this world, I get to be your dad.”

Eyes shiny, he swallowed hard against the painful lump in his throat. Caressed Amy’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Dropped a kiss to the dimples of Ian’s knuckles.

“But I can’t be a good dad to you now. Not the kind you need and deserve. Tomorrow when it’s time for bed I won’t be there. I don’t know when we’ll see each other again. Properly. But if you ever feel sad and anxious and can’t sleep cause I ain’t there, mama can play you this song and wherever I am or whatever I’m doing I’ll be listening with you. No matter what happens, we’ll always be a family. In here.”

He touched the spot right over their hearts.

“And whenever you look out on the night sky, remember that even though we’re far away from each other I’m looking at the same moon you are. The same stars. OK?”

He tilted the goslings over, carefully, having a look at the underside.

“So, watcha say?” he asked, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. “Wanna try and play some music? See what kinda song it’s got?”

There was something engraved in the metal. Haymitch squinted at it, ran a thumb over the old letters.

“’Someday’”, he read. “Never heard of it. Have you?” He looked at the twins. “Maybe mama knows … and there’s the key …”

He grabbed a good hold. Gave it half a dozen twists. Just like Paulus Bell had taught him.

The music box came to life immediately.

But what Haymitch first noticed wasn’t the tinkles, the chimes, the melody itself.

No. It was the goslings themselves.

They were glowing.

All three of them. Carried within some kind of light, burning right where their hearts would be. Warm and comforting.

A night lamp. Not painful to the eye but warm. Ember-soft. Like a campfire. But not the fire you lit with cold-stiff fingers in the arena. Fires that got you killed.

No. The kind you lit on your own hearth when it was time to eat, time to sleep. The shadows cast: not frightening. Not dangerous. Just … playful. Calming.

This, he’d already sensed of course. Back at the Forum, when Paulus Bell first demonstrated the music box to him. It had a light of some kind, sure.

But in the vivid and bright cascades of artificial bullshit that the Capitol spewed all over you – spotlights, billboards, fairy bulbs – this tiny little source was all but drowned out. Leaving only glimpses.

But here, in the quiet and the dark, it was different. Now they burned strong and steadily. Unswerving. Always had … course … It’s capacity to shine never changed. Never went anywhere. Even if he was too distracted to realize it.

And then the music. He strained his ears; once again, tried to place it. Where it came from. He’d always had a remarkable memory. That was his curse. One of them, anyway. And as for songs and melodies, he was a living breathing archive.

Sae said he reminded her of Katniss’s grandmother in that regard. She never forgot anything with a tune either. One hearing was all she needed.

The song was simple enough. He could easily find it on the piano – if he’d had a piano at his disposal. A lullaby, obviously. Soft and gentle, like the light it emitted. Kind, if that made sense? Tenderly merry. Like a kiss on the cheek. One of Effie’s kisses.

Someday. Someday, what?

The twins had fallen completely silent. Marble-eyed. Sitting very still, as always when they were really into something. Mesmerized, either by the light or the music or both.

His good, sweet children. How odd to think they weren’t always in his life.

So many more things he wanted to say to them. While there was still time. Not that they understood what he was telling them or even if they did, they wouldn’t hear a word he said, being so awestruck by their new present.

He ought to just let them enjoy the show. Have it lull them to slumber before he carried them back to Effie’s room.

But one thing he had to say. Couldn’t let them leave without it.

”I love you, little uns.” He kissed their soft, goose-downy hair. “I know I don’t say it a lot. Not like mama does. I never got to keep anything to call mine and I know it’s silly but … it’s like if I say it too often someone will pick up on it. Like a frequency on the radio. They’ll know and then … But I do. So much. You’re the best thing I ever did with my life.”

Heart aching, he rested his chin against the top of Ian’s head. Cupped his hand around Amy’s little foot.

“I’m really really gonna miss you.”

Author’s note: Now they’ve all gotten geese for a gift, did you notice? Haymitch has the origami goose that Effie made him, Haymitch gave her a porcelain goose on the December Fair before knocking her up and the twins now has their music box goslings.

“Someday” is a real song. There’s even an actual music box version of it on Spotify and YouTube played by Nibble Pig. And if you’ll wonder, just like I did: “Where the hell have I heard this melody before?” it’s because it’s a roll credits song from “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” Go check it out! The Alan Menken version. It’s got the loveliest lyrics ever! Very “Deep in the Meadow” and “What I need is the dandelion in the spring” themed. ;)

Also, the sentence “You’re the best thing I ever did with my life”. I can't take credit for that cause it’s a variation of a line (said by another addict) in “Riding in cars with boys”. A movie (and book) I was obsessed with when I was 15. If you ever get the chance, watch it on dvd. That way you can also enjoy Drew Barrymore’s beautiful voice-over commentary!

[welcometogrouchland]

[image ID: a 3 page digital comic of an alternate version of MAG 197.

Page 1: first panel is divided in two- one side shows an angry Jon and Basira, looking at Annabelle. Annabelle looks back, relaxed- her eyes red and her fangs bared. Martin is encased in web behind her. Next three panels are close-ups on Annabelle. She says "Well well, archivist. We meet again!". From behind her, a blue light grows stronger. Annabelle: "I'd stay right there if I were you-" she's interupted by an off-panel voice that says "cane...". She turns to face the source, eyes and mouth returning to normal. Annabelle: "wha-" the rest of the page shows the flaming ghost of Agnes Montague, as she says "ANNABELLE CANE". In the foreground, Jon and Basira look on, Basira saying "Jon?".

Page 2: we see Jon and Basira's bewildered faces. Basira: "mind telling me what's going on?" Jon: "it...it can't be-" Annabelle interrupts, annoyed: "it is. Agnes Montague. We've...met before". Next panel shows an exchange between the ghostly Agnes and Annabelle. Agnes: "an ironic fate, I suppose. Tethered in death to the place I scorned and destroyed in life." Annabelle: "how many times do we have to go over this? your time has passed, "messiah". Leave us". Agnes: "content with your title as the web's favoured stooge then, are we? I thought I was a martyr back in my day too. Self effacing in my goal. A God amongst men. But I wasn't a god. And it wasn't my goal. I never really got to have one of those. Perhaps if I "put my back in" as the saying goes, but...I don't think this is your goal either Annabelle. I can't see what you gain, after all". We close in on Annabelle's face. She says "what I gain is second to what my patron gains. I don't have a choice in the matter. None of us do". Agnes replies: "maybe. Maybe it's easier to convince ourselves that, rather than being solely powerless in a world of people able to change their fates where we are not, we're in a sea of other powerless people. I've watched you, Annabelle cane. Cutting and mending magnetic tape, choosing to make not just a narrative, but a story. You tell this story, a story that isn't even your own by all accounts, just how you want it to be told. It's novel to you. Like black coffee with room for milk."

Final page shows a purple web being burnt up by blue flame. In the centre, text in Agnes' ghostly font reads: So tell me Annabelle. How does the story end?". End ID]

Hello, as someone who was both on the "here's how Agnes can still win" and the "here's how sympathetic Annabelle can still win" train, I decided that for the prompts "fire" and "ghost" I would smash them together w/ this <3 (click for quality)

[pronouncingitwang]

annabelle cane with a dash of mikaele salesa | 1.2K words | annabelle arrives on the upton house grounds

Annabelle is not used to having nice things.

The Mother keeps her alive, but she is not, by any means, indulgent. Annabelle eats what she is given to survive and sleeps when a flat surface is provided. It’s comforting, knowing that as long as she remains useful, the worries of the rest of the world—finances, friendships, professional failures—will never need to cross her mind. Most of the time, at least. Other times, when she finds herself, say, shaving her head over a garbage bin every month because the Mother would rather she not direct her energy towards maintaining it, she reconsiders her stance.

Upton House is pretty much the dictionary definition of “nice things.” Annabelle should probably feel lucky that one of the neutral zones of the apocalypse happens to be The World’s Poshest House connected to The World’s Poshest Gardens, but she can’t shake off her sense of unease right now. Stepping onto the grounds, Annabelle feels the same way she did when she first spied the clean lines and shining glass of the Surrey campus. Like there was an elaborate joke playing out in the universe around her, and the punchline was you don’t belong here.

When Annabelle was a child, she was, like most children, afraid. The things she feared shifted day-to-day depending on the latest story her brother Chris had told her and the last thing she’d watched on television. Lying awake at night, hearing the snores of her sisters beside her, she would become convinced that a creak of the floor or a thud outside the door was something trying to get her. Eventually, she’d found that the best way to quell her fear was to flip the script.

“You better run,” she would whisper to the air, “You’re not the ghost. I’m the ghost. I’m haunting you.” And again, “You’re not the ghost. I’m the ghost,” and again, until the steely determination in her voice settled deep and solid in her belly.

Of course, this meant that, after she’d encountered that giant spider in the old chip shop, she’d run home in tears, whispering through sobs, “You’re not a scary spider. I’m a scary spider,” which… well. Annabelle can appreciate foreshadowing.

As she walks toward the door of the house, Annabelle employs a similar fear-banishing method. “You don’t live here,” she whispers, stepping forward. Her boot makes a mark in the immaculate grass, and she grinds her heel down harder. “I live here.”

Soon, Annabelle’s close enough to the house to see the texture of the brick, to begin to count the separate segments of the window shutters. At the first glimmer of a light inside, she bites back an incredulous laugh. This place is real. And, she reminds herself, she lives here.

What would Annabelle’s childhood be like, if she’d grown up in a place like this? If her family could sit around the dinner table without accidentally kicking one another in the shins? If they didn’t need to fight over the bathroom? If, after fights, they could go to their own, separate rooms to calm down and formulate apologies? If, as they wiped away their tears and took deep breaths the way her mother taught them—come on, Annabelle, in, out, in, out… that’s it, baby—they could see trees and flower beds outside their windows?

You don’t live here. I live here.

Annabelle feels the Mother’s influence loosening the closer she gets. Her steps become less mechanical. She sways more when she walks, and her limbs feel heavy, like whatever was holding them up had stopped trying so hard. Perhaps, though, some of her feet-dragging comes from genuine reluctance. Annabelle has read the statements. If Mikaele Salesa is as good of a man as his crew suggests, she doesn’t want to kill him for the right to stay.

You don’t live here. I live here.

The exhaustion and hunger hit Annabelle as soon as she reaches the house’s doorstep. She staggers forward, grabbing for the door. She hadn’t expected the handle to turn so easily. Then, she sees Mikaele standing in the doorway, waiting. Unlocked deliberately, then. He probably has a good view of the grounds from the house’s many, many windows.

Mikaele doesn’t scream, or even pull a face at Annabelle’s entrance. She watches him calmly take in the caved-in side of her skull, count her eight eyes, and draw his conclusions. All without saying a word. Maybe he knows not to provoke the Web. Maybe he’s seen too many oddities in his life for Annabelle to unnerve him. Either way, it’s not a promising sign.

You don’t live here. I live here.

Back when her new eyes were just beginning to grow in, Annabelle had been so afraid. She’d thought about sewing them shut, or stabbing them until they became sunken pits in her forehead, but clearly, they’re still there right now, unharmed. You’re not going to do it, a voice—hers? the Mother’s?—had taunted every time she’d reached for her sewing needle. You’re already imagining how much it could hurt. The voice was right, of course. It was silly of her to pretend the decision hadn’t already been made.

Mikaele is not, it seems, afraid. Unfortunate. There goes the intimidate-him-into-giving-up-the-camera strategy. But he also isn’t holding a weapon. He’d been the one to unlock the door. He practically reeks of loneliness. And maybe part of why he hadn’t flinched when he saw her was because he, too, knows how alienating it is for strangers, upon meeting you, to stumble backwards and say, “you’re not what I expected.”

You don’t live here. I live here.

You don’t live here. I live here.

You do live here, but maybe, also…

 “I live here,” Annabelle says.

“Okay,” Mikaele says. Just like that.

Relief and shock bubble up inside Annabelle. She wants to jump up and down and cheer, but Mikaele is watching her reaction closely. Instead, she orders her legs to stay still and her face to stay neutral. Annabelle allows herself a little movement—just enough to nod curtly—then steps through the doorway. She will process the gilt-edge chairs and the polished floors later; right now, she’s too focused on staying lucid. It takes effort, but she manages to stay upright all the way up the stairs. At the sight of the first empty bedroom, she groans, stumbles in, and collapses face-first onto a satin bedspread.

When Annabelle wakes, she finds a pile of provisions outside her door. Ten granola bars, still packaged, and several water bottles with unbroken seals, as if to say, “look, I didn’t poison this.” Whether the gesture was born of caution or general goodwill or both, Annabelle’s not sure. She hasn’t studied Mikaele enough to predict his actions with any accuracy. Perhaps in time, she will have.

Annabelle checks again for any tampering, then scarfs the food down as quickly as she can. She gives herself hiccups in the process, but the water helps with that. Bits of oat scatter across the ground as she chews, but she doesn’t mind. The spiders will take care of the crumbs. Then, she returns to bed.

“Maybe I should start growing my hair out again,” she murmurs to the nightstand. Then, she lies down, and falls back asleep in a room she can definitively call her own.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 15/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary:  Sasha calls a meeting to discuss their current situation, now that Martin and Jon have told their story.

New chapter of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin’s phone buzzed; he didn’t bother opening his eyes. He felt Jon lean toward the coffee table from where he sat underneath Martin’s legs.

“It’s Sasha,” Jon said. “Do you want to get it?”

“Not really.”

The phone continued to buzz.

“Do you… want me to get it?”

Martin realized she would probably just call Jon’s phone next anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Jon picked up on speaker. “Hey, Sasha.”

“Oh—oh, I thought I called—oh. I did.” There was a pause on the other end. “Is he—is Martin ok?”

“He’s—he’s here. He can hear you.”

“Martin, um—how are you?”

Martin still didn’t open his eyes; he started to answer, but he hadn’t spoken loudly for a little while and his voice was gravelly. He cleared his throat. “I’m ok.”

“All right.” There was another pause. “Jon, how are you?”

“I’m—I’m fine.” Jon moved the phone to rest it on Martin’s leg from its spot on the table, and now Martin did open his eyes. He guessed it was about mid-afternoon from the light in the sitting room. “What’s going on?”

“I was calling to tell you—” There was yet another pause. “Jon, I have to ask, do you already know what I’m going to say?”

“Oh,” Jon sat back against the couch. Martin sighed, but shook his head and shrugged when Jon looked at him. He hadn’t meant anything by it, or if he had, he didn’t know what it was. “I—no, not really. Although if you wanted, I could—”

“No, that’s all right. I think I prefer—well, I was calling to say that the police have allowed us to open up the Institute again. But not—”

“Not the archives,” Jon finished. “Or the tunnels.”

“Right. And I was thinking—they’re not going to be there investigating or whatever tonight, and while it’s closed to the public, maybe—we should meet there. All of us.”

“Who is all of us, exactly?”

“Well, I talked to Melanie and she’s told Georgie, and they have some questions… and I talked to Elias. I’m not sure exactly where he is with all this, he didn’t say much, but I’d like to invite him. Obviously Tim is still gone, but—anyway, what do you think? Would you come? Both of you?”

“Hold on.” Jon muted the phone and turned to Martin.

“What?” Martin asked.

“Do you want to?”

Martin sat up, crossing his legs to face Jon. “Is this my decision?”

“If you want it to be.”

“I’m—I’m not sure.” Before Jon answered him, though, he reconsidered. “Wait. Is it safe? Won’t the cops be watching or something? If they’ve closed it off—I mean, it’s probably not on the honor system.”

Jon went quiet and Martin could tell he was doing more than just turning it over—he was reaching out for something. “I think—for the moment—that could work in our favor.”

Martin waited to see if Jon would offer more of an explanation, but wasn’t particularly surprised when he didn’t. “Fine. If it’s safe, it’s your decision.”

“I can’t promise it’s safe, but—it’s as safe as anything else.”

Martin nodded and closed his eyes again. He didn’t bother listening to the end of the conversation. It was fine, really. Going was no worse than not going.

***

When they arrived that evening, there were two signs that the archives were closed; one was the crossed lines of blue tape reading “POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS” at the top of the stairs, and the other was a literal sign taped to the banister indicating that the archives were closed until further notice. Martin carefully lifted up one side of the tape.

“After you,” he told Jon.

“Thanks,” Jon said, stepping gingerly over the lower piece of tape.

As they entered the office, Sasha, Melanie, and Georgie, who had arrived before them, fell silent around the conference table. Jon and Martin stood awkwardly, almost apologetically, until Sasha attempted to bridge the discomfort.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

Jon nodded, and Martin turned his gaze toward the floor. He hadn’t noticed until that moment, but the rug, the same generic office rug that wasn’t quite the right size to fit under the conference table, had the same exact stain on it that it had in the other dimension. It came from some time before the rug had come to be in the assistants’ office, and Martin had no idea what its origin was, but that really wasn’t important.

Nothing was going to be any different.

“Martin.” Jon said his name with an emphasis that indicated it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and Martin looked up to find Jon already sitting, with an extra empty chair pulled over to the table for him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, making his way to the seat. This put him between Jon and Melanie; Georgie was on the other side of Melanie, and Sasha was to the other side of Jon. Between the five of them, they took up just about all the room they could comfortably have at the table.

Sasha spoke again. “Well, I don’t know if we’re still waiting for Elias, but—we might as well go ahead. Jon, I told you on the phone that I talked to Melanie and Georgie, and they had some—questions they wanted to ask.”

“Of course,” Jon said. Martin glanced at Melanie’s face to find the steely, unyielding expression she had worn so often when he had known her before. He realized he hadn’t missed it. Georgie, on the other hand, looked worried. He had seen that expression on her as well, but there was something different about it now. Maybe it was a hint of the fear she could still feel here.

“To be fair,” Georgie started, “Melanie has some questions. I really don’t think we should be here. I’m—I’m really only here for her.”

“You feel like it’s safer to stay away,” Jon said quietly.

“Well—yes, frankly. Melanie’s already been through enough, and honestly—it just doesn’t feel like we can really help. It feels like—like we can only get hurt. And that just doesn’t seem—responsible.”

“That could be true.”

Melanie broke in. “Wait, before we—"

Melanie stopped speaking as Sasha sat up; they all followed her gaze to find Elias standing in the doorway. He looked small, Martin thought. Tired.

