#when she said sally anne i SCREAMED

[tenrosedyke]

unbelievable caroline slay, getting kerry and sally-anne and marcia to all sit at the front together. united front of women wronged by logan roy. unironically one of the coolest and most powerful scenes of the ep lol, you're right!!! he would've hated it!!!!!

[skekilla]

https://www.deviantart.com/skekilla/art/Runaway-Train-Act-II-Scene-9-931791303

No. No, this couldn’t be.

All excitement, every shred of joy, fell away from Johnny like leaves in fall. He staggered backward. His mouth ran dry and his eyes opened wide, fixed only on the little boat, the shapes within it, and, most of all, the doom they brought with them. Lillian had beaten Ed, the most senior of all their companions in almost every way, especially in fighting off demons and things like that. Things like her. And yet, she’d gotten him. Nothing was stopping her now. Nothing could stop her. Certainly nothing they all could do. No, no, no. Oh god, no! We’re done for! “Why, you’re white as a ghost, Johnny! What’s got you all pale?” Sally’s words jolted Johnny back into the reality of the situation. The others, his companions—they were all there, around him. They must not’ve caught sight of Lillian in the brief flash she had been visible. They had no idea what was coming.

Panic all about him, he glanced, wordless, between Sally and the boat. His tongue fumbled around in his mouth, a string of babble leaving it. “T-t-the- the boat- it’s-” He stopped for a moment, looking out helplessly, as the dinghy sped across the last couple yards to the dock. He blinked again and again, trying to hold back tears, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop an accompanying wail either. It wasn’t a wail of despair, no; it was one of pure terror, half-way between a sob and a scream. “SHE’S COMING!! She’s in the boat, she’s—”

A gasp came from the kids, who still had their eyes on the water and had evidently noticed what was upon them. “Oh, Salem, did you see?”

"Yeah!”

“Shall we hide?”

“No, we gotta help him!”

“I’m frightened for him, Salem!”

“C’mon, we’ll take her together. I’ve got your back!”

“Take who?” Sally said. “What are you all—” She interrupted herself with her own glimpse out at the vessel. The only problem was that by now it was too late to do anything; she was already too close. Johnny despaired at himself. Why couldn’t I have just said something right?!

Orla didn’t seem to think all was lost yet; she turned on her heel and ran for the door, pulling Sally behind her by the hand. Just as she laid her fingers on the handle a burst of pink and petals sent the two flying back. “Nice try!” Lillian, near enough to be heard now, yelled across the waves in a haughty tone. “But you’re not getting away now.” With a snap from her, a hurricane of the pink force completely barricaded the door. All hope of escape was cut off now. They could do nothing but stand there as she drew closer to the edge, docked the dinghy, and stepped off. Behind her she left Ed, limp and bound by her storm of flowers. She’d taken his shovel, too; as her heels clicked down on the worn wood of the dock, she spun it around in her hand with a flourish. “Oh, and please don’t make this any more difficult than it already has been,” she said. “Beating this guy was a chore, you know.”

That was when Anne and Salem made their break for the gravedigger. They darted around behind Lillian, brave but clumsy. The reaper-girl noticed them instantly, of course; as they jumped to try to make it into the dinghy, she turned and caught them in her storm, right in the air. “Hey, what did I just say?!” Though Anne had once again gone limp like a ragdoll, Salem was putting up the fight of their life. “Let Ed go!! Anne too! You can’t do this!” they cried. The poor kid, they were valiant as ever. Johnny’s heart broke for them, in pieces after that and the distress already smashing it.

“Yeah I can,” Lillian said dryly. “It’s actually my job.” Without a moment of hesitation, she threw them both back to the rough boards of the dock. She ignored their groans and cries as easily as if they were just sacks of flour that she’d just tossed around. “Great. Now, sit down so we can all do this the easy way.” A pause passed. No one moved, not on either side. “Well? Come on!”

Johnny’d been weak in the knees already; this was almost a relief. Though he knew it was giving up and surrendering to his doom, there was nothing else to do. It was helpless. Their fates were sealed the moment he hadn’t been able to move his stupid lips to warn them all. It was his fault anyway. He sank down. After he was the first to fall, Sally went, then Orla, then the kids. Unlike him, their faces showed that they’d all but given up; Sally’s lips were pursed resolutely, Orla’s eyes were bright as always, and the two children, though both clearly scared, were both upset something fierce. Johnny only despaired more at this. They didn’t deserve this, not a chance. It was his cowardice that got them here. Just when I was starting to think I was worth anything…

Lillian raised her chin up in eerie satisfaction, but then her masked face seemed to fall a little. She had noticed something: someone was unaccounted for. She glanced around the dock for just a moment, before—

SMACK!

With a cry, the rabbit girl was knocked back for a second, reeling from the impact inflicted right to her ivory cheek. Shards and bits of white dust were cast to the wooden floor, more than alerting Johnny to the action taking place. Shock and, yes, a bit of awe were sparked in his heart as he glanced up to see Curtis standing there. He’d taken a swing at her! His dukes were up, already aiming another wallop at her. He valiantly struck once more. Surprise had left Lillian out of sorts, so he got another good hit in. Yet more cracks shattered throughout her bone-white facade, spreading in spider-web lines all over. Her mask- it’s broken! She’s done for! Reapers disappeared when their masks were shattered; this was it! Curtis’d done it! He’d saved them all, and it was all over!

… Wasn’t it?

Lillian was still there. Instead of dissipating in a frenzy of faint shadows and wind, she just… stayed. She staggered up again, a real scowl visible behind and between the broken fragments of her mask. Before Curtis could strike again, she raised her hand and snapped. Just like that, it was all ripped away; yet more of her awful storm rushed around the sailor, entangling him, ensnaring him, all in the blink of an eye. He roared and raged and fought against it—oh, did he fight—but it was no use. With only a flick of her wrist, she threw him against the wall, binding him there. His teeth grit on the pain as he snarled at her. “You bastard!” he spat. “Fucking monster!!”

“Yeah? SO WHAT?!” Lillian snarled back. Rage was the whole of her being, from her voice to her shoved-back ears to what little of her face could be seen now. “I’m not the one who’s a stupid mortal! I’m not the one who’s about to DIE!!” A few more heavy breaths were huffed out before she straightened up, turned her once again disinterested gaze back to the passengers that knelt before her, and sighed. “Not like you guys should be too sad about dying anyway—life’s way more troublesome than death,” she said. “So! Does anyone wanna go first?”

No. No, no, everything is… no! How could this be? Everything was supposed to be okay now! Of course it isn’t, he thought to himself, of course! You did this! Nothing’s going to save you now! You did this to everyone! You’re useless after all! This really was the end, then; nothing could stop her. And he had done it all. He had doomed them. Even when they’d all tried to fight back, or tried to escape, or even shattered her face—no. It wasn’t enough. How could he have done this? How could he have been such a coward? Tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t keep back a sob.

Lillian’s ears pricked towards the sound. “That sounds like a yes to me!” Wait- NO! The pink force latched onto his prosthetic legs, tight as a bear-trap. He screamed as he was dragged away from the others. His hands, both flesh and metal, scraped against the floorboards, trying in any way possible to keep him from his fate. Through the blur of tears and terror, he saw Sally reaching out to him, but it was too late; he was already far into Lillian’s clutches.

“PLEASE!! PLEASE, I BEG YOU! SPARE US! SPARE ME!” The cries burst from him on instinct. He knew, even if it was his punishment, even if he deserved it, he didn’t want to die—he’d figured that out a while ago, after all—but he didn’t think he could yell like that for it. He was fighting too, fighting on till the last moment. His fingers dug into the knots of the boards, and finally, he gained some traction.

Snap.

Johnny’s eyes widened as he felt something he hadn’t quite ever felt before. The weight on his left leg—the mighty force the pink storm was pulling with and even the weight of the leg itself—it all just… fell off. He still felt the cuff of the top of the leg around the stump at his knee, though, that part was still there—it was just what was below it that was gone, that had been pulled away. His leg… his leg had been broken off. Another sob escaped him as he realized it. Even more awful was that he knew then that his other leg, too, was done for if he kept holding on. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears gushing out between the lids, as he let go.

“Ugh, finally,” Lillian groaned as he came before her feet. “You know, if you didn’t want this, you shouldn’t have volunteered.” She surely went on saying something, but Johnny didn’t hear. Everything left his mind. He stared out at the sea, his tears falling from his face and into the water below. He could do nothing. He doubted even shooting her point-blank would do much; besides, he would hate more than anything to try it and be proven wrong. Besides, what would he do if they could get away anyway? Be carried around by the others forever? Every instant was just making him more useless than the last. He couldn’t even walk now. He was helpless, he was useless. Useless. Worst of all, he’d let everyone down by it. Let himself down. I really am a useless coward.

Something was felt on Johnny’s hand (nearly numb from holding on as it was), right above his last knuckle. Air was puffed out and then taken back in rapidly though gently. Huh…? Slowly, he glanced over at what it was. At once, he was entirely shocked, afraid, all of it. It was Tuxy. The little rabbit must’ve reappeared, he guessed, and was now hopping around here. No one had seemed to notice, not even Lillian.

Wait. It was then that it came to him, all at once. There was something he could do. There was a chance. He wasn’t useless—there was a difference between helpless and useless—and he could do something. Even if he was scared to death, even if he was missing a leg—he could do something. Something to save them all, to stop all of this. And dear lord, he would do it, if it was the last thing he ever did try to do.

Without any hesitation, he reached out to Tuxy and held him by his velvety ears. He was docile, even as Johnny lifted him up in that fashion. He became much less docile, though, as he held him out over the side of the dock, barely a foot above the raging ocean below.

“Stop,” Johnny said, “or else I’ll drop the rabbit.”

[birchkillchronicles]

Getting to Marigold

Chapter Twelve

Blood-Orange, Heliotrope, Chartreuse

            “One pony ride is enough.  I like the bouncy castle more.” 

            As usual, Tara knew exactly what she wanted out of life.  So, it was off to stand in line for the bouncy castle again for Jeanie and her strong-minded junior charge…

            Except that—when she looked down to take Tara’s small warm hand in her own—Jeanie realized that it was Bernie who stood beside her… 

Not Bernie as she appeared now, though. 

Bernie as that pale, skinny little girl with the perpetually runny nose…

            And she realized that they weren’t walking towards a rainbow-hued bouncy castle.  They were floating like ghosts toward Lindy’s decrepit old house where, waving them on from the ruined windows, were Chuckie’s dead mother and his wretched little sister… 

And could that blood-orange wraith in the doorway be Sylvie?  Stretching her mouth far too wide in a silent scream?  Urging them to join her in her untimely tour of hell—?

            A jolt of fear shocked Jeanie awake.  Her heart was fluttering like a netted bird, and she had to gasp for air before it would settle it down.

            That was something that had been happening far too often recently.  So ridiculous…            

Really, she blamed that stupid play about ghosts and séances that Bernie had made her attend in November.  She’d explained to her daughter that the story hadn’t sounded like one she’d be interested in.  But—“Chuckie’s in it, Mom,” Bernie had said.  And she’d insisted that Jeanie go. 

            That one had turned out to be far worse than even the first Lindy’s play she’d seen.  It had been very funny—once more, she’d had to admit that—but it had been also nasty, creepy and, ultimately, very sad. 

Why anyone would want to produce such a festival of misery, Jeanie had no idea.  But, apparently—according to Bernie and Don—it was “a brilliant piece of black comedy.” 

A comedy?  Hah!

Not by my standards, Jeanie thought, it sure wasn’t. 

It hadn’t even had a happy ending! 

But, in order to maintain a decent relationship with Chuckie and Lindy, she’d decided to keep her opinions largely to herself.  And so, after the show—while everyone else had been fawning over the playwright and the actors—she’d merely commented that it had been “a very interesting topic for a play…”

Yeesh.

Returning to her present state of heebie-jeebies, however—it took a moment for Jeanie to gather her wits and realize that it was early Christmas morning, and she was safely in bed with Don. 

Her husband was still in a deep snooze, so she gave herself a purely mental shake to get the cobwebs out and gently tossed back her side of their heliotrope duvet.

Padding to the bathroom, Jeanie managed to get herself more fully awake with a splash of cold water and a vigorous tooth brushing.  Then, as quiet as a Christmas mouse, she grabbed her robe with the holly berry collar and cuffs and made her way down to the kitchen for a bracing cup of coffee.

Jeanie—who’d been brought up in the United Church by casually pious parents—hadn’t been particularly interested in religion since she and Don had left British Columbia many years ago.  But she very much enjoyed decorating her home with the symbols of the major Christian festivals.  And so, glancing into the family room, she was gratified to behold the glorious Christmas tree that Sylvie had helped her re-theme from Country Casual to Pastel Sugarplum just four short years ago.

Naturally, changing the decorating scheme to suit Jeanie’s newly purchased eight-foot-high artificial fir had upset Bernie.  She’d whined that all her favourite decorations were going to be sent to the Sally Ann thrift shop. 

So, that first year, Jeanie—ever the accommodating mom—had set up a faux tabletop pine in the living room just to display some of her daughter’s favourite baubles.  And, there, among the snow-flocked tree limbs had nestled a reserved selection of jolly tin Santas, German straw stars and wooden clothespin reindeer. 

Still, Bernie hadn’t been particularly grateful, as far as Jeanie could recall.  She’d rarely ever visited the living room tree and had persisted in describing the new one as ‘hardly Christmas-y at all.’

In sharp contrast, Tara had immediately loved Jeanie’s Pastel Sugarplum fir. And, on her mid-December visit, the little girl had spent many happy hours helping to unwrap the delicate decorations and hang them artistically on the tree. 

Unlike Bernie, Tara had oohed and aahed over the meadowsweet-pink and cornflower-blue Christmas fairies.  She’d appreciated the detailed craftmanship of the chartreuse ‘candy canes’ and citron-yellow ‘lollipops.’  And oh-so-carefully positioned the sparkling lilac glass balls where they would shine most brightly against the dark evergreen branches.  Instinctively, she’d understood the need for negative space and never bunched or crowded the ornaments or obscured the ‘popcorn’ garlands.  And—once Jeanie had secured Sylvie’s handcrafted Hansel and Gretel cottage to the very tippy-top of the tree—Tara had actually danced with pleasure to see the exquisite results of their mutual labours.

“Oh, look—look—look, Daddy!” she’d crowed to Chuckie.  “Ms. Jeanie and I have decorated the most beautiful Christmas tree!”

Yes, truly, it had been pure joy to have the little girl help her trim the lofty fir...but then— 

It’s a real crime that Tara won’t be here to open her presents under its lovely boughs, Jeanie groused to herself as she poured coffee from the insulated jug she’d set the machine to fill automatically.  You’d think that—with newborn twins—Dolores would be glad to let Tara visit her daddy for the day…

But no. 

Obviously, sniffed Jeanie to herself, it's never occurred to Dolores that she might find it slightly hectic to deal with the demands of two little babies and a seven-year-old girl on Christmas morning.  I can’t imagine how Tara’s going to get the attention she deserves while her mom is juggling feedings and diaper changes with gift giving and preparations for a hearty family brunch!  And, of course, she’s got a gala Christmas dinner to prepare for the evening, too… 

Now, I’ve got an egg, sausage and kale strata waiting in the fridge for its final breakfast bake, thought Jeanie, complacently.  And there’s a very nice beef rib roast that I’m going to serve with all the Christmas trimmings to my little crew of four…wait…is that it?  Just four?  It seems like there ought to be…oh, heck…of course, Sylvie and Nick always used to add to my count at holiday dinners…but, then—

This isn’t a day for regrets! Jeanie chided her undisciplined mind.  And gosh, she figured—pushing herself relentlessly back to the subject at hand—with today’s busy gifting and cooking and cleaning agenda, even I might be hard-pressed to give Tara her due.  So, I expect that Dolores will certainly be snowed under… 

Earlier in December, Jeanie had mentioned these thoughts to Chuckie, but he’d just shrugged his shoulders and laughingly commented that he was sure that—no matter how much was happening around her—“Tara’s gonna find a way to take a starring role.”

But—with two new babies in the house? 

Jeanie’s mind remained wracked with doubt…

Fortunately, however, Dolores hadn’t been so unreasonable about the rest of the winter school holidays and had told Chuckie that his daughter would be welcome to stay with him for a whole week, if he wanted her to. 

Which, as a loving dad, of course, he did.

Duh…

So, the good news was that Tara would be coming to them the day after Christmas and staying until at least New Year’s Day.  Since she wasn’t permitted to have the little girl visit earlier in the holiday, Jeanie had decided to be very pleased with this schedule.  And she’d had lots of fun planning a roster of activities that she hoped would appeal to the child.

There’d be the usual home-based fun, plus snowfort building and skating, of course.  There’d be outings to shopping malls and museums, as well as a family movie matinee at the Mayfair Cinema.  And—the cherry on top!—there’d be a very special trip to the National Arts Centre to see The Nutcracker ballet.

