#the house i live in was built in the late 1700s
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coopsgirl · 1 year ago
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Modern AU Thranduil One Shot - Studying Abroad
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Safe for work, 995 words
The study abroad program you were participating in felt like a dream come true. The University of Kent located in Canterbury had proved to be the right school as the campus was lovely and it was a short train trip to London which made it easy to travel around the rest of England from there. You had been invited to a bonfire by some of your classmates and you happily accepted. The crowd grew fairly large by the time the sun had begun to set which during the Summer, was quite late. One man in particular caught your eye. He was very tall, you guessed around 6’5”, and had shaggy, light blonde hair. You were afraid he was going to notice you staring but it was hard to stop as he was so handsome. “You fancy him, don’t you?” your friend Ruby asked as she sat down on the ground beside you. “He’s really cute” you confessed. “He’s rich too. His father is the Earl of Guilford. He’s the eldest so he’ll inherit the title one day.” “Really?! I’ve never met anybody with a title.” “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” “No! I couldn’t. I’m a nobody” you said in protest. Ruby stood up and then took your hands to pull you to your feet as well. “He’s a real sweetheart. Come on!”
You followed behind her nervously as you walked towards him. “Hello! I’m Ruby and I wanted to introduce you to my friend Y/N. She’s studying abroad from America and has never met any of the nobility.” “Oh well, it’s very nice to meet you both. I’m Thranduil” he said with a big smile as he took turns shaking each woman’s hand. “I’ll see you later” Ruby said and then she walked away leaving them alone. “I hope we didn’t bother you” you said apologetically now feeling quite embarrassed as Ruby hadn’t known him any more than you did. “No bother at all. Are you studying at the university here?” “Yes. It’s just for the Summer but so far, I’m having a wonderful time. I’ve always wanted to come to England.” “I’m glad you’re enjoying your visit and I’m glad you were able to come to my party as well.” “This is your party?” you asked as you realized you hadn’t been given much information about the event. “Yes. I graduated from the University of Kent and every Summer I like to hold a party open to all current students, particularly the ones dedicated enough to continue classes through the Summer term” “That’s really nice of you. Is this your property?” “Yes, the manor house is just on the other side of that rise” he said as he pointed to a small green hill behind him. “Thanks again for the party and for not minding talking with me. I should get back to my friends.” “Do you have to?” he asked with a half-smile. You felt the butterflies in your stomach going crazy as you replied, “No, I guess I don’t have to.”
“Would you like to see the house? There’s a beautiful view from just over there” he said looking to the hill. “I’d love to see it.” You could hardly believe your eyes when the large house came into view. “Wow! I can’t imagine living somewhere like that.” “It was built in the 1700s. It takes a lot of work to maintain but it’s a privilege to be responsible for it and make sure it stands for centuries to come.” Thranduil was so proud as he spoke of the home he had been raised in and that he loved dearly. There was a gazebo not far from them and he took her hand in his as they walked towards it. You sat down beside each other and looked out onto the sky where the first stars were beginning to twinkle in the twilight. “I went to Leeds Castle last weekend and that was really fun. It’s beautiful there too.” You really wanted to tell him that he was the most handsome man you’d ever seen with a voice smoother than silk but instead you rambled about the places you’d been. “It is very lovely there…as are you.” You looked up at him with surprise and he quickly spoke again. “I am sorry. That was much too forward.” You felt courage well up inside you as you said, “I don’t mind. I think you’re really cute too.” You could feel your whole face turn red as you thought you sounded silly but the smile he gave you quickly put you at ease.
“I hope this doesn’t sound rude but I’ve never heard the name Thranduil before, is it a traditional English name.” He chuckled and then answered. “The name was my father’s idea. It is very old and I don’t believe that anyone has used it in centuries. I usually go by Thran.” “It’s a nice name and definitely is unique. Should I ask about your middle name?” you said with a joking tone. “Oh, it’s even worse! It’s Oropherion” he explained and you both laughed. “You’ll have to explain that one to me sometime” you said hinting that you wanted to see him again. “I certainly will” he said and he reached over to hold your hand.   
Thran then smiled as he moved a little closer to you and then took both of your hands in his. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed your forehead. When you did not pull away, he looked into your eyes and then his soft lips kissed yours. He let go of your hands to caress your face and neck and you put your arms around his chest and pulled him closer to you. His kisses were gentle and sweet and you could feel yourself becoming a bit lightheaded. A shooting star streaked across the sky above but you were both oblivious to anything going on around you as you were completely lost in each other’s arms.
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thisdancingheart · 2 years ago
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I have clicked on the horrid website so you don’t have to. 
First article, last year:
https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/18077960/benedict-cumberbatch-4million-castle-fronted-mansion/
Exclusive Benedict Cumberbatch eyes up £4million, castle-fronted mansion with 300-acre farm in south-west Laura Armstrong, Hannah Hope Published: 21:46, 26 Mar 2022 Updated: 9:49, 28 Mar 2022
NOMINEE Benedict Cumberbatch has been eyeing up a real-life role as a rancher – like his character in The Power Of The Dog.
The British actor is up for the Best Actor Oscar award on Sunday for his portrayal of troubled cowboy Phil Burbank in the blockbuster.
And we can reveal he’s showing an interest in a £4million, castle-fronted mansion.
The historic property has more than 300 acres of land attached to it and even boasts its own organic farm.
Benedict, who owns a home in London, where he lives with theatre director wife Sophie Hunter and their three children, is said to have been thinking of buying a bolthole in the South West for some time.
And a source in the village said: “Everyone around here is talking about it.
“Benedict has been seen here a few times in the last few months, either in the village or the market town nearby.
“He’s been wanting to buy a place down here for a while.
“If he buys the house it will be fantastic for the area and give everyone a real boost.
“The manor house and land have certainly seen better days so it would be brilliant if he injects some love into the property.”
If The Imitation Game actor buys the mansion, he will be able to relax in its extensive library and store vintage wines in the sprawling cellar.
There is also a swimming pool, cider orchard and land for grazing cattle — just like his film character Phil did.
He will also be able to bring his own features to the manor as it comes with extensive planning permission.
Benedict will be battling it out for the Best Actor award at the ceremony with Will Smith, Javier Bardem, Andrew Garfield and Denzel Washington.
And he is certainly a formidable contender after the movie won 12 nominations from the Academy.
Perhaps his recent house hunting is an optimistic bid to secure a grander location for his gong.
This weekend’s follow up and confirmation:
https://www.thesun.co.uk/tv/21046724/benedict-cumberbatch-buys-8-million-mansion/
EXCLUSIVE
BEN'S NEW HOLME Sherlock star Benedict Cumberbatch buys £8.1m mansion with 355 acres of land Michael Hamilton Published: 21:50, 14 Jan 2023 Updated: 21:50, 14 Jan 2023
SHERLOCK star Benedict Cumberbatch has bought an £8.1million mansion with 355 acres of land.
The actor and wife Sophie Hunter agreed a deal on the country spread last May after eyeing it for two years.
Sources say the Somerset estate, which has an organic farm and cider orchard, is “totally private”.
The historic house has a Grade-II listed lodge built to impress King George III, who was a regular visitor in the late 1700s.
Cumberbatch, 46, distantly related to Richard III, also has a Gothic–style entrance arch, library and wine cellar to show off.
A source said: “It’s really lovely, secluded and peaceful, perfect for getting away from it all.
“Although the house is historic, it has all mod-cons.
“Locals in the nearby village know about the purchase.
“Everyone is excited about their new neighbours.”
Cumberbatch, who played Holmes in Sherlock, also has a home in London with theatre director, playwright and actress Sophie, 44.
The property was sold by estate agents Savills.
The Land Registry has only recently released the documents.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Conclusion, Benedict saw a property he liked in Somerset while he was there filming some scenes for DSITMOM. Just a guess. 
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ardn516-amelia-lewis · 4 months ago
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Introduction to My Brief
For my assignment I want to document the history of St Heliers through what can be seen today.  It’s very hard to find information/evidence of history pre the late 1800s (probably for a reason), but there’s a lot of more recent history that is evident through buildings and the features of the land.  Both my Grandmothers grew up around the area and my parents have lived there for 16 years, so though I don’t know as much as I would like about the area I have a lot of connections to it and know a bit about it’s history already.  Through this project I want to learn more about the history of this place while documenting evidence of this history.  I’m very aware that history is always moving on and these places will not be the same forever, so hopefully my documentation can be a piece of history in itself.
A Short History of St Heliers 
The St Heliers area was Inhabited by several iwi, taken over by Ngāti Whātu from it’s previous inhabitance and gifted to Ngāti Pāoa by Ngāti Whātua in the late 1700s, who it was bought off by the British crown as part of the Kohimarama block in 1841.  It was initially developed as a farm by settlers, and developed as a suburb after the building of Tamaki drive in the early 1930s.  
Locations/things to explore and photograph
The Library - built in 1926 and converted into a library in 1931 around the time tamaki drive was built.  Probably also has more resources on the history of st heliers and/or old photos.
Tamaki drive - could explore the ways it has effected the landscape, going further into Kohi and Mission bay. 
The sand and rocks - the sand at St Heliers beach was brought there from Paraki in 2004 (which was a big betrayal to learn as a child) and looks very different from the original sand you can see at the end of the beach, which is separated by some concrete rocks (which I also spent a lot of time climbing over thinking they were natural as a kid).
Post war houses vs new houses - down my street about a third of the houses (including my parents’) were built by hand by ex soliders returning from WWII.
The Police Station - I can’t find a date for when it was built, but I know it’s old.  It got sold from the police a few years ago and now has act branding all over it.
The Wharf - There was a big wharf, much like the one at Okahu bay until 1930 when it was demolished.  There are some really cool old photos of it which I could recreate
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The Morten Bay Fig Trees - trees are an amazing indicator of history, there are two huge morten bay figs at the west end of the beach that were planted in the 1920s.  They are light up with coloured lights at night which would be interesting to photograph
The Benches on the Boardwalk - many of the benches have plaques dedicated to notable locals
More recent history, there’s a little garden on Vale rd that I walk past to get to the beach that this lovely old lady lived in until a couple of years ago that has all these beautiful flowers and little garden gnomes and decorations that I’ve always loved and when the new owners came in they kept all the decorations and kept planting flowers which is so sweet.
I plan to talk to my Mother and Grandmother about more history/locations they may know about.
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bonfire-at-the-crossroads · 8 months ago
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Godd save us from the “Experts”
Went to an auction in the North - Irvinestown, a couple weeks ago. Fairly ordinary, a few nice things, and this frame hanging on the living room wall. I glanced at it, but kept coming back to it as the auction droned on. Pulled it off, turned it over - was beguiled by the hand-forged iron hanger, and the inscribed name of one F W Barton.
It was me and an invisible online bidder - I chased hard, and won.
I believe it to be an original 17th century carved and gilded auricular frame from Florence.
Yes, I know there have been copies made. But this is OLD. the hanger is old, the lettering is old, the carving is great, the gilding is heavy and lovely - and it doesn’t look like a 19th century copy to me. The man whose house I was in and whose stuff was being auctioned, had also written his name on verso. He dated it when he acquired it, so it’s been in that house since December 1952.