“Sorry for being late. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No—no, you didn’t. I wasn’t sure if—well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m sure we can—” Sasha looked around at the table, trying to figure out where they could most easily squeeze in another extra chair.

“I’m fine. I’m—I’m fine here.” He sat on the corner of Tim’s desk, facing the group.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’ll just listen, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, of course. That—that’s fine.”

Martin could not have explained exactly what it was he noticed, but something about the way Jon was sitting changed just slightly, and Martin realized Jon couldn’t see Elias from his position at the table. He leaned in close to him.

“Do you want to switch seats?” he whispered.

Jon looked at him long enough that Martin realized he was considering, but then shook his head. “No. No, I’m all right.” Despite his words, his fingers grasped Martin’s below the edge of the table, and Martin realized that he’d maybe inadvertently overestimated Jon’s level of comfort with this situation.

“Everything all right?” Sasha asked.

“Yes,” said Jon, and then after a moment, “thank you.”

“Go on, Melanie.”

Melanie looked from Jon to Martin, and then back to Jon again. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“What do you want? Why did you tell us all this?”

“I—I don’t want anything.” Jon looked back at Melanie in confusion.

“Then why did you tell us all this?”

“It was me. I thought we should,” Martin interrupted. “It didn’t feel right to keep hiding it.”

“Well then, let me ask a different question—why didn’t you tell anyone for so long?”

“When everything—when we first—” Martin hadn’t really planned on doing any talking, and he wasn’t prepared. He stopped and gathered his thoughts, then started over. “After everything happened, it took a while for things to—to come into focus. For a bit we could only remember the—the other place, and we weren’t sure where we were, or if you were all you—and then after we understood everything, well, it was just complicated. After what happened in the tunnels yesterday though—it was just—it was time. Probably past time, I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Melanie’s expression didn’t change. “So what are you going to tell us we should do, now that we know?”

Tell them to do? Martin looked at Jon; this wasn’t really a question he had anticipated.

“Nothing,” Jon said.

“Nothing,” Melanie repeated. “No advice for defeating these—fear powers, whatever they are? No explaining to us how we have to help you become more powerful so that you can—”

“No.” Martin felt a bit of anger when he realized what she was implying. “No, it—it’s not like that. Jon—Jon’s not—”

“No.” Jon squeezed his hand. “No advice. No—requests.”

“Sasha said—Sasha said that in the other world, the Institute—was like a trap, I guess. Like once people worked there, they couldn’t leave. They had to serve these things.”

“Just one of them. Just the Eye.”

“And you were in charge.”

Martin started. “What?”

“Jon was the archivist there instead of Sasha. And he had some kind of power. And—” She looked directly at Jon. “You still have it now.”

“That’s true,” Jon said.

“It was Jonah,” Martin blurted out. “It had nothing to do with Jon. Jonah Magnus was in charge of the whole thing. It was all him, he was the one who set it all up, who trapped everyone into working for him, and—”

“Right,” Melanie said. “Jonah Magnus, the—the old dead guy who started the Institute.”

“But he wasn’t dead there,” Martin snapped. “He was—”

The pressure of Jon’s fingers on his changed, and he stopped.

“He was Elias,” Melanie finished. “Or Elias was Jonah. Something like that.”

“Jonah—” Jon turned his head to look at Elias, who was still sitting quietly on the edge of Tim’s desk.

“It’s all right,” Elias said. “Say whatever you need to say. I’m fine.”

Jon turned back to the table. “Jonah killed Elias. And used his physical body to stay alive and run the Institute.”

Melanie looked like she was about to say something else, but then she glanced at Elias again and seemed to change her mind.

“Ok, look—what I really want to know is—what if—what if I do try to—help, somehow. Am I—am I already trapped here? And would it—would I really just be working for this—this Eye?”

“You’re not trapped here,” Jon said. “None of you—none of us—are. But that’s not really what you want to know, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Melanie asked.

“You want to know if you can trust me.”

Melanie thought. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

Jon contemplated for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Jon.” Martin couldn’t help it. “Yes, of course you can trust him. Jesus Christ, Jon.”

“Hm.”

Silence fell momentarily over the small group, until Georgie spoke again.

“All right. Let me—it sounds like, there, Melanie and I did everything we could to—to avoid it. To stay away. And clearly that didn’t work out, but—well, I’ve already said it, I’m inclined that way now. So tell me. How did I feel about it? In the end?”

Martin bit his lip; his frustration with Melanie and Jon’s back-and-forth left him. He remembered their conversation on that last night as well as he imagined Jon did.

“What?” Georgie said. “Be honest.”

Jon took a breath. “You regretted it.”

“Oh, of course she did,” Melanie countered immediately. “Look, Georgie, maybe I do want to at least—but that’s just—I don’t want you to make any decisions because of him. How do you know if you can trust him? Even he said—and how do you know he’s even really your Jon?”

“How do I—”

“Oh, I don’t mean—” She turned awkwardly to Martin. “I don’t mean her Jon, I just—”

Martin put a hand to his forehead. “I don’t think anyone thought—”

“Wait.” Jon let go of Martin’s other hand to hold up a finger, and everyone stopped talking. They listened to the silence until Jon spoke again. “You can come in, Basira.”

Sasha stood up as Basira, arms crossed and looking slightly disconcerted, entered the assistants’ office.

“Oh,” Sasha said, “I know the archives are off limits—we were just—”

“It’s all right,” Basira said. “I’m not here to arrest any of you.”

“Oh,” Sasha said again, slowly sinking back into her chair. They all stared uncomfortably. “Then, um… why are you here?”

“I saw you were all here”—she pointed to a corner of the room, where Martin couldn’t actually see anything but had to assume there was a camera of some sort installed— “and I suppose I wanted to—try to find out more about what happened the other day.”

“And to ask about Daisy,” Jon added.

Basira looked at him, apparently trying to make up her mind about something, but then she nodded slowly. “Yeah. And to ask about Daisy.”

“Oh,” Sasha said one more time. “Hang on, I’m sure we can find somewhere for you to—”

“I’ve got it,” Elias said, grabbing Tim’s chair and bringing it out from behind his desk for her to sit on. They all turned awkwardly toward her from their seats at the table.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t find myself in this situation often. This is not exactly how I imagined this going down.”

“Sorry.” Martin found himself apologizing for the situation. “If you want, I could—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Basira waved him off. “It’s good for my hubris, anyway. So look—we’ve been getting a lot of very strange reports lately. I have a feeling you know what I mean. And we’ve had some incidents ourselves, but—the point is, some of the people who came to us mentioned they had talked to you all here at the Magnus Institute. They had this idea that you all studied things like that here, or—or something. And then yesterday, you clearly knew something about whatever had happened down there in the tunnels. At least, you two did.” She turned to Martin and Jon. “You two and the other one—you know, the hot one?”

“Tim,” Jon said, then looked at Martin. “I don’t—she said that once in—”

Martin put his hands up. “Why is everyone doing this tonight? I really—I’m really not that sensitive.”

“Right,” Jon said. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Basira continued, “when I remembered about the missing person thing and thought about the timing, and just—it felt like there might be some connection. So when I saw you were all here, I thought that instead of reporting it, I’d just come see what I could find out. And if—well, if you did know something, then—yeah.”

“And do you still want to talk about Daisy now?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s just—she’s my partner, you know? And—it’s hard. I feel bad.”

“Go on,” Jon said. “Tell us.”

Martin recognized something in his tone.

“Jon.”

Jon turned to meet his eyes.

“It’s all right,” he said. “She wants to talk.”

Martin wasn’t sure if it was all right, but Basira certainly didn’t seem bothered.

“So here’s the thing. Like I said, Daisy is my partner. I’ve worked with her for years now. We put our lives in each other’s hands all the time. I don’t know how to describe that to someone who’s never experienced it. I think the point is, we trust each other. More than most people will ever have to trust another person. And I’ve worked hard to earn that trust. I know her. Don’t get me wrong—she’s not perfect. She’s always been—determined, and sometimes that’s maybe pushed her to take things out of step or—I don’t know. But she’s always wanted justice. That’s always been important to her. Trying to make things right. Or at least as right as they can be. I mean—you see a lot of bad stuff on the force, really bad stuff, and there are some things that nothing will ever make right, but—you know.

“After everything started happening though—around the time you reported these two missing—something changed in her. And it’s been getting worse. There are some days when I feel like I don’t know her now. At first, I thought it was just the stress of dealing with the incidents, signing the section forms, all of that, but—then I started seeing it. That look in her eyes. I’m sure you saw it yesterday. That’s not her. Not really. Lately it’s like it doesn’t seem to matter to her whether she’s even got the right person. And then—she’ll disappear for days sometimes. She’s done that before, but she’s at least always told me where she was going or what case she was investigating. Now I have no idea. And the worst part is that I don’t think I really want to know. I suppose that makes me kind of a shit partner.

“You know, I really don’t know why I’m saying all of this. Don’t repeat it to anyone—if you do, I’ll lie. I just—I want it to stop. I want whatever’s happened to her to stop.”

Jon nodded. “And what have you figured out so far?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s some kind of monsters here. And they have something to do with you.” She looked at Jon and Martin.

“Close enough,” Jon said. “What else do you want to know?”

“What’s their purpose?”

“Fear. They create it, and they survive on it.”

“Ok, and—what do they have to do with Daisy? Why are they messing with her?”

“Technically, they’re not,” Jon answered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means—Daisy is drawn to them. One of them, in particular. It’s called—it’s called the Hunt.”

“Does she know about the—the Hunt? Is she aware of it?”

“Not directly.”

“So she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“No.”

“And is she—is she afraid?”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “She—she’s happy, I suppose. She likes it. But if she knew, and she could choose—she wouldn’t choose it.”

“I see.”

They waited a moment.

“Is there—anything else you want to know?” Jon asked.

“Not really. Not unless there’s something I can do. I’d rather not keep things from Daisy. Just—are you trying to stop it?”

“Yes,” Sasha answered.

Martin felt a small pulse from the lump still lurking in his gut.

“To be completely honest,” Jon said, “it’s not likely we can.”

“But we’re going to try,” Sasha said.

“Good.” Basira stood up from her chair. “What do you need from me? Obviously I’m somewhat limited, but I might be able to help with something.”

“What do you think, Jon?” Sasha asked.

“Maybe—keep the archives closed. Officially. For a while. If they’re open, and we’re here—they’ll only be a target.”

“Easy enough,” Basira answered. “Speaking of, though—try not to come back here. I can’t guarantee I’d be the only one watching. Or even that I’d be able to warn you if—if someone else were interested.”

“Got it,” Sasha said. “Anything else, Jon?”

“Not at the moment. If we need anything else, though—”

“Here’s my number.” Basira was already writing on a pad of paper on Tim’s desk. “That is my direct number, but—be careful. I don’t know what’s going to happen between now and—whenever.”

“Understood.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to—stick around?” Sasha asked. “I’m sure we’d—”

“Better not,” Basira answered, setting the pen back down on the desk. “But I’ll do what I can. And really—don’t stay here too much longer tonight, either.”

“All right,” said Sasha. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Basira headed toward the door. “Save your thanks.”

“That was strange,” Sasha said, after Basira had left. “Jon, did you know she would come?”

“I knew—I knew Basira was in charge of watching the archives. And I knew she was worried about Daisy.”

“I see,” Sasha said.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“So what are we doing?” Georgie asked. “Are we—are we really going to try to stop it?”

“Yes,” Sasha said again, even more insistently than the first time.

“Sasha,” Jon said softly, “I don’t—”

“I know, you’re not sure we can.”

“Hang on,” Melanie said. “Jon, do you—do you know we can’t stop it? Or—or are you saying that because you couldn’t before?”

“I don’t—” Jon looked down at his hands, where they had come to rest on the table. “No. I don’t know that we can’t stop it.”

“Then we have to try,” Sasha said. “Think about it. There’s no apocalypse here. Jonah Magnus isn’t here. Most people—other than us—don’t even really know these things exist. These rituals, they were all deliberate, right? Somebody had to choose to start them. And we know so much more than you did. Maybe we can find a way.”

Jon answered with silence; Martin turned to stare at the wall.

“At least say you’re with us, Jon. If the rest of us try. At least be on our side. You too, Martin.”

Jon sighed. “Yes, of course I’m on your side. If that’s what you choose.”

“Martin?”

He turned back to find Sasha looking at him expectantly.

“Look—it’s not like I’m—”

Jon took his hand. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“We need you, Martin,” Sasha added.

Need. He remembered telling Jon once that they didn’t need him—that Jon didn’t need him. His own words echoed in his head. Everyone’s alone, but we all survive.

They didn’t all survive, though, did they?

“Fine.” He still didn’t believe they needed him, or even that having him around would change anything—but he wouldn’t abandon them, either. “I’m—I’m here.”

“Good.” Sasha said. “Melanie? Georgie?”

“What do you think?” Melanie asked, turning to Georgie.

“Well,” Georgie said, “I know I don’t want to have any regrets. And I do trust Jon. But Melanie, I meant it, you’ve been through so much already, and—”

“We’re in,” Melanie said. “For now, at least.”

“All right,” Sasha said. “Elias?”

They all turned toward him.

“Hm.” He smiled faintly, almost inwardly. “Sure. Why not?”

“That’s all of us, then. And I’ll get Tim back here as soon as he’s ready.”

“So—now what?” Georgie asked.

“I—” Sasha frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose we can’t stay here much longer, though. We’ll have to come up with another meeting spot.”

Elias cleared his throat. “Are we safe?”

Everyone turned to Jon in a way that Martin found very familiar.

“Safe—how?” Jon asked.

“Are we safe? When we leave here—will we be all right?”

“That’s complicated.” Jon thought. “I suppose we’re relatively safe, for the moment. That could change any time, though, and I wouldn’t necessarily know if it did. And once Annabelle—understands that we’re—”

“Annabelle is the—the Web lady?” Sasha asked. “The one that came here with you?”

“Yes,” Jon said.

“I guess what I’m wondering is—would we be safer if we were together?” Elias asked.

“I don’t know.”

Martin thought about the time after the Unknowing, and before he’d ended up in the Lonely. Certainly the other assistants had all felt safer staying together. Probably they had been. And Martin, well, he hadn’t really been that concerned about his safety then, had he? He’d sort of just been waiting for something to—

“Yeah,” he said. “Probably.”

Jon nodded.

Elias continued. “Well, if you want—and I can understand if you don’t—you all can come and stay with me and Allan. I’ve certainly got enough spare rooms to go around.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind,” Sasha replied. “I mean—I know Melanie and Georgie have each other, and Jon and Martin, but I—yeah. If it’s ok.”

“Of course it is. What about the rest of you?”

“We—have a cat,” Melanie said.

“That’s fine. Bring the cat.”

Melanie and Georgie spoke in whispers to each other for a moment, and then turned back to the rest of the group.

“If Sasha’s going, we’ll go,” Melanie said, slipping her hand into Georgie’s.

“Thanks.” The relief was evident in Sasha’s voice. “Martin? Jon?”

“It’s up to you,” Jon said, turning to Martin.

“We’ll go.” Martin was almost surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth; he certainly hadn’t made anything like a conscious decision.

“All right, then.” Elias stood up from Tim’s desk, and Martin thought he saw some relief in him as well. “It’s a bit out in the country. Who has a car?”

***

Martin was trying, but the one small duffel bag he had wouldn’t quite fit everything he wanted to bring. They had an hour or so to pack before Elias was coming to pick them up, and he knew it really wasn’t a big deal—it wouldn’t be that hard to come get something else if he needed it—but that didn’t temper his frustration. If he managed to get his toiletries in the bag, then there were a couple of shirts that just didn’t want to let the zipper close; he could fit the shirts, but then—did he really need more than one pair of pants?

“Ugh.” He let the shirts drop to the floor and slumped back against the bed.

“I have room,” Jon said, from his seat on the floor next to Martin. His suitcase was neatly packed already, and he’d pretty much been watching Martin struggle for five minutes.

“It’s not—hang on, I can do this.” He unpacked the duffel bag again. It was more of a gym bag than anything actually meant for traveling. He’d never gone anywhere when his mother had still been living with him, and then after she had moved out, he still didn’t like being too far away from her. The bag had really only ever served for overnights—which he’d done less often than he might have, too.

Once again, he came up short on space. It was those two shirts.

“God damn it.”

“Just put them in my suitcase,” Jon said.

Without answering, he leaned forward and put all his weight on the small stack of clothing that was already in the bag with one arm, and tried again to jam the shirts in on top of them.

He stopped when he felt Jon’s hand on his elbow.

“Martin—do you want to do this? Do you want to go?”

He sat back on his calves. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Of course you do.”

“Jon—you know I’m not going to stay here if you’re going.”

“That’s not what I meant. If you want to stay—I’ll stay here with you.”

Martin leaned back against the bed again, and Jon did as well. Their arms met at the shoulder.

“Do you mean that?” Martin asked. “Would you be mad?”

“I wouldn’t be mad. Martin, you—you waited for me. In Scotland. You waited for me to be ready. I’ll wait for you.”

Martin nodded; Jon shifted his weight to rest against him, and Martin slipped his arm just behind Jon’s back.

“So this is that, then? This is us leaving the cabin again?”

“Maybe.” Jon let his head fall against Martin’s chest. “Maybe not. Maybe it comes to nothing.”

“You know, this—kind of reminded me of packing to go there. To the cabin. Except—” His throat caught.

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to, though.” Martin took a breath. “Talking to you—it always makes me feel a bit better, at least. I know you’re not like that, when you—just give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Martin looked around the room, as much as he could without pushing Jon away. The bed, the dresser—he hadn’t been there that long, but the amount of time was irrelevant. Despite the questions he’d had later about their living situation, it had stopped being Jon’s bed the moment he’d gotten there; it was their bed. Their dresser. Their bathroom. It was silly to even care about sharing most of those things, but it had mattered. It was what he’d wanted. And as much as Jon could, it was what he’d wanted, too. Martin knew that.

“I was—maybe it was selfish—but I was happy when we went to that cabin. Or maybe—maybe just hopeful—but it had been so long since I’d had any hope, it felt like happiness.”

“Me too,” Jon said.

“And I’m—I’m sad now.” Martin laughed in spite of himself.

“What’s funny about that?” Jon asked.

“Remember when we argued about expressing your emotions, and I asked you how you felt about the apocalypse, and all you said was—sad?”

“Oh,” Jon smiled too, now. “I do remember.”