With an eye to efficiency, Jeanie had stockpiled assorted drawing and crafting materials which would compliment the whimsically wrapped Christmas presents she’d sent to Dolores’ house.  For, along with the natural lamb’s wool mittens and beret that matched Tara’s new icy-pink coat, she’d loaded Chuckie down with a bag full of crafts, puzzles and games, several adult colouring books, and a huge fancy tray of glass beads and jewellery findings.  She’d added some Christmas candy, of course, and she’d tucked in a basket of trinkets for both Tara’s and the babies’ stockings.

Also, she’d purchased a couple of junior looms on-line—one for her house and one for Dolores’ place—and a few skeins of wool to get the child started.  That way, Jeanie reasoned, she could instruct the little girl on one loom during her visit, and then Tara could take the other one with her to work on when she went home. 

And, last but not least—with her little friend’s help—Jeanie was planning to get all of her Olde Fashioned Reunion invitations written and posted.  So, it was going to be a very busy week for Tara, indeed! 

Now that Lindy had come around to being sensible—at least as far as writing a short play set in the Roaring Twenties was concerned—Jeanie had been able to timetable their Olde Fashioned Family Reunion.  

Thinking that it would be perfect to see everyone over Canada Day, she’d pushed for her seven days of Reunion to begin in last week in June.  However, Lindy—always frustratingly selfish—refused to even consider any dates in July, or even in the first three weeks of August, because her Excursion Theatre Company ‘would still be playing the parks.’  If Jeanie wanted her artists involved, Lindy’d proclaimed, the Dinmont-Todd Reunion would have to be scheduled for the very end of the summer holidays. 

Which Jeanie—albeit reluctantly—had done. 

After a brief consultation with Don—and a briefer one with Bernie—she’d gone ahead and programmed her Reunion festivities to start on the last Sunday in August.  They’d continue through that week and then end with the guests’ departures on the first Monday in September. 

It had been a major compromise. 

I certainly would have preferred, sighed Jeanie, to have chosen a very different set of dates.  But then, of course, by the end of August the younger families will probably be finished sending their kids to camp.  And—even with travel on Labour Day Monday—they’ll be sure to arrive home in time for the beginning of the new school year, if that’s a concern…  

So, all in all, Jeanie mused—as she paused to admire the heap of gifts she’d so thoughtfully selected and lovingly wrapped to co-ordinate exactly with her Pastel Sugarplum Tree—I’m not totally dissatisfied with my Reunion plans…

And when my relatives get their hand-written invitations—oh, boy!  Then the whole darn clan’s just going to be so amazed by the fabulous activities on offer in my Master Schedule…that’s for gosh-darn sure!

Smugly, Jeanie tossed back the last drops of coffee in her mug.  Then, filled with anticipatory joy for this morning—and for next August as well—she scooted upstairs to rouse up Don and then Bernie and Chuckie.  All of whom absolutely deserved to share in her excitement on this most glorious day of material delights..!

* * * * *

“Why not russet apples?”  Impatiently, Tara repeated herself. 

But Ms. Jeanie wasn’t listening to her.  She and Mommy were having an intensely smiling conversation.  And neither one seemed interested in Tara’s questions about the recipe that she and Ms. Jeanie had been reading before Mommy showed up at the house again without the twins. 

Why Mommy had come back after dropping her off half an hour ago wasn’t clear to Tara.  But Mommy was sure getting in the way of Ms. Jeanie’s and her plans for tonight’s tarte aux pommes dessert.

“Ms. Jeanie!” Tara insisted, tugging on her sleeve.  “Why not—?”

“Hush a minute, Tara,” said Mommy, with a warning shake of her head. “In fact, why don’t you go play upstairs in your room right now?”

“But—”

“Do as your mother says,” said Ms. Jeanie, shortly.

So, heaving a giant sigh to show Mommy and Ms. Jeanie just how annoying all of this was, Tara tromped upstairs.

Once the little girl was out of earshot, Dolores dropped her fake smile.  “Tara already has two sets of grandparents.  My mom and dad in Ottawa and Mark’s in Hamilton.  And, as I said, although I appreciate you and your husband’s good intentions towards my daughter, she doesn’t need a third.  So please don’t make major assumptions about your place in her life without consulting me.”

“I wasn’t assuming anything,” replied Jeanie, steely-eyed.  “But since her dad is living with us—and she’s a regular guest—I would expect you to accept that we would have more than just a passing interest in Tara.”

“An interest would be okay.  Showering her with gifts and over-the-top attention is not.  You are not her grandparents.  She is not your grandchild.  A small Christmas present would have been fine.  But I don’t want my daughter to see the holiday as a time for greed and over-indulgence.  A couple of the stocking stuffers you sent—the Santa pen and the jelly snowmen—were more than enough for Tara.  That’s why I had her donate the rest of your gifts to the Christmas Tree Drive—”

“You had no right to do that!” hissed Jeanie through clenched teeth.

“I have every right to determine how I want my kid to experience Christmas,” continued Dolores, coldly.  “I took off the labels and unwrapped each gift.  And I didn’t tell Tara that they were meant for under our tree—don’t you worry about that!  And I kept the mittens and the hat—which obviously went with that ridiculously expensive coat you bought her—and I’ve brought them back now so that you can give them to her for Valentine’s Day.  And then Tara and I went to the nearest donation centre and gave away all the rest.  I could tell she was reluctant to part with some of the stuff, but it was an excellent lesson in charity.  I was able to teach her that it’s only real generosity if you feel like you’d like to own the things yourself.” 

“And did the twins only get a few little things too?” spat Jeanie.

“Peyton and Frankie are too small to notice.  Besides, that’s not the point—”

“And the point is—?”

“The point is that—unless you’re willing to rein in your emphasis on materialism with my daughter—I’m going to have to tell Chuckie that I’m not happy to have her coming here to visit—”

“You wouldn’t!”

“—and that—if Chuckie wants to continue to see Tara as often at his own place of residence as he has in the past—he may have to change where he’s living.  I don’t know if Bernie would want to move too, but…” 

No Chuckie.  No Tara.  And no Bernie, too.  That was plainly the threat Dolores was waving.

“Oh.”  Jeanie had to bite her lip hard so she wouldn’t blurt out the words that sprang to the edge of her tongue. 

“Do I make myself clear?” demanded Dolores.

“Perfectly clear,” acknowledged Jeanie, bitterly. 

“So, Jeanie.  No more extravagant presents.  No more day-long shopping trips.  No more emphasis on what my daughter has—rather than what she does.  Fun activities—like cooking or painting or going to the museum—those are okay.  But celebrating materialism—by over-shopping or starting collections or just generally accumulating stuff—that’s not.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so,” cautioned Dolores, “because, otherwise, I’ll have to—”

 “You won’t,” Jeanie cut her off. 

“Okay.  And I hope—for Chuckie’s sake—that I can trust your word on that.  Tara!” she abruptly called up the back stairs. “Mommy’s leaving again.  Come down and say good-bye.”

“Coming!” came the muffled answer as Tara scampered from her room to run down to the kitchen.  And, after hugs and kisses, Dolores left to answer the needs of her newborn twins.

            “All right,” began Jeanie to Tara, as cheerfully as she could muster. “Let’s have a look at that apple tart recipe again…”

* * * * *

            “We have an ice dam over the mudroom roof,” reported Don, coming into the kitchen on the first Sunday afternoon after Christmas.  “That’s why there’s water dripping through the ceiling and puddling on the floor.”

            “Want me to make like a mountain goat an’ shovel it off?” asked Chuckie, seated beside Bernie at the kitchen island.

            “You’ll kill yourself, sweetie” warned Bernie. “That side is really steep.”

            “Perhaps we should call the roofers, Don—if you think it’ll help,” suggested Jeanie, stowing the clean glassware from the dishwasher into its usual blond maple cupboard locale.

“Maybe not just yet,” frowned Don. “It might only need a patch, and I don’t want to get into anything major on a weekend.”

            “I’m bored,” complained Tara, as she coloured in the family room.  “May we please go to the mall, Ms. Jeanie?”

            “No!” chorused all the adults with a united finality. 

            “O-kay!” said Tara, rolling her eyes. “I was only asking…”

            “We thought you might like to go to the Children’s Museum, instead,” proposed Jeanie, in a softer tone.

            “I go there all the time with Mommy and Tío Mark,” pouted Tara. “I like going shopping with you.”

            “Well—that ain’t in the cards right now, Bugsy,” said Chuckie, ruefully shaking his head. “Where else would Mademoiselle Princesse deign to progress with her royal staff?”

            Tara let out a long-suffering sigh.  “Maybe we could all go down to the Glebe to window shop?”

            “Oooh, no, Bugsy, the Glebe is definitely off-limits for any action like that,” said Chuckie, echoing her sigh. “How’s about the Nature Museum instead?”

            “Or the Museum of Science and Tech?  That used to be my friend Sylvie’s son’s favourite outing,” suggested Jeanie, casting about in her memory for an acceptable kid-friendly alternative.

            “I’ve been to those places a ba-jillion times!” whined Tara, with another huge sigh.  “Why can’t we just go shopping at the mall?  That’s my favourite Girls Day Out.  We don’t have to buy anything—I got tons of presents for Christmas.  But I love to walk around and look at all the neat stuff with you.”

            “Oh, Tara, I’m so sorry—” began Jeanie, but—“How about an antiques and collectibles market instead?” suggested Bernie, who was scrolling through her phone.  “There’s an indoor one in the far west end of the city that’s open this afternoon…”

            “Why, yes,” said Jeanie, hope dawning. “In the old days, Sylvie and I used to source there quite a lot.”

            “Hey, yeah,” said Chuckie, reading over Bernie’s shoulder.  “An’ its gotta Barbie Doll Museum too.”

            “Oh, I’d forgotten about that.  So,” reasoned Jeanie, shutting the cupboard door, “we wouldn’t be shopping, really.  It’d be more like a visit to an exhibition—”

“Absolutely, Momsy!  More of an hysterical outin’ for Tara.”

“—so, You-Know-Who couldn’t very well object,” continued Jeanie. “Especially if the rest of you guys are willing to come along on an ‘educational outing’ with Tara and me—”

“I’d be up for a drive,” nodded Don.

“And we could all go to the Swiss Chalet restaurant afterwards,” added Bernie, whose fondness for that particular Canadian institution hadn’t faded with adulthood.

“That’d work, Cutie,” grinned Chuckie.  “So—whaddaya say, Bugsy?  Sound like some fun?”

“Sure, Daddy!  I like Barbies and antiques and Swiss Chalet,” nodded Tara, hopping up from her colouring book.

 “Then it’s a plan.” Don was smiling broadly. “So—you guys go get yourselves sorted, and I’ll just go stick Tara’s booster seat into the car…”

“Aye, aye, sir,” saluted Chuckie, while Tara prepared to skip up the back stairs to get her fluffy swan purse—“Just for show,” she allowed—with Bernie and Jeanie following close behind.

[jomiddlemarch]

Which alters when it alteration finds

VII. “Let me make this good for you, that’s what he said,” Emma announced and then sipped at her tea. It was real tea with real honey that Mary had brought back with her from Boston thought Jed had joked Bostonians were expected to dump the stuff in the harbor and then boast about it. Mary had shrugged and reminded him she’d been born in Manchester and he’d kissed her, which was his most frequent response to any quip or sally. Mary thought she might tire of it but only after at least a decade of marriage and perhaps not even then. The tea was strong, the honey clover-sweet and the tea-cup one of a set painted with violets, but Emma’s expression had not altered. She remained quite prettily exasperated.

“That’s what he said and then he kissed my hand in the most gallant gesture and I suppose I was meant to swoon, Mary, but truly, I nearly screamed,” Emma said.

“You scream? In the sitting room of Mansion House? If your upbringing wouldn’t prevent you, the likelihood you’d attract Nurse Hastings attention would surely be enough to stop you,” Mary said. Anne Hastings had softened, very slightly, in her attitude towards Mary since Nurse Phinney had returned as Mrs. Jedediah Foster, pale and unsteady and completely unsuited to any nursing, let alone the role of Head Nurse at the busy hospital, but the Englishwoman remained brash and intrusive, quick to give orders, saving all her kindness for the sickest boys who wouldn’t last the night.

“I said nearly, though I worry more about Matron Brannan,” Emma replied. “He’ll make me wait forever, taking his time this way, one petal at a time, this endless courtship he’s decided I deserve, flowery compliments and what he believes constitutes a billet-doux.”

“Henry Hopkins waxing rhapsodic? I knew he was quite enamored of you, but I never thought I’d hear him spoken of so. He’s not a man given to lengthy disquisition, not even when he gives a sermon,” Mary said.

“He’s not a patch on Dr. Foster when it comes to talking—”

“Oh, Dr. Foster’s penchant for loquacity is as unalterable as Euclid’s theorems,” Mary said. “But I am gathering that Mr. Hopkins is vexing you abominably. Have you let him know?”

“How? I don’t mean because I’m too busy or he is, or that there’s not a private alcove to steal away,” Emma said. Mary couldn’t help smiling a little, remembering the tight quarters of the medicine closet, the door locking out the rest of the world, but Emma took no notice. “The back verandah would do or the sitting room or the dead room for all I care—”

“Emma!”

“I beg your pardon, Mary, truly, but it wouldn’t matter where or for how long, because he’s so blasted stubborn and he’s decided he must win me when I’m already won! I don’t care that we’d be poor as church-mice or that when the War ends, I’ll have to leave Virginia, that my mother will give us the coldest reception she dares when we call and my sister won’t speak to me again. I just want to marry him. That’s what would make things good for me, but I’ve not the faintest idea how to convince Henry of it!”

“I do see your dilemma,” Mary said. “Should you be as direct with Mr. Hopkins, he would surely be permanently struck dumb, which would not serve your purposes. Shall I ask Dr. Foster to speak to him?”

“I hope you won’t take offense, but Dr. Foster’s happiness has made him less circumspect, not more,” Emma replied and Mary smiled at the truth of it. She’d had to chide him for his demonstrative behavior and remarks on more than one occasion since they’d returned to Virginia as man and wife. “Oh, Mary, wouldn’t you speak to Henry?”

“I?”

“Well, he’s always listened to you and now you’re married yourself and not a Baroness anymore. And you’re both New Englanders, you’ll understand how to put it to him so he understands and actually stops dawdling and sets a date,” Emma said.  

“What do you imagine I’ll say, in my matronly New Englander way?” Mary asked. Jed would shout with laughter when she told him of her conversation and chuckle as he offered his own suggestions to persuade the lagging lover Rev. Hopkins.

“A psalm? Or maybe there’s something in Proverbs?” Emma said. Jed, who was better acquainted with his Bible than anyone at Mansion House would have credited, would be sure to recommend the Song of Solomon with specific chapter and verse.

“I’ll see what I can manage,” Mary answered. “We’re famous for that, we matronly New Englanders, for our management. And our cheddar apple pie.”

“Which I’ve yet to sample,” Jed remarked from the doorway. He could be stealthy when he chose and she wondered how long he’d been listening. “Perhaps you might serve it at the wedding breakfast?”

“You wish to be comforted with apples, then, Dr. Foster?” Mary said.

“If you say so, it must be true,” he replied.

[araviera]

Mermaid AU

"My parents are coming tomorrow and how am I going to explain to my mom that there's a merman in my bathroom?"

"You can hadle it. I know this, Wisegirl."

Annabeth helped Percy get to the bottom of the beach to free him. After he managed to fend for himself, the merman looked at her and said something that Annabeth could not hear thanks to the earplugs she wore. Considering the time they spent together in the bathroom and the endless conversations, she took off the earplugs, trusting him, and smiled.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty," she joked.

Percy smiled back, and Annabeth soon regretted taking off the protector. She saw, through his eyes, lines of evil that told mermaids stories. He started to sing.

Annabeth struggled, fought, but failed to overcome the spell. Percy sang and called her deeper, further out to sea. He said that everything would be fine, that it wouldn't hurt, and she knew it was a lie. Annabeth's body obeyed without reluctance. Her mind watched everything without doing anything. Annabeth, the real one, panicked. It was sinking deeper and deeper. She felt algae and corals at her feet. The rising tide was pulling it harder and harder. She was no longer able to touch the floor when she took Percy's hand.

Annabeth cursed him with every possible name in her mind. She had been careful at all times, she hadn't trusted him right away, and yet she had failed. She had been foolish to think that even though she knew a little about him, he would not betray her.

Soon, the ground disappeared. Her body was no longer able to stay above water. Percy pulled her down from time to time.

Annabeth submerged.

The pressure and suffocation of the water brought her down. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to avoid the salt water. Automatically, she held her breath, before the merman speak with her.

"Open your eyes, Chase. Look at me."

His melodious, sweet voice made her obey him. Annabeth exhaled and looked at him. Percy was beautiful, there was no way to disagree. His skin shone under the moonlight under the water. Her hair floated like black algae. The blue interior of his eyes, which in humans are red, shone brightly.

Annabeth was beginning to despair. "He's going to kill me. I'm going to die. I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry, dad. Forgive me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Percy came over, ready to bite her, but she saw him hesitate. He looked at her, and before she lost consciousness, he looked away.

He would never be able to say what exactly went through his head to give up the idea of ​​killing her. Of course, in addition to liking her, since they had spent a few days together and she had been a true friend (something he never had), Percy had the impression that there was something wrong.

But it was already too late.