I started researching the Barton family, and found my guy. The original Barton made a fortune importing Bordeaux wines in the late 1600’s - he bought vast amounts of land, built several big important estates - one of which was a few miles from Irvinstown. (Now demolished)
The place, the names, the dates, and even a particular Barton who lived in Florence in the mid 1700’s - everything points to this being an original work.
But
I sent photos and my research to the “expert” at Adam’s. Without actually examining it, he has responded “19th century copy - probably with a connection to F W BURTON “ - an artist who did a lot of pre-raphealite paintings and used baroque frames. “ worth between €200-400.”
Without consideration of all the similar-looking gilded auricular frames in museums across the world? Without examining the piece in your own hands? I “thanked him” - and remarked that “I am left wondering why anyone would trouble to carve such a thing in the mid 19th century - when the taste in decorative ornament would have followed along the lines of French or English frames of the period?” A polite fuck you….
I’ve sent the photos to Lowy’s in NYC, and to Bassenge Galleries in Berlin. Here’s hoping to find somebody with eyes and a curious mind…
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aleck-le-mec · 9 months ago
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Ghost Files
The Haunting Of The Hinsdale House
Season 2 Episode 6
Theories and Thoughts
This episode is one of my all time favorites of Ghost files thus far. I watch an absurd amount of Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara’s content, when I go to sleep when I’m bored, to study to. I have to say that the haunting of hill house really pulls me in as a unique and dynamic episode with wonderful evidence (quotation marks optional). We’re presented with a house far out in the countryside in New York near Pennsylvania surrounded by woods. The first accounts of this house start in 1970 but it’s way older than that being built in the late 1700’s. The architecture of the house looks like it was a single story house with an upper floor added later on, I will say the addition was done very haphazardly. The whole house is generally rickety with a root cellar that has not been cared for in a long time and a shed in the back. It’s suspected that the land the house sits on is the scene of a brutal massacre of the native population like much of America is.
Now for my theory on the history of the house based on the ghost evidence we’re presented with. We know that there was an apparition of a young boy seen up in the bedroom and there are a lot of childish acting ghosts reported to be recorded. In the episode of Ghost Files there was an EVP of what sounds like a small child's yell and little man-like creatures in the woods around the house. I possit that there is a little boy haunting this house but he's not alone he lives with his dad.
There's a female ghost seen in the woods dancing but you know with a broken neck, run of the mill stuff. I think she's the mother of the boy he plays in the woods with her but the dad's still around too he's just trapped in the house.
I think his dad was a hard working man but after his wife died something in him snapped. It sounds like a punishment to me never getting to be with your lost wife and never playing with your son. Maybe it's because he did something bad, maybe he had killed someone.
There is photo evidence of a shadow figure shown in this episode. I hypothesize that this FBI agent is his victim. We know the spirits at this house have the ability to show themselves fully, so why is this one so blurred out and mysterious? I believe this is because we don't know who they are; maybe the dad didn't even know them, he just kidnapped the first young woman he saw. A psychic said that a woman slowly starved to death in the house, as well as a psychic seeing bodies hidden in the basement.
The anger of the father isn't gone there are accounts of people being scratched burned and squished in the house. Multiple pets were found dead in the house for seemingly no reason and a young woman who moved into the house in the 1970's was reported to have extreme anxiety problems. All though let's be real anxiety disorders are a lot more likely than ghosts but she did die young and she prophesied her own death so I'm not too sure.
We do see the son in the house but this time isn't as joyful as he is in the woods in fact the only vision of him in the house seems like a warning. The only account of him in the house is when a young woman saw his standing unmoving at the foot of her bed, upon seeing him she couldn't move, couldn't escape.
Anyway that's just one of my theroies it's possible the wife was the victim of the father and maybe even the son who knows. I would be very interested to see if anyone can find historical records of the house because none of this true and I what to know the truth about this intriguing home.
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The Invisible Hand
Back in the late 1700's a man by the name of Adam Smith in a book he wrote entitled, the Wealth of Nations, gave a name, "The Invisible Hand", to a system, a god, that had existed since the dawn of time. Known imperfectly throughout history, mankind still benefited from this god's benevolence every time goods and services exchanged hands peaceably, rather than through war, violence and coercion. First sheaves of wheat could be traded for clay pots, or barrels of fish; later these same sheaves of wheat could be traded for currency, which didn't depend upon the particular needs of potters or fishmongers to determine value. Every time something is, has, or will ever be traded, this god's activities are made manifest.
However, like every system on earth, as soon as man realized that he could exploit it, distortions resulted from this exploitation. In Ancient Rome, "Bread and Circuses", became the way a ruler could distract his people from problems that plagued their everyday existence. It was a market trade-off in distraction, but at some point the cost of maintaining the expense of these distractions could no longer be maintained, and the Empire that used these tactics fell into disarray and dissolution.
We currently live in a society that has raised this "Invisible Hand" to heights unprecedented in history. We have sects with their own priesthoods: Capitalists advocate for completely unmediated restraints on market manipulation, while Communists advocate for total restraint, with only government manipulation allowed. None of this is seen to be mediated in any way by an even higher power, by none other than God who established these processes and mechanisms that would enable us to engage with one another peaceably.
I remember the first time I heard, "Greed is good", I thought to myself that it was an oversimplification of a very complex issue. Maybe fine for a bumper sticker, but certainly not something anyone would take seriously. Enlightened self interest does lead to good outcomes. Every creature in the animal kingdom seeks to avoid pain and death, and seeks to acquire food and shelter. That greed could be seen as the greatest good, a moral absolute in it's own right, unmediated by the grace of God who made this gift possible seemed bizarre. What's really disheartening is hearing Christians passionately argue that Capitalism is God given in the same sense as God IS Capitalism.
To suppress the invisible hand is to deny reality. Many communes, and even countries have tried to find a better way to produce and distribute goods and services to those who need them outside of using the principles outlined by Adam Smith. These societies almost universally fall apart because of unmitigated human selfishness. They are frequently run by authoritarian leaders, and are characterized by rampant slothfulness, and hording. Inflation in the Soviet Union could be measured by the length of lines that formed for the acquisition of goods. Rather than exchanging time for productive work that produced a product and a wage that could be used to purchase a good or service; time was spent in a line, producing nothing.
The Invisible Hand is a God given creation, it cannot be denied, but must be constrained by the "Good God, who loves mankind".
Much of modern intelligentsia loves to blame the modern American "Consumer Culture" for the ills in our society. The problem with that assertion is that the consumer can only buy what is produced. My favorite example is that nobody can buy a house that hasn't been built. But other examples abound. Hot dog buns are sold in units of 8, while hot dogs are sold in units of 12. Printer companies sell a different printer every year, and jack up the prices of printer cartridges in prior models. Smart phones are almost required, you can't park a car in my town without using an app to register a parking payment. Manufactured obsolescence means that goods that could be cared for and maintained for ten years historically, must now be replaced every five; and repairs cost more now because instead of resoldering a wire on an electrical device, whole modules must be replaced and the old ones tossed out into ever growing landfills. Grocery stores no longer use dumpsters, but rather use trash compactors to prevent perfectly decent food from being scavenged away. Healthy food is filled with additives to increase profits, and sometimes to encourage addiction, resulting in an ever diminishing quality of food, making all of us sicker. Monthly subscriptions for various services has become almost ubiquitous. Our entire society practically forces paid consumption - forces it. We are not a consumer society, we are a PRODUCER SOCIETY. Government statistics measures GNP, Nothing must prevent the ever increasing production of goods. And heaven forbid if prices or consumer confidence drops.
It is always characteristic of the "haves" to blame the "have nots", the disenfranchised, for their issues. Corporations, in their unmediated quest for profit, takes advantage of the consumer. First, they do everything they can to minimize costs, polluting their environments, that then need to be cleaned up by the very same consumers that bought their products. No longer are goods priced at cost plus 30%; rather, market research pin-points the precise pain point that limits the price most customers will spend for goods and services, and uses that for guidance, pocketing the excess as "profit". And don't even get me started as to how most of these consumers earn their living. They are disrespected by both their bosses, and by their customers.
"Consumers" are disrespected by producers, manipulated by them through advertising, exploited, tricked, coerced, and blamed for the rise and fall of economies. They are seen as nothing more than pawns and marks. Do not tell me that the individual consumer has any control over any of this.
Contrary to the assertion that the modern American consumer experience is that of freedom, it is an experience of bondage to a vast array of powers greater than ones own. Governments - federal, state, and local, Corporations, policies, laws, rules, regulations, even HOAs. All designed to make the individual feel small, unimportant and powerless. It is no wonder that societal rage is on the rise.
In the first Century there was a movement in Palistine that preached a message of freedom in a world of exploitation by the principalities and powers of the age. The cost of following this message to those who followed "The Way" was extremely steep, persecution and death in many cases. Yet this movement grew, in spite of the negative market forces weighed against it. People heard this message, heard the testimony about the one who had stood up to the bullies of heavenly and earthly power, and came out of the ordeal glorified.
That is the God that motivates.
We need fewer apologetics defending a God in the mold of Capitalist exploitation, a corporate middle manager, or worse - a CEO. He is not a God that offers any kind of redemption. We need more evangelists looking outside of our self imposed silo Churches preaching of a God better then the fallen world around us. Better than that world, and able to transform it.
It's NOT the consumer, it's almost never the consumer, it's the product. No amount of advertising in the world will redeem a subpar product.
A man can't buy a house that's not being sold, and he's not obligated to buy the one that is.
Glory to God, the maker of heaven and earth and all things therein. Have Mercy upon me, A Sinner.
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wisteria-lodge · 3 months ago
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Actually, I think I've got more to say about this. I know that JKR doesn't really think her worldbuilding through, but *I* get a kick out of doing it.
It makes sense, as a late 1700s ish institution, that Hogwarts would have systems of patronage built in, both officially and unofficially. (this is one of the things I loved about Naomi Novik's Hogwarts-inspired Scholomance books, she REALLY leans into this aspect.)
Like take Potions. Potions is interesting in that it's the only magical discipline that actually costs money to practice. With the others, all you need is a wand and some reference books. Maybe a crystal ball for Divination, but that's still a one-time purchase.
Potions though, you need a lot of ingredients which sound extremely labor intensive to source. They're parts of animals that only live in specific places, plants that are dangerous, are rare, need to be gathered at specific kinds of day, etc. You're not suppose to go gather them yourself (although I am SURE old wizarding houses have dedicated gardens and greenhouses for potion ingredient growing.) You buy them. But what if you haven't got any money??? And if you're not attached to an institution like Hogwarts, St. Mungos, or the Ministry? It's got to be pretty expensive to brew something like Felix Felicis.