“I’m—I’ll do better. I feel hopeless. Worse than hopeless, when I think about how we felt then, because we it was so different. We still thought we could stop it. Call it off. Now, it’s—it feels like it’s just the end. And we’re walking into it.”

“Not necessarily. It could—they could all decide there’s nothing we can do, and we’ll be back here in a week.”

“But if we are—isn’t that—isn’t that just as bad? Doesn’t it just go the same place, with one more failure behind us?”

“Martin, we really don’t have go. Not yet.”

Martin thought. He didn’t want to leave. But he also knew if they stayed—while everyone else was together, scared, groping for answers—it wouldn’t be the same. It was over, either way.

“Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon answered quietly.

“I’m—I’m glad we had this.”

“Me too.”

[forgcdstrength]

Edith Crawley

FACE-CLAIM: Laura Carmichael 

STATUS: semi-active

ORIENTATION: panromantic bisexual

BIOGRAPHY:

Edith Josephine Pelham, Marchioness of Hexham (née Crawley; born 1892) is the second daughter of Robert and Cora Crawley, sister of Lady Mary Talbot and the late Lady Sybil Branson, granddaughter of Violet Crawley, sister-in-law of Tom Branson, Henry Talbot, and the late Matthew Crawley; and the aunt to her nephew, George Crawley and her nieces, Sybbie Branson and Caroline Talbot.

Her father's sister, Lady Rosamund Painswick and her deceased husband Marmaduke Painswick are Edith's aunt and uncle. Also, her mother's brother, Harold Levinson, is her uncle. She is second cousins with Lady Rose Aldridge, Rose's sister Lady Annabelle and James MacClare, Earl of Newtonmore, and her second cousin-in-law is Rose's husband Atticus Aldridge, and her first-cousin-once-removed is Rose's mother, Susan MacClare, wife of Hugh MacClare, Marquess of Flintshire.

In 1925, she married Herbert "Bertie" Pelham, 7th Marquess of Hexham. As the Marchioness of Hexham she outranks the female members of her immediate family, including her mother. She has a daughter, Marigold, by her deceased lover, Michael Gregson, and in 1927 she revealed she was pregnant with Bertie's child.

Edith has strawberry blonde waves, delicate lips, a light complexion, a long nose, and a slim figure. Although she is not considered as beautiful as her sisters, Mary Talbot and Sybil Branson, and her second cousin, Rose Aldridge, she is always glamorous and fashionable.

Edith's greatest struggle in life has been to stand out and be appreciated for her own talents. Of four prospective romantic relationships (Patrick, Strallan, Gregson and Bertie Pelham), each failed to materialize into something happy or lasting, until Bertie Pelham. It has gotten to the point where she is described as 'Poor Edith,' due to the amount of suffering and heartache she goes through. However, this finally ended when Edith married Bertie Pelham, the new Marquess of Hexham when he apologized for his behaviour and asked her to give him another chance. Years of resentment have built a fierce rivalry between her and her sister Mary to whom she displays her mean, jealous, and cruel side.

However, Edith is a survivor (if something of a notoriously bad planner) and she continues to dream of a life filled with love and a family of her own and remains in pursuit of that. While concerned about class distinctions, like every woman of her status in that era would be, Edith has never let them stop her, in between attempts to help others or prove her worth. She learns how to drive and volunteers at the Drake family farm, tends to the wounded as head of non-medical welfare when Downton Abbey is a convalescent home, fought to have William Mason brought to Downton and then attended to him in his dying days, and wrote a popular editorial column before eventually running the magazine despite protests from her family. Years of change and loss have seen a softening of Lady Edith. She is less snobbish and more devoted to her family, even going as far as to make greater efforts to have a happier relationship with Mary which they do to some extent.

After taking over The Sketch magazine business, she has become much more independent and involved with affairs outside Downton Abbey. Due to disagreements with her chief editor, she has learned to be more assertive and more savvy about the business world.

Lady Edith Crawley is the second daughter to Lord and Lady Grantham, born in 1892. During the first series Edith is often said to be the "forgotten" one. This is because she was seen not to be as pretty and smooth-talking as her older sister Mary and less daring and passionate than Sybil, the youngest. Her rivalry with Mary is further fueled by the fact that Edith genuinely loved the dead heir, Patrick, but she stood no chance to win his affection once the beautiful Mary decided to pursue him. Everyone favoured the engagement to keep the money in the immediate family, despite the fact that Mary was no more than fond of Patrick. After initially trying to woo Matthew Crawley, she begins a relationship with Sir Anthony Strallan. Towards the end of series one he is on the verge of asking for her hand, but changes his mind when Mary implies that Edith was simply leading him on for her own amusement. At the time Anthony Strallan seemed to be Edith's last chance at making a successful marriage, and Mary intentionally intervened in revenge, because Edith had written a letter to the Turkish Embassy in London informing them about the exact nature of their attaché's death in Mary's bed.

During the Great War, Edith steps out of her comfort zone. She was the first of the Crawley family to learn how to drive an automobile, taking lessons from the family chauffeur Tom Branson. Upon the outbreak of the First World War Edith uses her driving skills to work on a local farm driving tractors, much to the bemusement and gratitude of the farmer. She starts a relationship with him, eventually sharing a kiss, although his wife is an unknown spectator to their embrace. She receives a letter shortly after this saying that her services will not be needed at their farm anymore. Edith is at first saddened by this, because she felt she had a purpose working on the farm. She decides to ask her sister Sybil what to do about her situation and Sybil encourages her to work as a convalescent helper. She is cheered by this, although it exposes her to the horrors of war firsthand while helping Sybil and the nurses care for the wounded soldiers. As a result, she becomes more sympathetic and is commended by a visiting general Matthew brought back to Downton while on leave. When an injured veteran claiming to be the late Patrick Crawley comes to Downton to convalesce, Edith believes his story. He tells her he always knew she loved him and wants to marry her once the family accepts him again. Edith believes "Patrick" whereas most in her family do not. When Patrick suddenly leaves, he leaves her a note that reads: "Dear Edith, it was too difficult. I am sorry. P. Gordon." She cries that they drove him away by not believing him.

After the war ended, she tries to resume a relationship with Sir Anthony Strallan, but he refuses as he sustained a severe injury that rendered one of his arms useless and does not want to tie her down to a disabled veteran.

Sir Anthony Strallan eventually proposes to Lady Edith and they become engaged. Some of the family doesn't really approve of the marriage, but they allow it for Edith's happiness. They are set to marry but Anthony has second thoughts and jilts her at the altar, leaving Edith devastated, believing she is destined to the life of a spinster. However, soon after, she receives a very interesting proposition to write in a newspaper. Her family of course do not approve with the exception of Matthew and Tom. She wants to move on and make something of her life, so she accepts an offer from the editor of the Sketch, Michael Gregson, to write in a regular column on issues which modern women are faced with. It soon becomes clear that Gregson is attracted to her. However, it is revealed that he is married to a woman who has been confined for years to a mental asylum due to insanity without any chance of divorce. On learning about this, Edith wants to resign her new position but reconsiders after he pleads with her to stay on.

When the family goes on vacation to Scotland, Michael makes the decision to follow Edith. He stays not too far away from Duneagle Castle, claiming he is attending a sketching and fishing holiday which causes Mary and Matthew to become quite wary of him. Cora and Robert decide to invite Gregson to dinner at the castle because Cora expresses a desire to meet him. At this dinner, Edith asks Michael why he is there, causing him to profess his love for her and that the reason he followed is because he wants her family to accept him. She tells him she does not see a happy ending for them. After an afternoon fishing with Matthew, he determines that Michael's love is good and honest and he and Mary agree that they think he is going to propose. However, upon discovering that Michael has an insane wife who he cannot divorce, he decides Michael is wrong to pursue Edith and tells him to say his last farewell to her that evening. He does so but is surprised when Edith tells him she doesn't want this to be their last evening together because she does love him.

In the six months which followed the trip to Scotland, Michael and Edith had grown closer. On Valentine's day, he sent Edith a card and invited her to attend a party in London with him in order to introduce her to his literary friends. He met her at the railway station. At the party, Edith and Michael, during a moment together, almost kiss before another guest interrupts them.

She later attends dinner alone with him at the Criterion where he tells her some of his plans to get a divorce. He tells her that, in Germany, he can be granted a divorce on the grounds that his spouse is mentally ill. This means he would have to become a citizen of Germany. Edith seemed surprised to hear that Michael would be willing to move countries for her and become German for her, especially so soon after the Great War. They then kiss without worry of being seen in the restaurant

Before Edith left London to return to Downton, Michael tells her although he has begun the long process of becoming a German citizen, he also wishes to try and gain her father's approval before their marriage because he thinks this is the only way they can have a future together. She suggests he visit Downton but he is a little worried about that. She suggests he attend an upcoming party at Downton, which he agrees to do. While he is there, she tries to encourage her father to talk to him more. Later, as Michael prepares to leave for Munich to finalize his citizenship change and divorce, she signs a document he gives her, entitling her to more control over his own assets. He starts kissing her, and she ultimately does not resist. They spend the night together.  

Unfortunately, her Aunt, Lady Rosamund Painswick confronts her after her maid spots Edith returning to the house at six in the morning. Edith defends Michael and insists she trusts him, and is upset when Rosamund reminds her of what happened between her and Sir Anthony Strallan. Edith is upset by this, saying it was unkind. She also does not feel sorry for her night with Michael, but Rosamund warns her that one day she may be sorry, because, she insists, not everything will change.

But after Michael leaves for Germany, time goes by and Edith receives no word from him and has no idea what has become of him. Her mother at first remarks he is probably busy. Her father is certain Michael will be fine, both he and Violet ultimately telling her to be patient. Nevertheless, Edith loses hope of seeing Michael again, but she still wants to know what happened to him.

Edith has lied to her mother about why Michael has gone to Germany, remarking he was sight-seeing. She later makes a secret trip to London to see a Dr Goldman. Later, as Edith's worries intensify, Cora assures her daughter that if something terrible had happened they would have heard by now. Then one night Edith receives a letter in the evening post from Dr Goldman.

She realizes she is pregnant with Michael's child. Robert tries to comfort her later when he finds her distraught. But she pushes him away, insisting that whatever he might say about his love for her, that she was never loved as much by him as her sisters. Rosamund later asks her what is troubling her. Edith confesses the truth, including that she has been considering getting an abortion for fear of becoming an outcast, despite loving Michael still and having wanted this child. She goes to the clinic with Rosamund (who is opposed to Edith's decision), but then decides at the last minute not to do it after seeing another woman there crying. She admits that the truth will soon break out among the rest of her family.

But by the time of the local bazaar, the family still does not know about Edith's condition. Rosamund suggests Edith travel to the continent, to Switzerland, ostensibly to "learn French" but in truth to give birth and then have someone adopt her child without anyone in England knowing. Edith is not too happy about this plan because she wants to be a part of her child's life and upbringing.

When Rosamund visits Downton for the bazaar and mentions the possibility of going abroad and taking Edith with her, Mary questions Edith, citing she never wanted to learn French and immediately suspecting it is an "incognito" search for Michael. Tom reminds her that it is a serious situation, for which Edith thanks him. Violet soon sees through this plan but agrees with Rosamund. She promises to remain silent about Edith's secret and support her. Still, Edith is in despair, beginning to wonder if God does not want her to be happy.

By the summer of 1923, Edith has given birth to a baby girl in Genéva, having left her with an adoptive family. In despair for having left her daughter in a foreign country, she decides she cannot go on like this and against the advice of her aunt and grandmother plans to return to Switzerland, retrieve her child and put her in the care of Downton Abbey estate tenant farmer Timothy Drewe and his wife. Her hopes are dashed further at seeing Michael again, and she feels she owes something to their child, knowing that Michael has given her power of attorney in his absence, and may well have left her everything in his will.

Edith regularly visits Yew Tree Farm to see her daughter Marigold. Her visits make Margie Drewe suspicious of her attachment to both her husband and Marigold. Mr. Drewe later asks Edith to meet him and tells her of this suspicion. Edith accidentally tells Drewe that Marigold is her daughter, by saying, "Well, that's better than the real reason." Drewe then reveals he had known about the connection since she asked him to take Marigold in. She asks him if he thinks she should control her feelings. He tells her he could but doesn't feel she should, because in his opinion, mothers should love their children. He says she needs a way to live the truth without telling the truth.

Whilst overseeing some maids, Mrs. Hughes finds a misplaced German primer book that belonged to Michael Gregson, and decides to return it to Edith, who asks for it to be left in her bedroom. Gazing at both her daughter's photograph and Michael's signature in the book, grief overcomes her and she throws the book, and it lands too close to the fire. Fortunately Thomas Barrow is patrolling the gallery later on, smells the smoke and, after raising the alarm, carries her to safety. The fire brigade, led by Drewe, eventually arrives and puts out the fire before any damage beyond Edith's room is done. As her bedroom is ruined, Edith sleeps in her father's dressing room. She tells her mother that she feels so stupid for starting the fire, but Cora dismisses it.

Edith goes to thank Drewe, and he tells her he has come up with a way for her to take a greater interest in Marigold, but Mrs. Hughes is nearby and overhears their conversation. Later she and Anna, while Edith's room is being cleaned, find the photograph of Marigold as a baby underneath Edith's pillow. Anna gives it to Mrs. Hughes, who holds onto it.

Mr. Drewe proposes making Edith a benefactor for Marigold, perhaps even a godparent. His wife however objects, remarking that her sister was named godmother to Marigold at her christening. She also, not knowing the truth, feels Edith is treating Marigold like a doll and notes, like Edith's family, that she might lose interest in Marigold someday. Drewe insists she won't lose interest, but Mrs. Drewe isn't convinced. Robert remarks that maybe Edith is doing this because she needs someone to love, with everyone coming to the conclusion that Michael Gregson is most likely dead.

One day, Edith agrees to look after Marigold while Margie is out. Margie returns to find the house empty, only to see her husband, Edith, and Marigold admiring pigs. Edith takes her leave, but Margie insists now that Edith cannot have their child. She even accuses her husband of being soft for Edith now. He angrily replies she is the one who is soft, soft in the head.

Later, he goes to Downton while the family are entertaining Russian refugees. Edith admits that she may have annoyed Margie, but Drewe tells her now that she must stay away, not forever but for now she must stay away. Edith takes the news very hard and goes past Mrs. Hughes and Anna to her room in tears. But when Rosamund and Violet discover Edith brought Marigold back from Switzerland, they propose sending her to a boarding school in France. Edith is horrified and tries to persuade her grandmother that there must be a way for Marigold to remain in her life. When she fails, she instantly begins making a plan of her own.

After Edith receives word that Michael is dead, she decides to leave Downton Abbey while her family are at the races (except for Tom, whom she says goodbye to before she leaves but does not explain where or why she is going). Edith then goes to the Drewe's cottage and explains to Mrs. Drewe that she is Marigold's mother, showing her a copy of Marigold's birth certificate (she had signed it with her real name rather than a false one as Rosamund wanted her to do, because she knew she might need proof one day). Although Mrs. Drewe does not take the news well at first, she accepts it and allows Edith to leave with Marigold, giving her the girl's teddy bear. Edith then travels to London (presumably) to a hotel room she had booked, and plans to celebrate her newfound happiness with Marigold, for although she admits being together is currently "not ideal" it is still "such an improvement on being apart."

Cora then learns the truth about Edith and Marigold from Mrs. Drewe. She is furious with Rosamund and Violet for keeping her in the dark about her third grandchild, and for learning that it was their suggestion of sending Marigold away that drove Edith to run off. She insists that they must find her and listen to what she wants.

Rose's suitor Atticus Aldridge suggests they should contact the London office of Gregson's publishing company, which Edith had inherited. As hoped, they find Edith there. She is upset that Cora has learned the truth, while Cora is disappointed in Edith using Mrs. Drewe the way she did. Edith insists she is not coming back but agrees to talk to her mother privately after Cora threatens to openly discuss the situation in front of Edith's new employees.

Edith reveals she was at first considering going to America, dropping her title and inventing a dead husband. But she chose not to go through with that plan for two reasons: she would prefer Marigold grew up English, and she does not want to let the magazine business fall into ruin. She was then considering passing Marigold off as her orphan godchild. Cora instead asks that she bring Marigold home, on the pretense that she is adopting her because the Drewes can no longer afford to raise their friend's child. Rosamund protests, but Edith agrees, insisting that neither her father nor Mary can ever know the truth.

Mary objects to the plan, but Edith successfully "adopts" Marigold and begins raising her in Downton. Robert soon figures out the truth due to Edith's "obsession" with Marigold and the girl's resemblance to Gregson, but Cora asks him to not say a word, even to Edith, for a little while longer. Robert agrees and thinks he will love his new granddaughter.

Later while the family is holidaying at Brancaster Castle in Northumberland, Robert reveals to Edith that he knows about Marigold and says they will do their best for her, for both Edith's and Gregson's sake. Edith is visibly touched by her father's kindness, and later Tom reveals to her that he too has figured out who Marigold is and agrees to keep silent too. She also befriends Brancaster's agent, Bertie Pelham.

Edith receives a telephone call from her editor, Mr. Skinner. Cora asks if there was a problem, to which Edith responds that "there is always a problem," and that Skinner does not like working for a woman. Edith and Rosamund visit her new London apartment that she inherited from Michael and discuss Edith's future. Edith visits Mallerton Hall with her family.

Edith goes to London again, this time receiving more problems from her troublesome editor Mr. Skinner. However, it was a problem closer to home that reaches a breaking point for Edith. Her sister Mary took Marigold and Mrs. Drewe was very overcome, which meant that she has definitely not gotten over Marigold, even though it’s been months since the little girl left Yew Tree Farm. Edith then later attended the Moulton Fat Stock show with her entire family, which ended in tragedy when Marigold went missing. Mr. Drewe then suspected his wife of taking Marigold back to their home as she and their family truck were also missing. Edith along with her parents and Mr. Drewe drive to Yew Tree Farm where Mr. Drewe reclaims Marigold back and hands the little girl back to Edith. Edith is overjoyed when she is back. Later the Drewes leave Yew Tree Farm and Edith thinks it to be for the best to avoid any more problems.

Edith then goes up to London again to check on the Sketch magazine but when she heard that the articles need to be printed by 4 am and Mr. Skinner hasn't really done anything much, she fires him. Luckily for her, she meets an old acquaintance Bertie Pelham, whom she danced with at Brancaster castle. Bertie asked her out for a drink but when she told him she couldn't and why, Bertie immediately offers to stay up late and help her out.