Annabeth was dying, he knew. He had done this many times before. Her face was losing color, water was entering her lungs freely. There was not much to do for her. For a human.

Percy couldn't kill her, couldn't let her die after the last few days - he decided. He leaned over and pulled the blonde's head hard towards him and kissed her.

He had never done that before, but his studies at the Palace provided knowledge like that - which, honestly, Percy thought that all hybrids should know.

The girl's limp body shone brightly and stretched. Percy felt her skin turn into scales, sprout fins and thin her waist. He felt the girl's clothes disappear in his embrace, with nothing he could do.

When the metamorphosis passed, Annabeth was breathing weakly.

Percy lost his breath when he saw her.

"Gray?" He thought aloud.

Lines of magic, created by the brightness of the moon, descend from the eyes to the body. Her tail was encrusted with shiny stones.

Percy hoped she would turn into a random mermaid, but gray... Gray was an extremely rare color, and that was worrisome.

Annabeth could sum up that week as a nightmare. The last thing she remembered was being under the spell of Percy's Singing. She was drowning and, then, darkness. Only darkness. Annabeth woke up with a tingle throughout her body. She looked everywhere, but didn't recognize where she was.

Then, she saw Percy.

Percy was standing on the end of the bed, watching her. He wore a robe that covered part of his body, as well as an alternative crown on his head.

At first she thought she was dreaming. Then, started to scream.

"Annabeth! Annabeth! Calm down!" he tried.

"Calm me down?! Get away from me! Monster! Treacherous! Traitor! I trusted you!" she screamed, but her voice was affected, and only then she realized that she was under water, that she was breathing, and that she was undressed.

She screamed even more.

"What did you do ?! Percy! What did you do?" Annabeth felt her throat tighten when she looked down.

Her legs weren't there. A tail stirred back and forth unconsciously.

"Annabeth, listen" he tried again. "I'm sorry-"

"NO, DON'T FEEL" she fumbled for the nightstand looking for something she could use for defense.

"-but I needed to do this. You were going to die" Percy approached.

"No!" she hid her fork behind her and asked for distance between them. "Don't talk to me! If you hadn't betrayed me, I wouldn't nearly have died!"

His shoulders withered.

"Wisegirl, I ..."

Then Annabeth decided that hitting the prince of the kingdom would be a good deal.

After that - Percy almost dying with a hit in his heart, the royal family locking her in her room, discovering she would never see her family again, crying, breaking furniture and other tantrums - Annabeth felt more alone than before. Percy, whenever he could, went to visit her, but she never let him in or talked about it. She was devastated.

Her mother must have been in tears thinking that her daughter had died.

She would never be able to see her family again...

Later, Percy appeared at her door and threatened her.

"Annabeth, I don't want to have to do this, but today there is dinner at the Herbal Garden and you will be my mate," he said. "A maid will leave your clothes here, and I will come and get you. If you aren't, you will be thrown to the sharks."

And left her alone, terrified at the thought of being killed.

Annabeth didn't trust him or his family, but she had to trust her enough not to fall.

And that was what she was doing at that party.

"You see? I can swim on my back"

"Pff, look behind you, Percy"

-

And, thats it. Mermay finally ends :"(. It was so cool do a Percabeth au underwater. But maybe i should explain some points:

1- Percy is immortal bc he is Poseidon' son (duh) and he is the prince and heir of Throne (Sally is a mermaid too).

2- Percy has few friends, and, usually, Poseidon doesnt give him permission to hang out with them. There is all the pression at him, so Percy never can be himself.

3- Zeus was a merman from an important royal family, and Athena too (cause she is his daughter, duh/2), but they decided living on mortal realm and left all behind. Athena never told this to Annabeth, but she alwals said to her to stay away from sea.

4- Poseidon, Sally and Percy, first, didnt know who was she, but they "addopted" her because she was from an important family.

5- Annabeth finally talked with her mother. Athena said how worried she was, how happy she was to Ann was alive and how sad she was about Annabeth transfomation.

6- After this, Annabeth and Percy became friends. They hang out together and Poseidon let them hang out with Percy's friends.

7- Annabeth met Rachel and Grover, and she loved them.

8- Annabeth became known as Prince's Wife and as Princess before they know they like each other. The gray tail became famous in the "City that never sleeps"

[engaged19times]

RHONJ Recrap - season 11, ep 1 - C U Next Tuesday!

Greetings fellow prostitution whores and welcome to my new weekly recrap of American institution The Real Housewives of New Jersey! Before I jump in I’ll introduce myself by saying that I’m a housewives super fan (I even watched DC, an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst sister-in-law), an underemployed comedy writer (I can’t define “napalm” either, Lauren Manzo), and nothing makes me happier than to watch 6 bedazzled hypocrites in Cheesecake Factory mansions argue etiquette and loyalty between physical altercations in the world renowned cultural hub of Paterson, New Jersey. I know essay recaps are a bit of a relic but I am fond of ye olde written word so please enjoy this blast from the past, you scumbags!

We open without fanfare mid-scene to red-eyed Jackie and dead-eyed Teresa sitting in Margaret’s partially finished, wallpaper smothered home. We get the Bad Girls Club black-and-white flashes but unlike in Beverly Hills we’re not flashing to “three months earlier” but instead to “three days earlier.” It might take women of less gumption precious time to build to a production-halting confrontation but it only takes these agents of chaos half a week to get the meatball rolling.

Let’s back up a little to the ominous “three days prior” and catch up with our hot girls. It’s Jackie’s giant hot husband’s 46th birthday so she’s throwing him a party under a tent in the parking lot of a Greek restaurant. We learn that Teresa and Joe’s father has sadly passed in the offseason and Dolores Thee Stallion and Margaret have both had full cosmetic overhauls - Dolores with a second butt enhancement that left her with a giant hip scar rivaled only by Sally from Nightmare before Christmas and Margaret with a boob lift and apparent nipple sharpening (is that a procedure?) that she advertises in a blush silk top with no bra. Never one to be outdone at a parking lot birthday party, Joe Gorga arrives with his storyline - I mean wife, Melissa - also smuggling raisins under a skin tight children’s white T-shirt. Nipples are trending, ladies!

The Nightmare Before Christmas.

A beautiful boob lift.

Tarzan’s headlights.

Margaret’s hot employee Lexi and Teresa’s hot realtor Michelle (both of whom are official friends-of this year), as well as iconic social wrecking ball and Aydin Center for Plastic Surgery mascot Jennifer all saunter in for car park cocktails at this 3D nipple fashion show and as the night devolves we see the cast getting truly shit-housed on shots when out of nowhere storyline sniper Teresa drops the bomb that she heard sexy birthday Bigfoot Evan is cheating on Jackie... more specifically, that he “does stuff” at the gym but mysteriously can’t remember any details or where she heard this head-scratching accusation that draws as many gasps as it does “huhs?” Honest straight people question: do y’all hook up at gyms? And if so, where? Are there co-ed saunas now? Also can one of you explain the allure of Mike and Molly to me? Moving on. Most shocking was that the Perez Hilton of North Jersey doesn’t just drop this wild accusation once, she gleefully skips through this asphalt soiree like a goddamn town crier, addressing everyone she passes like Belle through the town square.

The next day the hard partying crew of Jersey Shore: All Grown Up recovers from their throbbing hangovers and we see cool mom Melissa traipsing through her particle board mausoleum in see-through sweatpants with a visible thong in front of her kids’ friends (you girls keep me young!), Marge Sr. driving a blue Mini Cooper with eyelashes on the headlights (which I assume are like the spinning rims of the Jersey Grandma community), and a flashback of Margaret’s Joe puking next to a tree (relatable, my dude).

Marge Sr.: Fully Loaded.

You girls keep me young!

Over at Jennifer’s palatial child farm we learn that her parents fight so much these days that she moved her father (Carl from Up!) to her multi-generational compound which has only angered her mother more.

Jennifer’s sweet dad.

We then find out Dolores’s dry boyfriend David with whom she shares the burning passion of a melting ice sculpture now lives with her bulging slab of a son Frankie Jr. in the house he and Delores built together but Dolores curiously still lives with her also bulging but slightly slimey ex Frank Sr. in her original house, a near Braunwyn-level web of over-explained but still vague relationship fuckery of which none of them seem on the same page. Dolores hid her surgery from David until the day before, David still works constantly so she hangs out with her ex all the time, and I can’t help but think that we aren’t getting the full story on whatever the fuck is happening under these two roofs. Are they brother-husbands? Is Frank Sr. piping both of them? Can Frankie Jr. DM me his nudes please? The only one being straight-forward in these duel households of confusion is Dolores’s dog who is simply named Dog and I honestly appreciate his refreshing transparency.

Dog Catania, king of transparency.

Finally, Jackie calls Teresa to organize an infamous Jersey sit-down because she somehow got wind of the out-of-thin-air accusations that Teresa all but presented with a bull horn and a PowerPoint at Evan’s parking lot social. They decide to meet at Margaret’s partially constructed house/ wallpaper showroom because it’s neutral territory to hash things out in a relaxing landscape of ladders and contrasting patterns and the tension is so thick you could cut it with one of Margaret’s newly renovated nipples.

Jackie pleads with Tre to clear her husband’s good name and Tre enters a baffling Kelly-Anne Conway bullshit loop which includes such hits as “woman to woman, if I heard this you wouldn’t want me to tell you?” (a reasonable point which is actually working against Teresa because it’s the opposite of what she did), then explaining to Margaret the immediately contradictory “I didn’t tell her and it’s not like I told Evan, I told my friends” (which is an explanation of what she obviously did wrong but said in the tone of a defense), the wacky last ditch nonsense deflection “Alright let me tell you the reason why I did it. This year, now, you know I’m single now. I’ve been approached by a lot of married men that think that it’s OK to have affairs,” and finally just saying fuck it and rewriting history “I did not spread a rumor, I heard a rumor.”

The truth is that Teresa was retaliating for a cheating rumor Jackie entertained about her last year but neither can be held to such unreasonable expectations like addressing reality or admitting fault which is actually ideal because if I cared to see emotionally mature community leaders converse thoughtfully I’d watch Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday not this unhinged turnpike circus.

Jackie’s rival won’t budge so she chooses the nuclear option, looks the reigning matriarch of Paterson in her vacant eyes, and declares confidently “I heard Gia snorts coke in the bathroom at parties” which stopped time on Earth as far as I’m concerned. Is this wild accusation true? Probably not. Was this retaliatory tit equal to the offending tat? Debatable. Do I blame Teresa for immediately whipping into a tailspin and storming out screaming the C-word (no Kathy Wakile, not “canoli kit”) at Jackie no less than 80 times? Girl, no I do not. Jackie has since clarified (backtracked?) that this was an analogy not a rumor she heard which... OK, and whether or not either of the atomic bombs dropped in this breakneck premiere were true, I’m excited to watch our Paterson superstars battle it out for another batshit season!

Esteemed poet laureat of Paterson, NJ.

Join me and my own rock hard nipples next week to recrap a girls trip to Lake George, more developments in the case of Jackie vs Teresa: Jersey Crime Story, and hopefully another cameo by breakout superstar Dog Catania! Please share this recrap with the prostitution whores in your life if you enjoy and follow me on Tumblr (engaged19times), Insta (@engagednineteentimes), and Twitter (@_engaged19times)! I’m recrapping weekly but I don’t get screeners (yet) and it takes me a few days to catch up so please be patient!

XO engaged19times

[rwprincess]

Electric Love ~ Chapter Eight

Masterlist

Previous

Next

Word Count: 1.2K

Synopsis: Continuation of the previous chapter, based on the episode The Dark Corner. The group finds out what happened to the town, and about Adam’s mom.

CW: Zombies, creepy librarian, parent death (cemetery, tombstones), some arguing

*~~~~*

The five of them arrived breathlessly at the library. Luckily, the front door was unlocked and they were able to get in, which was a surprise, given the dilapidated state on the inside. Shelves were knocked over and there were cobwebs and debris everywhere. This was definitely not like the library where Watch first met Jules a month ago. It was stripped of all of its comfort and magic. They cautiously stepped into the larger rooms and Adam tentatively picked up an old newspaper with the headline: Freedom Fighters Fall Before Dark Queen’s Army. He began reading an excerpt, “‘Hope for humanity failed this week as the Dark Queen’s Undead Horde swept aside forces led by…’” He stopped, looking down at the paper in stunned silence before handing it over to Sally to finish.

“‘...General Laurel Hall.’ Adam, your mom!” Sally realized aloud. Ann snatched the news from her hands.

“This makes no sense at all! We definitely need more information.” She said before Sally ripped the paper back from her and Ann walked away. She opened a door across the room and screamed.

The old librarian stepped out and immediately began shushing her, trying to silence all of them. “No! Talking! In the library!” He commanded.

“That’s the librarian?” Ann questioned, hiding behind Adam.

“Spooksville’s one and only,” Watch said proudly, “Mr. Spiney, you’re alive!” While he looked worse for wear, Mr. Spiney definitely wasn’t one of the undead. “Man, are we glad to see you...I think.”

“Spiney...Spiney, yes, yes. That’s what they used to call me...once. A long time ago. The people. The people, who made NOISE and touched my books!” His voice raised in volume and pitch, recalling his old grievances.

“What happened?” Watch asked, calmly.

“She came. The Dark Queen. She silenced all the chittery-chattery people. Now there’s only silence, and bones.” He said, taking a bite out of the book he was holding, chewing the paper as if it were a slice of bread.

“Mr. Spiney, when did all this happen?” Watch always knew the right questions to ask, how to pinpoint his research.

“Years. Years and years. The dawning of a new age: The Age of Madeline!” He told all of them that Madeline began her reign there but had now moved on, created her perfect world.

As Spiney left, Watch noted “Adam’s spell didn’t cause any of this. It’s been like this here for years. If the spell did do it, this world would be changed today!”

“What happened?” Adam asked Watch.

“The question isn’t ‘what,’ it’s ‘where,’ as in ‘where are we?’”

“This is another realm!” Ann said, piecing it together.

“Like an alternate universe?” Jules asked skeptically.

“I don’t know how it happened, but we've somehow come to another parallel Springville. One where Madeline reigns.” Ann added, which made Sally snap.

“Why did we trust this witch in the first place?” Sally lunged at her with the newspaper. The two bickering caused Mr. Spiney to reappear, clamoring for their silence.

As he became more worked up, he began yelling “Silence and bones! Silence and bones!” opening up the doors and windows to the library for the undead to enter...and chase the group of teens out. They ran down a dead-end alley as more and more zombies lumbered toward them, coming ever closer. When the moment looked its bleakest, a thin person clad all in black dropped down from the fence behind them. They took a look back at the group before turning towards the zombie horde with a long stick. This mysterious stranger began to take down the undead, buying them enough time to escape.

They wound up in the woods, near the spot where they had started this whole journey before Watch begged them to stop, leaning forward on his knees, panting and complaining of a cramp in his side. “Yes, by all means, catch your breath, while the army of the undead catch up to us.” Ann told him sarcastically.

“Like this isn’t your fault in the first place?” Jules lost it on her, defending Watch. “We sure didn’t end up in parallel dimensions without you joining us!”

“You’re the one that got us into this in the first place, Templeton,” Sally joined

“And I’m going to get us out. Now!” She started to storm away, Adam following immediately and Sally giving Watch a reluctant look before joining them. Jules however, stayed by his side. He sighed in disgust, realizing he would have to join them, even though he felt like his legs were going to fall out from underneath him, and trudged along.

“Thanks,” he said after a few steps, when he was able to both speak and breathe again.

“No man left behind.” Jules smiled, assuming he meant that she had waited for him.

“No, I mean, for sticking up for me. To Ann.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. No problem. She was totally in the wrong there. There’s clearly no one following us yet. We could have taken a minute for you. And it is kind of her fault, right? Or at least related to her? But don’t sweat it.” She dismissed it as if it were no big deal, but it definitely was to Watch. People rarely defended him, it was what kept his circle so small. He was just glad that now, that meant she was a part of that circle, too. He didn’t respond and they pushed forward to catch up with the others at an old church with scattered tombstones in its yard. Ann stopped them in front of a large statue of a raven.

“Are you seriously suggesting we use the secret path to get home?” Sally asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Jules assumed that this raven statue was the ‘secret path’ that she was talking about.

“Why not?” Ann asked, “It’s a mystic bridge between parallel realities. Why not take it back to our reality?”

“To use it, we have to cross an infinite number of universes. The odds of finding ours are--”

“Pretty good,” Ann interrupted Watch, “since I’ll be using sorcery to guide us there.” She gave Sally, Watch, and Jules a cold look, “Adam, would you talk some sense into your little fanclub?” Her scathing sarcasm was palpable, but she didn’t receive an answer. “Adam?” She asked, turning towards him.

He stood, fixated upon one particular headstone, away from the rest of the group. “Adam, what is it?” Sally asked as they approached.

“The spell...the spell was to reunite me with my heart’s desire. It worked.” They all gazed upon the tombstone, which read, Hear Lies Laurel Hall: Hero in the War Against Darkness. The finality of such an object struck them. “It all makes sense; the spell worked perfectly. It couldn’t bring her to me, so it brought us to her.”