I think Slughorn teaches his potion classes in what would be considered a more "traditional" way. Like sure, make sure your students leave with the ability to brew a handful of useful potions with cheap ingredients... but the main purpose is to match up talented (poor) potion brewers with rich, pureblood patrons. It would be SO useful to have an on-site potion brewer, and here is Slughorn the first day basically *advertising* cool potions. He enjoys hosting the Slug Club, but it's not *for* him, it's to make introductions and matchmake. Severus and Lucius are five years apart, it makes a lot of sense to me that they became friends because Slughorn paired up a talented potion brewer with a rich patron, and this is kinda just a pureblood *thing.*
(Snape of course completely neglects this unofficial aspect of his job, but then, he would.)
Lowkey feel like Percy Weasley had a time turner during his school years.
Is it possible to do 12 classes basically in a year when they all seem to be year round?
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sobforsirius · 5 years ago
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my sensibility seems very heighten today, but fragile, like when a high note is on the verge of breaking glass. as i was walking back from the shop through the georgian streets of my city i felt SO overwhelmed by the history of every street, building and the people who once inhabited them. genuinely weighed down by the realisation that every single person that existed before, however short their life may have been, lived and that i’ll never know it all. i’ll never know even a fraction of it all. there’s so many hidden and unspoken histories, the lives of everyday people that aren’t told, but possibly carry more heartbreak, more horror, more happiness and more sorrow than any books we read or films we watch. and it was the tangibility of it all that really got me. how people have stared out of the same windows i look into and see my own reflection, used the bootscrapers by the front door, almost tripped on the cobbled stone of the street, saw the trees that now stand tall and saplings just beginning to grow. for once in my life the preservation of all that history feel like a burden. like an impossibility. that many material things don’t stay in the past, but the people who used them do. these things stand as a testament to how precarious human life is. and i’ll never know all of it. never know everyone’s individual stories. i could be standing in the spot of someone’s greatest tragedy, i could be looking into the window of a room where a life was born. but i don’t know and i can never know. the history of this place is always thick in the air, it was built  as a monument to a past era, but today i felt drowned in it 
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bluejayblueskies · 2 years ago
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deathless
Words: 4.6k Fandom: Malevolent (Podcast) Relationship: John & Arthur Tags: Ghost AU, Fantasy AU, Modern AU, Emotional Intimacy, Queerplatonic Relationships
Written for @malevolentfantasyweek for the prompt haunted! CW for death mentions, threats, and possession (initially against one’s will)
|| AO3 ||
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In hindsight, buying the ridiculously low-priced house with build papers from the late 1700s and an appeal for condemnation on record was probably an ill-advised move. But Arthur still maintains that ghosts are not a typical nor rational thing to worry about when browsing real estate, and—well. His financial circumstances had been less than ideal after the whole falsely-accused-of-murdering-his-partner thing. Between the lawyers and losing his job and flat and the relatively high publicity surrounding the whole ordeal … he could barely scrape together the funds to move out here, slim as they were. His bank accounts are dry, his pockets empty. He’s managed to pick up a job in town at a bookshop, but the pay is nowhere near that of his previous job, only enough for the necessary food expenses, property taxes, and the like. Arthur, quite literally, has nowhere else to go.
So when he startles awake in the middle of his second night there to a voice hissing in his ear, “Leave this place,” he swallows, reaches for his earplugs, and lies on his side with his eyes firmly shut until his heartbeat calms down enough to allow him to fall asleep once again.
“That place up on the hill?” the bookshop owner says the next day, raising a thin eyebrow. “Didn’t think they were still letting people live there.”
“Yes, well—I do, and I just … wanted to know if you knew any history about it.”
The bookshop owner—Mr. Abernathy, Arthur recalls—shrugs. “Sure. Been here since the town was built back in … 1795? Something like that. Beautiful place once upon a time. Nobody’s quite sure what happened to it—death, maybe, but nothing that’s on record. Either way, it’s almost certainly cursed.”
“Cursed?”
 “Not a single person who’s moved into that house over the past century or so has stayed more than a few months. They hear voices, apparently. Keeps them up at night, wears away at their sanity. Pastor Emanual thinks it could be some sort of demon, but no blessing or exorcism has ever done much good.” Mr. Abernathy eyes Arthur. “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s in your best interest to move. That place—nobody should live there. Should have been torn down decades ago.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid moving is … not quite an option for me at the moment. I simply wanted some context so that if things do happen, I am prepared to handle them to the best of my ability.”
Mr. Abernathy stares at Arthur a moment more before shrugging and turning away. “All right. Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Can you shelve the new arrivals for me?”
“Certainly.”
As Arthur turns to head further into the bookstore, box in his arms, Mr. Abernathy says, “And Mr. Lester?”
Arthur pauses. “Yes?”
“You’d be wise to wear iron. Keeps the demons at bay.”
Arthur swallows. “I will … take it under advisement, Mr. Abernathy.”
Mr. Abernathy grunts and lets him be. He blessedly says nothing when Arthur slides him a few coins in exchange for a book on spirits and the supernatural. Just in case.
.
.
.
“That isn’t going to help you.”
Arthur is not ashamed to admit that he startles quite badly when the disembodied voice speaks into his ear yet again. He takes a shaky breath, then returns to his task of painting the symbol he’d found in the book on the doorframe in front of him. “Maybe not,” he says, feeling a bit silly as he talks to what is, by all appearances, empty air. “But it can’t hurt either. Besides, this is my house. I can decorate it how I please.”
There’s a long pause. Then, the voice chuckles, low and deep in a way that sends an unwanted shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Is it now?”
“Given that it is my name on the lease, yes, it is.” Arthur dips the paintbrush back into the bucket a touch aggressively, and the pale yellow paint within splatters across his trousers. “Damn.”
The temperature of the air around him drops without warning, and his breath fogs in front of him. “This is my house, not yours. It belongs to me. Leave, now.”
Arthur’s breaths are coming quicker than he’d like, and before he can think about the consequences of such a statement, he snaps, “Make me.”
The air is thick with tension, and Arthur can hardly breathe for it. For a moment, he is sure—absolutely certain—that he is looking at the last few moments of his life. Then, voice tight with ice-cold fury, the thing that haunts his home snarls, “You will regret this, Arthur Lester.”
The tension snaps like a thin rubber band, and Arthur gasps as the pressure on his chest lifts. He stands atop the kitchen chair he’d dragged over in order to paint the sigil, breathing heavily and trying to calm the rapid-fire beating of his heart. His knees feel wobbly, made of jelly. He sinks down to sit on the chair, putting his head in his hands and focusing on slowing his breathing lest he begin to panic in earnest.
That had … perhaps not been wise.
.
.
.
After a full week without incident, Arthur is feeling considerably less panicked and considerably more tired of the situation he’s found himself in.
“I don’t regret it yet,” he says, trying to sound casual as he stirs the soup he’s making. “Not that I’m trying to encourage you to enact your unholy revenge upon me—I like living, actually, and I also like all my body parts and such intact and where they should be—but I just thought I should say it. In case we aren’t on the same page about this.”
It takes almost ten minutes for the spirit to respond. “You are a remarkably irritating man.”
“I’ve been told so once or twice, yes.”
The spirit growls, low enough that it rumbles the floors slightly. “I’m working on it, okay? You think this is easy? I don’t have a fucking body!”
“And you are a remarkably tetchy … whatever it is you are.”
“Well what do you think I am?”
“If I had to guess,” Arthur says, setting his spoon down and retrieving some spices from the cupboard, “I’d say a ghost. Which sounds preposterous, but, well—here we are.”
“Congratulations. Your investigative skills are unparalleled.”
“No need to be rude.”
“There is a need, because I want you to leave.”
“Yes, you said. And I said that I’m still waiting for you to force me out. It appears that we’re at a stalemate.”
“We are not—”
The ghost cuts off with a frustrated noise. “… Fine. So tell me what I have to say to convince you to leave me the fuck alone?”
“I thought you were going to do something. Make me ‘regret it.’ Is that not on the table anymore?”
The ghost’s growl rumbles through the house, and Arthur barely catches the salt shaker before it tips off the counter and onto the floor. “Oh, it is very much still on the table. I just … thought I might be diplomatic first. Give you a chance to leave with your wits and your body intact.”
Arthur sets the salt shaker down on the counter and sighs. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, so you may as well just give up now.”
There’s a pause, long enough that Arthur assumes the ghost has disappeared to wherever it goes when it’s not yelling at him. Then, just as he’s turning off the stove, the ghost says, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why couldn’t you leave?”
“That’s—honestly none of your business.”
“It is my business if you’re going to be staying here.” A pause. “If I’m going to allow you to stay here,” the ghost amends.
“You’re not ‘allowing’ me to do anything. This is my house—I bought it. It’s my name on the lease.”
“And it’s my bones buried underneath the floorboards, which makes it my house.”
That’s a … disquieting image. Arthur tries to put it out of his mind as he begins ladling soup into his bowl. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to share then. It’ll be our house.”
The spirit doesn’t say anything—just growls lowly, like it’s not pleased by the prospect but can’t think of a good argument against it.
“Oh, don’t be like that. It’ll be an adjustment for both of us. You’ll have to get used to having me around, and I’ll have to get used to talking to an invisible, intangible voice that I’m still not entirely convinced isn’t only in my head.”
“I assure you, I am very much real.”
“That is what a voice that’s only in my head would say, so I’m afraid I can’t put much stock in it.”
“You are infuriating. Get out of my fucking house.”
“I told you, I can’t.” Arthur collects his soup and sits down at the kitchen table—a round wooden thing that looks to be centuries old. “This is just how it’s going to be. I don’t suppose you can eat soup, can you? I’ve certainly made enough to share.”
The spirit’s irritated grumbling is answer enough.
.
.
.
Despite what Arthur likes to tell himself, he is not fearless, and despite what others tell him, he does understand how to be cautious and careful. Unfortunately, that does not equate to being any less stubborn or curious or impulsive or any of the other things that usually land him in situations such as this.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Arthur snaps, trying to hide the fact that he’s fucking terrified underneath a thick mask of anger and frustration.
The voice comes from everywhere all at once. “Oh, Arthur. I did say you would regret it. You just assumed I’d forgotten.”
“No, I assumed we’d come to an agreement! You know, the one where you let me live in peace and I don’t find a way to exorcise you!”
“I recall agreeing to no such thing.”
“Fucking—bastard.” Arthur takes a few steps forward and promptly bangs his shin against something hard and unforgiving. “Fuck! Okay, that’s enough; give me back my sight you asshole.”
The answering chuckle makes Arthur grit his teeth. “No. I still don’t have a body of my own, so I’ve gotten … creative. This will have to do for now.”
“Do for what?”
A pause. “I want to leave this place.”
Arthur is breathing hard, on a knife’s edge between panic and fury. “What?”
“I want,” the spirit repeats, sounding irritated, “to leave this place. Surely that isn’t too difficult a concept for you to understand.”
“After all this about you wanting me to leave, now you do?”
“This is different. I’m not leaving for good; I’m just … stretching my legs, so to speak. If you’re not going to let me exist in peace, the least you can do it help me get out of this fucking house for the first time in centuries. Consider it … rent.”
