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fanfictionhyperfixation · 1 year

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I Thought You Were Mine

Azriel x Original Female Character(s)

One shot based off the song "First Burn" by Ari Afsar, Julia Harriman, Lexi Lawson, Rachelle Ann Go, and Shoba Narayan. Would highly recommend giving the song a listen. Some of the dialogue comes directly from the song so all credit to the song and the writers. They took inspiration from the song "Burn" from Hamilton.

TW: cheating

***

The acrid taste of some long forgotten alcohol she had found in a back cupboard rolled down her throat and it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to burn away the conversation she had with one of her friends who overheard a conversation between her husband and his best friend. His brother. Someone she had known for centuries and told her time and time again that Azriel was a good male. She laughed bitterly as those memories replayed in her mind, her tears mixing with the dull brown liquid she held. With a shaking hand, she read over yet another letter. This one was from when they had first started courting over a hundred years ago. It was littered with words of devotion and love, a side Azriel only showed her. She got to the bottom and saw his neat scrawl staining the paper.

All my love,

Azriel

Without a second thought, she tossed it into the fire and let her eyes follow the sparks as they danced up the chimney. She heard them stumbling home before the door even unlatched and didn’t flinch as they stumbled into the house. Cassian and Azriel. Great Illyrian soldiers reduced to stumbling mountains. The vision would have made her heart sore before and she would have laughed while offering to make coffee. Now she could hardly stand to look at them.

Her friend had come earlier in the night and seen something horrible. Through the rush of blood that blurred her thoughts, she managed to steer her friend to the couch who was ringing her hands constantly and couldn’t speak. The sorrow that burned in her friend's eyes would be etched in her heart forever as she told her to just look for herself. With dread pumping her heart, she had slid into her friend's mind and was immediately confronted with a recent memory.

Azriel wore a worried look on his face as he talked lowly to his brothers. At first she couldn’t hear anything but as she edged closer, their voices grew clearer. She heard snippets about a female Azriel had been seeing. The conversation was piecey and at first she thought he was talking about one of his spy’s or a correspondent who had information. But why would Azriel take the risk and talk about it so openly? As she got closer the conversation got horrifically clearer.

The female wasn’t one from his spy network. She had been a mistake. A lapse in judgment after too long away from his wife. He had been on a mission and it was a lapse of judgment. He insisted it was. Except he mournfully admitted that it had happened three times.

Three times wasn’t a lapse of judgment. It was a decision he made. Repeatedly.

She saw Azriel’s eyes light up when he caught sight of her. He quickly shoved his brother off his shoulder and started walking over to his wife.

“Don’t,” She snapped, venom dripping from her voice. Azriel froze and fear gripped his heart.

“Did you know I’ve saved every letter you wrote me?” she asked morbidly and threw another piece of paper into the fire, tracking its incineration. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. The male who would make my life complete. You didn’t care that I wasn’t some great warrior or greatly accomplished. You said I brought you peace. You said you were mine.”

She heard Azriel let out a strangled noise but she refused to look at him as tears blurred the roaring fire into a mass of flickering light.

“I thought you were mine. When I told my sister about you she said to be careful. That you were too good to be true, but I brushed her away because I knew she was wrong. I should have listened to her.”

Azriel took a hesitant step towards her and the sound of his falling sent her head reeling. She turned to him, but it was Cassian who caught her attention. His normally tanned face had blanched and he looked horrified. It was like some sick confirmation.

“Don’t take another step in my direction. I can’t be trusted around you. Because I know,” a sob broke her voice and Azriel lurched towards her. “I know that if I let you talk to me that you will convince me I’m wrong. I will listen to you and forgive you, but this is unforgivable. So don’t think you can talk your way into my arms.”

Azriel took a step closer to her and her white wings bristled at the proximity. He was too close. She sprang from the couch and walked towards the liquor cabinet. She braced herself against the wood that creaked under her grip.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard but it’s not true. My love I promise,” Azriel said evenly but even he couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his last words.

“Stay over there,” she ordered and even through the tears the order rang through the room. Azriel stopped moving. “I don’t know who you are. Clearly I have so much to learn even after a hundred years. I’ve been re-reading you letters and wondering if even back then there was a sign. A sign that I wasn’t enough. That we weren’t enough.”

“Please tell me what’s going on. Please,” Azriel pleaded, his voice breaking as visions of regret flashed through his mind. She cast a look towards him but she couldn’t watch him crumble. If she did, she would forgive him and she knew she owed it to herself to stay strong. So she looked to Cassian again.

“Your brother knows. Ask him,” Cassian was filled with regret and pain, but she wouldn’t relent, “You were so open with your confessions earlier. I’m sure he remembers.” she said bitterly and knocked another drink into her mouth.