Fortunately after long hours of work, the magazine articles are printed and are sent to be delivered. Edith thanks Bertie and is very grateful for his help. The two discuss Edith's purpose of being an editor whilst having coffee. In the aftermath, Edith attends the wedding of Carson and Mrs. Hughes, where she along with the rest of her family are overjoyed at seeing Tom coming back and staying at Downton for good. She later opts to appoint a woman editor for her magazine.

Edith meets Bertie Pelham in London again where they discuss their own personal lives. Edith then invites Bertie to her flat for pre-dinner cocktails while he can pick where they're going for dinner. Bertie and Edith discuss recent events while drinking cocktails and get ready to go. Bertie helps Edith with her evening fur coat, and Edith asks him how he knew to choose the Cafe de Paris, since that was her favorite place. Bertie admits that he knew they liked the same things which made Edith turn around to look at him admirably and staring into his lips. Without thinking, Bertie kisses her. Bertie then admits his feelings for Edith to which she is amazed. She along with the rest of her family, are shocked when Lord Grantham vomits out blood due to a burst ulcer.

Edith invites Bertie to attend Downton's open house event to raise money for the local hospital. Edith meets Bertie at the drive, where they kiss again. She later takes him to the night nursery where she shows him Sybbie, George and Marigold.

Later, Edith invites her new editor Laura Edmunds to join her family and Bertie Pelham in seeing Henry Talbot race at Brooklands. Whilst they were watching, the event ended in tragedy due to Charlie Roger's death in a car accident. The family along with their guests have dinner at Rosamund's house. Edith and Bertie talk in the drawing room during the small hours where Bertie proposes to Edith. Edith is glad but she has yet to give him a proper answer although she asks if she can take Marigold with them, putting of the reason that she is very fond of her without revealing the real reason why. They then kiss before Bertie leaves.

Edith debates on whether to accept Bertie Pelham because he is now the new Marquess of Hexham due to his cousin Peter's unfortunate death in Tangiers. Everyone is delighted except for Mary, who plans revenge on her sister. Edith is afraid about telling Bertie the truth about Marigold, but Mary "accidentally" corners Edith into revealing to Bertie the fact that Marigold is her daughter. Bertie excuses himself and calls for a taxi. He breaks off their engagement when they talk later before he is due to leave, where he admits that he would still have married her even if what Edith had told him about Marigold was true, but, as she later put it herself, she tried to trick him, and he couldn't marry someone who couldn't trust him with the truth. Regardless, they wish each other good luck for the future, and Edith, who is heartbroken, decides to go to London. As she is packing her things, Mary comes into her bedroom and tries to apologize to Edith by claiming that she didn't know that Edith never told Bertie about Marigold. Edith, who is completely furious, lashes out her true feelings towards Mary by calling her a “nasty, jealous, scheming bitch” twice. Edith then leaves for London and picks up Tom along the way, she feels that Bertie will not come around about her supposed trickery towards him.

Edith meets with her secretary and her new editor, and they find out that Cassandra Jones, an individual who is interested in writing for Edith's magazine, is visiting the office for an interview. All three are unsure if that individual is the "real" Cassandra Jones, so if they feel that the latter is the real person, they agree on the code word "bananas." Cassandra Jones turns out to be Spratt, Violet's butler.

Edith comes back to Downton for Mary's wedding to Henry Talbot, and after a rather sweet conversation, they reconcile.

After Mary's wedding, Edith smilingly watches Sybbie, George and especially Marigold play tag and running around her late sister Sybil's grave.

Edith and Bertie meet up at The Ritz, a plan orchestrated by Mary and her aunt Rosamund who plays along. Rosamund then leaves and Edith and Bertie find themselves alone dining together. Edith is initially disappointed to see Bertie again and revealed that he broke her heart, but she did understand why he did it. However Bertie is apologetic and claims that he still loves Edith and wants her back to marry him. He tells her that he would have come back even if Mary hadn't telephoned him, and also that his mother doesn't know that they ended their relationship, and Edith says they have. But she claims that she has Marigold and Bertie has his mother and asks if he'd be able to withstand the gossip they would receive about Marigold and debating whether to tell his mother. Bertie however says that he still wants Edith regardless and they initially planned to keep his mother in the dark regarding Marigold. With their engagement back on, Bertie invites Edith and her parents, Lord and Lady Grantham to Brancaster Castle to meet his formidable mother. Mrs. Pelham is delighted and suddenly reveals her moralistic personality and how she expects her son to live up to it. During this time, she also reveals her dislike of the late Lord Hexham, and says he had no morale sense to which Bertie sternly shuts her down for. Lord and Lady Grantham are shocked by Mrs. Pelham's behavior. Edith then decides to tell Mrs. Pelham of her past regarding Marigold being her illegitimate daughter. Although Mrs. Pelham is against the marriage, referring to Edith as damaged goods and she knows it herself, Bertie stands up to his mother and claims he will marry Edith, nonetheless. Then at dinner, various guests of the nobility are invited as Bertie plans to announce his engagement to Edith. Mrs. Pelham interrupts him before he can do so, thanking everyone for being there and showing her support. Bertie then stands again, still intending to announce his engagement. However, Robert whispers to Mrs. Pelham that she should speak now or she'll lose her son forever, so she interrupts Bertie again and announces that Bertie is to marry Edith. After the dinner is over, Mrs. Pelham is won over and claims that Edith is a woman of birth and brains and was unimpeachably honest with her, having been willing to deny herself happiness instead of getting glory by deceit and thus should be applauded.

After arriving home, Edith thanks Mary for what she did to bring her and Bertie back together. On New Year’s Eve, 1925, Bertie and Edith finally get married with everyone in attendance, including Bertie's mother, at the St Michael's church at Downton. When Edith tells Mrs. Pelham that she hoped she wouldn't disappoint her, the latter replies by telling her to just love her son, and she wouldn't be disappointed in that. Bertie and Edith then leave for their honeymoon and share a happy kiss in the car as they drive away.

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FROM THIS MOMENT ON: Canon

ROAD LESS TRAVELED: any unlisted AUs

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BOLDLY GO: (Star Trek) engineering ensign

Starter Call

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Chapter 17: Convergence

Town Hall Square was filling up quickly. News crews crowded the press platform that had been hastily erected the night before, and local residents filled up the plaza area – careful to keep their distance from the line of Grenville Bay police officers lined up to hold back the crowd and protect the visiting prince.

As Stephen looked out over the crowd from a window in the old, gothic-styled town hall, he saw the stark contrast between the enthusiastic crowds who had lined the streets of Weston at his coronation and the people of Grenville Bay, who simply milled about waiting for the program to begin. They were here due more to curiosity about the reported announcement their prince would make than in support of either the monarchy or Stephen himself.

People milled about, and while he saw residents holding tiny Westonian flags, few were waving them with any enthusiasm.

“Well, your royal highness, are you ready?”

Stephen replied to the governor, but continued to stare out of the window. “I suppose so,” he said. “I just never expected the people to be so … subdued. Do they really hate the government – and the monarchy – so much?”

“You must understand, sir, conditions here have continued to grow worse and worse for many years,” the governor said. “Recently, things have reached the point that, as the official representative of your royal highness’ government, I fear for my family’s safety.”

“I see,” Stephen said, turning. “Hopefully, my announcements today will help shift their perception somewhat.”

Sam approached. “It’s time, your royal highness. I would ask that you reconsider additional protection during the speech. We can delay long enough to install bulletproof glass around the podium.”

“No,” Stephen said, moving toward the door. “I know these people are unhappy, but I can’t imagine they would take it out on a prince who has only worn the crown for a few short weeks. I have to believe they would be willing to give me a chance.”

“Besides,” he continued. “Since being crowned, I have been consistently blessed with good fortune. I think it will last long enough to get me through this engagement.”

Annabel stood at the base of the media platform. Above her, network and local camera crews tested their equipment and sound connections. Soon, their attention would be focused on the prince.

The wooden stairs leading up to the platform were unguarded – additional proof of the Grenville Bay Police Department’s incompetence, she thought. However, she would seize the opportunity their neglect provided. Only a few steps up, she would be high enough to have a clear view of – and unobstructed aim at – the prince while he spoke.

If she was curious at all as to what announcement the prince would make, it was smothered by her anger and nervousness. Besides, it would just be more lies, and the people of Grenville Bay were used to hearing them. For everyone around her, today might be a cause for celebration … for hope.

But not for her. For Annabel knew that, for all their power – all their wealth – those who ruled did not care.

Princes and governors and assembly members, she thought. What do they really do, anyway? Nothing! They talk and talk, but never really lift a finger to help people in need!

Today, she would make it painfully clear to the world that those in power had better begin to care. Or it would be their ruin.

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Continent of Oceana | History of Weston

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New Releases this Week

September 2019 is a busy month for YA publishing. We have another great week of releases to look forward to tomorrow (September 10, 2019).

A Match Made in Mehendi by Nandini Pajpai Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Fifteen-year-old Simran “Simi” Sangha comes from a long line of Indian vichole-matchmakers-with a rich history for helping parents find good matches for their grown children. When Simi accidentally sets up her cousin and a soon-to-be lawyer, her family is thrilled that she has the “gift.”

But Simi is an artist, and she doesn’t want to have anything to do with relationships, helicopter parents, and family drama. That is, until she realizes this might be just the thing to improve her and her best friend Noah’s social status. Armed with her family’s ancient guide to finding love, Simi starts a matchmaking service-via an app, of course.

But when she helps connect a wallflower of a girl with the star of the boys’ soccer team, she turns the high school hierarchy topsy-turvy, soon making herself public enemy number one.

His Hideous Heart edited by Dahlia Adler Flatiron Books

Thirteen of YA’s most celebrated names reimagine Edgar Allan Poe’s most surprising, unsettling, and popular tales for a new generation.

Edgar Allan Poe may be a hundred and fifty years beyond this world, but the themes of his beloved works have much in common with modern young adult fiction. Whether the stories are familiar to readers or discovered for the first time, readers will revel in Edgar Allan Poe’s classic tales, and how they’ve been brought to life in 13 unique and unforgettable ways.

Contributors include Kendare Blake (reimagining “Metzengerstein”), Rin Chupeco (“The Murders in the Rue Morge”), Lamar Giles (“The Oval Portrait”), Tessa Gratton (“Annabel Lee”), Tiffany D. Jackson (“The Cask of Amontillado”), Stephanie Kuehn (“The Tell-Tale Heart”), Emily Lloyd-Jones (“The Purloined Letter”), Hillary Monahan (“The Masque of the Red Death”), Marieke Nijkamp (“Hop-Frog”), Caleb Roehrig (“The Pit and the Pendulum”), and Fran Wilde (“The Fall of the House of Usher”).

Pet by Akwaeke Emezi Make Me a World

Pet is here to hunt a monster. Are you brave enough to look?

There are no more monsters anymore, or so the children in the city of Lucille are taught. With doting parents and a best friend named Redemption, Jam has grown up with this lesson all her life. But when she meets Pet, a creature made of horns and colours and claws, who emerges from one of her mother’s paintings and a drop of Jam’s blood, she must reconsider what she’s been told. Pet has come to hunt a monster, and the shadow of something grim lurks in Redemption’s house. Jam must fight not only to protect her best friend, but also to uncover the truth, and the answer to the question-How do you save the world from monsters if no one will admit they exist?

In their riveting and timely young adult debut, acclaimed novelist Akwaeke Emezi asks difficult questions about what choices a young person can make when the adults around them are in denial.

The Magnolia Sword: A Ballad of Mulan by Sherry Thomas Tu Books

CHINA, 484 A.D.

A Warrior in Disguise All her life, Mulan has trained for one purpose: to win the duel that every generation in her family must fight. If she prevails, she can reunite a pair of priceless heirloom swords separated decades earlier, and avenge her father, who was paralyzed in his own duel.

Then a messenger from the Emperor arrives, demanding that all families send one soldier to fight the Rouran invaders in the north. Mulan’s father cannot go. Her brother is just a child. So she ties up her hair, takes up her sword, and joins the army as a man.

A War for a Dynasty Thanks to her martial arts skills, Mulan is chosen for an elite team under the command of the princeling–the royal duke’s son, who is also the handsomest man she’s ever seen. But the princeling has secrets of his own, which explode into Mulan’s life and shake up everything she knows. As they cross the Great Wall to face the enemy beyond, Mulan and the princeling must find a way to unwind their past, unmask a traitor, and uncover the plans for the Rouran invasion . . . before it’s too late.

Inspired by wuxia martial-arts dramas as well as the centuries-old ballad of Mulan, The Magnolia Sword is perfect for fans of Renee Ahdieh, Marie Lu, or Kristin Cashore–a thrilling, romantic, and sharp-edged novel that lives up to its beloved heroine.

Frankly in Love by David Yoon G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers

High school senior Frank Li is a Limbo–his term for Korean-American kids who find themselves caught between their parents’ traditional expectations and their own Southern California upbringing. His parents have one rule when it comes to romance–“Date Korean”��which proves complicated when Frank falls for Brit Means, who is smart, beautiful–and white. Fellow Limbo Joy Song is in a similar predicament, and so they make a pact: they’ll pretend to date each other in order to gain their freedom. Frank thinks it’s the perfect plan, but in the end, Frank and Joy’s fake-dating maneuver leaves him wondering if he ever really understood love–or himself–at all.

How to Be Remy Cameron by Julian Winters Duet

Everyone on campus knows Remy Cameron. He’s the out-and-gay, super-likable guy that people admire for his confidence. The only person who may not know Remy that well is Remy himself. So when he is assigned to write an essay describing himself, he goes on a journey to reconcile the labels that people have attached to him, and get to know the real Remy Cameron.

The Other Side: Stories of Central American Teen Refugees Who Dream of Crossing the Border by Juan Pablo Villalobos, Rosalind Harvey (Translator) Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Award-winning Mexican author Juan Pablo Villalobos explores illegal immigration with this emotionally raw and timely nonfiction book about ten Central American teens and their journeys to the United States.

You can’t really tell what time it is when you’re in the freezer.

Every year, thousands of migrant children and teens cross the U.S.-Mexico border. The journey is treacherous and sometimes deadly, but worth the risk for migrants who are escaping gang violence and poverty in their home countries. And for those refugees who do succeed? They face an immigration process that is as winding and multi-tiered as the journey that brought them here.

In this book, award-winning Mexican author Juan Pablo Villalobos strings together the diverse experiences of eleven real migrant teenagers, offering readers a beginning road map to issues facing the region. These timely accounts of courage, sacrifice, and survival—including two fourteen-year-old girls forming a tenuous friendship as they wait in a frigid holding cell, a boy in Chicago beginning to craft his future while piecing together his past in El Salvador, and cousins learning to lift each other up through angry waters—offer a rare and invaluable window into the U.S.–Central American refugee crisis.

In turns optimistic and heartbreaking, The Other Side balances the boundless hope at the center of immigration with the weight of its risks and repercussions. Here is a necessary read for young people on both sides of the issue.

— Cover images and summaries via Goodreads

[ofannabclls-blog]

Hi yes hello! I’m Laurel and I’m v v  excited to be here! It’s been a hot minute since I last joined a hp group (2 years now? maybe longer) so I’m def rusty, please excuse this grandma. But when I saw the group I just had the strongest urge to join so here we are! Annabelle’s a v fresh muse -- fresh outta the oven, a fetus muse! -- which is why the info below are pretty vague. She’s got plenty of growth & developing to do which is gonna be fun. Feel free to give this a like if you’d like to plot & I’ll come say hello!

isn’t that ANNABELLE WOOD? yeah that is HER, sitting there at the HUFFLEPUFF table with those other FIFTH years and i think i heard sybill saying they look like DIANA SILVERS… whoever that is! when she looks into her crystal ball she sees a girl sitting in a meadow, the smell of honey buttered toast in the morning, dozing off while studying, your father’s reassuring squeeze of your shoulder, & billowing curtains by an open window.  anyway i’ve heard they’re pretty PRYING, ASSERTIVE, and GOOD-NATURED. apparently they’re a HALF-BLOOD but i’m sure that’s not related. 

The second Wood sibling, as you may already know. She’s unmistakably more toned down than her brother & for some reason unbeknownst to her people assume that means they don’t get along. On the contrary, her affection for him knows no bounds. Was even upset when he got sorted into Gryffindor because she just knew she didn’t belong there & that meant they wouldn’t be in the same house.

Was raised in a wholesome & warm household, making her family-oriented to the core. If they asked her to, she’d bend her principles for them. Blood is thicker than water, after all.

Quite sheltered, though she’d beg to differ. Hasn’t truly sat front row to witness the cruelty & viciousness of the world. That being said, she’s no stranger to misery, but she’d never tell anyone that. 

She’s never been strong in academics & has beat herself up over it an unhealthy amount. Does she consider herself stupid? Perhaps. Secretly. This is why she works twice as hard as most of her classmates. More often than not you’ll find her at the study hall or the library perusing her books. She’s also known for studying in the Hufflepuff common room at ungodly hours.

Her throat tightens when she admits that she’s in need of help. She’s just never been one to ask, a combination of pride, believing that she can carry everything on her shoulders, & not wanting to inconvenience others. This is a major factor in her refusal to look for a tutor, but with the O.W.L.s coming up she’s starting to reconsider.

Awfully snoopy. Especially about people. Doesn’t do it to partake in gossip, although she loves hearing all about them. A guilty pleasure. But she doesn’t disclose whatever it is she acquires. At least, not always.

Just like her brother, she’s a hopeless romantic. Unlike her brother, she’s never been in a single relationship she’s a bby okay. In the way her mom & dad found each other, she believes there’s someone out there for her. For now, the extent of her love life are her schoolgirl crushes.

Personality-wise, she’s level-headed. Although she doesn’t seem like it, she actually has a firm set to her shoulders & isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Either has a great sense of humor or a non-existent one because she’ll practically laugh at anything? And I mean, anything. Hospitable & doesn’t always know how to read the room. Terrible with faces, & even more with names. 

A couple fun facts on her:

she’s dreamt of getting married & having a family ever since she was a little girl. Hence, her label’s The Picket Fence.

not a single soul knows this about her but she wants to work as a nurse post-studies.

[canadiankazz]

The Fourth Time - An L.A. by Night fanfic

Jasper and Annabelle's relationship has taken a lot of intimate steps lately, but when she lets him take the reins, so to speak, and let his more dominant side out, they manage to find a way to get even more pleasure out of it. 