“Adam, are you okay?” Sally asked, which earned her incredulous looks because of course he was not okay, which he instantly confirmed.

“No, I’m not. Ever since she vanished, I thought--I thought I’d be able to find her, I’d be able to save her. Spiney was right: there’s nothing here but silence and bones.”

Next

[eyreguide]

Reviews of Jane Eyre Adaptations

An overview of my thoughts on all the film and television adaptations I have seen.

Jane Eyre 1934  Virginia Bruce And Colin Clive

This is the first talkie version of “Jane Eyre” and I think has the rather unfortunate timing to have come out during the Great Depression. For that is the only reason I can think of for making the story so cheery and sweet. Gone are moral ambiguities and dilemmas. Adele is Rochester’s niece, and Rochester is in the process of divorcing his mild-mannered and slightly mad first wife. Even Mr. Rochester is charming and affable (and quite obviously in love with Jane from the start); you don’t have to work hard to like him.

Jane herself is quite spunky and has no trouble expressing anything she is feeling. I find it funny how she calls out Mr. Rochester on everything. No wonder he is pretty straightforward with her. And Jane is acknowledged to be young and pretty in the movie- interesting since so many adaptations in later years get beautiful actresses to play Jane and then pretend they are plain.

I think because this version lightens the story so much, one can’t take it too seriously as an adaptation of “Jane Eyre”.

1943 Jane Eyre   Joan Fontaine And Orson Welles

There’s a much better attempt to adapt the actual novel in this version (as compared to the 1934 film version) which makes for an interesting transition from light to dark. The 1934 film being a little too happy and this version being a little too dark. Orson Welles plays the role of Rochester with such an intensity that makes him a little intimidating. No wonder Joan Fontaine’s Jane looks like a deer caught in headlights most of the time.

The script has some interesting changes to the story that perpetuates through several movie adaptations to follow. Helen Burns has her hair cut at Lowood instead of Julia Severn in the novel, and Jane heroically demands to have her hair cut as well. Jane is more directly the cause of Mr. Rochester falling off his horse as he looms up on her and she is unfortunately in the way instead of standing quietly by the side of the road. Jane also feels she has to defend Adele and asks Rochester to treat her more kindly- something Jane never does in the novel.

Other interesting innovations to the story include a St. John Rivers who is the Doctor for Lowood, and who provides Jane with lessons of morality instead of Helen Burns. Overall, this film is fantastically moody and quite romantic, and a very good film if you aren’t too concerned about fidelity to the novel.

1949 Jane Eyre Mary Sinclair And Charlton Heston

Studio One produced this hour long episode and it was apparently filmed live, so they had one big set for the whole program. Consequently the script centers on the Thornfield section, although it does show Jane leaving Lowood. The house party consisted of just Blanche (with Jane having to play piano for their amusement!)

Mary Sinclair as Jane does not bring much to the role. She says her lines and acts smitten as needed. Charlton Heston is an aggressive and overly masculine Rochester, and he doesn’t really capture the character very well either. It doesn’t help that he tended to over do the emotion somewhat.

The story is very chopped up, obviously, and everything moves very quickly. There really isn’t much to recommend this, unless you are a big fan of the novel, and you like old movies.

1952 Jane Eyre  Katharine Bard And Kevin McCarthy

This episode was also produced by Studio One and is very similar in script and features a similar set. They seemed to have a little more money in the budget though because the staging and sets were a little better. And Mr. Rochester was able to have a larger house party, that reflected the book more.

Katharine Bard was also not very memorable as Jane. She said her lines and was just there. Kevin McCarthy had this interesting nicer vibe to him. He seemed more friendly and sweet, while also being demanding sometimes. It’s still not a great characterization though.

Again, I would not really recommend this version unless you are set on watching all adaptations (and that’s a great idea!)

1956 Jane Eyre Daphne Slater And Stanley Baker

This early six-part British miniseries is available to watch only at the BFI in London. I was pleasantly surprised by how well this version adapted the story. Slater and Baker’s interpretation of the characters is wonderful and the dialogue/script follows the general plot of the novel very well. It does veer off from the actual dialogue of the book, but in this case, I liked the changes. It captured the gist of the scenes and the character’s emotions. The only really odd moments came from some of the more emotional scenes which would have been better with Charlotte’s words.

The childhood part of the story features the actress playing adult Jane, also playing Jane as a child, which is a little jarring, but it actually worked rather well. Slater was good at capturing the essence of a child. Young Jane in this version is also much more outspoken and Helen Burns feels more like an equal to Jane - much less overly religious and self-sacrificing. It made for a different dynamic but I enjoyed how it showed Jane and Helen’s close relationship

Unfortunately feisty, young Jane becomes much more muted and easily frightened as adult Jane. Slater’s Jane is still good though, despirt her timidity and is able to hold her own against Baker’s Rochester. Baker makes an imposing, brusque and rough Rochester, but he brought some nuance and emotional depth to the character. The miniseries also does justice to St. John Rivers and shows him as very formidalbe and controlling - perhaps the most cold and disturbing I have ever seen St. John portrayed. He attempts to read a letter that Jane receives without her knowledge, and also lies to Jane that Rochester has already moved on from her.

This was a wonderful version with many scenes and moments that I did not expect to be included in so early an adaptation.

1957 Jane Eyre Joan Elam And Patrick MacNee

This adaptation is much fun. It’s just… so weird. The interpretation of the novel is so bad, it’s like the writer was making fun of “Jane Eyre.” Jane is preachy and spiritual to the extreme. She doesn’t have a care for herself but just wants to help Mr. Rochester in any way she can. Which Mr. Rochester must be glad of since she excuses his lecherous advances on her because he drinks (alot apparently) and because he has had a troubled past. But after Rochester has tried to take advantage of Jane, he does fall in love with her and it’s cute how much attention he pays to her during his house party. Which gives Blanche a chance to be ridiculously catty.

Mason also gets interesting things to do in this adaptation. He doesn’t get quietly stabbed and bitten on the third floor- no he crashes down some stairs during the house party, bleeding and terrified. A supremely Gothic moment. And when Jane agrees to marry Rochester, Mason sort of slides into view and is all ‘I don’t think so.’ Mason has some attitude. The script for the adaptation is just over the top- down to little Adele scrabbling in the ashes for a toy when Jane finds her in the end after (a really quick) fire.

For an “interesting” way of looking at the story of “Jane Eyre”, this adaptation scores high marks.

1957 Jane Eyre (Italian) Ilaria Occhini And Raf Vallone

This adaptation is in Italian, and the copy I have has no subtitles, so I’m reviewing this with only the acting and the gist of the scenes to go by.

This is a 5 part adaptation (oddly each episode is not quite the same length) and it begins with Jane meeting Mr. Rochester by felling his horse. From there, Jane’s childhood is told through some flashbacks. Some of the more interesting adaptation choices this version makes is to have Jane much older when she finally leaves the Reeds house. And a new sort of character is introduced - by the name of Jack Lloyd. He seems to be a combination of John Reed and St. John, in that he is Jane’s cousin on the Reed’s side (maybe?) and is in love with Jane from the beginning. While the first episode mostly deals with Jane’s childhood, we still get scenes in the next three episodes to what the Reeds are doing and especially Jack Lloyd. Jack also turns up at Thornfield to take Jane away to visit sick Mrs. Reed. I was very entertained by what seemed to be Mr. Rochester’s jealousy over Jack! Another interesting thing about this script is that Mr. Rochester hires a gypsy and listens in on the readings she gives (just like in the 2006 miniseries). And then, he comes out to comfort Jane because she has become distressed.

The feel of this adaptation is very dramatic, there is an emphasis on Gothic elements (forbidden rooms, screams, portentous secretive glances) and the audience sees things from Bertha’s point of view a couple times, as she wanders Thornfield’s halls. Jane and Rochester are smitten with each other very quickly. I found it funny how often they stare at each other as if there was no one else in the room. (Sometimes there was.) Jane can seem a bit moony, and Mr. Rochester has a few mood swings. He can seem really nice one minute and then suddenly speak very sharply. This adaptation is a bit slow, and takes some interesting liberties with the story, but I found it very entertaining and romantic. And Mr. Rochester regains his sight in a dramatic moment in the end during the wedding. A nice dramatic wrap-up.

1961 Jane Eyre Sally Ann Howes And Zachary Scott

This one-hour television production for “Family Classics” was introduced by Joan Fontaine which was a nice surprise. Opening credits start with Grace Poole getting herself some alcohol. Mr. Rochester’s entrance is not quite as dramatic- he is sitting in a chair in the darkened library when Jane goes down to get a book and he startles her when he speaks. I actually really liked this adaptation. Sally Ann Howes was again serviceable as Jane, nothing special in her interpretation. Zachary Scott as Rochester brought something different to the role as compared to the previous American hour-long television productions. His Rochester was more aristocratic in ways, he sometimes- and very vaguely!- put me in mind of Dracula. Not that he was vampiric, just in the way he carried himself. And maybe because he was dark and thin.

The script manages to include a “Rivers” section where Jane actually gets a proposal from St. John- something that hasn’t happened in the previous film adaptations I have seen. And St. John is rather egregious and plump- not very like the Apollo of the book. And if I’m not mistaken, this is also the first time they flash back to Thornfield burning down while Jane is away- breaking up the Rivers section with a scene with Rochester.

If I had to pick the best of the American hour-long productions, I would pick this one. Which is viewable free at the Paley Center in Los Angeles and New York.

1970 Jane Eyre Susannah York And George C. Scott

I feel that this version is the first to approach the story of “Jane Eyre” as it is, rather than as a dramatic rendering. It’s somber and dreamy and pretty straightforward in portraying the scenes. Not that the characterizations are all correct. Susannah York’s Jane is mature- reflective of the actress’s age undoubtedly, and George C. Scott is curiously cold and dry most of the time. St. John Rivers is surprisingly passionate and eager to marry Jane even though he still doesn’t love her.

The production benefits from location shooting (first version to shoot on the moors?), and wonderful music which goes a long way to filling in the passion and romance that is lacking in the actors. Much attention is paid to the character of Helen Burns here which is a plus- the audience really gets to see how Helen helped Jane to grow. The script in itself is okay, until the blundering line of Rochester’s “But I loved her once, as I love you now.” when Rochester has shown Bertha to Jane and the wedding party. I find that line basically undermines Rochester’s love for Jane. It is important to understand that Rochester did not love Bertha at all so then Rochester doesn’t seem so much like a jerk.

Well. This version has some issues, but to see it after the previous versions, it is a breath of fresh air because it comes closer to recreating the novel proper.

1972 Jane Eyre (Czech) Marta Vancurova And Jan Kačer

I have not re-watched this version in a long time, so this review is very brief:

A friend was able to find this rather obscure adaptation made in 1972 Czechoslovakia. The copy she found is in Czech with no subtitles, so I can’t understand a word of it. However, I will comment on the overall tone that I received from the four hour adaptation- melancholy and artsy (perhaps reflective of a low budget). Not as much passion to certain scenes as one would expect, but I did enjoy this adaptation and they did a good job with condensing the material. Except for the Lowood portion of the story, which they cut out.

1973 Jane Eyre Sorcha Cusack And Michael Jayston

This is the best version of Jane Eyre to date. I wouldn’t say there was an overall tone for the miniseries- it comes off as a straightforward interpretation of the novel. Production values are lacking in that set design and blocking are less than inspired, but it does have great costumes and outdoor sets. There are really just two reasons why this is the best version in my opinion. Script and characterization. The script uses much of the novel’s dialogue (finally!!), and sometimes brings out interesting elements of humor that one might not have noticed before. And I feel like Jane Eyre has many funny moments or comments that are mostly overlooked in other adaptations. And in condensing the material they kept so much of the story intact it’s surprising. I am only disappointed by how they shortened the Gypsy scene by having Jane discover Rochester too quickly. But every other important scene is done beautifully.

As for the actors, I am only disappointed in Juliet Whaley’s Young Jane, whose acting is stilted sometimes, but she was young. Sorcha Cusack portrays a nice blend of shyness and independence and Michael Jayston is superb as Rochester. His performance is nuanced and mesmerizing. Stephanie Beacham is probably the best Blanche I have ever seen as well- she comes off as snobbish and selfish but I can see how she might be captivating and charming to men.

There is not much else I can say about this, my favorite adaptation. I think every one who is a fan of the novel should see this version.

1983 Jane Eyre Zelah Clarke And Timothy Dalton

Another mini-series adaptation, this version had a bigger budget it seems than the 1973 version. Set design and lighting are improved, and the show even got it’s own theme! The show was also 30 minutes long per episode which gave a different, more leisurely pace to the scenes. It seems like they wanted to make sure each episode ended on a little cliff-hanger. But with the pace slower, it sometimes felt like the actors were speaking too slow. There were long (introspective?) pauses and they even broke up scenes with time lapses and set changes. The proposal scene for instance starts in the library and Jane runs out to be alone in the garden.

As an adaptation of the novel, this is the second best film version because it has so much time to give to telling the story. Zelah Clarke as Jane is a little monotone sometimes, but she does a good job showing Jane’s spirited side. Timothy Dalton’s Rochester is imperious and masterly, and very charming. The script has a proper charades scene and Rosamond Oliver makes her first appearance in this adaptation. They also show an older Eliza and Georgiana which is another first.

Overall, this version is very good and is only ranked behind Jane Eyre 1973 because of dialogue/script changes and characterization.

1996 Jane Eyre Charlotte Gainsboroug And William Hurt

This version takes a fresh look at the novel. The flow of the narrative is different- much faster in pace, so that some scenes happen quickly right after the other- giving time no doubt to show the more leisurely and melancholy scenes of Jane and Rochester alone. During Brocklehurt’s first visit to the Reeds, he immediately takes Jane away to Lowood, and there is a quick transition from Helen Burns dying to older Jane by her graveside then walking to take the coach to Thornfield. And as soon as Jane flees from Rochester and a bigamous marriage, Thornfield is on fire and the audience knows that Rochester has been injured before we know what has happened to Jane.

The overall tone of the movie emphasizes Jane and Rochester’s loneliness, which makes the film very poignant. Any “supernatural” elements to the story is minimized- Mr. Rochester does not loom up on Jane, but passes her by and then slips on ice (like in the book), and Bertha’s madness has a touch more realism and sympathy when she pushes Grace Poole to her death and then jumps after her. And again, Jane does not hear Mr. Rochester’s voice calling to her (though there is that one instance where maybe you could hear him whispering her name on the winds?) but instead she looks into her heart and knows she must go back and find out what happened to him. Even the Rivers aren’t her cousins, but just happened to be taking care of Mrs. Reed, and eventually of her effects.

This is a beautiful film- great sets, locations, vistas. The music is beautiful and haunting. Despite the truncated adaptation and the one-sided portrayal of Rochester, I really enjoyed this film. Especially for the pathos of Jane and Rochester’s romance.

1997 Jane Eyre   Samantha Morton And Ciaran Hinds

Truthfully, I dislike this version. It makes me laugh though, because I don’t understand how they could have gotten so many things wrong. The script is awful, Ciaran Hinds is horrible as Rochester, and Samantha Morton is a little annoying. Though that is probably the script. So let’s start there. We have your average truncated adaptation which makes sense- they cut things that most shorter film adaptations cut, but the dialogue! It’s too modern and direct. Jane addresses Rochester in a way that is not in keeping with her sense of propriety. Of course Rochester doesn’t hold much with formal conversations with Jane in the book, but his conversation in this film has none of the poetic prose of the novel. It’s all very cliched and off-putting.

Since Grace Poole is made a much bigger mystery in this version than in previous ones- Jane’s eagerness to rehabilitate her make sense, but is an unnecessary addition to the plot. Especially as Jane keeps harping on what Grace Poole is doing. Ciaran Hinds as Rochester is shouty and brutish and especially distasteful after the failed wedding. He throws Jane’s luggage down to the first floor and drags her to the garden, blaming her for not loving him enough to be his mistress. The only time I liked Samantha and Ciaran’s chemistry was after the fire in Rochester’s bedroom, when he took her hand. After that it was too much panting and open-mouthed kissing. Yikes.

The only scene that was enjoyable was when Jane comes back from visiting Mrs. Reed (curious how they lead up to that scene, but did not show her with Mrs. Reed at all) and Mr. Rochester is happy/annoyed at seeing Jane walking into Thornfield. It was a cute scene. Other than that, I wouldn’t really recommend this if you wanted a romantic version.

2006 Jane Eyre   Ruth Wilson And Toby Stephens

Another BBC mini-series of which I always expect alot. In some ways this adaptation delivered and in others it fell short. Production values were excellent of course. Ruth Wilson as Jane was a revelation. I’ve always thought it was hard to portray Jane’s inner emotions as detailed in the novel but Ruth manages to make her thoughts visible facially. Voiceovers were really not necessary. She’s just so good and so nuanced, well-rounded, I loved her portrayal of Jane. There are a couple of scenes in this version that have never been previously adapted. Namely the “carriage scene” when Rochester takes Jane to Millcote to buy dresses. The carriage scene dialogue with Adele in tow is so cute and playful and shows a wonderful side to all three characters. There is also the scene where Jane runs out in the rain to catch up to Mr. Rochester the night before their wedding. The dream sequence also makes it in- with Jane holding a baby while being kept away from Rochester. All scenes that I very much enjoyed watching.