“Rent?” Arthur says in disbelief. “Fuck you. You don’t own this house, and you do not own my eyes. Give them back.”
“No.” Then, when Arthur’s breathing starts to come quicker and more ragged: “Relax, Arthur. This isn’t permanent. I can choose to leave your body whenever I want, and everything else besides your eyes still belongs to you.”
“Oh, yes, because that’s reassuring. How do I know you’re ever going to leave at all?”
“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that I will.”
“Bullshit.”
“Arthur, listen to me. I am fucking tired of this place. Imagine you’re stuck here, year after year, with no body. No way to leave. Nothing to do but linger at the boundary between life and death and try to let yourself fade enough that the days don’t pass by at an agonizing pace. Forgive me if I’m desperate for a change of scenery.”
“Then why try to force me to leave? Surely having somebody around is better than having nobody?”
“I get a bit … territorial.”
Despite everything, Arthur can’t help but laugh at that. “Territorial?”
“My body is attached to this place, Arthur. I’m tied to it. If it burns, I burn. So yes, I’m a little bit fucking territorial.”
The thought crosses Arthur’s mind, just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be difficult at all to find enough petrol to set the entire place alight within minutes. But it’s not a realistic notion. Aside from the fact that he would be well and truly fucked then, with no savings and nowhere to live, he’s not entirely sure what would happen to him with the ghost still attached to his body. Would it be pulled away cleanly, or would it bring his eyes with it? Best not to risk it.
Besides, it’s … it wouldn’t be the same as killing the ghost, not really, given that it’s already dead. But it certainly feels like killing. And despite all their disagreements and the whole … eye situation, that thought doesn’t sit well with Arthur at all.
“Fine. I suppose that makes sense.” Arthur feels his way along the wall to his couch, sitting heavily and running a hand through his hair. “So … what, then? You’re going to use my eyes to see things?”
“Unless you know some other function that they possess.”
Arthur laughs wryly. “Right. Of course, right. This is … fuck. Okay. I have to go to work in a few minutes and I can’t fucking see, but this is … this is fine.”
“Relax. I’ll guide you.”
How do I know you’re not going to run me into doors for the fun of it? Arthur does not say. He doesn’t want to give the ghost ideas.
They’re halfway to town before a thought occurs to him. “If we’re going to be sharing a body, at least for the time being, I’d like to know your name. You know mine; I feel it’s only fair.”
The ghost is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Arthur begins to worry that it’s gone and he has truly, actually lost his sight. Then, quietly: “I don’t remember.”
“You … don’t remember?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” the ghost snaps. Then, after a moment: “When you’ve spent as much time between worlds as I have, things begin to … slip away. Identity, personhood. I remember … very few things about myself. I was a man, I believe; I think I lived alone, though that’s just an extrapolation based on the fact that as far as I know, I’m the only spirit inhabiting the house. Beyond that…”
“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, and he means it.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Still. To not remember anything about oneself? I imagine it’s quite a lonely existence.”
“It … is.”
“Mm. I suppose you’re a John Doe then.”
“A what?”
“Oh, it’s—it’s a moniker given to unidentified individuals, often … deceased ones. John Doe. Sort of a … catch-all name for those who have none.”
The ghost hums. They walk in silence for a few more moments before it—he, Arthur supposes—says, “John.”
“Hmm?”
“My name. You can call me John.”
“Well,” Arthur says, smiling despite the truly unusual situation he’s somehow landed himself in. “It’s nice to meet you, John.”
.
.
.
Things become … not routine after that, but something close to it. For the first week or so afterward, Arthur wakes in a panic, momentarily forgetting his current situation in a haze of I can’t see why can’t I see oh Jesus Christ oh fucking god. John soothes him every time, which is—a bit strange at first, but Arthur gets used to it. He supposes one can get used to anything with enough time and exposure.
He’s able to move around much more deftly than he thought he’d be able to, largely due to John in his ear guiding him around corners and through doors. (Though the third time Arthur stubs his toe on something, accompanied by John’s deep, rumbling laughter, he begins to suspect that this is John’s way of being humorous.) Perhaps it’s because John has only seen the inside of the same house for hundreds of years, or perhaps the man is a poet at heart, but the descriptions Arthur receives of a town he’d perceived as average at best are nothing short of eloquent.
It’s a … surprisingly endearing quality. Equally as surprising is the fact that Arthur feels endeared in the first place by the ghost possessing his eyes. But it’s…
Well.
He likes John. It’s a feeling that grows over the weeks, despite their frequent arguments and the reality of the situation looming over them and the fact that John can really be a right prick when he wants to be. (Though John would tell him that he can be the same. Has told him, in fact. Many times. They should not be memories that Arthur is fond of, but he is.) Arthur gets the impression that, underneath all the snarls and prickliness, John is … longing for something, something he’s scared he may not ever get. Identity, maybe. Or freedom. It comes out when he talks about his history with the house, when they speculate about who he was, when Arthur takes a trip to the local courthouse and spends an afternoon digging through the records in an attempt to find something that sparks recognition within John. (Nothing does, and John leaves the encounter sullen and snappish. Arthur picks up a book that night and has John read it to him, and that becomes folded into their routine as well, another thread in the tapestry of their relationship.)
In their third week together, fifth since Arthur moved into the house, Arthur tells John about why he came here, to Harper’s Hill. He tells him about Parker and the accident and the trials and the near bankruptcy. He’s not sure how he expected John to respond—with a joke? With a half-hearted platitude? With a dismissive comment? He didn’t expect John to say, “I’m … sorry I tried to force you to leave,” more earnest than Arthur’s ever heard him before.
Something in Arthur’s chest tightened at the words, refusing to loosen even as the weeks rolled on. 
It all comes together a few months after Arthur moved to Harper’s Hill, when Mr. Abernathy makes a comment about Arthur ‘spending so much time talking to himself.’ Arthur, who had genuinely forgotten that that was something other people might take note of, makes up an excuse about it helping him focus and ignores John’s hissed, Don’t tell him about me! because, Of course I’m not going to tell him about you, John, come off it.
Mr. Abernathy doesn’t look entirely convinced, but all he says before returning to the back storage room is, “You ought to find some friends, Mr. Lester. It can get awfully lonely talking to yourself all the time.”
And when Arthur has to bite back an, I’ve already got a friend, it clicks.
John is his friend. His best friend. They’re closer than perhaps even he and Parker had been, which is … a thought Arthur decides not to linger on, given that Parker’s death is still a bit of a raw subject for him. It’s something Arthur doesn’t put much stock in at first, because as well as they got on once the initial hostility faded, John is still technically possessing his body against his will.
… Is it against his will anymore?
(That’s another thought Arthur tries not to examine too closely.)
Still, he can’t seem to forget about it once it’s occurred to him. So one night after they’ve shut their book—Gulliver’s Travels, which John had picked out from the bookshop after significant needling from Arthur to just pick a fucking book, John, for Christ’s sake—Arthur decides fuck it and broaches the subject. “John, can we … can we have a discussion?”
“Of course,” John says. If he has any indication of what Arthur means, he doesn’t show it in his voice.
“Right. I wanted to talk about … my eyes. Our eyes.”
John’s voice is guarded when he says, “What about them?”
“I’m not—asking you to leave if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried. Why would I be worried? The leaving will be on my terms, not yours.” A pause. “If you’re worried, I assure you, I still have no intentions of making this a permanent situation.”
“Right. No, yes, you’re right—this isn’t permanent.” Arthur laughs, a bit wryly. “Honestly, though, I—I can’t really remember clearly what it was like to be able to see things, it’s been so long. I’ve … grown used to it.”
“Have you.” John doesn’t sound judgmental or skeptical—just a touch curious.
“Yes. I suppose one can get used to anything given the right motivations. But, regardless, that … that wasn’t what I meant either.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I—I suppose I meant that…” Arthur hesitates, considering. This isn’t something he can un-say, and he wants to be sure of it. “I suppose I meant that I am … glad to have met you. We’ve come a long way since our first meeting, I believe, and I … I don’t know. I think we get on well, don’t you?”
“I suppose we do. Arthur, if you are trying to tell me something, would you please just quit dancing around it and just say it?”
“Right, yes, of course. Well, you know that it was … difficult to adjust at first, to not having my sight. There are times when we still don’t quite see eye to eye—er, no pun intended. There are things I miss—not being able to see the sunrise, for example, or needing the illustrations in books described to me—but there are also things I … I have come to appreciate, like the way a book feels when read aloud and the nuances of the sounds around me. And I do mean it when I say that I would rather this not be a permanent situation, I do, but I also…”
“Arthur, for fuck’s sake, just say it.”
“You can have my eyes,” Arthur says, all at once, like an exhalation.
There is a long pause, during which all Arthur can hear is the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. Then: “What?”
“You can have my eyes,” Arthur repeats, steadier, surer of himself. “If you’d like. Perhaps when we’re here, in the house, I could … we could separate, as you’re able to exist on your own, but for the rest of it … I’m willing to be this for you. Your way to be a part of the world outside of this place.”
“You’re … you’re sure?” John sounds hesitant. “Arthur, this isn’t a decision that you should make lightly. Taking possession of your eyes the first time, it … it took most of my strength. I likely would not be able to do it again by force should you find some way to cast me out. But if you are willing, it…”
John trails off. “If you give me permission,” he says slowly, “I will be able to repossess you any time you are in this house. You cannot take it back. You may … you may come to regret it.”
“Maybe,” Arthur concedes. “Maybe not. But honestly, John, it’s been some time since I felt genuinely disquieted by your presence. Perhaps if you had some control over the rest of my body, I might feel differently, but even if I did come to regret it … my will and actions would still be my own.”
“But not your sight.”
“No, not my sight. In any case, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t believe I’ll regret it.”
“You cannot possibly know that.”
“No, but I know you.”
“Do you? We don’t even know my real name, Arthur. We know nothing about me.”
“I know that you like to read,” Arthur counters. “All kinds of books, but with a particular soft spot for adventure and happy endings. I know that your favorite spot in town is the bluffs overlooking the lake because you like the blue of the water and the way the wind stings your eyes when it’s strong enough. I know that your favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry because, even though you can’t taste it, you like the color of it, the vibrant pink. I know that you snap when you’re upset or scared and that you regret hurtful things immediately after you say them but double down regardless because sometimes your conviction in yourself is all you have to defend yourself with. I know that you care about other people—the lady who lives next door whose flowers you admire, the elderly woman struggling with her groceries just the other day who you insisted we help, the young boy who nearly fell off the cliffs while chasing after his dog last week and would have done so had we not stopped him in time.
“And,” Arthur says, feeling all at once terribly vulnerable, “I know that you’re my friend. I trust you. You … you mean a lot to me, John. I can only hope that you may feel the same.”
There are a few beats of silence, during which Arthur worries his thumbs along the edges of the book pages. Then, softly: “You are my friend as well, Arthur. If you’re sure about this—"
“I am.”
“—then … all right.”
Arthur isn’t quite sure how to describe what happens then—a tingling feeling deep in his skull, a sensation not unlike that of falling off a very tall cliff. Then, between one blink and the next, his world—for so long nothing but nothingness—explodes into color so bright he’s blinded by it.