SPOILERS for the end of Campaign 1 including the one-shots. This has gone off canon, so consider this an AU. It's worth reading Part 1 (The First Time), Part 2 (The Second Time) and Part 3 (The Third Time) before you read this. This fic takes place almost directly after The Third Time. This was written before the premiere of Season 2, Episode 2.

I lay no claim to owning any of the characters involved. Things are gonna get more kinky than they have been in this series so far from here on out. We are way past tame wrist biting now. We’re getting into some mild BDSM stuff in this part.

As always, special thanks to @cravatfiend for the support and encouragement during the writing of the drafts. When I asked them for a safe word, they picked the best one for Annabelle. I had the privilege of watching them read this for the first time and all they could say was "...Damn!" High praise, indeed. 

All my love, also, to @gokaiyellow for their additional input, @fluffy-wookiees for being adorable, and to everyone else who has enjoyed this series so far. There are many more parts to come after this one, no worries. (As of posting, I’m currently finishing writing part 8 with ideas for part 9!)

Also posted to the author's Ao3.

First posted Feb, 2, 2019.

The Entire ‘Feeds From’ Master List Can be Found Here

The Fourth Time

Annabelle was having a nightmare. She was running for her life through a dark sewer. Her shoes splashed through the filth. Rats squeaked and scattered in a panic as she charged forwards. Behind her, she could hear a dreadful snarling echoing through the tunnel. She couldn’t see the monster chasing her, but she could hear it. Its hungry growling was getting closer and closer. When, not if, but when it caught her, it was going to rip her apart and eat her alive. Her eyes scanned the walls and curved ceiling frantically for a ladder or escape hatch up to the streets above. There! A ladder appeared to her right. She climbed it as fast as she could, but right when she was about to push up through the manhole cover, she felt sharp claws grab her leg and pull her back down. She screamed.

Annabelle woke with a shudder. Her Beast strained in her chest and throat. The room she was in was dark. There were no windows. She was on her side facing a blank wall. She could feel someone else's body pressed against her back and a long arm curved cosily around her side and stomach that was not her own. There was no breath or body heat coming from the person behind her.

Then she remembered. She was in Jasper's sanctum again. In his bed, again. And he had fed on her last night, again. And now...

She tried to turn her head to look at him without disturbing him. His arm tightened around her a little.

“Jasper?” she whispered.

“Mm.”

He was awake. Annabelle relaxed a little and went back to looking at the wall. He seemed comfortable where he was and so was she, to her mild surprise. Their relationship had taken many great leaps these past few months.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Sleep well?”

“Like the dead.”

She rolled her eyes and poked his arm. “Ha. Ha.”

She heard him snarl softly in her ear as he smiled.

“You need a bigger bed,” she told him.

“Why?”

“Because we only barely fit on it.”

“I thought that this was only going to be a temporary thing,” he said, sounding amused. “Something to tie me over for a little while.”

“Well, clearly... it's not,” Annabelle said softly.

“We can't keep doing this forever,” he told her. His voice was gentle, but firm. “The others are going to find out, and... it's not a healthy relationship.”

Annabelle frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is that...” he sighed, thinking of what to say. She felt him roll back slightly away from her. “It's one sided.”

“No... you feed from me sometimes and let me sleep in your bed sometimes, that's fair.”

“But you don't have to sleep here.”

“You don't have to feed from me either, but here we are,” Annabelle said pointedly. She sighed and touched his hand. “I don't want to argue with you. I... I am happy for this to continue as long as you want. I don't feel like it's one sided, Jasper. I thought you liked it... Liked me.”

“I do,” he admitted softly, “but that’s the problem. I think I’m liking it too much and... that scares me.”

Annabelle thought she understood now. He had told her that a Kindred feeding from another was a big deal and she got why now. Blood was more than just food for them, it was life, and sharing your life with someone else left a big impact. So too did someone forcibly taking it away. He had been trying to adjust to this new, kinder type of feeding and despite the fact that they had only done it three or four times in the past few months, maybe things were still, on an emotional level, going a little too fast for him. Annabelle awkwardly shifted, rolling over to face him. His hoodie was down. From what little light there was in the bedroom, she could see his pale, gaunt face. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t let it scare you. I think I get it though. We’ve been kind of going at my pace a little bit.”

Jasper remained quiet, but gave a slight nod. He could see she was more or less on the right track. He felt it in his blood.

“Okay,” Annabelle sighed slowly. “Do you want some emotional space?”

“I think so. To think things over.”

Annabelle nodded and stroked his arm. Her Vitae has done a good job healing him. “Okay,” she said. She didn’t want to make Jasper uncomfortable in this relationship. “How about this... if you want to do this again, you call me, okay? And we’ll do it however you want to.”

“Okay,” Jasper said. He lent forward a little and his forehead touched Annabelle’s for a brief, tender moment. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he rolled over and got out of bed.

Annabelle stayed where she was, not wanting to get up yet. “You still owe me a boon, remember?”

“Mm. True.”

“And I've thought about what I want from you. If anything happens to me, anything really bad, I want you to take care of Mark and Elleanore for me.”

“What do you mean by 'take care of?'” he asked.

“Watch out for them. Make sure they don't get attacked, I guess? Just keep them safe, as best you can.” Her hand found her golden locket around her neck and held it.

Jasper considered this briefly and decided that it wasn't unreasonable. It was certainly less embarrassing than teaching X how to moonwalk. “Alright,” he nodded.

“Thank you,” Annabelle said tenderly.

Then Jasper stretched his long limbs. Annabelle could her his joints crack and pop. She sat up and sighed. She was hungry. She needed to go.

She packed up her laptop and the little plastic candles she had brought the night before. Jasper helped to collect them. “Will I see you again later?” She asked hopefully.

Jasper shrugged. “At some point, yes. I want to explore my labyrinth this week, and I know the others will be tracking down those other Kindred who attacked us the other night. We should help with that.”

Annabelle nodded. She was angry that her group had been attacked and she hadn't been there to help. At least she could help in the aftermath. She dreaded to think what would have become of Jasper if she hadn't gotten to him when she did. “Yeah.”

An invisible Jasper walked Annabelle to Griffith College, then they parted ways. They both had a lot to do.

**

Jasper kept himself busy over the next few weeks. He explored his labyrinth. He visited Eva. He received and carried out more jobs for Baron Abrams. All the while, Annabelle's movements and moods were in the back of his mind. The longer he went without feeding on her, the weaker his bond with her became. Part of him missed that. He found himself delaying finding another more permanent solution to his empty larder. He knew that eventually he would have to go back to his more aggressive feeding style, but he also knew he would miss having someone give him their honest and thoughtful consent. It made him feel a tiny bit less like a monster.

That got him thinking. Despite himself, he started to formulate a plan, purely hypothetical, of how his next feeding session with Annabelle could go. She had asked him to come back to her when he was ready to initiate things again and had said that they could do things his way if they wanted to. He had genuinely appreciated that. There was something dominant about him that was asking to be satisfied. Every time it came down to the act of feeding in the past, Jasper had been violent and dominant. Until Annabelle came along and offered herself to him, that is. That had changed things. Jasper had become what was for him, very submissive. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but it wasn't what he wanted to be doing all the time, every time.

He was curious, also, about how far he could push Annabelle's boundaries. She was the one who always wanted more and he had been holding back. He knew very well what he was physically capable of and what his Beast demanded of him. The thought of challenging Annabelle, daring her to keep up with him intrigued him. By the time Jasper finished planning the night he had in mind, he knew that he might regret it forever if he didn't try it. The worst that would happen was Annabelle would say no. He might be a little disappointed, but that was nothing new. He waited another few nights, then decided to set his plan in motion.

**

Annabelle was on her way home when she thought she heard something behind her. She paused, straining her senses, searching for something unseen. At first, there was nothing, then she heard Jasper’s disembodied voice in her ear. “Hey.”

She jumped. “God...!”

“No, just me.” Jasper sounded highly amused.

“Jasper, what are you doing?” She hissed, annoyed at being startled like that.

“I was going to ask you...” he started, then hesitated, possibly reconsidering his words. “Would like to come over tomorrow night for another round?”

Annabelle felt a ghost of a touch on her neck and shoulder, right where he had bitten her last time. She shivered and something deep in her core twisted in the memory of pleasure. “Uhhh... sure,” she said faintly. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed. “Can I ask why? I thought you might not want to any more.”

“I’d been thinking,” Jasper said in her ear with a light snarl, “that there are a few things I would like to try with a consenting individual such as yourself, and I don’t know when I will get the chance to do them again. I would be a fool to not ask.” He put special emphasis on the word ‘consenting.’ His voice was soft and sensual, unusually so, but it was undercut with a thirst that Annabelle recognised.

“Okay, um... how about I come over tomorrow and we’ll talk about it and... see where we go from there,” she said.

“Alright. Come by 3:00,” Jasper replied, “and bring those little plastic candles. And yes... you may sleep over as well.”

Annabelle nodded. “See you then.”

“Oh, one last thing...” she felt Jasper’s lips on her ear and she shivered again, despite herself. “In the meantime, can you think of a safe word, please?”

Annabelle’s eyes went very wide. What on earth could he be planning that would need a safe word? “Uh...” she stammered.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course. Well, I have to, for us to do this, right?”

“We don’t have to do this,” he reminded her.

“I know, but... I want to.” Annabelle swallowed nervously and steadied her nerves. “Okay. I’ll think of something.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t hear him leave, but she hadn’t heard him approach either. She stood there in mild shock for another little while with her hands over her mouth and cheeks. She cursed herself for being as excited as she was. This was going to be very, very interesting. She hurried the rest of the way home.

**

When Annabelle arrived once again at Jasper's sanctum the next night, she had her bag with her with the plastic candles and her laptop in it. She had fed earlier, as much as she could without killing any one. She was almost beside herself with nervous excitement. Part of her thought that she should be more apprehensive, that she should let someone know where she was just in case things went bad. But she trusted Jasper. He had been very good to her so far, very good indeed, and he didn't seem to want to ruin this relationship they had going. She trusted the control he had over himself. She still believed that, over-all, he wasn't a bad guy.

She knocked on his front door. Jasper answered it quickly. He had been waiting for her in the passage way on the other side again. He was wearing a different black hoodie this night. This one had fewer layers and just a straight zipper up and down. It was casual. Easy to get into and out of. Interesting.

They smiled at each other and Jasper invited her in. She followed him closely back down the long passage way, though she was sure by now she had the route memorised. They caught up with a little small talk. As they got closer to his rooms, Annabelle could hear faint music. It was classical, something with an orchestra and a choir. They weren't singing in English... Latin, maybe? Annabelle wasn't as knowledgeable on her classical pieces. “You're playing music?” She asked, pleased and surprised.

“Yeah, to set a mood.” Jasper smirked at her. She recognised her own line that she had used on him last time she was here.

“Oh, I see,” she chuckled. “What is it?”

“Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor.” Jasper licked his fangs. “Tell me... have you learned Blush of Life yet?”

“Um... yeah. Yes, I have.” Annabelle had used it very successfully around Elleanore. It gave her a pulse, warmed her skin, let her breathe and otherwise seem almost entirely human again. Annabelle tilted her head a little at Jasper, slowly working out what he had planned. “Why?”

His grin was sharp. “I would like you to use it tonight.”

“Oh... yeah, sure. Right now?”

“If you'd like, or we can wait until we get to the bedroom.”

“I'll wait,” she decided. So far, she liked where this was going.

In the bedroom, they set up her candles on the floor as they did last time. The room was soon full of artificial, warm candlelight. The classical music continued in the background, unobtrusive.

“Did you decide on a safe word?” Jasper inquired.

“Yeah. Um... are you familiar with the stoplight method?”

He considered it. “Red, yellow, green?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Green means go, yellow means slow down, and red means stop. It's basic, but effective.”

Jasper nodded. “Alright. We're going to use that tonight. Unless I hear you say 'yellow' or 'red,' I'm going to assume that everything is green.”

“No gags, then, please,” Annabelle specified.

“No,” Jasper agreed. That had never been a part of his plan for tonight.

Annabelle kept glancing at his fangs while he spoke. She couldn’t help it. His eyes had a hungry and excited gleam. She suspected that he and his Beast were working in near harmony tonight. Well, they had their safe word in place. Everything would be okay. She was feeling brave and keen to see how far Jasper was going to push things tonight.

When she was ready, Annabelle nodded and slipped off her red jacket, as was their custom by now. She had worn the good bra again. Jasper recognised the shape of it under her thin tank top. He snarled a little when he smiled.

“On the bed, please,” he gestured to the bed. Annabelle complied, her lips twitching into a little smile. She sat on the bed, then lay back. As she did so, she activated Blush of Life. Her Beast stirred a little, but was still mostly dormant. She glanced at Jasper. He was staring at her with an expression of incredible desire. He came over to her and sat on the bed. He held her hand and seemed to marvel for a few seconds at its warmth. Annabelle's body fell back into the natural rhythm of breathing. Jasper felt her pulse in her wrist. His fingers were very cold by comparison, and felt very dead. He snarled to himself, pleased.

“I don't have Blush of Life,” he explained softly. “I never bothered to learn how to do it. I mean... why would I? Who am I going to try to convince that I'm alive?”

“You still could learn,” Annabelle said. She could think of at least one person he might have used Blush of Life on, if he could, but bringing up that person was very likely going to ruin the mood, so she didn't.

He shook his head. “I could, but it's doubtful.” He seemed to be enjoying just feeling her hands for a moment. The classical music swelled and faded into a new piece of a similar feel to the last, but a faster tempo.

Jasper moved suddenly. With little warning, he was on top of Annabelle, straddling her hips. He had one knee pressed on either side of her ribs. He wasn't very heavy, especially not for a Brujah's strength to support. Annabelle's insides quivered in anticipation. She felt vulnerable, but she remembered all she had to do was say one or two words and he would stop. She understood finally what he had been planning. Jasper looked down at Annabelle, his icy eyes boring into hers. Her heartbeat sped up considerably. Her face flushed. She met his gaze, excited but steady. The degree to which she wanted this to continue bewildered her.

Slowly now, he peeled his hood off his head. Then his hands went to the zipper in the front of his hoodie and he slowly began to tug it down. Annabelle's eyes went wide as Jasper's chest was exposed. He was built of nothing but lean muscle. His flesh was as pale as death save for the starkly contrasting mass of black veins that criss-crossed his body like an insane roadway map. He had no body hair. He unzipped the hoodie down to the bottom, but didn't take it all the way off. This was a compromise, she realised. She had wanted to see what he looked like under his layers for a while, and he had always said no. This was an in-between he was allowing her.

She gave him a warm smile, but when she reached to touch him he stopped her. He gripped one hand in each of his and leaned down over her. He pinned her warm hands and wrists down with his deathly cold hands to the mattress above her head. He continued to watch her, as if daring her to say 'yellow' or 'red.' She didn't. His grip on her was strong. Their faces were close now. Annabelle was breathing hard.

Jasper bared his fangs and growled at her, as if trying to scare her. He was the monster from myth and legend, the deadly black shadow with razor sharp fangs who stalked helpless people at night and she was the young, naive victim. He was perhaps even trying to provoke her one last time into saying their safe word. She did look scared for a moment. There was fear in her eyes, in her Beast, but still she didn’t say either of the words that would make Jasper pull back. A true victim, she was no longer. Annabelle was allowing this to happen.

“Green?” he rasped, edging towards losing control.

“Green,” she nodded and tilted her head to expose her neck. Blood, warm blood, flowed there, and some of it at least, was his for the taking.

The music swelled again in the background as the choir reached a melodramatic crescendo. With a hungry snarl Jasper bit Annabelle hard in the throat. She gasped at the pain. Jasper had good aim. His long, wicked fangs had landed right on her jugular. He bit deep, and his mouth filled with Vitae. She was as sweet, strong and aroused as always, but this time her blood was body temperature. Jasper had never had warm Vitae from another Kindred before. His Beast exalted. He began to drink greedily, keeping an ear open for Annabelle wanting to end this early. He hoped she would not.

The pleasure of the Kiss soon followed, radiating out over Annabelle's body and making her moan. Her eyes rolled back in her skull. She flexed her arms against Jasper, but he still held her down, firmly pinning her to the mattress. Her body, still under the influence of Blush of Life, reacted as it normally would have to intense pleasure. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her pulse raced, sending vital blood into Jasper's hungry mouth. Her brain was very soon dizzy, but she didn't care. Her Beast scrambled, but was soundly ignored in the overwhelming wave of sensations. Annabelle didn't know if it was because of this new, intense situation or the anticipation that had led up to it, but the pleasure this time was near orgasmic. When she felt Jasper bite a little harder in his enthusiasm, it crossed that threshold and she crested with a cry. Annabelle's body trembled uncontrollably underneath Jasper's from her core outwards.

Jasper lingered on Annabelle's throat for a moment or two longer, then pulled his head back with a snarl. His fangs and tongue were painted a deep crimson. Annabelle only barely noticed this. She shivered when he licked her wound closed and he thought he heard her whimper. His Beast whispered at him to continue, that this had been the best he ever had, but he clenched his jaw and ignored it.

Jasper sat up and let her hands go. She didn't move them. She lay there still, breathing hard, eyes closed. Each exhale had a little moan attached to it. He watched her chest heave up and down for a minute. The music faded and changed again to a soprano singing backed by strings and a piano.

Annabelle opened her eyes and saw Jasper watching her. He was still straddling her hips. She smiled up at him. “Wow,” she mumbled. She lowered her hands and rested them on his knees on either side of her body. Jasper didn’t mind. He chuckled at her reaction. “I... mm...” Words were failing her as her blood-deprived brain swam in a haze of endorphins.

“Good?” Jasper confirmed.

Annabelle still couldn’t speak, but she nodded.

Jasper slid carefully off of her and sat on the bed next to her. He hadn't taken a lot of Vitae this time, but what he had taken was potent indeed. His head was also filled with endorphins, mainly from her, but he didn't have the Blush of Life to let his body do anything about it.

“I can't believe you let me do that,” he chuckled softly. He re-zipped up his hoodie, but only part way. He left the top third or so of it open. “I thought for sure you were going to stop me when I pinned you down.”

Annabelle stretched and smiled at him. Other than an internal scolding from her Beast, she was content, still reeling slightly from the pleasures she had been through. “But I didn't.”