Disappointingly, the script in general didn’t quite capture “Jane Eyre” in my opinion. The dialogue and changes to Mr. Rochester’s character specifically did not feel right. And of course there is THAT scene on the bed that really felt out of place for the story and for Jane’s principles. And why does Mr. Rochester hire a gypsy to trick Jane? It seems like there’s an attempt to minimize some theatrical elements (Rochester cross-dressing, the voice across the moors- now scientifically explained!) to maximize on other theatrical elements (dream sequences, Rochester’s bed on fire- which looked like a pyre, and the terrifying secret in the attic). There really doesn’t seem to be much point to emphasizing one and not the other.

Mr. Rochester often seemed a little immature, too boyish maybe, in his eagerness to collect dead insects maybe? I never really felt that Toby Stephens captured Mr. Rochester’s sophistication. The efforts to increase the sexual tension did not improve my opinion of Rochester, because Rochester getting Jane into bed was just a low blow. For the most part, I’d watch this version for Ruth Wilson and some of the humor and playfulness they put into the story.

2011 Jane Eyre Mia Wasikowska And Michael Fassbender

This version is a complete and refreshing surprise. Judging from the trailer, I thought it would be melodramatic in the extreme with an emphasis on the darker Gothic elements, but nothing could be further from the truth. The set design, lighting, and camera choices could be seen as dark, but they are also realistic to the times and what seems to be the vision of the director, Cary Fukunaga. Which appears to be to present the story of Jane as she lived it, completely tuned in to her thoughts and feelings. A very refreshing idea. Many versions have added or filmed sequences of the story in which Jane did not participate- for example, Thornfield burning down or scenes between Blanche and Rochester, but the story stays with Jane practically the whole way through, with camera angles highlighting that the audience is experiencing everything through Jane. This really changed the experience of viewing the movie- it felt real and not like a spectacle.

The script helps alot in this, it condenses the story but stays true to every part of it. Even with the narrative structure changed, it still hit all the important scenes, and stayed true to even the lesser characters in the story. It is surprising what scenes are not included in the movie- for instance the tearing of the veil- so that the focus of the story is more on Jane and Rochester’s relationship but even with that the more Gothic elements are not completely marginalized. There is still a sense of things not being quite right.

Mia Wasikowska as Jane is excellent; strong and intelligent, and fantastic at conveying her inner emotions through body language. One of the many things I loved in this version are all the shots of Jane walking/pacing restlessly. Mia somehow conveys that there is “a vivid, restless, resolute captive” inside of her. Michael Fassbender is commanding and sardonic and tender and teasing, sometimes all at once and sometimes flipping between the emotions at will- quite amazing to watch. He can be so intense that you are a little afraid of him and then so pleading and desperate that your heart breaks for him.

The movie was understated and simple and more powerfully emotional because of it. Personally, this would be my second favorite adaptation after the 1973 mini-series. Despite the inevitable condensing of the story, and an ending that felt a bit abrupt, it was so refreshing to watch a version that did not overplay the story and kept the focus on Jane.

2013-14 The Autobiography of Jane Eyre Alysson Hall And Adam J. Wright

This web series has Jane, a 21 year old university student, working as a nanny for Mr. Rochester’s daughter Adele. She vlogs about her life, and through the videos we get to meet all the people in her life.

I was really impressed by how close they stuck to the novel - adapting scenes that are often disregarded in other adaptations (granted they have a lot more time with this series) but also to make some scenes from the book modern must have been a great challenge. And I was really mostly happy with how they managed to make everything fit in their world.

I do have some issues with this as an adaptation though. Sometimes I lose focus on what some episodes are trying to adapt from the novel - it doesn’t always flow well for me, and I had an issue with Jane taping people in the beginning without their consent. I mean she can accidentally leave the camera on, but she doesn’t have to post it. But the reason why that bothers me is because Jane is supposed to have better sense than that. She can be a bit naive, but she always knows what’s right and wrong. But then again, it is difficult to adapt this kind of story! The audience would want to see these people!

The actors were all really excellent in their parts. Jane of course was so endearing and quirky - definitely different from Jane in the book, but believably the modern version. Mr. Rochester had a wonderful sense of humor and it was evident from the beginning how much he cared about Jane. Their romance was so sweet and developed very well throughout the videos. The Rivers were also believable surprisingly - I mean especially when it came to the St. John character - now called Simon. St. John in the book would be very difficult to modernize I think - because he’s so zealous and religious, selfless but selfish. They made Simon a little bit too dorky and cute, but he was also stubborn and unsympathetic to others which fit. There were some changes made when it comes to Grace that made the story work very well, and a new character - Suzana - would often steal the show with her sassiness.

It is disappointing that towards the end they had to recast the actor who played Rochester which leads to a sort of rushed and incomplete ending. I think they did the best they could, but for a series that has done such a wonderful job bringing so much of Jane Eyre to life, it’s unfortunate they left out so much of the ending.

This adaptation had it’s ups and downs for me, but I always felt there was a lot of love for this book in every episode, and the writing and the story planning was often exceptional in adapting the book. I was always happy to get a new episode and it was such a great experience getting a little dose of Jane’s story every week.

2000 Jane Eyre the Musical Marla Schaffel And James Barbour

Okay, the musical. This is the Paul Gordon version. I’ve seen SO MANY comments bashing the musical by people who have never really listened to it just because it’s “Jane Eyre” with singing, and “Jane Eyre” shouldn’t be a musical (OMG!). I have to say I was never a fan of musicals before listening to this version. (Except for “The Sound of Music” which…is a little bit like “Jane Eyre” isn’t it?) At any rate, it took awhile for me to come to grips with all the singing, so I can understand where people may come from but I hope that at least some of the people who turn their backs on this musical might actually like it if they really listened to it.

I do love this musical. I think adding music to the already lyrical text heightens the emotion of the story and can very easily put you into the mindset of each of the characters. The ability of Paul Gordon to work in actual text from the novel into the lyrics is amazing as well (something I come to realize even more as I listen to other Jane Eyre muscials). In terms of condensing the story, all the major scenes are there for the most part, and without too many additions. I love that they even have Rochester as the Gypsy which is rarely done in Janian adaptations. The tone of the whole show is somber- in set design and music, but there are moments of humour- with Mrs. Fairfax most often bringing in the comic relief.

Marla Schaffel is marvelously grounded as Jane- her characterization is balanced between propriety and passion- something that is hard to do in a straight production, but when Jane can sing in privacy, it can all come out. :) James Barbour is commanding as Rochester (and not only because of his voice, which is a glorious baritone). His performance is more layered than many Rochesters I have seen, having a certain finesse or gracefulness while also being gruff and abrupt. The other characters are mostly spot on with the exception of Mrs. Fairfax (played by Mary Stout) who plays her good-natured but a bit doddering. And St. John Rivers is not quite the jerk he is in the novel. Though he still doesn’t love Jane when he asks her to marry him.

1952 Sangdil Madhubala And Dilip Kumar

I have not re-watched this version in a long time, so this review is very brief: An Indian film released in 1952. Whether or not this film is an adaptation of the novel is perhaps debatable. The setting is completely changed to India and there are changes to the story reflecting Indian culture. Yet, the basic story of Jane Eyre is there and many scenes are taken from the novel- notably the Gypsy scene (with Shakur impersonating a male astrologer) In my opinion this is a very enjoyable representation of the novel. Kamal is played with a strong moral sense, shyness and innocence. Shankar is admirably played with much angst and playfulness.

[katerdaddy]

Strange Magick Chapter 1

Steve always knew he had magic. His family was full of it. The Harrington's past was full of dark magic and curses and cold. Lots of cold.

His grandmother was the one who had Harrington's family history engraved into Steve's brain.

Victor Harrington and their coven had bewitched England to believe in Jack the Ripper. To bring the fear of witchcraft off of them at push the publics eye to a killer. A human.

Anne Harrington was hung in Salem. She was torturing her neighbor Sally Hargrove with a puppet. A lock of Sally's hair was woven amongst the strings. Multiple pins sticking from the puppet. Annes last words were a curse. Cursing that the Hargrove and Harrington families would  be connected through hate and blood. With a Harrington always bringing the downfall to a Hargrove. Forever.

In 1745, Lilian Hargrove found the devils mark on Marie Harrington. Marie was covered in moles. Just like Steve. His mother said it was hereditary and a sign of his heritage. Lilian, Instead of revealing to the town of Marie's witchcraft, befriended her. Some records said they were more than that. That they were lovers. Marie seemingly went insane months after that and killed Lilian in her sleep. Then Marie killed herself. Lying beside Lilian. Thats all Steve ever knew. Their family didn't talk about it. He'd asked his grandmother once about Marie and Lilian. She shook her head, bouncing the young boy on her knee.

“We don't talk of such dark things Bambino, the Harrington Curse is a powerful one. Full of mystery. Best to leave it alone."

His grandmother was Italian, her parents fleeing from america when the rumors started to grow about witchcraft. In the early 1930's his grandmother met a young man. Charles Hargrove. She poisoned his tea before she'd ever gotten the chance to really know him. She'd told Steve that the day he'd met a Hargrove was to not hesitate. To fulfill the curse as quick as he could.

She'd told him about the bond and ties the curse had over them. What it would feel like when he'd finally found them. A Hargrove.

He'd feel a pull, a tug against his aura. A Hargrove's aura was always blue. A Harrington's was red. He'd hurt. His body would hurt until A Hargrove was dead.

His father had cursed a Neil Hargrove back in high school, making him miserable and angry until he dies of old age. Therefore torturing himself and the rest of his family the rest of his life.

Steve was the Harrington to complete the curse for this generation in their family. He was the witch to kill the Hargrove boy.

Steve was homeschooled, His parents deciding that he would get farther in his witch studies if he wasn't juggling between math and how to draw and correct a sigil.

But Steve wanted to go to school. So when high school rolled around, Steve begged them. They sighed and agreed. His father at first shook his head, a Harrington had no need for anything but magic and curses. But his mother shook her head saying how Steve still needs to be a functioning member of society. His mother won in the end. And in Senior year. Steve met him, Billy. He'd felt the pull. He saw the aura. He knew he was staring at a Hargrove.

And he was beautiful.

All tanned skin and muscle. Blue-grey eyes hidden behind dark long lashes. And a head full of curls down to his shoulders. And freckles. God he had freckles.

Steve was in the woods. Because of course he was. He was in the middle of a spell. Because of course he was.

And Billys car roared down the trail. Stopping right before he hit a tree. Music was blaring from the speakers and from the windows. He was smoking.

Billy stumbled out of his car. Slamming the door shut behind him. He was breathing heavy, blood dribbling down his nose. He seemed to be muttering something behind his cigarette.

He looked angry and Steve. Well, Steve was dumb enough to move from his half drawn sigil to check on the boy.

If he was going to kill him someday. He could try to be nice now.

"Hargrove?" He called out. Billy's head snapped in his direction. He blew smoke out of his mouth, eyes watery and anger ridden on his brows.

“Who's asking?" He spat examining the boy who just walked out from behind a tree.

He had thick dark brown hair that seemed to touch the sky with its hight. It was impressive to have that much volume. Matching his hair was his eyes. Wide and chocolate brown. Something that could only be compared to a dog. From what he could see, he was pale and splattered with dark moles.

‘Pretty.' Billy thought, his eyes grazing over the boy and his black clothes.

"Um.. I'm asking. Steve...uh, Steve Harrington."

That name sounded farmiliar.

“You've got to be shitting me..." He muttered, remembering back to Neil. His father who always mentioned the Harrington name. Damning them to hell and back. Something about their ancestors or whatever.

“I'm sorry?" Steve asked, body tilting so that he could see Billy through the rest of the trees.

Billy chuckled, Dropping his cigarette to the forest floor and snuffing it with his boot.

“You're a Harrington?"

Steves nose wrinkled, eyes on the cigarette.

"That's not good for the environment."

Billy rolled his eyes, stuffing his hand into his pockets, looking bored. Acting like there wasn't any blood dripping down and out of his nose.

"And you're testing my patience. Are you a Harrington?"

The boy crossed his arms. Glaring back to the other.

"Well that's what I said. So, yeah."

He felt that tug, saw their auras clash. Battling each other silently.

And for the first time in the five minutes of meeting him, he hurt. Just like his grandmother said.

It felt as if someone was slowly turning a knife around in his chest.

And shit. It hurt.

He almost collapsed from the sudden pain, but his eyes were caught on the boy a few feet ahead of him, clutching his chest.

In the same place Steve had felt the curses pain.

“What the fu-" Steve sputtered before collapsing to the ground, clutching his chest.

He looked to his right and saw Billy in the exact spot he saw him before, except he too was on the ground clutching his chest.

The pain soon became too much to bear. He screamed, gripping the floor below him.

He didn't remember when he passed out. Just remembered waking up, and lifting from where he laid. Billy was still on the ground, lying motionless. The only sign that he was alive was his breath heaving in his chest.

Steve didn't hesitate, he didn't know how long he'd been out. Didn't even know what time it was.

So he went back to his sigil. Cleaned up a bit and high tailed it home.

His mother had greeted him at the door.

They were home surprisingly.

"Steven, where were you? Your father and I were worried sick."

His mother shook her head, her brown curls moving with her.

“Sorry Mother, I fell asleep."

She frowned, arms crossed.

"In the woods? You weren't hex'd were you?"

Steve shook his head, trying to make his way to his room, not needing a talk from his mother who's rarely ever there anyways.

"No mother, just tired."

He heard her sigh, already imagining her getting prepared to cleanse the house.

“Thank god. It's not a good day for hex's..." Steve heard her mother mumble right before he closed the door.

It wasn't a good day for hex's. But it seemed like a good day for a curse to come to fruition.

Billy woke up on the forest floor. Dazed and confused and sore beyond belief.

He'd heard the rumors and legends that followed the Harrington's. Whispers of the occult and pagan worship that seemed to follow them.

After what he'd just experienced in the woods, Billy knew one thing for sure. The Harrington boy had opened Pandora's box and he now couldn't close it.

[camelliacats]

Nothing to Do

Another random oneshot.

Fic: "Nothing to Do" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: pre?Fay Dunbar/Andrew Kirke

Rating: K+

Words: ~1,070

Additional info: romance, Maydayverse, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: They've got nothing better to do, so they talk. But one talk does a lot.

               Fay Dunbar pulled her Gryffindor scarf tighter around her neck as she shivered in the stands. She wished she could've convinced her best mate, Sally-Anne, to join her, but Sally-Anne didn't have much of an interest in Quidditch, so there had been no cajoling her into watching the tryouts.

               Fay frowned when she thought about that. Sally-Anne needed to take more of an interest in the Wizarding world, in her opinion. Fay didn't mind that Sally-Anne was a Muggle-born; in fact, Fay had learned a lot about the crazy things Muggles did because of Sally-Anne. But sometimes Fay wished that Sally-Anne were more curious about her magical side…

               The brunette shook her head and gazed down at where Harry had, with Ginny's help, gotten everyone to line up somewhat. Angelina Johnson had been a fairly decent Captain last year, in Fay's opinion, and everyone knew that Harry had strong leadership qualities. But could he captain a Quidditch team to victory all on his own?

               "Mind if I sit here?"

               Fay turned her head and saw one of the fifth years in Gryffindor drop down beside her. She sort of remembered him. "You're Andrew Kirke, right?"

               He grinned. "Ah, you're too kind. You remember me from the team last year?"

               Not one to coddle when it wasn't needed, Fay replied, "You're being replaced."

               He frowned and looked towards the pitch. "Yeah. So I am."

               Fay raised one eyebrow and returned her attention to the tryouts. "Why did you come, then?"

               "I like watching Quidditch just as much as the next fan." Andrew let an odd beat pass before he added, "My roommate and friend…Ritchie Coote. Jack and I convinced him to try out for the spot."

               "Ah."

               "Jack was the other Beater with me last year."

               "I remember Sloper, too, just as well as I remember you."

               Andrew pulled a face. "All right, so maybe we weren't the best players—"

               She couldn't help but smirk a little. "You screamed when you almost crashed into Zacharias Smith in that match against Hufflepuff."

               "All right, all right! I don't need a reminder!" He scoffed and jammed his hands in his pockets.

               As the tryouts began, Fay tried to keep her attention on the field. Unfortunately, things were rather boring. About half of those who showed up weren't even really there to play, just to get a look at the "Chosen One." Sure, Fay had heard the rumors about Harry and his friends and their trip to the Ministry months ago, but she didn't care about it as much as other students seemed to. After Harry sent that lot away, there were a pitiful few left. Then he began blathering to them about flying around.

               Fay slid her focus to Andrew then. He was still looking at the field, his expression a mixture of desperate hope and calm envy. The witch darted a few furtive glances around her and noted that the stands were rather empty. Hermione had come, and even Lavender was sitting up high to get a good view. But there were only a few other watchers from the younger years, and they were all mainly there to gawk at Harry. So why had Andrew decided to sit with her, of all people?

               "Where's your friend Jack?" she asked, trying to sound purely polite.