“Ah!” Arthur presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, but he can still see the light-shadow of the lamplight burned into his corneas. “Fucking hell, John.”
John chuckles, low and rumbling. “My apologies.”
“You might at least try to sound more convincing,” Arthur grouses. “Fuck. Where’s the switch? For the lamp.”
“To your left—no, your other left, Arthur. A bit higher—yes, you’ve got it.”
The lightbleed from behind his eyelids vanishes as he flicks the lamp off. Arthur tentatively opens his eyes again to darkness—not pure black like has been his reality for the past few months, but close enough that it’s familiar.
“Well?” John says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere at once yet also like he’s speaking directly into Arthur’s ear. It’s exactly the same as it’s always been, like nothing has changed at all, and Arthur smiles.
“Come on,” he says, standing up and heading toward the door that leads to the porch, where he knows John will be able to follow. “Let’s go look at the stars. Perhaps you can describe them to me.”
“But you’ll be able to see them yourself.”
“True.”
“Then why—”
“Humor me.” Arthur opens the door and steps out onto the porch. He sits on a wooden swinging bench set up near the edge, padded with worn pillows. They’d bought them second-hand a few weeks after John became Arthur’s eyes, so he’s never seen the faded, cherry-red hue in person. It’s somehow duller than he’d expected, and he doesn’t think it’s a consequence of the faintness of the moon and starlight. “Well?”
John sighs, in that exasperated way that Arthur knows by now hides fondness. “Fine. Above us lies the night sky, black at its center and tinged blue around the horizon where the light of the sun still bleeds into it. The stars are many, forming glittering white constellations that overlap one another and create an impression not unlike that of a river, or perhaps an ocean. To our left, a purple nebulous cloud can be seen, glowing a pale yellow near its center, like there is a great storm brewing somewhere deep in the cosmos. To our right lies…”
As John continues to speak, describing the world around him like it’s something wondrous, Arthur closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and smiles.
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wankstain-mcgee · 2 years ago
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Ngl working in land management where I am is making the pervasive impact of modern class influence a lot clearer. Land rights are an interesting one, but just in the immediate area there's 3 or more massive historical estates. (Crewe, Raby, and Beaumont) These estates are hundreds of years old, still holding power, and influence over the area. The area was built on the back of miners, quarrymen, and hillfarmers (and still is for the most part) and as such so was their fortune. Their power isn't quite as absolute as it used to be, but they're still powerful.
The Crewe estate includes a town called Blanchland. A small town, originally medieval, nowadays dating from the mid to late 1600s. The entire town is owned by the estate, and they strictly control the appearance of the place. You're not allowed TV satellites, and honestly I'm not sure what utilities are available. You don't own, you rent at their leisure.
The Raby estate still has rules based on the 1700s(?). In Teesdale, any house owned by the family needs to be whitewashed. Why you may ask? Lord Raby once fell off his horse while hunting and hurt himself. He went to a house for help, and the tennants rightfully told him to fuck off because he wasn't their lord. He then had all of his homes painted white so he would know which were his. Quaint, but for the wrong reasons perhaps. Again, those houses are rented at their leisure. You live by their rules.
The Beaumont estate I know less about. What I do know though is that their fortune was built on the back of miners, at a time when lead was pricey and the technology was minimal. Allendale no longer brings them riches so they neglect it. Its history neglected to ruin for the sake of senseless penny pinching, despite their funding and legal obligations of care.
All these estates are historic, and have a lasting legacy. They bleed you of your income. They burn the land for sport. And they poison the water with avoidable runoff. Feudalism never really died. Neo-Feudalism will continue as long as the crown and its titles exist.
(This of course isn't the full extent of their activities, just simple deets within maybe 20 square miles)
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oumaheroes · 4 years ago
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Stargazing
Word Count: 2030
Characters: England, France- FrUK
---
‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.
From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’
‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.
England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’
France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’
England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’
France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’
England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.
‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.
‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.
England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’
‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’
‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’
‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’
England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’
‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.
‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘
‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’
England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’
‘No?’
‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’
France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.
‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.
It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.
‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’
England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.
‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’
France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.
‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’
France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.
‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’
‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’
France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.
‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’
England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’
France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.
England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.
‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.
‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’
England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’
The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’
‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’
They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.
To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.
‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’
England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”
His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.
----
AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.
Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.
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kontextmaschine · 3 years ago
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Thinking about how formative it was to me living in a liminal space, small town planning wise.
Like, I lived in a housing development, but one with shared walls and organized as a condominium (then a still fairly novel form). It was built in the late 70s on the edge of our small town, which went four blocks uphill to a main drag of about eight blocks perpendicular and then four blocks down the other side of the ridge it was founded on in the 1700s
There was maybe one similar development from around the same time down the road, and then as you spread out and forward in time there was stuff infilling along farm roads in the 60s but increasingly the big cul-de-sac stuff, Toll Brothers pioneered the three-car garage and lofted great room with 2nd staircase there in my youth.
Cause even when I was born it was the only place in a farmland of fields, maybe a few villages and hamlets with a church a bar and two stores, all development since the 50s lining the roads between them, like the opposite of place, by now it's the only place in an intermediate-suburban conglomeration
Like it felt in the '80s under Reagan we were re-enchanting America, and specifically small town America, and Doylestown could draft off that, even though the idea of being an oasis of humanity didn't really fit – we'd had a daily commuter train to Philly since the early 20th century, in some of the oldest and thickest-developed non-urban American landscape there is.
And '80s/early '90s culture was about the suburbs, by which they basically meant the completely distinct geography of the San Fernando Valley, but we could see ourselves in that too
And then later was exurbs, the commuter region beyond the Valley, and if nothing else we were sure that, Home Depots and big-box "Category Killer" stores by then
(The first one I recall, closer to Montgomery County, was a Toys R' Us. I realize now they were pioneers of the form, cause what's a product category particularly suited to the kind of people who move to an outlying bedroom community without a thick established retail sector but with open space to build big box stores along truck routes? That's right, children's toys. The move into apparel and furniture with Kids R' Us didn't leverage any existing supplier connections, it leveraged their site-finding and real estate acquisition specialization.)
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cabensonsgirly · 3 years ago
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👼Baby's Got Trouble. Don't Know How To Live. Don't Want To Die. (Cordelia Goode)👼
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Cordelia Goode x fem!reader
👼Part 6 of SP getting reader pregnant👼
👼Slice 2👼
Co-authored with @billiedeannovak
Somewhat au but more so later xx
👼Wordcount: 3131👼
👼Posted on AO3: Read Here👼
👼Content: Fiona (I know a lot of y'all hate her so she's here for you to hate her more xx), slow-burn, angst, fluff, mentions of blood, mild violence, feelings👼
👼You closed your eyes, resting your hands flat against the cold wood of the door as you started your breathing exercises. Soon each breath came in and filled your lungs as if you were breathing for the first time ever, each one as refreshing as the last. When you opened your eyes and swore in shock upon seeing there was another blonde standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were some alien.👼
As you put what clothing you had in the set of drawers you realised you would need to go shopping very soon or else you’d end up wearing a towel while you waited for your items to wash and dry. You hoped that classes today finished quickly so that you could bus to the mall and spend what little money you had in savings on clothing. Shit. That’s another problem. You didn’t have a job anymore so should you need new shoes or personal items how are you going to be able to pay for them?
You swore loudly and hit the drawers in frustration, why couldn’t you just be normal? Outside you could hear the girls speaking, well- yelling: “Hey! That new girl seems to have anger issues! Cordelia are you sure she’s not gonna murder us or anything?” It feels as though the walls have ears, which wouldn’t be surprising seeing as the whole building felt like it was pulsing with energy. Maybe it was the sheer amount of witches converging in this one place or maybe it was the history of the building itself. A quick google search shows that this place was built in the late 1700s or something so, to put it mildly, it was really fucking old.
You take your phone off charge and slip it into your back pocket before leaving your room, closing the door behind you although you feel as though a shut door wont stop the others from snooping. The moment the door clicked shut behind you it was as if air was sucked from your lungs, each breath becoming harder no matter how deep a breath you took. You closed your eyes, resting your hands flat against the cold wood of the door as you started your breathing exercises. Soon each breath came in and filled your lungs as if you were breathing for the first time ever, each one as refreshing as the last. When you opened your eyes and swore in shock upon seeing there was another blonde standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were some alien.
“You’ve got a mouth on you. I like it. The rest of you?” She steps back, tilting her head to the side as she looks you up and down before shrugging “You’re alright looking. Could probably do with better clothes or none at all but hey, we all start somewhere, right?” You give her an incredulous look “thanks, I guess?” before moving past her and heading down the stairs, thanking the stars that Cordelia is at the bottom of them. “I saw you and Madison having a chat, hopefully she wasn’t too” she screws her face up a little and does a vague gesture with her hands “Madisony.”
You laugh lightly, a light blush settling on Cordelia’s cheeks as well. “She was- is, certainly something. Said that I would look better with nicer clothes on or none at all. Which I mean…” You bite your bottom lip slightly and give her a wink before laughing “God I’m sorry. That was- That was not appropriate.” Cordelia blinks a few times in shock, her cheeks taking on a darker colour and she looks down then back at you before turning away completely. “I- Well… Let’s- I’ll show you where we have breakfast.”
It didn’t take you long for you to get settled in at the academy, after the first week of trepidation and nerves had ran their course, you found yourself getting along well with most of the girls there; you and Cordelia had become closer too, surprising yourself with how quickly you had become close to her in six months. Madison still felt the need to get you out of your clothing because apparently nothing you wore looked good on you. You couldn’t care less about what she had to say, you were more concerned about what the hellhound had to say, Fiona. Don’t let her catch you saying that though or else you’d find yourself becoming well acquainted with the wall.
The woman fucking terrified you, and it wasn’t just because she was Supreme. She just gave off the distinct impression that she hated everyone, especially her daughter which pissed you off to no end. Here Cordelia was running the academy while her mother is off galivanting around the world, in fact, she’s still running it but according to Fiona she was a disgrace. Maybe you should introduce her to your own mother, they would get on like a house on fire, which is probably what the outcome would be.
Both women were alcoholics and smoked as though cigarettes would soon go out of fashion, both women also hated their daughters with a burning passion. You could understand your mother hating you, but you couldn’t understand why Fiona hated Cordelia; she was an amazing woman and mentor to you, she treated you like you were the most precious being she’s ever met and even when you slipped up, she was there to help you until you were successful.
In order to avoid running into the hellhound that had returned, you spent most, if not all, of your time outside under one of the trees reading through books and notes. The woman rarely went into the garden so you felt quite safe out here. It was peaceful, the wind danced through the leaves making them join in on the waltz, the sounds that the birds sung took you away from being in the city and into the wilderness, it amazed you how much life was on this property despite it being surrounded by so many other buildings, it should be suffocating but it isn’t.