Jasper relaxed down next to her on the narrow bed as best he could. He found himself playing a little with her long, black hair. Their bond had deepened again, he knew. At that moment, in that place, he did not care. “You liked it... rather a lot,” he remarked, still amused. His fangs, when Annabelle saw them, were clean now.

“Yeah...” Annabelle marvelled. She covered her face with her hands as embarrassment washed over her. The pleasure this time had been too, too much. “Oh my God!” he heard her muffled giggle.

“What?” Jasper inquired, though he was fully aware of what had happened to her body and why. He was having fun.

Annabelle peeked at him through her fingers. She was grinning. “Is that what you had planned?” she demanded.

“More or less, yes. I'm glad it worked.”

Annabelle groaned softly. “Did you know about... that I would...”

Jasper smirked. “I kind of suspected... but no, but it was a pleasant surprise.” He stroked a cold, pale hand down her arm to her chest, where it settled over her still-beating heart.

“Boy, I'll say,” Annabelle agreed.

Feeling Annabelle's magically enforced heartbeat made Jasper get very quiet and suddenly a little introverted. His eyes found the gold locket hanging around Annabelle's neck and the silver ring on her finger and he pulled his hand back. He got up and went to turn off the music and the lights so that they could settle into bed.

When dawn broke over the City of Angels, the majority of the population arose to begin their day of work and school and life, but Jasper and Annabelle were once again literally dead to the world. The two vampires shared the little bed, holding each other. Where their relationship would take them now, neither of them knew, but in that moment at least, they were content.

[indescribablechoices]

Enough (Mr Harper x MC)

Part of the @choices-september-challenge

Day Seventeen: Unexpected. The final part of this little mini series. Part One/Part Two/

Pairing: Mr Harper x MC (Jess Woodmire)

Word Count: 2590

Listening Suggestion: That Would Be Enough - Phillipa Soo

Fic Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @kennaxval @tanyaschoices

Synopsis: Left alone and scared for her future happiness, Jess knows that she has to do something before she finds herself wed to the Duke and torn apart from her beloved Mr Harper forever. Warnings for mild discussions of sex and loss of virginity, my complete historical inaccuracies and generally just mentions of Duke Richards.

Just over two months had passed since Mr Harper’s departure from Edgewater, in which the time frequency of Duke Richard’s visits increased as wedding arrangements were made. Jess took what small comfort she could with Annabelle’s visits, which her friend ensured were more frequent than the Duke’s to keep her in good spirits. When she wasn’t required, she remained in her room, desperately trying to think of anyway out of her predicament.

If she could convince her father to allow her to marry Mr Sinclaire instead. Or perhaps even Prince Hamid; her dear friend who could take her far away from this place where she could start a new life with someone she knew cared for her. But her father had become closed off from her, not talking to her as he once had.

When she could, she wrote to her beloved Luke, slipping the letters to Briar to give to Mr Woods with the hope of finding him. There had been no reply, and no luck in finding where he had gone.

But she knew that she was running out of time.

She sat in the drawing room one afternoon doing needlework with Annabelle, Miss Sutton and her grandmother, who too had been notably silent about the entire affair, when she felt her stomach churn. She paused in her movements, hoping it was a passing discomfort, but when it churned again she knew she had to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jess said, rising to her feet and hurrying out of the room. She made her way quickly into the garden, unleashing the contents of her stomach into one of the rose bushes. She knelt in the grass, taking in deep breaths to ease the nausea in her body, raking her hair back off of her face to cool herself down.

“Jess?” Annabelle’s voice called from the doorway.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she told her.

Annabelle’s footsteps approached anyway, running to her side when she saw her in the grass, “Whatever’s happened?”

Tears immediately filled Jess’ eyes, “What am I going to do?”

“It’s just a little sick,” Annabelle assured her, “It’s quite alright.”

She shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks, “I’ve been sick for days… And I haven’t bled this month.”

“Oh Jess,” Annabelle said softly, realising crossing her expression, “But when?”

“The night Mr Sinclaire came to the house, when I thought he was going to propose,” she told her.

“If he knows, he may be able to convince your father to reconsider his offer.”

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t with Sinclaire that night.”

“Of course not; that was the night you ran off to the village. Oh, my sweet Jess, did someone…”

“No, no,” Jess shook her head again, “I lied about being alone out there. Luke came to find me.”

“Luke?” her eyebrows shot up, “Mr Harper? The groom?”

Jess chewed her lip, “I love him, Annabelle. And he loves me. We knew that we could never marry, so we allowed ourselves one night… And now I’m carrying his child.”

She began to sob harshly, and Annabelle drew her into her arms, holding her tight as she cried.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said, “I promise.”

“I’ve ruined everything,” Jess whispered, “I cannot hide it for much longer. Soon I will show, and even if I could marry the Duke and convince him that it was his child, he would know when the babe was born.”

“Write to Mr Harper. If you can get him to return and if the two of you were to elope, there would be nothing anyone could do,” Annabelle said.

“He hasn’t responded to any of my letters,” she told her.

“If your love is as true as you say, he likely stays away to protect his own heart, and to protect your reputation.”

Jess laughed softly, a hand pressed to her stomach, “My reputation hardly matters much now.”

Annabelle ran a hand over Jess’ curls, “Tell him of your child. What I do know of him, I know that he is a good man, with a good heart. He will come back for you.”

***

My Luke,

I know that no letter has been able to reach you yet but I hope to god that you read this. My heart yearns for you every day, my darling. Every day draws me closer to my marriage to Duke Richards, and if that day comes, I know not will come of me.

The truth is that I am with child. Our child. Our one night of love has left me with a piece of that love inside of me. But I cannot hide it forever.

I beg of you to return to Edgewater. You may be the only one that can save me now.

My eternal love,

Your Jess

***

Weeks passed with no reply, and every day Jess struggled to hide her pregnancy symptoms. She admitted the truth to Briar, and every morning she helped adjust her corset to attempt to distract from her changing figure. She knew that some women didn’t show until much later, but already her breasts began to swell, as did her usually flat stomach.

She watched the road every day, hoping and praying that she would see Luke’s familiar figure approaching, that he had come to rescue her.

But he never came.

The week before her wedding to Duke Richards, she was called downstairs by her father to his office. But as she entered, she saw the Countess inside as well. She closed the door behind herself.

“Father, what’s going on?” she asked.

Her father placed an envelope on the desk, sliding it towards her. She crossed the room and took it, recognising her own writing on the front immediately. She pulled out the letter inside, her heart sinking into her gut as she realised that this was her last letter to Luke, informing him about the child.

“Is it true?” her father’s voice was quiet, his eyes not leaving his desk.

“Of course it’s true,” the Countess sneered, “It’s all there in writing. The little harlot confessed.”

Jess’ head snapped to look at her, “How do you have this letter? It was my own private letter.”

“I have every single letter you sent to your beloved Mr Harper,” she told her, “Mr Woods decided where his true loyalties lie.”

“Which means you threatened him. You evil witch.”

“Better a witch than a whore,” the Countess gave a hard laugh, “I was right to suggest to the Duke to have him sent away.”

“I should have known that was you. You have been determined to make my life miserable before you even met me.”

“I knew from the beginning that you were a no-good harlot like your dear mother.”

“Enough!” the Earl said, glancing up to look at his daughter, “Tell me plainly, Jess. Is what you wrote in this letter true?”

She let out a sigh, “Yes, Father. It’s true.”

“So that night you ran away…”

“Mr Harper came to rescue me as I had gotten lost in the woods. I begged him not to take me home so he took me to safety in the village. We confessed our love for each other, and we made our peace with the fact that I would never be able to marry the one man I will ever love because of the position I now have. But we… we allowed ourselves one night together. For all of the nights we would never have.”

The Earl shook his head to himself, “All of the men that came asking for your hand, and you fell for the horse master.”

“No different than you did with my mother,” she said simply.

He met her eyes then; his eyes, the only thing about her that didn’t remind him entirely of his beloved Mary. He let out a breath to himself. How had they been any different when they were younger? Stealing their moments of love together despite knowing that cruel fates would eventually part them.

“I will contact Duke Richards in the morning,” he told her, “And postpone the wedding.”

“Postpone?” she frowned.

“Until after your child is born,” he said, “We will make whatever excuses necessary. Illness perhaps. And when the child is born, you will wed the Duke to secure your position.”

“And what of my child?” she asked.

“An orphanage,” he said, “Or perhaps there will be a couple in the village that will take it. I know it is not an easy thing to consider, but it is the best way for everyone involved.”

Her hand went to her stomach as the Countess began to argue with the Earl, demanding that she be sent away, not be allowed the chance to still take on the estate, that she had proven herself unworthy of her family name.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” the Countess looked at her.

Jess held herself taller, “I said no. I will not give my child away to save my reputation. Ever since the day I set foot here, I have tolerated everything that has been thrown at me. I have worn the fancy dresses, attended the dances and the parties, listened to people who have never met me whisper rumours behind my back, allowed disgusting old men to grope me and call it romance, resigned myself to marriage with a man I didn’t love only to be sold like cattle to the highest bidder all in order to maintain a family name I never knew about until six months ago. But taking away my child? That I will not stand for.”

“You ungrateful wench,” the Countess said.

“I am grateful. For the father I never knew. For a loving grandmother. For the opportunity to realise that this is not the life that I am meant for. Father, you have to power to force this upon me, to lock me away and take my child, then marry the Duke. But to do so would be to will kill my spirit. I will go on in this life a miserable husk of the girl I once was; the daughter you claim to love.”

“What would you have me do, Jess?” he asked.

“I would have you give the estate to Mr Marlcaster, only to inherit after his mother’s death; not yours,” she said, shooting a suspicious eye at the Countess, “He is a good man. You have raised him as your own, name him as your heir and give him your name.”

“And what of you?”

“I will leave and I will never cause you pain ever again. My life will be my own to live how I wish.”

They watched each other for a moment before her father walked around the side of his desk and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

“Know that you have never brought me pain, my dear daughter. I have only ever wished happiness for you, and if that happiness must lie beyond these walls, then I must let you go,” he said.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she held him back, “I love you, father.”

“As I love you, Jess,” he stepped back to look at her face once more, “I know not exactly where Mr Harper is now, but I know he had family near the coast. If he is not with them, they may know where he is. Go now, and find joy in your life. Be happy, my darling, and love well.”

As the Countess leapt to her feet in outrage, Jess turned and walked away. Briar helped her pack what little she needed, and after retrieving Clover from the stable, she climbed into the saddle and headed towards the road. She knew her journey would be long, but it could only lead to Luke now.

***

Luke glanced up from the stall he’d been mucking out when he heard footsteps approaching. They were light, clearly that of a woman.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he called, “If you require room and board, you need to ask inside the inn.” There came no reply, so he wiped his hands off on the rag he kept stuff in his back pocket and headed out into the stable proper, “Miss, I…”

His words trailed off at the sight before him. A familiar woman, beautiful as the day he had last seen her, her dark curled hair tied back off her face but allowed to flow around her shoulders, donned in a simple blue dress that hugged around the bump that swelled from her abdomen.

“Jess,” he whispered.

They closed the gap between them, both of their legs urging them forwards. He wrapped his arms around her and their mouths met in a hard, desperate kiss. She began to kiss him back before she suddenly let out a gasp, a hand going to her stomach. He looked at her in alarm, but she grabbed his hand and pressed it against her bump. Faintly, just under his palm, he felt a jolt of pressure.

“Is that…?”

“That’s our baby,” she told him, tears welling up in her eyes, “It’s the first time I’ve felt a kick. She knows her father.”

“It’s a girl?” he asked.

“I think so,” she smiled up at him, heart swelling as his other hand came up to cup her cheek.

“Our baby,” he said the words quietly, testing them in his mouth.

“I wrote to tell you months ago, but the Countess had all of my letters intercepted,” she admitted, “My father wanted me to give the child away and wed the Duke after, but I couldn’t allow that to happen. So I left.”

“What about your inheritance? The estate?” he frowned.

“I could care less for money and an estate if it meant giving up everything that truly matters in life,” she said, one hand on her bump as the other came to rest of his heart, “This is what matters.”

“I have nothing to offer you,” he said quietly, “I work for a modest fee here. I only have a small cottage in the village. I…”

Her hand slid up to press a finger to his lips, “Hush my darling. As long as I have you and our child, that is enough for me. You are enough.”

He brought his forehead down to rest against hers, “You beautiful, wonderful woman.” He went down onto one knee in front of her, “Jessamyn Woodmire, I have adored you from the moment I met you. You became the sole reason for my happiness, and though I never believed this day would come, I have dreamed about it since the first day you took my hand and I helped you out of your carriage to Edgewater. Now I would ask that you for that hand again,” he took hold of her hand gently, “Jess, my Jess, will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

“Yes,” she whispered through her tears, “A thousand times yes.”

***

Mr and Mrs Harper were wed by the end of the week in a modest ceremony in the village church, with Luke’s aunt and uncle as witnesses. They settled into their life together, Luke helping with his family’s inn by keeping the stables running and Jess taking up work as a seamstress.

Their daughter Daisy Annabelle Harper was born five months later on a sunny afternoon in their cottage, a beautiful mix of both of her parents but Jess would always be thankful that she would grow to have Luke’s eyes and his kind heart.

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-heat-of-the-kitchen/

The Heat Of The Kitchen

A gentleman at my retirement facility returned from a visit with friends in Australia recently.  One of his hosts took him to a remote part of the country where they were joined by others who were his host’s friends.  As might be expected, the conversation turned to American politics.  One individual expressed disappointment that President Joe Biden was responsible for damages to the Nord Stream Pipeline in September, ignoring Russia’s statement that a faulty system compressor caused the explosion. The person sharing his information cited a Fox news commentator Tucker Carlson as his source. That rumor has been debunked by several news outlets, so I asked my companion, a man who’d made his living as a travel guide before retiring, how he responded. “I was a guest, so I listened,” he replied. “The better part of valor is discretion,” said Shakespeare’s Falstaff In Henry IV, Part 1, but as our midterms were at hand, and voters were pondering whether to turn the country over to insurrectionists or to defend democracy, I was in no mood for discretion.  “I didn’t stay silent about apartheid when I was in South Africa,” I snapped.  I regretted my words before I’d finished my sentence. Who was I to judge? Under the circumstances, rebuttal at best would have been useless. At worst, the man would have embarrassed his host.  I tendered my apology, realizing the upcoming election had frayed my resiliency. If I am honest, though, I’m weary of Tucker Carlson and his ilk and would prefer to butt heads.  The coarsening of my spirits has, of late, led me to turn away from the news.  I prefer to watch television cooking shows. What harm can there be in vanilla pudding unless Lucretia Borgia is in the kitchen? I’m not alone in my desire for escape. Susan Stoner, author of the Sage Adair historical mystery series, wrote me to say her 10th novel will focus on 18th-century women who developed recipes for healthy living. Her research so far reveals,“…there is currently minuscule to no information in any archive about these women. Grrr.” If she wrote biographical fiction, the absence of facts wouldn’t hamper her.  She could make them up, as did Annabel Abbs in her 2021 novel about Eliza Acton. Acton predated Isabella Beaton as the author of the modern cookbook and, by accounts, the latter plagiarized some of her predecessor’s work. Acton’s life began as the child of a successful businessman. She was still young when the family’s fortune changed, however, and her bankrupt father fled to France, leaving his wife and children to fend for themselves. Acton had dreams of living a poet’s life and, with perseverance, enjoyed a small success. That being the case, she was affronted when a publisher offered her a contract to write a cookbook. Returned home, a penurious spinster, living under the roof of a mother who nagged her to find a husband, Acton reconsidered the offer. Even so,  she was determined to make the genre her own. She succeeded with Ann Kirby’s help, an impoverished servant who had troubles of her own. Ann’s mother was mad and her father was a drunkard.  The three lived in a shack with not enough money for Ann to own a decent pair of shoes.  The girl, little more than a teenager, jumped at the chance to work in a warm, clean kitchen. The collaboration, born of commiseration, grew into a friendship. The result was a  cookbook 10 years in the making which the public embraced. As an escape from politics, I recommend Abb’s fictional biography. Julie Whiteley, a critic for the Library Journal, as well as others, gave the work a thumbs up. Whiteley writes, Abbs has written a fascinating, long-overdue tribute to the unconventional Eliza Acton, the woman who revolutionized the English cookbook. Ann’s and Eliza’s drives for independence is (sic) inspiring, and their passion for cooking will awaken readers’ inner chef.  My inner life would prefer to eat a cake rather than bake one. Nonetheless, for those who wish to escape the heat of today’s political kitchen, I recommend Abb’s book, Miss Eliza’s English Kitchen: A Novel of Victorian Food and Friendship.  

[sad-goomy]

sharing is caring

((I realized I’m at over 50 followers which wow ty!! Take this it’s been sitting in my drafts and it’s self-indulgent lonashipping featuring the tropiest trope of all))

"The reservation is for just one room."

Moon looks at Gladion, who keeps his eyes trained on the receptionist. "Are there any more available?"

"We don't have any vacancies."

Of course they don't, that would be too easy. Moon can see him deciding whether or not to put up a fight, but he's weighed down by the reality of the situation – something's gone wrong, it's past midnight, and after eight hours searching every corner of Lush Jungle for any sign of an Ultra Beast, it's safe to say both of them are exhausted.

"We'll make it work." Moon gives the receptionist the closest thing she can muster up to the smile, and the woman hands them a key. She mentions something about breakfast, and late checkout, and anything else she says is lost to both teens as they nod their heads and shoulder their backpacks.

Their footsteps echo on the wooden patio as they make their way to their room. Gladion's brows are still furrowed. "Annabel's always booked two rooms before."

Moon shrugs, because she's too tired to do much else. "Budget cuts?"

"Hm."

They get to their room, and she fumbles with the key for about a minute, her heavy eyelids not helping her see in the dark. When she finally gets the door open, a wave of relief crashes onto them both as they drop their bags and Gladion flips the light switch.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

The receptionist might have mentioned how to access the motel's pool, but she didn't say a word about the fact that there was only one Queen-sized bed.

When Moon looks to Gladion, she bites down on her lip to keep from laughing at his petulant frown. He turns, muttering, "Let me go -"

"What? Ask to speak to her manager at one in the morning?"

It stops him in his tracks, but it doesn't get him to admit that she has a point. He sighs, picking up his backpack and tossing it on the nearby armchair. "You can take the bed, I can just..."