               "Nah, I couldn't get him to come watch," Andrew said. He peeked her way. "He, ah, was still rather sore about things…" Andrew pointed to a younger boy standing next to Ritchie. "See him? That's third year Jimmy Peakes. He's good friends with Ritchie."

               Fay nodded. It wasn't uncommon for younger and older students to form friendships, if they belonged to the same House.

               "Jack thinks that Ritchie's one thing, since we know him well. But he doesn't like the thought of a younger student replacing him." He smiled gently. "Especially with another 'J' name. From Jack to Jimmy—it's got Jack a bit buggered."

               "Oh." She widened her eyes and shut her gaping mouth. "I'm sorry about that."

               "No… We could've been better, definitely. But Ritchie's tougher than us, and he says that Jimmy will be good, too, so I guess we've just got to have faith, yeah?" He looked her way, his smile a little bit bigger this time.

               For a few seconds, staring back at his black eyes, Fay forgot about why she'd come to the Quidditch pitch to begin with. Then she shook herself and pulled her scarf even tighter to hide her face. Her cheeks felt awfully warm.

               "How come you're here?"

               "I just love Quidditch. I don't think I'd play myself," she said, "but I love watching it."

               "Yeah?"

               "Yes."

               They watched for a little while. Ritchie and Jimmy weren't too bad. Ginny was brilliant and gave Harry a run for his money. Ron was okay, but Cormac McLaggen was a better Keeper. Dean was also fairly decent, as a Chaser. Katie looked just as ready to head for the showers as Ginny and Harry did, though.

               When tryouts ended, Fay paused to think about Sally-Anne's schedule and where she might be. Maybe she could convince her to go for a fly, as Fay was sort of itching to do that after watching everyone else.

               "You're, ah, Fay Dunbar, right?" Andrew asked, resuming their conversation.

               "That's me," Fay answered.

               "You've got a lot of opinions about the game for not having played it."

               "What can I say?" Her smirk returned. "I'm a diehard fan."

               He rolled his eyes, but she thought he was still cute despite that. "Then maybe the diehard fan might attend the next match with me."

               Fay couldn't believe her ears. Maybe she'd said hello once to the bloke before in the common room, but he was asking her out? She chuckled and stood, leaving the stands.

               Andrew blushed bright, Gryffindor maroon. "Hey! What's so funny?"

               "Diehard fans only have the game in their heart!" Fay yelled behind her.

               "I thought that diehard fans don't have time for anything but the game," Andrew teased her a month later as they walked with their fellow Hogwartians to the match.

               "Well, I just had nothing better to do, and my friend wanted to study instead, so," Fay grumbled.

               Andrew nodded but snickered, and Fay tried to think of only brooms and Bludgers and not of how Sally-Anne had nagged her to go with Andrew.

               Really! There was just nothing better to do.

Short and sweet—I like it! XD Haha, they have so much potential… Ah, and not just 'cuz they're minor charries! ;D

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2017 note: XD Very cute. One of my fav OTPs. They definitely pop up more in my other Maydayverse fics. :D I'm just a little sad I've not rly written Fandrew much since 2013… ;w;

[girlseeksbook]

Highlander: Where We Are (A Highlander/Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Summary: Immortals Harry and Elisabeth were set up lovers from the start by fate, but torn apart by another Immortal, Louis Tomlinson. The year is 2019 and a hundred and eighty three years later, they've reunited by a simple letter. But Louis, out for revenge is set on taking their heads. Will he succeed?

There can be only one...and don't lose your head.

Part I, 1 of 2

Holmes Chapel, Cheshire 2019

A woman waited by the lake, in Forest Park which has now turned into Somerford Park Farm apparently. She absentmindedly looked at her reflection in the water, then she'd heard a buzz. She turned around to face a man, with short brunette hair, who looked as if he had not aged a bit. But that is because he hasn't and neither has she as they were Immortals.

'Elisabeth,' he breathed. He ran his hand through his already tousled hair, as he couldn't believe his eyes. 'God, it's been so long.'

'Three hundred and three years, to be exact.' She softly smiled.

'But it's been a hundred and twenty years since I last saw you.' His forest green eyes quickly scanned her body before meeting her eyes again. 'And you're still beautiful.'

'Harry,' she sighed.

Church Hulme, Cheshire 1716

'I told you, Mum. I don't want to meet another one of your brides that you and Father keep setting me up with.' Harry checked the tied ribbon around his neck, looking in the mirror as his mother stood behind him with pleading eyes. In the face, they almost looked more like siblings than mother and son. But Harry had the sharpest jawline and lightest green eyes.

'Oh, Harry, you must meet her and woo her before she is betrothed to another. She is a Debutante and you're a Marquess, Harry. You must be married and have children of your own to carry on the family name and honour.' Anne, his mother, carried on.

'I know, Mum, but I'd also like to marry for love.' Harry turned around when a man in velvet clothing came in.

'Ma'am, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Lady Elisabeth is here.' Anne and Harry nodded. Harry walked into the commons and saw her. She turned around and smiled at Harry. Long auburn hair in single braid, running down her back with honey brown eyes. Her skin as fair as porcelain. She wore a proper blush coloured corset dress.

Harry stepped forward and took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips, placed a kiss to it and released it. He was so enamoured by her beauty that he wanted claim her...Woo her, kiss her lips, and even make love to her. He felt sparks when he'd touched her hand.

'Marquess Harry Styles, I'm honoured to meet you, Miss...'

'Elisabeth Milam,' she said so very elegantly. Harry had a feeling. A feeling he couldn't explain. A feeling other than lust. Unknownst to him, she felt it too.

Five months later...

Harry stood at the lake in Forest Park, where they'd always met. They'd became close out of the five months since they'd first met. But today was an emergency...at least that's what the telegram said.

'Harry!' He looked to see Elisabeth in a long ivory dress, which usually hand maidens wore, running towards him. 'Harry!' She crashed into his arms and her lips met his.

'What is the matter, Elisabeth,' Harry asked after he broke the kiss. He cupped her heart shaped face and his thumb caressed her cheek.

'I've come to give bad news,' A tear escaped as it ran down her cheek when she lowered her head.

'Whatever it is, we can get through it together.' She shook her head as she looked up and into his eyes.

'No, we can't. I'm betrothed to Louis Tomlinson now.' Harry's face fell as he'd planned to propose to her, even though they were already arranged to marry. But that's now down the drain. 'I told Father, I didn't want to marry him. I don't love him. I love you, Harry, but he said Louis had more money and that's the only thing he seems to care about.'

'I love you as well. I'd planned to propose to you. I'd even asked your father for his blessing, but I see he doesn't keep his word. We'll be together one way or another...I promise.' Elisabeth grinned as she covered his lips with her's. They'd felt that feeling that they'd felt the first time they'd met...sparks and the pull. But the feeling that somebody was watching them, made them break the kiss and look around.

'Well, well, well...' Louis sneered. Elisabeth looked to his hand to see his sword beside him. 'I see I've been engaged to a whore.'

Harry soon filled with rage.

'Don't you dare call her as such,' Harry spat.

'Why not? She is engaged to me and here she is kissing you,' Louis smirked. 'Have you taken her innocence too? I thought we were best friends, Harry.'

Harry drew his sword.

'Don't you dare challenge me, boy, unless you mean it!' Louis's booming voice made Elisabeth flinch.

'Then, don't you dare disrespect, Lady Elisabeth. I will not have you speak to her as if she is a common whore. Now, I challenge you.'

Elisabeth backed away to another tree to get to safety.

'Harry, please don't! He is a good swordsman.'

'Good? I'm the best,' Louis boasted.

'Louis, I'm sorry. I'll marry you, just let Harry live!'

'You're going to marry me whether he's dead or not sweetheart.'

Harry swung his sword first and clinked against Louis's. Harry didn't look surprised, but very concentrated on the task at hand. However, they kept fighting and never quitting. Swords continue to exchange swings swiftly with nothing stopping them.

Then, Harry slipped and all the sudden, he was impaled by Louis's sword in the chest. Harry looked down at the sword and looked back up at Louis, who smirked as he pulled out his sword, that was buried right in his heart. Harry stumbled back and fell into the lake.

Elisabeth screamed and sprinted into the lake to hold him. As she held him in her arms, in the cold water, he floundered; and she struggled to contain her sobbing and tears.

'No, Harry, don't leave me. Please don't, I love you. I want to marry you and have your children. Please, please don't leave me.'

'Elisabeth, we'll be together...one way or another...I promise...' But it was too late, he faded out leaving a dead body in her arms. She couldn't control herself anymore as she placed his body in the water gently. She ran up to Louis and slapped him. He grabbed his face and grinned.

'Humph, I thought you were the gentle kind,' he said, then he slapped her...hard.

--

'And after that, I stuck with him for my father's sake.'

'And were you happy?' Harry became annoyed and Elisabeth became confused.

'I—'

'Did he take care of you? Did he love you? Did he satisfy you underneath the cover—'

'Harry, he killed me!'

Harry felt the colour from his face drain away, as he let his anger and jealously take control of him.

'After five years of his abuse and cheating, I got tired of it. So, I tried to leave him, but he had other plans. We lived in Church Hulme--I mean Holmes Chapel, for the first year of our marriage. But after he found out about my trips to your parents, he had us move. We lived in Liverpool for the rest of the four years.

Liverpool 1721

'Sally, can you get the groceries? I have to talk to my husband.'

'Yes, Ma'am.' Sally dismissed herself. Elisabeth went to the stairs, but as soon as she had her foot on the first step, she heard a woman's laughter.

She made her way quickly up the steps and opened the bedroom to Louis, with two women, in their own bed. She felt numb. She knew she didn't feel any romantic feelings towards this man, but they were married. And she felt as a married couple, they should still stay faithful, despite having not had sex since their wedding night...when he took her innocence that she was saving for Harry, whom she knew to be dead at the hands of Louis himself.

Louis, I want more,' one of the whores whined, while he had his head in between her legs. Louis raised his head to respond, but saw Elisabeth in the doorway. His face soured and he climbed out from his current position. He then came after Elisabeth, grabbed her hair and dragged her out of the room, and down the stairs.

'I want to leave! I fucking hate you,' she cried. 'You can keep your whores! I want to leave.' He threw her to the ground in the middle of the foyer.

'You know a lady shouldn't talk like that. Especially, Duchess Elisabeth Tomlinson,' He mocked.

She hated hearing her married name as she wanted Harry's last name and she never stopped having dreams about a life she could've had with him. She didn't notice that he'd snagged his sword.

'But if you want to leave, I can make that happen. You can even see your lover.' She became confused and looked up at Louis. Her eyes widened as he thrust the sword through her heart. He pulled it out so coarsely. As she felt her life drain from her body, she could hear him say, 'I guess it was fun having a mortal wife...for awhile, but now it's run it's course.'

A few moments later, her eyes opened in panic as she got up. She was still in the foyer, in her bloody dress, but no blood.

'Ah, you're up.' She saw Louis fully dressed as she lay on the floor. 'Now that you're immortal, I wonder what the sex will be like.'

'No, that's never going to happen. I'm leaving you,' she said with determination, as she picked herself up.

'You know your lover is immortal and you can run away all you like...But I'm going to find both of you and have your heads.'

--

'And then he left me there. I walked far, far away from where I'd lived, because I somehow sensed that if I went back there, it wasn't going to be pretty.'

'I will not let him get your Quickening!' Harry affirmed. 'Even if it costs me my head.'

'Harry—'

'I love you and would do anything for you. Even die for you, forever.' Harry and her were only inches apart, yet so close. He wanted to kiss her so bad. To feel her lips on his like he did before he died. But he knew he had to control himself for he never knew what might happen next.

'After you left me in the lake, another immortal, an Irishman, by the name of Niall Horan, found me. I was shocked that I could've sworn I'd just died. But he explained everything to me. That I'm an Immortal and others are gonna be after my head for my power and knowledge, my Quickening. He trained me in sword fighting and self-defence. I even travelled with him and that's how I saw you at the ball.

Paris 1899

'Aye, I'm not sure Paris has the best ale or not,' Niall mused as he sat on the bar stool, looking at a pint of Bière Double, contemplating on whether it really tasted that great. He was a beer connoisseur after all. A lot of times, Harry and him would practise sword fighting and sometimes it would be finding a good place to eat and a proper beer to taste...A lot of times, wine as well.

'Yeah, I guess not,' Harry said, not paying very much attention to what Niall was even saying. He was distracted by the familiar woman with long Auburn hair, dancing with a man with long dark hair.

She was giggling, but she was alive and he couldn't believe his eyes. She was one, too.

'I sensed a couple of Immortals when we came in, did you,' the Irishman asked Harry, pulling him from his musings.

'I was way behind you and I didn't sense them until now.' Harry lied. 'And I'm glad too, I can get her back.' Niall became confused.

'What are you talking about?'

Harry pointed to who he believed was indeed to be Elisabeth.

'That is Elisabeth dancing with some bloke and I can't believe she's alive!' Harry said excitedly.

'The Elisabeth,' Niall asked to make sure. He knew about Harry's history, especially with Elisabeth. He remembered witnessing Harry's death after he'd sensed another Immortal and two others that were to be Immortal. Niall knew the rules, he could not interfere once an Immortal was challenged by another one.

Once Louis had slapped Elisabeth, resulting in her falling to the ground. He'd looked around as he, too, sensed another Immortal besides the ones before him. Niall made sure he was not seen at all, on his horse.

'I know you're there, Niall.' Louis bellowed out. Niall gulped as he came out from behind the tree. Louis smirked, ' I haven't seen you in years...especially since around the time I first turned.'

'Wow, what a nice way to comment on my age,' Niall remained serious. 'What happened to respecting your elders? Isn't that what I taught you? And yet you still turned out to be a prick.'

'Yeah? Well, you were a shite teacher...especially out of pity, and I don't need that bullshite. But hey don't we have more Quickening for the taking?'

Niall shook his head at Louis's pessimistic views. It was hard for Louis and it was hard to teach Louis. Every time Niall thought he could get through to him, Louis would just do his own thing to rebel.

'Maybe I'll take it after I'm done with her,' Louis smirked. 'But hey I'll give you the Marquess.'

Louis picked up Elisabeth, put her on his shoulder and left. When Niall knew he was gone for sure, he made his way to the man in the shallow end of the lake and got off his horse to wait for Harry to wake. He'd witnessed Harry's panicked state when he woke up screaming out for Elisabeth, but all Harry saw was the blonde-brunette man with a horse before him.

Harry stepped forward, but Niall held out his arm halting him. Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

'What are you doing? She's right there, after all these years of believing she was dead; she's here and vibrant.'

'No, mate, You can't. If she's with that bloke, then you have a problem.' Niall was very serious. 'That man she's with, has a reputation. He's Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod. He's Scottish and very powerful mate. He will take your head if you're not careful. Do not quarrel with him and if you love her then you will leave her in peace. She's happy and if she is happy than you should be too. Now we have to go before he spots me.' Harry snickered.

'Hey! Niall, is that you?'

'Oh, for fuck's sake!'

'What did you do?' Niall, all the sudden was uneasy and twitchy. He ushered out Harry as fast as he could whist Harry was laughing.

--

Elisabeth laughed with him and he only shyly laughed. As soon as she sighed, she started her story.

'Um...Duncan Macleod was my teacher. We were both in a dark place, I was in a dark place after you supposedly died and on top of that Louis abused me and cheated on me several times. Duncan taught me several things to keep me calm. I lived in a monastery for four years studying culture and the ways of monks and even transcendental meditation. I've wanted Louis' head for so long, for you and me. After I departed from Duncan in 1743, I traveled to many other places in search of people to train me.

'I've been with many lovers, but I've never stayed long, because there was no one in my heart other than you. That night at the ball, I just ran into Duncan when he asked me to dance. That was when I saw you briefly at the bar. When I finished my dance with Duncan, I went to look for you. But you were gone. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you there and when I couldn't find you, I'd convinced myself it was just my imagination. But now I've found you and I've never been so happy in my life.'

'Me too, Elisa.' Harry grinned and she smiled.

'But just so you know, Louis is mine. I want his head.' She affirmed and Harry sighed.

'Elisabeth,' He groaned.

'No, Harry, this is my fight. He took you away from me and the torture I had to go through just so my greedy father could get his hands on Louis's wealth. I have to do this.'

'But you will lose your head! Don't you get that?!' Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. 'I love you and I want to fight this fight. If you lose your head then I will never recover. I don't want to lose you again. I could've said hello to you that night, but Niall wouldn't let me. I love you so much and I spent most of my life believing you were dead.

'I thought maybe I saw a ghost of you, but I could sense and feel you were there. Please...you know, afterwards we could live on Holy Ground and adopt a child...Have our own little family. We'll get married and have a home of our own.' Elisabeth grinned, but saddened by the fact that as an Immortal, she nor he, couldn't have children.

'Are you trying to bribe me with marriage and a child, Mr Styles?' Harry grinned this time.

'Maybe...' Before she knew it, he was too close to her lips and he kissed her. It went from sweet at first, to hunger. He hadn't seen her or felt her lips on his in a long time. He often felt it was a dream. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist, just as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Ever since she saw him at the ball when he wasn't looking, she dreamed this day would happen when they would be together again, if she didn't lose her head first. 'I wish I could take you right here on this grass,' he groaned. 'But it's soggy and it's where I died. I wonder why the note said to meet at this place.'