You rest your head back against the tree, looking up through its branches and leaves to see speckles of blue from the sky poke through. “So this is where you run off to hide when the Supreme comes back to play… I don’t know what my daughter sees in you. All you do is sit around with your nose in those damned books or spend time in that greenhouse Cordelia insists on having. Are you even really a witch?”
Your head snapped down to see who was speaking, but you already had a clear idea of who it was. Your eyes landed on the older blonde, your cheeks taking on colour due to embarrassment. “I- I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t a witch, ma’am. Surely you’d know that being the Supreme and all.” She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at you, “And I thought you’d know a rhetorical question when it hits you in the face, but clearly you don’t. The only thing that could be more obvious is your silly little infatuation with Cordelia. I don’t know who is more idiotic between the two of you. You for liking my daughter, or my daughter for thinking you are capable of becoming a powerful witch.”
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, knowing that if she caught you, you would end up rather worse for wear. You close your books then pick them up as you stand, “well, as always, ma’am, it hasn’t been a pleasure. I know for a fact that one day, Cordelia will be an incredibly powerful witch and you will regret all the times you have treated her like shit.” In a move that surprises not only yourself but the Supreme, you found yourself disappearing before reappearing in Cordelia’s office, startling her.
“How- How did I just? I was- your mom and in the garden and now- what?” You turned around, checking to see if you were actually in one piece and actually in Cordelia’s office before looking at her, confusion visible on your face. She pushes back from her desk before standing up and making her way over to you, her eyebrows furrowed in thought and her eyes twinkling with curiosity behind her glasses.
“Transmutation. The ability to move from one place to another instantaneously without occupying the space in between… You have to have where you want to be clear in mind but even then it can still end catastrophically.” Cordelia whispers as she walks around you slowly, examining to see whether or not you’re injured in anyway before returning to stand in front of you, a proud smile on her face. “It’s one of the skills a witch must master in order to become Supreme, but that is still quite some time away for you. Of all the places you could go to escape from being tormented by my mother… you chose here.”
You blush and look down, a shy smile on your face “Where else would I go?” You raise your gaze to meet hers, biting your bottom lip slightly when you notice her cheeks are now a lovely shade of pink. “Oh- Well- well there’s so many rooms here and- and you have your own and- and there’s just- there are so many places but- but you chose here and I just-“ You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at how flustered Cordelia has become. “Delia,” you grin, shaking your head slightly “has anyone told you lately how cute you are when flustered?”
The blonde’s eyes widen and her cheeks take on an even darker colour, she pushes her glasses up her nose, taking her bottom lip between her teeth shyly. “No- No well- No because usually they just think I’m being annoying because I tend to ramble and then I get embarrassed and just trail off before I get told to shut up” she rushes out, her voice barely above a whisper. You move your hand and brush some of her hair behind her ear, your hand lingering on her cheek before you both spring away from each other when the door opens.
“Ah Cordelia, there you are. I was wondering where you were, your mother is in one of her moods again. Something about ‘that new witch’ and ‘she just vanished after running her mouth’, she is drinking herself into a stupor, you know how she gets.” You move out of the way so Myrtle can enter the room, your blush only darkening at her words.
“So, little witch, what did you do and say to get our Supreme in such a mood?” Your eyes dart between her and Cordelia, desperately hoping she would make you disappear but nothing happened, and you were too flustered to make yourself disappear. “I- I didn’t really- I didn’t do anything that- that would make any rational witch- er, sorry Delia you know what I mean though… would make anyone flip their lid. She- She was talking poorly about Delia and I couldn’t just let her continue because Delia is wonderful and beautiful and amazing and smart and” You go wide-eyed and look down “I- Sorry… I- Anyway” you clear your throat before looking back at Myrtle.
“So- So I said that Delia will become an extremely powerful witch one day and- and that she’d regret all the times she has treated Delia like shit. Then- Then apparently I transmuted into Delia’s office.” Myrtle raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips tugging up in a faint smirk as she turns to look at Cordelia. “Seems like you have a witch in shining armour, Cordelia. One who is growing into her abilities more each time I see her; you’re an excellent mentor to her. Little witch, I think the girls were looking for you.”
You dip your head, a shy smile on your face before you take your leave, thanking both witches as you close the door behind you. Your hand lingered on the doorknob as you rest your forehead against the door, your eyes closing briefly. If you weren’t careful, you thought you’d end up back in the room again, you wouldn’t complain if that were the case but you were already borderline inappropriate with the headmistress so you took your leave, heading to where the girls slept knowing this is where they spend most of their time. Each step you took on the floor bounced off the walls, the sound echoing throughout the neoclassical interior.
Myrtle lets out a sigh, shaking her head as she sits down in front of Cordelia’s desk. She runs her hand over the surface before resting it on her lap on top of her other one, “What are you doing, Cordelia? What is going on between you two? Nobody, not even your mother, was capable of transmuting under such duress at that age, yet Yn did. She did, and she found herself in your office. So don’t lie to me, Cordelia.”
Cordelia runs her fingers through her head as she paces back and forth in front of Myrtle, stopping occasionally to rub her face with her hands before continuing, clearly bugged by something. “Nothing. Nothing is going on between us. It- It can’t happen. She’s my student. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Not even accounting for what the others would think and say about it. They’d say I’m playing favourites and- and that she’s only getting good grades because she’s sleeping with me. I can’t. It- It can’t happen.” She shakes her head and slumps into her seat, leaning against her desk where she rests her face in her hands, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s- It’s not a good idea, Myrtle.”
The red-haired witch makes an exasperated sound, looking at Cordelia with an expression she hadn’t seen since Myrtle had had enough of Fiona. “Don’t make the same mistakes as your mother, Cordelia. You are stopping yourself from being happy because you’re too afraid of what might happen.” She sits back in the seat, pointing a finger at the blonde “you are still scared about what your mother has to say about you.” Myrtle’s expression softens, her eyes no longer steely but now filled with nothing but sincerity for the woman that sat in front of her. “You can’t go through life like this. You need to find out what you want, and whether or not you are willing to do whatever it takes to get there.”
Meanwhile you were currently sitting in a small circle on the floor with Madison, Queenie, and Zoe. You had been roped into a game of Truth or Dare, which is a game you had managed to avoid for a vast majority of your life because you hated it. Why did you hate this game? Because it gave people the perfect opportunity to force information out of you, and into doing things you wouldn’t usually do. “Yn, truth of dare? No you can’t opt out, we’ve been over this already” you groan in annoyance, rolling your eyes before responding “truth.”
Madison claps her hands together and her eyes sparkle dangerously, a look you had desperately been trying to prevent from being directed towards you seeing as the last time she gave you that look you had found yourself pinned against your bedroom wall with her pressed up against you because you had said she wouldn’t win in a fight against you, yet she did and you ended up with very angry marks on your neck for the rest of the week. You breathed out a quiet “shit” which the other girls laughed and nodded in agreement with.
“Are you sleeping with Cordelia?” She quirked an eyebrow, a salacious smirk spreading across her face. In comparison, you blushed furiously, your eyes wide in shock and you didn’t come to until Zoe gave you a hard smack on your back, forcing you to cough out a breath before you started breathing normally again. “No! No. No I don’t- No! No. We’ve never- I haven’t- No.” You shake your head in disbelief “jesus Mad, where the fuck did that come from??”
All the girls had started laughing, Madison’s being the loudest of them all. “There is clearly something going on between you two, you both practically eye-fuck each whenever you’re in the same room. So, spill.”
You shoot her a glare, taking a few deep breathes to stop yourself from tossing her across the room like Fiona does. “There isn’t anything going on Madison, for fuck sake. Nothing can happen. Nothing will ever happen. She’s my teacher, our teacher. She’s the fucking headmistress of this place! And besides, you lot would say I’m only passing because I’m sleeping with her.” You sigh sadly and stand up before leaving “this is why no one likes you Madison.” The walk back to your room felt like it took forever, each step seeming to take you further away from your destination, the only thing running through your mind was how close you were to Cordelia yet somehow so far from her.
“Why do you look like how my daughter is after spending five minutes alone with me? What happened, did she break your poor little heart?” The woman laughs, the sound shooting through you as the waft of smoke from her cigarette hits you. “Although she is pathetic, she is also a Goode and she can do so much better than you.” You look at Fiona, a defeated expression on your face as you shrugged “Nothing has happened between us. Nothing will ever happen between us. So don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m not the one ruining the Goode name, you have that sorted out all on your own.”
You move past her and into your room, going to close the door but a shriek is torn from you as your flung against the wall, hitting it with a thud before landing unceremoniously on the floor. You scramble to sit up against the wall, eyes never leaving Fiona as she moves further into your room, her eyes wild. “You may be skilled with transmutation, and you may be my stupid daughter’s favourite, but I am still the fucking Supreme.”
You wipe your nose, cursing quietly when your hand comes away red; closing your eyes you took a deep breath, then when you opened them and exhaled the bleeding had stopped. “What- What do you want then, my Supreme?” You sneered at her despite feeling anything close to fighting. The older woman flicks her hair out of her face, tilting her chin up as she looks down at you “I want you to remember your fucking place. I don’t care how quickly you’re learning to master magic, you will never be at the same level as me.” She moves closer to you until she’s standing over you, her nose screwed up in disgust “you will never be anything more than a nobody that was picked up off the streets because her own family didn’t want her. You aren’t even wanted here.” Fiona gave you one more look over, shaking her head before she leaves, slamming the door behind her.
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stellar-alchemist · 4 years ago
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Timeline of Button House
(There is now a new version of this post including information from season 3! When it’s up I’ll link to it here)
I haven’t actually seen this done and I can’t stop thinking about it so here goes.
Disclaimer: I am no historian (I would no doubt be able to pin down some of these dates better if I were). I’m soley going on what was said in the episodes, information from the fan wiki, some other Wikipedia searching, and a little bit of maths. Also we will almost certainly get more timeline infomation in season 3, which is very exciting, maybe I’ll make a new timeline then, we’ll see!
Pre ~3000 BCE: Robin lives and dies on the land where the house will be bulit, also the Moonah Ston circle is built, though it's unclear if Robin helped build this or if it predates even him
The date here is based on the assumption that Robin's outburst about Stone Henge in Moonah Ston means he must have been around (either alive or dead) to see Stone Henge copy his Moonah Ston
1348-49 or 1361-62: The Plauge sweeps across England killing the plauge ghosts, there is a village on the land where the house will be built (shown in About Last Night)
1469: The house is built (mentioned in Free Pass)
mid 1500s: The facade of the house is built (mentioned in Free Pass)
According to Wikipedia the real house (West Horsley Place) was indeed built in the 1400s, but the actual facade is from the mid 1600s. Presumably they changed this in the show so that when they show Humphrey’s story they can use the same facade without continuity errors.