Sleep on the floor? They both know what an awful idea that is, especially considering they have to meet Annabel and Looker for another debrief in just six hours. At this point Gladion might as well accept a death sentence.

"We can share the bed." He looks at her like she has three heads, and Moon rolls her eyes. "We've spent the past two weeks together in life-or-death situations. I think we can handle being unconscious next to each other for a few hours."

Her voice is exhausted and her eyes are irritated as she stares him down. He's not feeling much better, but he still keeps looking at the door, like he's reconsidering arguing with the receptionist. Moon lets out a dramatic sigh and decides she'll let him stew on the thought for a few minutes, getting her toothbrush and pajamas out of her bag and heading to the bathroom.

When she comes back out, he's changed into sweatpants and barrels past her quickly, nearly hitting her shoulder on the way. Any other time, she might have questioned his flustered state, but right now all Moon can think about is how warm and soft that bed looks.

By the time Gladion walks out, she's passed out under the covers, mouth falling open slightly. He watches her for a minute, trying not to laugh at the sight – he's used to seeing her with composed expressions, not with the beginnings of drool in the corner of her mouth. It's enough to make him relax, turning out the lights before crawling onto the opposite side of the bed, perching himself on the edge of the mattress and closing his eyes, the final wave of exhaustion hitting with a vengeance.

Looker hands them both coffee as Annabel stands by the desk strewn with manila folders. "Morning you two. Did you sleep well?"

Neither of them answers, instead keeping their eyes on their cups as they take a long sip of coffee to hide the flush on their cheeks.

Looker frowns at their silence. "Did something happen?"

"Nope."

"Slept great."

Annabel and Looker exchange a glance at the too-quick responses. Still, they don't prod further and begin the briefing, noting in the back of their minds that Moon and Gladion won't look each other in the eyes and keep a healthy distance between themselves. After the newest findings are laid out, Annabel turns to her two agents. "Any questions?"

They shake their heads, a little too focused on everything in the room that isn't the other person. 

"Excellent. Now before you head out, I think it's important to clear the air." Moon and Gladion raise a brow, and Annabel can no longer hide her smirk.

"Who's the big spoon?"

Moon and Gladion choke on their coffee.

It's technically not a direct confession to waking up and finding themselves cuddling, but it's all that Annabel and Looker need to hold it over their heads up until the completion of the missions.

.

.

.

(And the answer is Gladion.)

[wineanddinosaur]

From Grain to Glass: How Scotch Whisky Distillers Are Creating a Sustainable Future

From global alcohol conglomerates to small-scale, single estate producers, Scotch whisky producers are taking Johnnie Walker-esque strides to turn their world-famous brown spirit green.

Over the last 10 years, the topic of sustainability has gathered the kind of steam normally found inside a copper pot still. But recent geopolitical events have distracted from the issue. Even before the global pandemic, the Scotch whisky industry faced a two-pronged battle against the continued uncertainty of Brexit, and an ongoing trade war between the European Union (EU) and the U.S.

In a nutshell: Less than half a year before the U.K.’s transition period to leave the EU expires, Scotch whisky producers remain in the dark over the customs and excise procedures that will be required to export goods to the continent, which is its largest export market, according to the Scotch Whisky Association (SWA). Plus, there’s the issue of 25 percent tariffs that were imposed on Scotch whisky by the U.S. government in October 2019. Since then, the SWA estimates exports have fallen by 30 percent, amounting to £200 million (around $260 million) in lost sales.

Despite those immediate concerns and the challenges related to the coronavirus pandemic, it is sustainability — and the industry’s ability to improve its practices — that promises to shape the future of the Scotch whisky industry over the long haul.

According to SWA data, the Scotch whisky industry relied on fossil fuels for more than 70 percent of its energy in 2018. But the clock is ticking for this reliance to end. The Scottish government plans to have “decarbonized” the country’s energy system “almost completely” by 2050. This is in line with the U.K’s legally-binding target of reaching net zero carbon emissions by this time. (“Net zero” describes the process of offsetting greenhouse gas emissions by removing an equal amount of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.)

For distillers, adhering to this goal largely depends on finding alternative energy sources to fire the giant stills used for distillation — the most significant use of fossil fuels by some measure. The path to sustainability has also forced producers to reconsider every step of their whisky’s journey, from grain to glass and even beyond.

Making Scotch More Sustainable

The SWA, the industry’s leading trade organization whose members account for over 90 percent of production, has set the goal of achieving net zero carbon emissions by 2045. It first outlined this aim in 2009, when it launched the Scotch Whisky Industry Environmental Strategy. An ambitious manifesto, the strategy aims to improve the sustainable practices of its members by reducing waste, improving packaging, increasing water efficiency, and easing its reliance on harmful fossil fuels.

In May 2020, the SWA published its most recent report on the progress being made in the industry, based on data from 2018. Many of its major targets have been met ahead of schedule, most notably the reliance on fossil fuels. Non-fossil fuels accounted for less than 5 percent of the energy use in the industry at the time of the strategy launch. By 2018, this figure had increased to 28 percent, contributing to a 34 percent reduction in greenhouse gasses. Water efficiency, too, improved by 22 percent, more than double the 2020 target.

Other areas within the industry require more work, specifically packaging. A 10 percent reduction in the average weight of packaging was set for 2020, but since 2012, packaging weight has actually increased slightly — the product of “continued consumer demand for premium products,” according to the SWA.

“The report demonstrates that companies in the industry are ready to play their part in minimizing our collective carbon footprint, and that fundamental changes are needed both throughout the Scotch Whisky production process and government policies to help Scotland meet the 2045 net zero target,” Dagmar Droogsma, SWA’s director of industry, said in a June press release covering the latest progress report. (Multiple interview requests from VinePair remain unanswered by the SWA at the time of publishing.)

On the topic of political policies, the U.K. government last week announced a new £10 million ($13 million) fund, which will be available to Scottish and Northern Irish distilleries to help them “go green” and cut emissions. The fund aims to cut CO2 emissions by almost half a million tons per year — the equivalent of taking 100,000 cars off the road.

Alternative and Innovative Energy Sources

While the multimillion dollar fund shows a positive signal intent from the U.K. government, the total pales in comparison to the combined hundreds of millions already spent by the leading whisky brands in the search for fossil fuel alternatives. Much of this sum has gone toward harnessing the power from previously considered “waste products.”

Until 10 years ago, creating animal feed was the most sustainable use for the byproducts of whisky distillation. Now, multiple distilleries are using these materials to produce energy to fire their stills. The first method sees dried draff — the used grain left over from distillation — burned in biomass boilers (sometimes with wood chips). The second, more complicated technique harnesses both draff and pot ale, the syrupy liquid left in stills after distillation. When the two are mixed, a process called anaerobic digestion produces methane-rich combustible biogas. The leftover “digestate” can then be separated into solid and liquid fractions, both of which can be processed into biofertilizers.

Since 2010, many of the companies that own the leading whisky brands have invested heavily in developing anaerobic digestion plants, including Diageo, Chivas Brothers (owned by Pernod Ricard), William Grant & Sons, Bacardi, The Edrington Group, Ian Macleod Distillers, Inver House Distillers, and more.

And it’s not just anaerobic digesters the brands are betting on. While Diageo has invested in multiple anaerobic digestion initiatives, the largest Scotch whisky producer has set its own ambitious targets for reducing emissions and waste, and improving packaging. For the latter, the company announced a 100 percent plastic-free paper-based bottle, which will debut in 2021 via its Johnnie Walker brand. In its recently published annual report, Diageo also stated that 100 percent of the electricity used at its U.K. sites in the last fiscal year came from renewable sources.

In 2011, Ian Macleod Distillers introduced a wetlands facility at its Glengoyne distillery. The series of 12 pools each contains thick reed beds, which are capable of filtering 100 percent of the distillery’s waste liquid before its reintroduction to nearby water sources. (The company also has an anaerobic digester on site.) At Chivas Brothers’ Dalmunach Distillery, which opened in 2016, all electricity comes from renewable hydro and wind sources. The distillery also contains state-of-the-art systems to increase efficiency by recovering heat from its stills and condensers. In February 2020, Chivas Brothers announced plans to create the first “carbon neutral whisky distillery” within two years, as part of its ongoing sustainability strategy.

How Smaller-Scale Brands Are Going Green

While the innovations required to improve sustainably require significant financial investment, that hasn’t dismayed smaller companies from getting involved. In fact, in recent years, multiple distilleries have launched with this exact philosophy in mind.

When planning the Ncn’ean distillery, which opened in 2017, founder Annabel Thomas identified multiple areas of production that she wanted to ensure were as sustainable as possible. The first involved using 100 percent organic barley, something she says was surprisingly difficult to source and costs significantly more than commercial cereals. But the benefit to the biodiversity on the farms where it’s grown makes it worth it, Thomas says. Like many other distilleries, Ncn’ean generates energy for its stills using a biomass boiler, which runs on wood chips sourced from a nearby timber forest. It also recycles the byproducts of distillation as animal feed and fertilizer.

Then there were other aspects of production that Thomas hadn’t considered prior to opening, but has since found sustainable solutions for. These include an enzyme-based cleaner, which reduces the distillery’s chemical reliance by 50 percent. And when Ncn’ean debuts its first whisky in September, the liquid will be bottled in 100 percent recycled glass bottles — a first for any Scotch whisky producer, according to Thomas.

Besides being “the right thing to do,” Thomas says producing whisky sustainably, and making that ethos a key part of the brand’s messaging, is important for both consumers and the industry.

“It spreads the word and also puts more pressure on everybody else in the industry to come along on that journey,” she says. Ncn’ean, notably, is not a member of the SWA and Thomas says the target of 2045 for net zero is “too little too late.”

John Stirling, director of Arbikie Distilling, says, “Why be neutral when you can be positive?” Arbikie grows all the ingredients for its spirits, including the peas used for two carbon-positive spirits, Nàdar Gin and Vodka.

Peas remove nitrogen from the atmosphere while growing, which means they don’t require synthetic fertilizers to grow and also improve soil quality after harvest, Stirling explains. The nitrogen-rich soil is then used to grow heritage barley grains for the distillery’s malt whisky. While Stirling won’t reveal the varieties used, he says their yields are lower than those used by large-scale distillers, but their shorter growing cycle negates the need to use synthetic fertilizers, a common practice in Scottish barley production.

“In the whisky world, the aim has always been to maximize yield of barley and spirit, without recognizing the damage that does to the environment,” Sitrling says.

Perhaps the larger brands are aware of this but would rather keep the focus on positive achievements. The steps that have been taken to improve the sustainability of the industry as a whole are praiseworthy indeed. But the attention being paid to the provenance of base ingredients lags some way behind the improvements in production processes.

In the reporting for this article, VinePair reached out to many of the largest Scotch whisky producers with questions surrounding their sustainable practices. All were either unwilling or unable to provide a response in the given time frame.

This could be a simple question of logistics. It could also be silent recognition that further strides need to be taken before the Scotch whisky industry truly turns green.

The article From Grain to Glass: How Scotch Whisky Distillers Are Creating a Sustainable Future appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/scotch-whisky-sustainability/

[isaiahrippinus]

From Grain to Glass: How Scotch Whisky Distillers Are Creating a Sustainable Future

From global alcohol conglomerates to small-scale, single estate producers, Scotch whisky producers are taking Johnnie Walker-esque strides to turn their world-famous brown spirit green.

Over the last 10 years, the topic of sustainability has gathered the kind of steam normally found inside a copper pot still. But recent geopolitical events have distracted from the issue. Even before the global pandemic, the Scotch whisky industry faced a two-pronged battle against the continued uncertainty of Brexit, and an ongoing trade war between the European Union (EU) and the U.S.

In a nutshell: Less than half a year before the U.K.’s transition period to leave the EU expires, Scotch whisky producers remain in the dark over the customs and excise procedures that will be required to export goods to the continent, which is its largest export market, according to the Scotch Whisky Association (SWA). Plus, there’s the issue of 25 percent tariffs that were imposed on Scotch whisky by the U.S. government in October 2019. Since then, the SWA estimates exports have fallen by 30 percent, amounting to £200 million (around $260 million) in lost sales.

Despite those immediate concerns and the challenges related to the coronavirus pandemic, it is sustainability — and the industry’s ability to improve its practices — that promises to shape the future of the Scotch whisky industry over the long haul.

According to SWA data, the Scotch whisky industry relied on fossil fuels for more than 70 percent of its energy in 2018. But the clock is ticking for this reliance to end. The Scottish government plans to have “decarbonized” the country’s energy system “almost completely” by 2050. This is in line with the U.K’s legally-binding target of reaching net zero carbon emissions by this time. (“Net zero” describes the process of offsetting greenhouse gas emissions by removing an equal amount of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.)

For distillers, adhering to this goal largely depends on finding alternative energy sources to fire the giant stills used for distillation — the most significant use of fossil fuels by some measure. The path to sustainability has also forced producers to reconsider every step of their whisky’s journey, from grain to glass and even beyond.

Making Scotch More Sustainable

The SWA, the industry’s leading trade organization whose members account for over 90 percent of production, has set the goal of achieving net zero carbon emissions by 2045. It first outlined this aim in 2009, when it launched the Scotch Whisky Industry Environmental Strategy. An ambitious manifesto, the strategy aims to improve the sustainable practices of its members by reducing waste, improving packaging, increasing water efficiency, and easing its reliance on harmful fossil fuels.

In May 2020, the SWA published its most recent report on the progress being made in the industry, based on data from 2018. Many of its major targets have been met ahead of schedule, most notably the reliance on fossil fuels. Non-fossil fuels accounted for less than 5 percent of the energy use in the industry at the time of the strategy launch. By 2018, this figure had increased to 28 percent, contributing to a 34 percent reduction in greenhouse gasses. Water efficiency, too, improved by 22 percent, more than double the 2020 target.

Other areas within the industry require more work, specifically packaging. A 10 percent reduction in the average weight of packaging was set for 2020, but since 2012, packaging weight has actually increased slightly — the product of “continued consumer demand for premium products,” according to the SWA.

“The report demonstrates that companies in the industry are ready to play their part in minimizing our collective carbon footprint, and that fundamental changes are needed both throughout the Scotch Whisky production process and government policies to help Scotland meet the 2045 net zero target,” Dagmar Droogsma, SWA’s director of industry, said in a June press release covering the latest progress report. (Multiple interview requests from VinePair remain unanswered by the SWA at the time of publishing.)

On the topic of political policies, the U.K. government last week announced a new £10 million ($13 million) fund, which will be available to Scottish and Northern Irish distilleries to help them “go green” and cut emissions. The fund aims to cut CO2 emissions by almost half a million tons per year — the equivalent of taking 100,000 cars off the road.

Alternative and Innovative Energy Sources

While the multimillion dollar fund shows a positive signal intent from the U.K. government, the total pales in comparison to the combined hundreds of millions already spent by the leading whisky brands in the search for fossil fuel alternatives. Much of this sum has gone toward harnessing the power from previously considered “waste products.”

Until 10 years ago, creating animal feed was the most sustainable use for the byproducts of whisky distillation. Now, multiple distilleries are using these materials to produce energy to fire their stills. The first method sees dried draff — the used grain left over from distillation — burned in biomass boilers (sometimes with wood chips). The second, more complicated technique harnesses both draff and pot ale, the syrupy liquid left in stills after distillation. When the two are mixed, a process called anaerobic digestion produces methane-rich combustible biogas. The leftover “digestate” can then be separated into solid and liquid fractions, both of which can be processed into biofertilizers.

Since 2010, many of the companies that own the leading whisky brands have invested heavily in developing anaerobic digestion plants, including Diageo, Chivas Brothers (owned by Pernod Ricard), William Grant & Sons, Bacardi, The Edrington Group, Ian Macleod Distillers, Inver House Distillers, and more.

And it’s not just anaerobic digesters the brands are betting on. While Diageo has invested in multiple anaerobic digestion initiatives, the largest Scotch whisky producer has set its own ambitious targets for reducing emissions and waste, and improving packaging. For the latter, the company announced a 100 percent plastic-free paper-based bottle, which will debut in 2021 via its Johnnie Walker brand. In its recently published annual report, Diageo also stated that 100 percent of the electricity used at its U.K. sites in the last fiscal year came from renewable sources.

In 2011, Ian Macleod Distillers introduced a wetlands facility at its Glengoyne distillery. The series of 12 pools each contains thick reed beds, which are capable of filtering 100 percent of the distillery’s waste liquid before its reintroduction to nearby water sources. (The company also has an anaerobic digester on site.) At Chivas Brothers’ Dalmunach Distillery, which opened in 2016, all electricity comes from renewable hydro and wind sources. The distillery also contains state-of-the-art systems to increase efficiency by recovering heat from its stills and condensers. In February 2020, Chivas Brothers announced plans to create the first “carbon neutral whisky distillery” within two years, as part of its ongoing sustainability strategy.

How Smaller-Scale Brands Are Going Green

While the innovations required to improve sustainably require significant financial investment, that hasn’t dismayed smaller companies from getting involved. In fact, in recent years, multiple distilleries have launched with this exact philosophy in mind.

When planning the Ncn’ean distillery, which opened in 2017, founder Annabel Thomas identified multiple areas of production that she wanted to ensure were as sustainable as possible. The first involved using 100 percent organic barley, something she says was surprisingly difficult to source and costs significantly more than commercial cereals. But the benefit to the biodiversity on the farms where it’s grown makes it worth it, Thomas says. Like many other distilleries, Ncn’ean generates energy for its stills using a biomass boiler, which runs on wood chips sourced from a nearby timber forest. It also recycles the byproducts of distillation as animal feed and fertilizer.

Then there were other aspects of production that Thomas hadn’t considered prior to opening, but has since found sustainable solutions for. These include an enzyme-based cleaner, which reduces the distillery’s chemical reliance by 50 percent. And when Ncn’ean debuts its first whisky in September, the liquid will be bottled in 100 percent recycled glass bottles — a first for any Scotch whisky producer, according to Thomas.

Besides being “the right thing to do,” Thomas says producing whisky sustainably, and making that ethos a key part of the brand’s messaging, is important for both consumers and the industry.

“It spreads the word and also puts more pressure on everybody else in the industry to come along on that journey,” she says. Ncn’ean, notably, is not a member of the SWA and Thomas says the target of 2045 for net zero is “too little too late.”