'I know, this place brings back so many hurtful memories that I try to forget. After you died, Louis forcefully took my innocence and then he'd said, he couldn't stand being married to a whore.' She sobbed. 'I was saving it for you and I failed. I'm sorry.'

'No, Elisa, no,' he cooed. 'It's not your fault, it's mine. I wish I could've been there to protect you. I love you so much.' He cupped her face with her hand and swiped a tear with his thumb.

It then became tense and they both heard the buzz, which meant that another Immortal was here. They turned their heads to find their common enemy, Louis. Elisabeth and Harry backed away from each other. Harry stepped forward to fight.

'Well, if it isn't my two favourite heart-breakers,' Louis smirked. He wore a bluish-grey suit with a classic Burberry coat. 'You know it was pretty easy to find you two. You couldn't pick another spot? One that didn't bring horrible memories to us?' Louis chuckled. 'Well, I did put it in the letter so...'

Harry and Elisabeth were horrified that they were tricked by the one man that wanted their heads. 

'I wonder which one I'm going to behead first,' he turned his head to Elisabeth. 'The one I'd loved, before she stabbed me in the back by choosing this Marquess over a Duke. I would've brought her anything she desired, but she stepped on and crushed that along with my heart when she chose Harry over me.' Then he turned his head to Harry, 'Or should I choose my close friend who betrayed me by going after my lady...' He drew his sword out of his jacket and Harry did the same. 'Ah, so it's Harry.'

'No,' Elisabeth called out as she drew her sword, a beautiful katana with blush-pink owl handle. 'I told you, Harry, Louis is mine!'

'Elisabeth, I don't want him to take your head!'

'It's not your choice, Harry. I want to do this if you will let me. He took everything from me...'

'Except your teacher, Macleod.' Louis smirked. 'I think I might take his head after yours and Harry's.'

'He's over five hundred years old,' Elisabeth pointed out.

'And how old do you think I am?' Louis laughed. 'A measly two hundred years? No, sweetheart, I'm over eight hundred and forty two years old. So, do you still wanna challenge me, little princess or are you gonna let your boyfriend do it?'

Doncaster 1204

'Aye, Louis, I just put some wood in the warehouse for ya, lad,' John said, as he ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. John was Louis's boss at the lumber mill at which he and Louis worked as a lumberjacks and built houses on the side. Louis was very proud of his job and was considered a hard worker, providing for his wife and child.

He came to the conclusion, after years of trying, that he couldn't have children. Then, a blessing came along while he was hunting, a baby abandoned in the middle of a forest with wolves in the distance ready to pounce any second.

He put away his bow and arrow, so he could rescue the child. He was so happy to see the joyous look on his wife, Caroline's face when she saw that he'd rescued the child. They raised the boy as their own and named him Fredrick 'Freddie' Tomlinson.

'Yea, good day, John.' Louis walked to the pile of wood and noticed the faint smell of something burning. He followed the scent to find a spark, followed by a sudden blaze of fire spreading from log to log and up the walls, to the ceiling.

[elliemarchetti]

Slytherin!Hermione AU (part 11)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Other Harry Potter fics:

Somewhere to Start (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

The Deal (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

Our First (Almost) Kiss | Our First Kiss

The Polaroids | The Sixth and Seventh Polaroids

Memories of a Survivor 

Words: 2442

In the following years, Hermione never remembered exactly how she managed to pass the exams by living in the almost certainty that Voldemort was going to return but the hottest days of her life passed, albeit slowly,marked by an alternation of written and practical exams and there wasn’t the slightest doubt that the three-headed dog was still alive and well, behind the bolted door. The last exam was History of Magic; after spending an hour answering questions about the inventor of the self-mixing cauldron, they would be free for a full week, before the results came out, which cheered Hermione up a little, even if she was slightly disappointed  by the fact she had unnecessarily studied the Werewolf Code of Conduct of 1637 and the uprising of Elfric the Eager.

"No more reviews!" Ron exclaimed when he joined them in the shade of the tree that she and Pansy had claimed as theirs, one of the closest to the lake shore, but far enough away from the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan who were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid basking in the warm, shallow water. Harry, who continued to rub his forehead, also joined them, which further cheered Pansy, although the boy wasn’t exactly in a good mood. Hermione had already advised him to go to the infirmary but he claimed that he wasn’t sick and that it was only a warning of impending danger, although they didn’t know where it would come from: the Stone was safe and Snape didn’t seem to have discovered how to evade Fluffy’s surveillance. Despite this, Hermione couldn’t free herself from the annoying feeling that there was something important that she had forgotten to do, something that wasn’t about the exams.

"Doesn't it seem a little strange to you," asked Pansy, "that the thing Hagrid most wants in the world is a dragon and a stranger appears who happens to have a dragon egg in his pocket, which is prohibited by the wizards laws? "

"I don't understand. Couldn't he have been a dragon trafficker?" Ron asked, but Hermione, who had been following Pansy's mental process, had already stood up and was running with her friend to Hagrid's hut. Harry, who during the ascent must have understood what the girls had realized, didn’t even give the keeper time to greet them and asked him what the stranger looked like.

"I don’t know," Hagrid replied vaguely "he never took his hood off, so I never saw his face, but it's not strange, there’s a lot of bizarre people at Hog's Head."

Hermione dropped to the ground, exhausted, near a bowl of peas.

"And what did you talk about?" asked Pansy "Have you ever mentioned Hogwarts?"

"Maybe," replied Hagrid, frowning, trying to remember. "He asked me what job I do and I told him, so he asked me what kind of creatures I cared for and I told him, adding that I always wanted a dragon. Then I don't remember so well, because he kept offering me drinks, but I think that’s where he offered me the egg, but only if I had kept it well: he didn’t want it to end up indoors in some house. So I told him that after Fluffy taking care of a dragon would be the easiest thing in the world.”

"And did he show any interest in Fluffy?" Hermione asked, trying to stay calm.

"Well yes, even here you don't often meet three-headed dogs, right? So I told him that Fluffy is good, if you know how to calm him down. Just a little music and he falls asleep like an angel.”

Suddenly an expression of horror was painted on Hagrid's face, once he realized that he shouldn’t have given them that information, but before he could stop them the four kids had already disappeared, headed for the castle, which after the sunny meadow seemed cold and gloomy.

"We have to go to Dumbledore," said Hermione, but nobody knew where the principal lived.

"What are you doing here?" asked Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a large pile of books.

"We would like to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione with a courage that all her friends seemed to judge remarkable, unlike the teacher, to whom the request seemed to be suspicious.

"Professor Dumbledore came out ten minutes ago," she explained coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and immediately flew to London. So, provided what you have to say is more important than that, I advise you all to go back out and enjoy this beautiful sun.”

But they didn't follow her advice and began to plot a plan, only to be interrupted again, but this time by Snape himself, who in turn suggested to them, in a much more threatening tone, not to stay indoors on a day like this. Unfortunately, their first plan failed miserably, and they had to ask Blaise’s help to design a better one, which quickly became even more dangerous than the previous. After dinner, Hermione was very nervous and sat down with Pansy, browsing through their notes, hoping to find some spells that could help them that night. Blaise, who was on the same couch, hardly opened his mouth, too focused on thinking about what he was going to do. Slowly, as their housemates went to bed, the room emptied, and after Adrian had given her one last sad look before closing the door of his room behind his back, they were finally alone.

Pansy, who had noticed the whole thing, gave her a long look, which Hermione knew meant that in her opinion she should’ve talked to him, but she didn't go into further discussion, partly because she didn't want to risk arguing with her again, partly because she was too busy thinking about a way to sneak out of the dormitory without being noticed by Filch, his cat or Peeves. It was an injustice that Harry and Ron had the cloak while they could only count on their cunning, but Hermione certainly couldn’t complain that she had no dead parents from she could inherit such a magical object, so they would’ve arranged, as always.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice from a dark corner of the room, from which Sally-Anne emerged like the villain of a sci-fi movie.

"Nothing," said Pansy dryly, who had been deeply disappointed by the girl's attitude, perhaps more than Hermione.

"You're going out again." she noted, and no one denied that, since she was right. Despite she was bad, and had kept a decidedly low and childish attitude, she wasn’t stupid, which certainly wouldn’t have allowed her to understand the gravity of what they were going to do but could’ve stopped them, or at least slow them down, which they certainly couldn’t afford, given timing was fundamental in that plan.

"Even if it were, it's none of your business. And anyway, why are you still awake? And what were you doing hidden in the dark?" Hermione asked, hoping to have caught her in the middle of a crime.

"I wanted to know what you got Blaise into. I may have been wrong, but it's not fair that he doesn't talk to me anymore because of you." she replied, and for a split second Hermione felt guilty, remembering how she had felt when she thought he had chosen Sally-Anne, but then the boy replied, speaking for the first time after a long silence, in a cold voice that would’ve hurt anyone deeply. From that kind of attitude it was evident that he came from a noble family, where screaming was useless but acting in that way dug holes of coldness between themselves and others. Hermione hoped that he wouldn’t become like Malfoy's father, whom he and Pansy had described to her as an ice-hearted person, despicable to anyone, even his own son.

"When you reach a certain level, they’re all like that." Blaise had told her one day, and Hermione had never forgotten it, showing her Malfoy from another point of view, although she was sure she would never be his friend.

"I don't care what you say," Sally-Anne insisted, but before she could go on, Pansy petrified her, without the slightest sense of guilt in her eyes, and they went on. Nervous as they were, they saw Filch every statue’s shadow and believed they heard Pix falling on them in every distant breath of wind. At the foot of the first staircase, they spotted the janitor's cat, which forced them to deviate, but fortunately they didn’t meet anyone else until the third floor, where they reunited with their friends.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," said Harry, incredibly serious for being just eleven-year-old, but everyone followed him, although the door was already open and the risk of running into something they didn't want to see was very high. As she imagined, Fluffy was asleep, lulled by the sound of a haunted hard that didn’t sound a real tune but was enough to keep it calm. They crawled toward the trap door, which was incredibly close to the three gigantic heads, and Ron pulled hard on its ring, opening it instantly.

“What do you see?” asked Hermione, anxious.

“Nothing, just darkness.” he replied. There was no way to know if there was a safer means to go down unless they used the Lumos spell but Hermione suggested not to because, although music kept Fluffy asleep, a sudden source of light could disturb its sleep, making it perceive them as a danger. So they decided to jump, Harry first, followed by everyone else when he warned them it was all right. They must have been several yards below the ground, even below Slytherin's dormitory, judging by the wet walls and the fact that a huge amount of Devil's Snare covered the floor. Before it could cling to her friends, Pansy pulled out her wand, waved it in the air, muttered something, and shot a jet of flames at it, the same ones that Hermione had used on Snape. Within moments, the plant withdrew from the source of light and heat, its tentacles crumpling.

"Fortunately, you always pay attention to Herbology’s lessons." Blaise commented, leaning against the wall next to Hermione and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Then they entered a narrow passage that proceeded downhill between two stone walls, the only sound to accompany them the slight dripping of the water, until she seemed to hear, in the distance, a flutter of wings, nearly at the same time Harry saw a light at the end of the tunnel, which turned out to be a room with a vaulted ceiling full of birds with splendid colors that fluttered and circled. On the opposite side there was a heavy wooden door, which led Hermione to imagine that they would’ve been attacked by beaks and claws if they had tried to cross the room, which instead didn’t happen, even if they still faced an obstacle, and a great one: the door was closed and not even Alohomora could open it. Pansy suggested blowing it up, but again Hermione voted against, certain that it was protected by a spell far more powerful than the ones they could cast.

“And now?” asked Ron, but Hermione and Harry had already found the solution and were throwing broomsticks at their companions.

"They are keys." Blaise explained, pointingat what they supposed were birds.

"And they are hundreds." Ron hissed, hateful as always towards the newcomer. He probably would’ve preferred to carry Neville with them than to accept a new Slytherin in their party.

"What we are looking for must be a big old-fashioned key." Pansy noted, carefully examining the lock.

"Probably silver." Hermione added.

"Like the handle." concluded Harry.

"It shouldn't be difficult for you, Potter." Blaise commented, alluding to his role as Seeker in the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Harry was the first to fly, probably hoping to prove his worth, but it was Ron who saw the right key, who had a wing bent, as if someone had already caught it and abruptly slipped it into the lock. Hermione rushed at full speed in the direction Ron indicated, but risked bumping into the ceiling by how abruptly the key run away.

"We have to surround her!" Pansy exclaimed, never taking her eyes off the right key.

"Ron, you watch from below and Hermione, stay where you are and stop it if it tries to go up while we catch it.” Blaise ordered, and so it was done, but the key dodged all five, forcing Harry to chase it, the pursuit ending with a sinister sound of the key looking for an escape between the wall and his hand. The jubilant cries of the other kids echoed under the vault of the vast room when the lock clicked open.

“Ready?” asked Harry at his companions while he still had his hand on the handle. They all nodded and he pulled, revealing a dark room that suddenly lit up as they entered, parrying an amazing scene before them: they were on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black pieces, all much taller than them and carved in what looked like stone. In front of them, at the end of the vast room, there were the white pieces, which made them shiver, as they had no face.

"And now? What do we do?" Pansy whispered.

"But it's clear, isn't it?" said Ron. "We have to start playing and gradually cross the room until we get to the other side."

Indeed, well defended by the white pieces, there was another door.

"And how do we do that?" Hermione asked nervously.

"I think," Blaise replied, heading for a black horse "that we should pretend to be chess pieces too."

As soon as he touched it, the stone came to life and the horse began to scrape, while the knight lowed his head covered by the helmet to look at Blaise.

"Do we have to come with you to cross?" the boy asked without hesitation and the knight nodded. Blaise turned to his companions: "We have to think about it well. Weasley, Potter, can you play chess?”

"Ron is very good at it," said Harry, "but I started only a few months ago.”

"Hermione, you're not a great player, too, so you and Harry will be king and queen. Pansy, you take the place of that tower," he said, pointing at one on the far left “while Ron will take the place of the bishop next to Harry.”

“And what about you?” asked Hermione, worried.

“I’ll be the knight.”

[iredreamer]

Irene!!! I have a Gentleman Jack/Harlots crossover(ish) question. Hopefully, it's not a stupid one. Do we know if Anne Lister ever mentions in her diaries coming across brothels? And if she did, what was her opinion of them? I'm not sure what made me think of this question. I think it's the fact that they're both period pieces around the 18th/19th century. So, it made me curious. Thank you much! Still loving all your responses. Keep on screaming!

Maggie!!!! this got lost in like all the other asks and I feel a little bit sad answering this now after all that happened in Harlots (I’m still on denial, I haven’t watched the episode and every time I see a picture or a gifset of Charlotte I just cry inside, thank you Harlots for this amazing shitty feeling) anyway… Anne Lister does mention something about meeting “bad women” and “seeing curious scenes” (Saturday 13th November 1824). I also recall reading somewhere that Anne Lister’s father paid a prostitute, when AL was 19, to have sex with her. I think Sally Wainwright said this in an interview or something. I’d love to know the exact journal entry that suggests this event to read it and try to understand more about this. This is all i know :)

[fortissimohands-archive]

My Friend Sally-Anne

Sally-Anne is my best friend She always has my back And when I make a stupid choice She sets me back on track

Sally-Anne gets very mad And sometimes can be cruel But I know she's only angry Because I break the rules

Sally-Anne has been my friend For such a long, long time She found me when I felt despair In the worst part of my life

Bullies stalked me everywhere They followed me through school And said they would leave me alone If I learned to be "cool"

Sally-Anne saw my mistakes Before the bullies could But never told me cruelly Just like they always would

And every foolish, dumb mistake She'd teach me how to fix I steered clear of the bullies' wrath Thanks to her clever tricks

And then I finally changed schools And left the bullies behind But Sally-Anne still gives me advice In the back of my mind

Sally-Anne will keep me safe And always be my friend And our friendship will never break No matter how it bends

I want to go enjoy myself To go out of my comfort zone But Sally-Anne pulls me right back So I won't be alone

Sally-Anne always knows best She's wiser than I am She spots a stupid, foolish choice Before I ever can

Sometimes I don't listen To what Sally-Anne tells me When I decide enjoyment's More important than safety

So I ignore my friend's advice And everything goes well But later on, she talks to me, And my brain turns to hell

She tells me I was stupid My decision wasn't right And everybody hates me She scolds me for the whole night

I know she's looking out for me And only wants me safe But if I can't enjoy myself The effort's quite a waste

Sometimes Sally-Anne freaks out And I must make the choice But while she's screaming in my head I just can't find my voice

I say all the wrong things And end up looking like a fool But when the conversation's over Sally-Anne regains her cool

She yells at me throughout the day And well into the night But really I just want her gone And that's the first time we fight

"You said all of the wrong things And you've caused me so much fear!" "But how was I to concentrate With you screaming in my ear?!"