Probably sometime in the 1500s: Henry VIII visits the house and has a banquet there (mentioned in Free Pass), presumably while Humphrey is alive as he describes the feast rather than the shoes
Probably sometime later in the 1500s: Humphery is beheaded at the house. It is unknown whether he owned the house or was visiting/brought there for execution, but given his standing he could well have owned the house
Sometime in the 1600s: Mary is burned at the stake in the grounds, Annie also probably dies at the house around this time
Sometime in the 1700s: Kitty dies at the house. We know from Redding Weddy that she would play hide and seek in the grounds so it's likely that her family owned the house at the time
Early 1800s: The house belongs to the Higham family, and is consequently known as Higham House. It is unknown how long they have owned the house for
1824: Thomas attends a party at Higham house with his cousin Francis Button, and is killed in a duel in the grounds (shown in The Thomas Thorne Affair)
Assuming Francis Button and Isabelle Higham marry and have the child who will be George’s grandfather shortly after Thomas dies (say 1825 to make the numbers round), Francis can only be George’s great grandfather and Fanny be Heather great grandmother if there’s an average of 19 years between births after the birth of Francis’ son/George’s grandfather (constrained by Heather dying at 99 in 2019, meaning she was born in 1920). This is a little young but not unreasonable as an average (it’s also only the male line that is restricted to this average as they have to carry on the Button name, the mothers could have had a more flexible range of ages). This would put George Button as being born in 1863, and having a son with Fanny in at least 1882, meaning they would have been married before then. We do not know if Fanny is the same age as George but we know she died in the Edwardian era (mentioned in Moonah Ston), which was between 1901 and 1910, and she appears to be approximately in her 50s, so she could very reasonably have been born in the 1850s or 1860s. Essentially the timeline works out quite neatly here, which I wasn’t sure it would, but it does basically require Francis and Isabelle to marry straight away, which doesnt sit quite right
Based on these calculations and assumptions:
Approximately 1825: Francis Button marries Isabelle Higham inheriting the house, which becomes Button House
Approximately 1863: George Button is born
Approximately 1882: George and Fanny marry and have a son, presumably this is the point when Fanny moves into Button house
Probably mid-late 1800s: Annie is 'sucked off'/moved on
1894: The drainage is installed (mentioned in Happy Death Day)
Between 1901 and 1910: Fanny Button is killed by George Button, she is pushed out of a window in the east wing (mentioned in Who Do You Think You Are? and Moonah Ston)
1920: Heather Button is born
1939-1945: The house is used as a headquaters during WWII, with The Captain as comanding officer for at least some of that time (shown in Redding Weddy)
Probably late 1940s (post-1945): The Captain dies at the house
This is based on information from the fan wiki that some of the medals The Captain wears were awarded after the war. However, he died at the house in WWII era uniform, so it must have been shortly enough after the war that both he and the house still had connections to the war
1984: Pat dies from an archery accident while leading his scout troop in the grounds (shown in Happy Death Day). Presumably he knew Heather as she must have allowed him to use the grounds
1987: Pat's tree blows down in the great storm (hurricane) of '87 (mentioned in Happy Death Day)
1993: Julian dies at the house, probably at one of the party fundraisers that are mentioned in Moonah Ston and shown in the christmas special
2019: Heather Button dies, aged 99 (so close). Alison inherits the house, and the rest, as they say, is history (or bbc comedy)
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renee-writer · 4 years ago
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In the Highlands
One shot
AO3
It was just to be a holiday between the first and second year of university. As she lives close to Scotland and the Highlands and visiting there is on her bucket list, it seems a good place to spend the month she has off.
She isn’t disappointed in the beauty she finds before her. Having rented a small house through Airbnb, she can step out and look out at rolling green glens at the bottom of the blue expanse of the sky. There is another house a quarter of a kilometer over. She makes a point to go introduce herself to her temporary neighbor after she gets settled.
He grew up in Edinburgh. The city was wonderful but the country calls to his Viking blood. So he decides to spend the summer between his first and second year in the Highlands. With the assistance of Airbnb, he finds a cottage in the middle of the Highlands.
For the first month, he is alone. He climbs the hills and mountains nearby, sits on the porch looking out into the front garden, reading or just mediating in the silence. It is nice and just what he needs.
After arranging her books, clothes and, toiletries, she baths in the beautiful claw foot tub. Pulling her hair back with a scarf and dressing in jeans and a jumper ( even though it is summer, the Highlands are still a bit cool), she walks out to introduce herself to her neighbor.
He is sitting on the porch, feet up, an open book on his chest, eyes closed. She stands still and watches him a moment. Around her age, with dirty blond curls against his head, he is also very tall. He is gorgeous. A jerk of her breath rouses him. He slowly opens his eyes. Oh, they are bluer then the sky.
He had came out to catch some of the afternoon sun, he hadn’t meet to fall asleep. When he opens his eyes, he believes he is still dreaming. She is easily the most gorgeous lass he has ever seen. With those whisky eyes and her angel face surrounded by that incredible brown hair, with streaks of blond and red through it.
“Hi,” he croaks out. After he clears his throat, he tries again. “Hi, I am Jamie Fraser.”
“Hi, Claire Beauchamp. Your neighbor. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Hi Claire, dinna fash, I never meant to fall asleep. Just was trying to catch late afternoon sun.” He finds his manners. “Come, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
She sits down on the sit beside him. “Thank you. Ice water would be lovely.” He jumps up and she looks up and up. Quite tall indeed.
“Six’ three.” He answers her unspoken question. “Will be right back.”
They sit and talk until it gets dark. They discuss their childhoods and what they are studying in university ( she medicine, he forestry services) and what brought them to the Highlands.
“On your bucket list, eh?” they are eating pizza he had cooked in his oven around his small kitchen table.
“Yes. Growing up in London amongst the smog and concrete, I craved the fresh air and space out here.” She gestures to the window beside her, looking out into the green outside it.
“Truly amazing as I wanted the same. It was Edinburgh not London but I also wanted a taste of the freedom of the Highlands.”
“Remarkable. To have two people of the same age, pursuing the same thing.”
“Aye, seems almost fated.” He pushes his plate away and leans back. She watches, amused knowing he is settling in to tell a story. “My family comes from here, ye ken. Several generations back. My many times grandfather, built a huge manor house not far from here for his new bride. He names it Lallybroch. It was almost lost in the 47 Upraising but his son, also named Jamie, signed it over to his nephew, also Jamie, son of his sister, Jenny and her husband, his best mate, Ian. As he was a child and the Murray’s weren’t involved in the Uprising, it kept it in the family. But that isn’t the interesting part of the story.” His voice drops and Claire feels a thrill of anticipation run up her back. She leans forward until they were centimeters away from each other. She sees the deepen blue in his eyes.
“Jamie had a wife, you see. But not just any wife. There was something strange about her. She knew more then she should at the time, spoke funny. At the end of the raising, she disappeared. All thought her dead, she and the child she bore in her womb. Twenty years later, she returns. Then a few years later, their child, a lass shows up, followed by her beau. There was something off about the three. Claire’s medical knowledge was amazing for the time. Brianna, their daughter, seemed to have some engineering knowledge. Something that didn’t exist in the late 1700’s.”
“Claire?” The shivers get worse, as she feels goosebumps cover her body. He nods. “Brianna’s beau?”
“Rodger. They are married. He was unable to hunt, could barely ride a horse. Unheard of for a thirty year old man in that time. He becomes a protestant minister.”
“Jamie, what were they?” He smiles, taken her shaken hands in his, holding them tight as he answers.
“Time travelers.”
“Jesus!” She whispers. “How?”
“There are stones. Standing Stones, that certain people, at certain times, can travel through to a time not their own. Jamie sent Claire away so she and their child will be safe in her time from the consequences of the Upraising. She returned to him, her true love, after Brianna was grown. Brianna followed her mam through, Roger, Brianna.”
“That is amazing! Are the Stones still about?” He is shocked at her instant belief.
“Aye but no history in today’s time of time travel.”
“Well I didn’t travel through time just from London but this Claire is quite happy to meet your Jamie.”
“This Jamie is quite happy to meet your Claire.” He keeps her eyes as he leans in farther letting the distance between them disappear. She nods and he takes her lips.
She just was seeking an escape, some time away from her studies and the city. She found so much more. Like the Claire before her, she finds true love with her Jamie, in the Highlands.
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labellerose-acheron · 4 years ago
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The Acheron Cottage -- aka Swynlake’s Burrow
This is a REBOOT of the first in a series that one day may be complete but also may never be complete. As most of you know I’m like a huge #spatial person in my writing, so all my character’s houses/apartments/living spaces are really well mapped out in my brain? And I thought it’d be fun for people to see. (And a good reference for those who may RP in those spaces at some point.) 
And since we just did a whole plot where Hades and Belle renovated their house, I thought I would update their floorplan! (Also, because I’m super obsessed with this magical house.) 
@trip-downtheriverstyx, @lou-bonfightme
Overview:
The Acheron cottage is now a 3 ½ (from 1 ½) bath, 6 bedroom cottage that was built in the 1700s sometime most likely and finished renovations in late June of 2021. Due to the fact the house is now four floors, taller than most of the trees in the area, and most of the surrounding houses are only 2 floor simple farmhouses and cottages, it sticks out a bit in the landscape, not to mention its haphazard leaning-tower of Piza style architecture. The new floors look like they were just kind of slapped onto the original house. (Think the Burrow.) 
It is on 5 acres of land and backs up against the woods. There is a small stable and pasture on the land, as well as a large garden. It’s located in Southwest Swynlake, a few minutes walk from the local stable. There are neighboring farms, but they’re far enough away to not really count as proper neighbors.
Assume that all walls that are not covered by windows or other things (like closets) are full of books. The walls alternate between painted wood paneling and stone. Floors are wood except for the mud room, which are stone. The garden is shown in every photo, in order to orient yourself with which way the rooms are facing. 
Residents: 
Belle Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Bonfamille, Opal Acheron, Aidan Acheron, Bellamy Acheron, Arthur the ghost, other ghosts, chickens!, Philippe, Angus, the Black Shuck, Victoire, Vincent, Honoré, and Lord Voltaire Scalington, Destroyer of Universes.
**note: pictures in the aesthetic are to give an overall #feel of the house, but don’t necessarily indicate the exact furniture/decorations/floorplan. the floorplan, on the other hand is not quite to scale but i did the best i could.
1. Entryway
When you first walk into the house on your left is a row of hooks (made out of various odds and ends), on which to hang jackets. To your right is a little table and a mirror, probably plants added (thanks, Toulouse.) The hallway is wide but short and opens up into the living room area. The stairs are directly across from the front door. You can also see all the way through into the kitchen from the entryway.
2. Living Room
The living room is the most spacious room in the house and has remained so, even though other parts of the house were expanded. There is a large window seat beneath the front window. Two chairs and a couch are situated near the fireplace, which is dressed in the original brick, these are new pieces of furniture. It was painted a very pale, fading yellow, but now is painted a pale blue. Furniture is cozy and neutral colors (couch is a coffee colour and leather to prevent staining, chairs are a nice maroon colour, picked out by Lou with Hades’ influence). Lots of blankets (because Belle gets cold easily) and books along all the walls. A carpet is laid down beneath the couch/chairs. 