John Stirling, director of Arbikie Distilling, says, “Why be neutral when you can be positive?” Arbikie grows all the ingredients for its spirits, including the peas used for two carbon-positive spirits, Nàdar Gin and Vodka.

Peas remove nitrogen from the atmosphere while growing, which means they don’t require synthetic fertilizers to grow and also improve soil quality after harvest, Stirling explains. The nitrogen-rich soil is then used to grow heritage barley grains for the distillery’s malt whisky. While Stirling won’t reveal the varieties used, he says their yields are lower than those used by large-scale distillers, but their shorter growing cycle negates the need to use synthetic fertilizers, a common practice in Scottish barley production.

“In the whisky world, the aim has always been to maximize yield of barley and spirit, without recognizing the damage that does to the environment,” Sitrling says.

Perhaps the larger brands are aware of this but would rather keep the focus on positive achievements. The steps that have been taken to improve the sustainability of the industry as a whole are praiseworthy indeed. But the attention being paid to the provenance of base ingredients lags some way behind the improvements in production processes.

In the reporting for this article, VinePair reached out to many of the largest Scotch whisky producers with questions surrounding their sustainable practices. All were either unwilling or unable to provide a response in the given time frame.

This could be a simple question of logistics. It could also be silent recognition that further strides need to be taken before the Scotch whisky industry truly turns green.

The article From Grain to Glass: How Scotch Whisky Distillers Are Creating a Sustainable Future appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/scotch-whisky-sustainability/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/627433107898892288

[johnboothus]

From Grain to Glass: How Scotch Whisky Distillers Are Creating a Sustainable Future

From global alcohol conglomerates to small-scale, single estate producers, Scotch whisky producers are taking Johnnie Walker-esque strides to turn their world-famous brown spirit green.

Over the last 10 years, the topic of sustainability has gathered the kind of steam normally found inside a copper pot still. But recent geopolitical events have distracted from the issue. Even before the global pandemic, the Scotch whisky industry faced a two-pronged battle against the continued uncertainty of Brexit, and an ongoing trade war between the European Union (EU) and the U.S.

In a nutshell: Less than half a year before the U.K.’s transition period to leave the EU expires, Scotch whisky producers remain in the dark over the customs and excise procedures that will be required to export goods to the continent, which is its largest export market, according to the Scotch Whisky Association (SWA). Plus, there’s the issue of 25 percent tariffs that were imposed on Scotch whisky by the U.S. government in October 2019. Since then, the SWA estimates exports have fallen by 30 percent, amounting to £200 million (around $260 million) in lost sales.

Despite those immediate concerns and the challenges related to the coronavirus pandemic, it is sustainability — and the industry’s ability to improve its practices — that promises to shape the future of the Scotch whisky industry over the long haul.

According to SWA data, the Scotch whisky industry relied on fossil fuels for more than 70 percent of its energy in 2018. But the clock is ticking for this reliance to end. The Scottish government plans to have “decarbonized” the country’s energy system “almost completely” by 2050. This is in line with the U.K’s legally-binding target of reaching net zero carbon emissions by this time. (“Net zero” describes the process of offsetting greenhouse gas emissions by removing an equal amount of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.)

For distillers, adhering to this goal largely depends on finding alternative energy sources to fire the giant stills used for distillation — the most significant use of fossil fuels by some measure. The path to sustainability has also forced producers to reconsider every step of their whisky’s journey, from grain to glass and even beyond.

Making Scotch More Sustainable

The SWA, the industry’s leading trade organization whose members account for over 90 percent of production, has set the goal of achieving net zero carbon emissions by 2045. It first outlined this aim in 2009, when it launched the Scotch Whisky Industry Environmental Strategy. An ambitious manifesto, the strategy aims to improve the sustainable practices of its members by reducing waste, improving packaging, increasing water efficiency, and easing its reliance on harmful fossil fuels.

In May 2020, the SWA published its most recent report on the progress being made in the industry, based on data from 2018. Many of its major targets have been met ahead of schedule, most notably the reliance on fossil fuels. Non-fossil fuels accounted for less than 5 percent of the energy use in the industry at the time of the strategy launch. By 2018, this figure had increased to 28 percent, contributing to a 34 percent reduction in greenhouse gasses. Water efficiency, too, improved by 22 percent, more than double the 2020 target.

Other areas within the industry require more work, specifically packaging. A 10 percent reduction in the average weight of packaging was set for 2020, but since 2012, packaging weight has actually increased slightly — the product of “continued consumer demand for premium products,” according to the SWA.

“The report demonstrates that companies in the industry are ready to play their part in minimizing our collective carbon footprint, and that fundamental changes are needed both throughout the Scotch Whisky production process and government policies to help Scotland meet the 2045 net zero target,” Dagmar Droogsma, SWA’s director of industry, said in a June press release covering the latest progress report. (Multiple interview requests from VinePair remain unanswered by the SWA at the time of publishing.)

On the topic of political policies, the U.K. government last week announced a new £10 million ($13 million) fund, which will be available to Scottish and Northern Irish distilleries to help them “go green” and cut emissions. The fund aims to cut CO2 emissions by almost half a million tons per year — the equivalent of taking 100,000 cars off the road.

Alternative and Innovative Energy Sources

While the multimillion dollar fund shows a positive signal intent from the U.K. government, the total pales in comparison to the combined hundreds of millions already spent by the leading whisky brands in the search for fossil fuel alternatives. Much of this sum has gone toward harnessing the power from previously considered “waste products.”

Until 10 years ago, creating animal feed was the most sustainable use for the byproducts of whisky distillation. Now, multiple distilleries are using these materials to produce energy to fire their stills. The first method sees dried draff — the used grain left over from distillation — burned in biomass boilers (sometimes with wood chips). The second, more complicated technique harnesses both draff and pot ale, the syrupy liquid left in stills after distillation. When the two are mixed, a process called anaerobic digestion produces methane-rich combustible biogas. The leftover “digestate” can then be separated into solid and liquid fractions, both of which can be processed into biofertilizers.

Since 2010, many of the companies that own the leading whisky brands have invested heavily in developing anaerobic digestion plants, including Diageo, Chivas Brothers (owned by Pernod Ricard), William Grant & Sons, Bacardi, The Edrington Group, Ian Macleod Distillers, Inver House Distillers, and more.

And it’s not just anaerobic digesters the brands are betting on. While Diageo has invested in multiple anaerobic digestion initiatives, the largest Scotch whisky producer has set its own ambitious targets for reducing emissions and waste, and improving packaging. For the latter, the company announced a 100 percent plastic-free paper-based bottle, which will debut in 2021 via its Johnnie Walker brand. In its recently published annual report, Diageo also stated that 100 percent of the electricity used at its U.K. sites in the last fiscal year came from renewable sources.

In 2011, Ian Macleod Distillers introduced a wetlands facility at its Glengoyne distillery. The series of 12 pools each contains thick reed beds, which are capable of filtering 100 percent of the distillery’s waste liquid before its reintroduction to nearby water sources. (The company also has an anaerobic digester on site.) At Chivas Brothers’ Dalmunach Distillery, which opened in 2016, all electricity comes from renewable hydro and wind sources. The distillery also contains state-of-the-art systems to increase efficiency by recovering heat from its stills and condensers. In February 2020, Chivas Brothers announced plans to create the first “carbon neutral whisky distillery” within two years, as part of its ongoing sustainability strategy.

How Smaller-Scale Brands Are Going Green

While the innovations required to improve sustainably require significant financial investment, that hasn’t dismayed smaller companies from getting involved. In fact, in recent years, multiple distilleries have launched with this exact philosophy in mind.

When planning the Ncn’ean distillery, which opened in 2017, founder Annabel Thomas identified multiple areas of production that she wanted to ensure were as sustainable as possible. The first involved using 100 percent organic barley, something she says was surprisingly difficult to source and costs significantly more than commercial cereals. But the benefit to the biodiversity on the farms where it’s grown makes it worth it, Thomas says. Like many other distilleries, Ncn’ean generates energy for its stills using a biomass boiler, which runs on wood chips sourced from a nearby timber forest. It also recycles the byproducts of distillation as animal feed and fertilizer.

Then there were other aspects of production that Thomas hadn’t considered prior to opening, but has since found sustainable solutions for. These include an enzyme-based cleaner, which reduces the distillery’s chemical reliance by 50 percent. And when Ncn’ean debuts its first whisky in September, the liquid will be bottled in 100 percent recycled glass bottles — a first for any Scotch whisky producer, according to Thomas.

Besides being “the right thing to do,” Thomas says producing whisky sustainably, and making that ethos a key part of the brand’s messaging, is important for both consumers and the industry.

“It spreads the word and also puts more pressure on everybody else in the industry to come along on that journey,” she says. Ncn’ean, notably, is not a member of the SWA and Thomas says the target of 2045 for net zero is “too little too late.”

John Stirling, director of Arbikie Distilling, says, “Why be neutral when you can be positive?” Arbikie grows all the ingredients for its spirits, including the peas used for two carbon-positive spirits, Nàdar Gin and Vodka.

Peas remove nitrogen from the atmosphere while growing, which means they don’t require synthetic fertilizers to grow and also improve soil quality after harvest, Stirling explains. The nitrogen-rich soil is then used to grow heritage barley grains for the distillery’s malt whisky. While Stirling won’t reveal the varieties used, he says their yields are lower than those used by large-scale distillers, but their shorter growing cycle negates the need to use synthetic fertilizers, a common practice in Scottish barley production.

“In the whisky world, the aim has always been to maximize yield of barley and spirit, without recognizing the damage that does to the environment,” Sitrling says.

Perhaps the larger brands are aware of this but would rather keep the focus on positive achievements. The steps that have been taken to improve the sustainability of the industry as a whole are praiseworthy indeed. But the attention being paid to the provenance of base ingredients lags some way behind the improvements in production processes.

In the reporting for this article, VinePair reached out to many of the largest Scotch whisky producers with questions surrounding their sustainable practices. All were either unwilling or unable to provide a response in the given time frame.

This could be a simple question of logistics. It could also be silent recognition that further strides need to be taken before the Scotch whisky industry truly turns green.

The article From Grain to Glass: How Scotch Whisky Distillers Are Creating a Sustainable Future appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/scotch-whisky-sustainability/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/from-grain-to-glass-how-scotch-whisky-distillers-are-creating-a-sustainable-future

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads for July 2020

I’m so excited about this months Amazon First Reads as Prime Members are able to pick not just one book but TWO books this month. Also this month there are Nine books to choose from not the usual Eight. I really an excited about this. It’s always the small things that I enjoy. So what books will you choose?

This months books are:

Historical Mystery

Stealing the Crown by T P Fielden,  Pages: 320, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: Britain is at war—but the greatest threat to the Crown might be within the Palace walls.

London, 1941: Major Edgar Brampton is found shot dead in his office in Buckingham Palace. All signs point towards a self-inflicted tragedy, but when Palace authorities hurry his body away and order staff to stay silent, fellow courtier Guy Harford’s suspicions are raised.

While the outside world faces the onslaught of war, within the Palace walls a curious mystery unfolds. Rumours swirl about Brampton’s relationship with the Queen, and there’s talk of other plots involving those closest to the King.

To get to the bottom of what really happened, Guy joins forces with some unlikely allies—Rodie Carr, a beautiful East End burglar, and Rupert Hardacre, a postman with a past—but time may be running out…for him, for the King, and for Britain. Someone has their eye on the crown, and they’ll do anything to get it.

Can Guy solve the case before more blood is spilled on the royal carpets? Or will he be the next victim?

Contemporary Fiction

Rival Sisters by Louise Guy, Pages: 413, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: Tragedy pushed them apart. Can troubled times bring them back together?

Hannah and Nat were teenagers when their mum died in a terrible accident. The pain of it tore them apart, creating a rift that they’ve never been able to bridge. Neither is able to understand or appreciate her sister’s perspective, each quick to be riled by the other.

Both women have been indelibly shaped by the tragedy. Hannah is controlling, desperate to protect her loved ones in a way she failed to do with her mum. Meanwhile, Nat is forever running from the ‘selfish daughter’ label that she was marked with after the accident.

Now secrets in both women’s lives threaten to bring them down. Help may be close at hand, but neither can see it. But with life falling apart and the truth in short supply, can they finally see past their differences to the bond that could bring them together?

Thriller

Her Final Words by Brianna Labuskes, Pages: 343, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: A shocking thriller by the bestselling author of Girls of Glass.

It seems like an open-and-shut case for FBI special agent Lucy Thorne when Eliza Cook walks into the field office. The teenage girl confesses to murdering a young boy. Disturbingly composed, she reveals chilling details only the killer could know. Beyond that Eliza doesn’t say another word, leaving a vital question met with dead silence: Why did she do it?

To find the answer, Lucy goes to the scene of the crime in the small Idaho town of Knox Hollow. But Lucy’s questions are only mounting. Especially when she’s drawn deeper into the life of the victim. Then a combing of the woods yields unsettling evidence that Eliza isn’t the only one in this close-knit rural community with secrets.

Getting to the truth is becoming Lucy’s obsession. And it’s a dangerous one. Because for the good folks of Knox Hollow, hiding that truth will take more than silence.

Suspense

Trust No One by Debra Webb, Pages: Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: A double homicide and a missing woman lead a detective to unearth disturbing secrets in this gripping thriller from USA Today bestselling author Debra Webb.

It’s the worst possible time for Detective Kerri Devlin to be involved in an all-consuming double-homicide case. She’s locked in a bitter struggle with her ex-husband and teenage daughter, and her reckless new partner is anything but trustworthy.

Still, she has a job to do: there’s a killer at large, and a pregnant woman has gone missing. Once Devlin and her partner get to work, they quickly unearth secrets involving Birmingham’s most esteemed citizens. Each new layer of the investigation brings Devlin closer to the killer and the missing woman, who starts looking more like a suspect than a victim.

But just as answers come into view, the case twists, expands, and slithers into Devlin’s personal life. There’s a much more sinister game at work, one she doesn’t even know she’s playing—and she must unravel the truth once and for all to stop the killer before she loses everything.

Book Club Fiction

The Last of the Moon Girls by Barbara Davis, Pages: 397, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: A novel of secrets, memory, family, and forgiveness by the bestselling author of When Never Comes.

Lizzy Moon never wanted Moon Girl Farm. Eight years ago, she left the land that nine generations of gifted healers had tended, determined to distance herself from the whispers about her family’s strange legacy. But when her beloved grandmother Althea dies, Lizzy must return and face the tragedy still hanging over the farm’s withered lavender fields: the unsolved murders of two young girls, and the cruel accusations that followed Althea to her grave.

Lizzy wants nothing more than to sell the farm and return to her life in New York, until she discovers a journal Althea left for her—a Book of Remembrances meant to help Lizzy embrace her own special gifts. When she reconnects with Andrew Greyson, one of the few in town who believed in Althea’s innocence, she resolves to clear her grandmother’s name.

But to do so, she’ll have to decide if she can accept her legacy and whether to follow in the footsteps of all the Moon women who came before her.

Crime Thriller

White Out by Danielle Girard, Pages: 361, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: From the bestselling author of the Annabelle Schwartzman series comes a chilling story of a woman with a forgotten past and a town with dark secrets.

After surviving a car accident on an icy road in Hagen, North Dakota, Lily Baker regains consciousness with no idea where or who she is. Scattered Bible verses and the image of a man lying in a pool of blood haunt her memory.

The same night of the accident, a young woman is murdered and tossed in a dumpster. Kylie Milliard, Hagen’s only detective, doesn’t immediately recognize the victim, but Kylie soon discovers that Lily and the dead woman share a dark past…if only Lily could remember what it was.

Lily and Kylie both want answers. But Kylie has to play by the book. Lily has to play it safe. And the more Lily learns about her identity, the more she fears the truth.

Historical Fiction

Across the Winding River by Aimie K Runyan, Pages: 301, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: A woman unlocks the mystery of her father’s wartime past in a moving novel about secrets, sacrifice, and the power of love by the bestselling author of Daughters of the Night Sky.

Beth Cohen wants to make the most of the months she has left with her elderly father, Max. His only request of his daughter is to go through the long-forgotten box of memorabilia from his days as a medic on the western front. Then, among his wartime souvenirs, Beth finds a photograph of her father with an adoring and beautiful stranger—a photograph worth a thousand questions.

It was 1944 when Max was drawn into the underground resistance by the fearless German wife of a Nazi officer. Together, she and Max were willing to risk everything for what they believed was right. Ahead of them lay a dangerous romance, a dream of escape, and a destiny over which neither had control.

But Max isn’t alone in his haunting remembrances of war. In a nearby private care home is a fragile German-born woman with her own past to share. Only when the two women meet does Beth realize how much more to her father there is to know, all the ways in which his heart still breaks, and the closure he needs to heal it.

Memoir

The Son and Heir by Alexander Munninghoff, Translation: Kristen Gehrmn, Pages: 279, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: A prize-winning Dutch journalist’s unsparing memoir of growing up amid the excesses, triumphs, and devastation of post–World War II Europe.

What can a son say upon discovering that his father wore a Nazi uniform? Reporter Alexander Münninghoff was only four when he found this mortifying relic from his father’s recent past in his attic. This shameful memento came to symbolize not only his father’s tragically misguided allegiance but also a shattered marriage and ultimately the unconscionable separation of a mother and son.

In this revelatory memoir, the author confronts his parents’ complex past as he reconstructs the fortunes and disillusions of an entire family upheaved during the changes of twentieth-century Europe. The Münninghoffs were driven by greed, rebellion, and rage. An embattled dynasty, they were torn between the right and the wrong side of history. Their saga haunted Alexander’s life for the next seventy years.

Only in reconciling with them can this man find the courage to move forward as son and heir to the startling legacy of a flawed yet grand tradition.

Children’s Picture Book

Clover Kitty Goes to Kittygarten by Laura Purdie Salas, Illustrator: Hire Nakata, Pages: 41, Publication Date: 1 August 2020

Synopsis: Clover Kitty does NOT want to go to kittygarten! Although she might like a friend to play with, kittygarten feels overwhelming for a sensory-sensitive kitty like Clover. And when she arrives, it is exactly as she fears: her classroom is too loud, the lights are too bright, and everyone comes too close. So Clover throws a fit…and decides to quit kittygarten. But when a classmate comes to check on her, she begins to reconsider. Maybe it’s time for Clover to give kittygarten another chance.…

*** Which books will you choose? I think I know one of the books that I’m going to choose but I can’t make my mind up about the second book. What do you think? ***