Sally-Anne is my best friend We'll always be together But sometimes I can't help but think Without her would be better

I want to be a performer Want to sing out on a stage But if I even suggest the idea Sally-Anne responds with rage

I'm sick of missing out on things Because of Sally-Anne She says I cannot do things When I know deep down I can

Sally-Anne just wants me safe So she stays in my head But I can't help but notice That she's hurting me instead

I try not to listen To Sally-Anne anymore And that way she can't harm me Like she always did before

Sally-Anne is not my friend Although she lives with me I don't rely on her advice And finally, I'm free

[trcydvs]

tracey twists and turns and twists and turns and tries to pretend her nightmares have not come true — to no avail. she can hear breathing, usually calming and soothing but now it’s a new sort of suffocating, like with every breath somebody else takes she loses hers.

she can still hear sally-anne’s trembling voice, hands covering tracey’s with tears running down her cheeks. call it intuition, but tracey had known it had to do something about their parents the moment she had seen sally-anne’s familiar figure rushing towards her. now she thinks back on her words, her own eyes burning from her tears.

they’ve taken him, tracey. they took your dad. they got him.

and her heart breaks again, because somewhere along the line she’d known this would happen. runaway muggleborns dropping one by one like flies, names echoing their way into the dungeons in silent whispers. they’ll all know about it, soon enough. and tracey wonders if she’ll have to tell them, if they’ll know what this means for her. the carrows will know about it too — and if they do, so will the rest of her class, and then the whole castle, and tracey will have to be reminded of her father’s freedom being taken away from him every single moment of her day.

she wonders if he feels alone. sally-anne has informed her that none of the perks have been taken captive, and something dark in tracey questions why it was her father that got captured, and not sally-anne’s. knowing phillip davis, he probably risked his life for the perks’. with each moment that passes, the urge to scream rises exponentially. tracey wants to see her dad, wants to hold him, wants her mother to act like herself again. she wants this nightmare to be over, shove it under her bed like the rest of the monsters.

she can’t breathe like this. underwater. alone, trembling, living her nightmares with each moment that passes. it’s three in the morning when she considers getting out of bed and going out on a midnight swim when their door is opened, sharp movements made towards the beds. someone throws her curtains open — severus snape’s sleep deprived, almost worried face looks down at her.

“miss davis,” he says, voice booming in the quiet of the dorm, even if he’s half-whispering. “you need to come with me, right now.”

something in her throat gets stuck, and tracey thinks, this is it. she can see millie’s curtains opening to look at the scene before her, but she looks at snape, instead. this is it. she throws a sweater over her shoulders and follows snape, quiet, towards the headmaster’s quarters.

snape says, “you’re being asked for by the ministry. there isn’t much i can tell you, other than this.” when tracey sucks in a sharp breath, snape looks at her, and she thinks he’ll say something, she wants him to say anything, but he doesn’t. he gestures tightly at the fireplace, instead, and tracey wants to floo far far away, but she knows she can’t.

there are small blessings, too — when she floos into the ministry, an office she’s not entirely familiar with, she falls into the welcoming arms of her mother. guinevere davis looks a lot more composed than when she did when she first found about the fate of her husband — tracey still remembers her mother’s tear-soaked cheeks and her slumped figure on the ground, and thinks, we’ve traded places, huh, mum? there’s somebody else in the room with them — a man in dark robes, standing guard by the entrance.

in the lowest voice tracey has ever heard from her, her mother says: “they have been interrogating your father for the past twelve hours. they’re going to take us in, one by one. we didn’t know that he’d escaped. we thought he was dead. okay, tracey?” and her mother looks at her with such expectation, such practiced devotion, such love that tears start running down tracey’s cheeks. she doesn’t think she can do this.

“i need you to give me an answer, tracey, honey. this is for your own good.” her mother’s voice cracks in the middle of her sentence, and tracey’s full-on sobbing now, body shaking with every breath. but she nods. her mother presses a kiss against her temple.

she is taken away by the man waiting at the door, afterwards, eyes pleading for tracey to cooperate. this is fine. she knows how to lie. she’s been doing this for the entirety of her life. all she needs to do is to make herself believe, which should be fine. it’s just — it’s just the realization that her father will be thrown into the depths of azkaban come tomorrow night — she doesn’t think she can condemn him to that life, to constant terror. she can’t —

she thinks of her mother’s pleading eyes. how it might get worse for her if tracey decides to tell the truth, once they realize their stories don’t match. this is the worst thing that has happened to her. she has to do this.

the door opens and a woman with sharp cheekbones and sharper robes calls for her, and tracey, clad in her pajamas and slytherin sweater, follows her. she’s still shaking. all she wants is to go home, back to her parents and her cat and the familiarity of welsh streets. she’s never been to this part of the ministry, and the few visits she’d made were all before the death-eater uprising. to say that it’s freezing would be an understatement, but maybe it’s because she’s nowhere close to being properly dressed. her hands are still quivering with each sharp turn the woman leading her takes. where is she taking her?

they reach a corridor with at least twenty doors, and the woman knocks on one in the middle before gesturing for tracey to get in. she’s shivering, both from the cold, and the dread that has already settled in her bones. she sits down on the metal chair on one side of the table in the middle of the small, cramped room. right. she’s being interrogated.

across her stands a tall, distinguished man of — middle age? definitely older than her father. she finds something despicable in his demeanour, in the way he seems to be interrogating her without using his words. she crawls back into herself, arms crossed, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater.

“miss tracey davis,” he says, reading from the file before him. it must be charmed, because all tracey sees is blank space. “a fellow slytherin. half-bloods are hard to come by in our house, these days, aren’t they?” the most horrifying thing is the edge of humor this man has to his words. “as they should be, of course.” he takes a curious, long glance at her, her tense shoulders, the way she’s trying to make herself smaller. this is when she realizes that she doesn’t have her wand. panic settles, abruptly, and he speaks once again: “my son has spoken of you, briefly. to assume you’d take the position of captain over a runcorn!” he laughs, positively overjoyed. “a small, timid girl like yourself — with a surname like davis. truly made me laugh.”

and it hits her.

albert runcorn. laughing at her fucking face, as if she’s said something hilarious. as if her father’s — and hundreds of other families’ — life isn’t in his hands. it’s just another fucking tuesday, for him, isn’t it? she now gets why noah’s as fucked up as he is. if she’d had a fucking monster for a father, she’d be angry at the whole world, too.

albert reads a little bit more as he settles more comfortably in his chair. tracey wants to punch him in his smug face, teach him what family means.

“so,” he says, hands settled under his chin. “you and your mother declared your father to be dead after he went missing for three days, yes?”

tracey wants to shout, fuck you, but stays silent, instead.

“well come on, tracey,” he says, and it’s so much worse when he’s patronizing her like this. “we can’t get anywhere if you don’t cooperate.” in the distance, there is a scream. tracey’s stomach jumps to her throat when she recognizes the voice to be her father’s.

tears burn at the corners of her eyes. she says, “yes.” and hates herself for it.

“great.” if she hears another scream, she’ll punch this old, disgusting man in the face. “and you didn’t reach out to the authorities to ask for a country-wide search, because?”

“my mother has a necklace —” tracey explains through gritted teeth — “his portait had disappeared. it wasn’t meant to do that until he’d died.”

“and this couldn’t have been a mishap in the charm?”

“no.” her patience is so thin. she wants to scream back at her father. albert runcorn is testing her.

“alright.” he accepts this casually, but tracey’s sure he doesn’t believe him. whatever. “and you held no funeral?”

“there was a service. private. we didn’t want to announce it to the whole wizarding world.” and that’s the truth. tracey hadn’t been able to cry until after, face hidden in the crevice of her pillows in her room. their house had still smelled like him.

“and why not? davis’ flora was very popular with the half-blood community, after all. i’m sure your father had some customers that would want to pay their respects to him.” she knows where he’s getting at. that they’re not good enough for the pureblood circle. she wants to take her father’s orchids and shove them down his throat.

“we didn’t want the publicity,” tracey says, “because death is not meant to be made public. customers paid their respects to my mother when she kept the store open for another couple of weeks.” now she’s only pretending out of spite, along with the fact that she has to. she never wants to see this man again.

“understandable. lack of customs, and all.” if albert runcorn makes a comment about the inferiority of their blood, tracey will punch him for real, this time. “and you had accepted your father’s passing? no hope to see him ever again? even if there had been no body?”

tracey looks at him, and a tear runs down her cheek. she wipes it away, aggresive in her motion, and shakes her head. “my grandfather passed away a year ago. i know my way around grief.”

“your grandfather from the muggle side of the family, i’m assuming.”

tracey raises an eyebrow in challenge. “yes.”

runcorn smiles tightly, jotting down another note with his quill, and tracey think of the ways she could kick him in the back of his knees. “he assumed no other way to contact you, your mother, or anyone else?”

“i just learnt that my dad is alive half an hour ago. do you really fucking think he did?”

a vein pops up at the corner of runcorn’s temple. she’s getting to his nerves, but not as much as he is to hers. tracey thinks of finn’s coded letters. the desperation in sally-anne’s face.

“no need to get frustrated, miss davis.” he looks at her straight in the eye, searching, probing. “do you know anything about the disappearance of the perks’?”

“no. i had no idea they were on the run.” a lie, but she’s getting good at those, isn’t she? even better than she used to be. she can now lie in the face of death eaters.

“i assume your friend...” a look at the file, “sally-anne would have confided in you, since you’re childhood friends?”

and in that moment, tracey wants to give that single bit of information if it means she’ll get to see her father again. but she can’t do that to sally-anne. she can’t let her go through the same thing. never.

“we haven’t been close since we started hogwarts,” lies lies lies, she’s family you liar, you coward, lies lies lies, “different houses, different circles. you must be familiar with that.”

albert raises an eyebrow at that, taking a few more notes. he’s acting as if he’s giving her an oral exam on herbology rather than interrogating her about her allegiance. all hail the dark lord, that fucking wanker. “right. of course.” and in that moment, in that tone, tracey can only hear terror. like she’s played right into his game.

“the thing is, miss. davis,” he says, standing up, looking more ominous than he did while he was sitting, “i’m positive you’re not telling me everything you know.” he tugs at his own sleeves. “your mother didn’t cave into a crucio, but veritaserum did the trick. i doubt you’re as strong as her, though.”

and the next thing tracey knows is white pain. like every single nerve on her body is on fire. her screams are soundless. blood runs down her nose, tears down her cheeks. nausea hits her like a tsunami wave. albert runcorn stands above her with a smile on her face, like a crucio is a lumos for him.

“ready give a little bit more?” 

and tracey hears her father’s scream, again, and blacks out.

when she opens her eyes, she’s in -- what seems like a cell, but is more like a hospital room, without the equipment. white walls. freezing. they haven’t even given her a blanket. her skin feels like it might fall off any minute.

she grabs for the water next to her bed -- mattress is more like it. takes a sip, closes her eyes. tears, unknown to her, barely felt, run down her cheeks.

someone opens her door. it’s the same woman that had taken her to runcorn. tracey flinches. the woman has clothes draped over her arm, and drops them next to tracey, says, “you’ve got ten minutes.” and leaves. tracey looks at what she’s been given -- pants. a sweater. shoes, socks. normal clothes she’d be wearing on a normal weekend. she doesn’t know how many days have passed since she’s been in here. her body feels like it is about to fall out.

ten minutes, and she’s been taken to somewhere else. they take the elevator, the woman’s indifferent, almost bored eyes never leaving tracey’s figure. she wants to run the fuck away, take her father and mother and never come back. fuck hogwarts. fuck their war. fuck it all, nobody deserves to go through this.

and this was barely the tip of the iceberg. she wonders how her mother is. what azkaban will turn her father into.

she’s taken into a courtroom. she sits in the seats, amongst the small crowd of purebloods that have gathered. she recognizes some of them from family photos. in the middle sits albert runcorn, and tracey sees fire. 

in the middle is her mother. she’s never seen her like this -- generic clothes that make her look pale. there is still the familiar anger in her eyes, but she seems broken. the judge says, “so you confess that you were lying in behalf of your unregistered, muggleborn husband?”

and to her dismay, her mother says: “i do.”

tracey’s about to black out, again. she wants to apparate out of this fucking room, and the betrayal runs deep in her veins. did her mother really cave in? have they really lost everything? do they now know about the perks’?

her mother doesn’t stay in the stand for much longer. the woman tugs at her sleeve. someone calls her name. tracey’s brought into the middle of the court, all eyes on her.

“tracey anastasia davis,” the judge begins, and everything spirals downwards, from then. she is asked if she had lied about her knowledge of her father’s death. she has to say yes, because her mother just gave them everything. she has to tell them everything she’s known. her rosier heritage and the fact that she’s underage will be the only things that save her. question after question, she feels more like she wants to scream. they let her go.

(”you’ve been gone for three days,” her mother says, next to her. “i couldn’t fight the serum, tracey. i’m sorry.”)

then they bring out her father.

a loud sob leaves tracey’s lips, and her mother covers her mouth with her hand, tucking her head underneath her chin. her father looks at them, a weak smile at his lips. tracey feels tears running down her cheeks, appearing out of nowhere, almost immediately.

she’s never seen him like this. he’s thinner than he’s ever been. circles under his eyes that make him look at least five years older. he’s covered in scars and grime and there’s a layer of darkness that tracey’s never seen on him. apparently, she has missed the initial interrogation. this is the verdict.

“...phillip davis...due to being unable to provide definite heritage... being unregistered...running from the ministry...indeterminate time at azkaban...”

tracey’s hands are shaking. she hides her face in her mother’s sweater, tear-soaked.

“...as well as guinevere rosier...due to withholding information from the ministry...accessory to the crime of phillip davis...three and a half months in azkaban...”

her mother looks at the jury in shock. tracey falls to her feet with a loud cry, once she processes what has just happened. two men grab at her mother’s arms, and they’re shouting, both of them, her father from the stand, her mother from where they’re taking her -- and tracey wants -- needs -- can’t -- won’t -- how -- 

the next hour is a blur. somebody takes her to a fireplace. albert runcorn looks at her, and says, “be glad you’re underage.” and leaves with a scoff. they tell her to floo back to hogwarts. she does as she’s told.

professor snape looks at her like she’s covered in blood. she feels like she is, the blood of the davis family. a grandfather long gone. a father stuck in azkaban. a mother -- she won’t be able to see her for christmas. what the fuck is this. how the fuck did it come to this.

snape says, “we haven’t seen you in four days, miss davis.”

tracey doesn’t say anything. she wants to get out of these clothes. she wants to burn them. she wants to burn down the ministry with the rest of them.

what is there left for her to fight for, anyway?

she walks past snape, without a word. she doesn’t know what time it is, but it must be during class time, since nobody’s in sight. dungeons. her dorm. the little piece of home she has left.

the first thing she does is get rid of the clothes. she showers under burning water, sobbing until her throat is sore. doesn’t bother with drying herself, just gets dressed into something -- anything. follows the familiar steps to her dorm, but she can’t really see anything.

before she gets to her bed, grief overwhelms her. she falls at the feet of her four-poster, hand clutching at the mattress.

and she screams.

[haley-speaks]

Other Worldly

Thinking about other worlds - or realms if you will - can be a scary thought to some. To others, like me, it's an entertaining idea and one the likes which keeps me up at night. This is what has lead me to you today: to tell my story of the day I discovered that Tim Burton had the right idea in 'The Nightmare Before Christmas'.

It all started as a regular night out with friends. Ann and I are driving through the park, minding our own business when out of nowhere we swore we saw Sally - not a person named Sally, but the actual rag doll from the movie - walking across the path looking like she was lost. I slammed on my brakes, and we looked at each other with a mirrored "What?" look on our faces.

"I'm not going out there!" Ann exclaimed as I was reaching for the door handle.

"Well, we have to know what that was," I said. I opened my door and called for Sally, not expecting an answer.

"H-hello? Can you help me? I'm looking for Jack and Zero," Sally stammered. She came out from behind the large tree she had been using as shelter from my car's high beams.

"Are you real?" Asked Ann from inside the car.

"I'm not Real," she said, "I'm Sally!" She had misunderstood Ann when she'd asked if she was real. She'd meant if she was a real thing, not if her name was real. All of a sudden Sally fell to the ground screaming.

"My head! It's on fire!" When Ann got out of the car, and we both approached her we discovered that her head was on fire.

"Holy shit we need water!" we both yelled in unison. Ann ran back to the car and grabbed her water bottle and I went to Sally and tried to calm her down, but it was too late. Sally was dead and her head had saved in where the fire had started. Ann came back and dropped to the ground next to Sally, careful not to touch her head as it was still aflame.

"What do we do now?" asked Ann in a low, mournful voice. I looked around hoping to find where she had come from, as I started to give up I noticed a tree that wasn't from this area. I stood up, walked over to it and felt a cold breeze.

"I bet it's through here!" I called back to Ann. When I turned around she had disappeared from sight and my car was missing. On a second look, I noticed the scenery wasn't the same as it had been minutes ago.

"Halloween Town or bust..." I said to myself with a cheerful chuckle.

That was the single interesting thing that happened. After I went through the tree I was stuck in Halloween Town Forest for an hour tops before the wind blew again, and I was back in the park with Ann.

With that, we were forced to give up, so we went home and tried to forget the strange event that night held.

-Hallie Miller