These days, there are a few family portraits in spaces on bookshelves and above the mantel: one from Belle and Hades’ wedding, of the just the two of them and one of the whole wedding party; pictures of the children and with Toulouse, of course. Also, a picture of Belle’s mother has a place of importance among one of the shelves. There is also a picture of Persephone reading with Vincent in her old room. There is also evidence of children: toys and such littered about. It is rarely ever fully clean, no matter how fuitally Hades tries. The living room–as well as the rest of the house–is home to several clocks–on walls, on shelves, etc. Belle’s father was a clockmaker and Belle and him used to fiddle with the broken ones–made them tell time backwards or too fast or only every other hour. Belle and Hades’ chess table moved from the mudroom into the living room, near the fireplace. There is almost always a game in progress.
If one has a keen eye, they will notice there are no logs by the fire, nor soot in the fireplace. Yet, often, an eerie blue fire will be burning in it during the colder months.
3. Kitchen
The kitchen was the room that increased in size the most. The wall where the stove is was knocked out and pushed backwards to shift everything to the left. It now boasts copious counterspace, as well as a large island that is usually cluttered with mail and children’s things. Refrigerator, stove, oven, no dishwasher (which is probably the bane of Hades’ existence since Belle hates doing dishes and Lou doesn’t know how.) Cabinets are cherry wood; some are refurbished, and the new ones were made to match the originals. 
Window over the sink looks out over the horse pasture in the distance (a few meters from the house.) Big, gorgeous window overlooking the garden in the “breakfast nook” area. Dining table is a cherry wood to match the cabinets and has eight matching chairs. Usually, the chairs are pushed to the walls, except for ones that are needed. This room is home to the only clock that is not digital that works in the entire house. It’s on the window ledge above the sink and was the first clock that Belle ever fixed by herself.
4. Mudroom
Where Belle always comes in from her horse rides, the door of which leads out into the garden and beyond. This is where winter clothes are stored and muddy shoes are piled by the door. It has a stone floor and is generally the coldest room in the house. The laundry machine and dryer are in this room. It used to be where Belle and Hades played chess. Now, their chess table can be found in the living room. 
5. Guest Restroom
There is a new bathroom in the mudroom, for guests and the family to use conveniently. (And for Belle to clean up when coming from outside, Hades loves it.) It is just a sink and toilet but it is much better than making everyone go upstairs when they come over.
6. The Garden
The garden was neglected for a long while, since it was Belle’s mother’s. Originally it was full of just rose bushes, but many of them had died due to neglect (whoops). Persephone managed to save a few but the ones that couldn’t be, she and Belle (with the help of Haku) ripped them out and replaced them with different vegetables and flowers. It has a low brick wall around it. It backs up almost right to the woods. It is now Toulouse’s space and he will make it beautiful, with roses and other flowers and different fruits and vegetables. The opening at the top of it leads down to the pastures and off to the right of the garden is where the woods are.
7. Hallway
There is really nothing special about the hallway. It’s actually quite blank. There are more bookshelves though, which used to make the hallway a bit of a tight squeeze but they had to expand the wall in order to include stairs going up to the third floor, so it is more spacious now (though, not by a lot.) 
8. Toulouse’s Room
This room used to be Persephone’s. It is currently Opal’s. However, it will, one day, be Toulouse’s, so I am going to describe that set up. 
As you can see from the floor plan, there are copious amounts of plants in his room. He probably has very nice silky sheets--a dark green, maybe, with green walls. He has a long bookshelf among the far wall. On top of this is Voltaire’s tank. Probably a few paintings hung up and a dresser. The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s his ever-expanding magical closet. It is a walk-in and is spelled to expand the more he needs it to. It exists now, but it has a child-proof magic lock on it so that Opal cannot get into it, lol. There is a cat tower for Honoré, though both of the cats hang out in Lou’s room, because Vincent is used to it too bc it used to be Persephone’s room. 
There is a dog bed in the corner for Victoire, though she usually just sleeps with Lou, if Hades isn’t staying the night with him. 
9. Belle’s Room
This room used to be Belle’s, it’s the room she grew up in. However, right now it is currently the twins’ room. However, one day it will go back to being Belle’s, so I am going to describe that set up.
A bit more spacious than the other room (but not by too much) Belle’s room is equipped with a closet, though it isn’t that big, as well as bookshelves all along the walls. There is also a reading nook in one corner with a window seat in it that Maurice built for her (which is why it’s in such a kooky spot) and it is probably Belle’s favourite spot in the whole house (after her secret office). The walls were repainted in a splendid sky blue. Her bedsheets are blue with little flower designs on them. Belle actually doesn’t spend a whole lot of time in her room, except for when she’s getting ready for bed. And I’d say she sleeps in Hades’ room probably 2 nights a week tops, but usually less than that, tbh. 
10. Bathroom
Just your standard bathroom, nothing fancy about it. I assume Belle’s house runs on well water and it takes forever to get warm, which is the bane of everyone’s existence, especially Toulouse. This will mostly be his bathroom in the future, as Belle will take baths and such in the master bathroom.
11. Master Bedroom (Hades’ Room)
Biggest room in the house. It used to be Belle’s parents, and then Belle’s father’s. It has been Hades’ ever since he moved in. It is the neatest in the house because Hades is a tyrant about that and so even Belle’s things must be cleaned up. There’s a bedside drawer on either side of the bed, each has their own matching lamp. I imagine the bedsheets are like, extremely boring actually, like legitimately just white or a pale gray. There is also a space in this room, probably by the window, with arm chairs and a little table, where there is a chess board set up so Belle and Hades can play here too. 
On the main dresser at the top, there is a jewelry stand for Hades’ various necklaces and bracelets. There is also a watch stand. 
The walk-in closet is also extremely neat; Hades has an entire shelf for shoes which is neat of him. 
The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s Belle and Hades’ secret office. More on that in the section below. ~~
12. Master Bathroom
This only gets its own shout out because a) it is where Opal was born, b) I wanted the secret office to be #13, lol, c) I have a few headcanons about it. Mostly that Belle still uses it to do most of her nighttime routine stuff, because I feel like her and Hades probably have a groove going at this point and I think it’s cute. Also, she takes a lot of baths, so she’s in there all the time. She gets ready in the hallway bathroom in the morning though, since she gets up before Hades.
It is ALSO very neat, very clean counters lol and there are lots of skin products neatly arranged in drawers. He probably cleans up every morning after Belle from the night before, lmao. (Though, she DOES respect the bathroom as His Space and cleans up after herself, just...not to his standards.)
13. Belle and Hades’ Secret Office
It has a special rune on it that locks it unless you know the way in and can disappear if you want to hide it. Inside, Belle and Hades have hidden some of their more precious artifacts and books, things that they don’t want to get into the wrong hands. 
The tan couch from the living room has been brought up to it, since it was getting far too small for the space downstairs and Belle didn’t want to get rid of it since it held so much sentimental value to them. The window looks out over the garden below, though it doesn’t actually exist to be looking out into the garden. From the outside, you cannot see it at all. It simply doesn’t exist. 
Most everything in it is new. There is a lovely circular oak table in the middle, with matching chairs, and bookshelves surrounding all available walls. The desk labeled A is Hades and the desk labeled B is Belle’s, and they are both oak to match the table and custom fitted to the room. There is also a cabinet next to the couch that has a vault-like magic’ed drawer where they can hide things.  
14. Bellamy’s Room
Eventually, this room will be Bellamy’s when the twins stop sharing a room by the time they’re about 13/14. Until then, it will be used The smallest of the three upstairs rooms. Some people might assume that Bellamy got it by default because he is technically the youngest, but he’s actually quite fine with it. He is the most like his mother when it comes to his living spaces. AKA -- he is a squirrel and likes his cozy little nest that is much messier than either of his siblings. He’s that person that puts clothes in drawers with one hand while reading with the other. 
15. Opal’s Room
Eventually, this room will be Opal’s. She’ll probably move up there when she’s like five or six, idk whatever the appropriate age would be for a kid to be more or less self-sufficient in the regard of going to sleep/getting up. In the meantime, it will probably be Lou’s because it looks out over the garden. Which means she will probably get a lot of leftover plants from him because he won’t want to disturb them. 
It is probably like a nice soft purple color or something right now. Opal constantly changes it. She repaints the room at least once a year and gets yelled at by her parents for rearranging her furniture at 2am sometimes. Also, the armchair in her room is the rocking chair that was in her nursery. 
16. Aidan’s Room
At first, this room will be both Bellamy and Aidan’s because it is the biggest of the three upstairs rooms. The bed with the book on it is Bellamy’s and the one that is empty is Aidan’s. They don’t mind sharing really and I imagine won’t get in lots of arguments about things. 
Because they are mediums, they both stay up late though they know not to disturb their parents or they’ll earn their wrath so they learn early on how to solve their own problems if they are getting on each other’s nerves. Their room is probably painted a nice pale yellow. Their biggest argument is probably closet space, because I could see Aidan being a fashionista and encroaching on Bellamy’s space and him getting annoyed about it. 
17. Children’s Bathroom
It’s a bathroom? I don’t know. There are probably lots of fights about who gets to use it first in the mornings and people taking too long. Though, there are other bathrooms that people can use. I imagine there are mornings where one of the kids just marches into Hades’ room like ALL THE BATHROOMS ARE TAKEN, I’M USING YOURS! 
What I’m saying is that privacy is an issue in this house, lmao. Yes, they expanded, but everyone is still living on top of each other.
18. Library
What? I thought there were books all over the house? Why do they need a library? 
Because there will always be more books in the house! Also, they needed another room to escape for anyone in the family who might need it. Feel like Bellamy will haunt it most often as he grows older, but Belle will go there too rather frequently. She likes to be surrounded by books. There is another chess table here (yes, that makes three.) Sometimes, Hades and Belle will sneak off to the library just to play a game of chess without being disturbed, because they don’t keep one in the office. (The office is for working, the library is for relaxation.) 
It is probably quite small actually and with a low, gabled ceiling. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all the way around the walls. 
19. Toulouse’s Studio
Unattached to the rest of the house and above Hades’ garage, is Toulouse’s art studio. To get in you have to climb a spiral iron staircase. On the west side of the studio are floor to ceiling windows that look out over the forest. On the south side of the studio is another large window (though, not floor to ceiling), that looks towards the house/the garden/the horse pastures beyond. Beneath this window is his desk. To the left of his desk is a long workbench with several stools where his woodworking and other projects will be. 
His favorite spot to paint is the place with the stool and empty easel, near the large floor-to-ceiling windows. There are also multiple plants in the room, scattered throughout. The couch actually pulls out into a bed, though it is rarely used. Sometimes, if Lou is in one of his moods, or if he just gets stuck on a project, he will stay the night in his studio.
This is Lou’s space and Belle/Hades rarely go in it, except to fetch him for dinner or whatnot. Sometimes, though, Opal will join him in it. She is the only one brave enough to put up with Lou when he’s in a bad mood and doesn’t want to be disturbed. It is also where she goes when she gets in fights with Belle and Hades, lol. Lou is the indulgent parent and everyone would rather she ran away to Lou’s art studio than to like...the wilds. 
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