The sharp intake of breath Azriel took could have shattered glass and she wondered if he could hear what was left of her heart breaking. The sound of rustling sheets in a bedroom upstairs caught her attention and she prayed the silencing charm she had cast would hold firm. She prayed that the three children sleeping upstairs wouldn’t hear a thing.

“I don’t know what you think you heard but - ” Azriel tried again but his wife reeled on him with such ferocity he took a stumbling step back. He took in her tear soaked face and the rage burning in her eyes and felt his soul cracking. It was the heart-break though that threatened to break him. She held out a hand and for one gleaming moment he thought she might be reaching for him but with a flick of her wrist she sent a box of letters hurtling towards the fire without so much as looking away from him.

“Don’t. I’m not naive. I’ve seen how other females look at you. How you send them small charming smiles that send them blushing. I used to think that it was charming because you were mine. I was so sure those smiles never meant anything because you loved me. You were loyal to me,” she said, her voice becoming more detached with each word. “When did it happen? When did you start lying to me? When did the first time happen? The second? The third? When did I stop being enough?”

Azriel felt like he was dying.

“I think I should go,” Cassian said quietly, his voice full of grief but as her eyes sliced across his retreating form, his legs stopped moving.

She carefully walked towards him, circling the couches and keeping as much distance as she could from Azriel. When she spoke, her orders were clear, “You will stay right where you are. You spent years feeding me lies about him so you will stand here and watch him break my heart so no one wonders what happened.

Azriel cried out for her and she turned to him.

He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him with a shake of her head, “You have thrown it all away and you can stand back and watch it all burn.”

A small cry came from up the stairs and the three grown fae went rigid. She was the first to recover and quickly scrubbed away the tears that lingered on her face.

“When the time comes, you can explain to the children the pain and embarrassment you put their mother through,” Azriel was splintering apart in front of her as his chest heaved and tears fell from his eyes. He was breaking apart, but he had shattered her.

“I really thought you were mine,” she gasped brokenly as a fresh wave of tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She took a steadying breath and walked up the stairs towards the cries of her youngest. They were her legacy and she would protect them from anything or anyone that threatened to hurt them.

#Azriel (ACOTAR)#Azriel #ACOTAR #Azriel fanfiction #Azriel oneshot #Cheating #Songfic #TW: Cheating

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hmserebusadjacent · 11 months

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Early mornings

Part of Ten Days of Izzy Hands week

Izzy Hands x Male Reader (Established Relationship, Both Aromantic Asexual)

Set in the word of Thedas, the setting of the Dragon Age games.

Summary: One early morning, you muse on how much you are willing to do to keep Izzy Hands safe as you cuddle up with him in bed.

Word count: 482

Fic link: Early Mornings - Horatio_Hands - Our Flag Means Death (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Sunlight was creeping in between the gaps in the curtains. The fire had long since gone out, not even smoke going up the chimney. All was quiet and still in the Inquisitor's quarters.

There was a massive advantage to both you and Izzy waking up early like you had always done on the Queen Anne and that was no one else was up yet. It felt like just you two in your own little world as Izzy stretched and turned over to face you, face breaking out into a very soft smile.

"Morning", you whispered as you smoothed some hair out of your lover's face, bopping his nose afterwards just to hear Izzy's morning voice form a chuckle.

"Morning, love", he whispered back, reaching between them to grab hold of one of your hands, pressing a kiss to it and then holding onto it firmly. "You are especially beautiful this morning."

You made a happy little noise, hiding a yawn behind your hand.

"Flatterer. That's one of your many advantages: I know you always mean it."

Izzy nodded, bringing his lover's hand to his cheek.

"Always, love. Why waste words when love is hard won?"

You grinned, snuggling closer into the burrow of warmth and closer to your beloved.

"Spoken like a true pirate."

The other man made a contented little noise, going even further with the snuggling by tucking himself under your chin.

"A benefit of being a true pirate is getting moments like this before your advisors take you away from me."

"Agreed", you mused as you ran a hand through Izzy's soft hair. It was in moments like this that you could have sworn Izzy purred like a very happy cat. "Although they do feed us well. Whilst someone else has that kind of money, we may as well use it."

Izzy scoffed a triumphant laugh, pressing a kiss to his lover's chest.

"That's my boy."

"Always", you agreed, wrapping your arms more tightly around your lover. "You're never getting rid of me. End of the world or not."

You were right in that you were incredibly determined to see this through and to save the world in the progress. Who would have known that a pirate could become the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisitor, a beacon of hope to people who thought you uncouth and wild? In the end though, none of the masses of people who flocked to the Inquisitor's banner mattered to you. Sure you had made friends within your inner circle, Dorian Pavus being the closest of them all.

No, the main reason why you fought so damned hard to save the world was to save the man in your arms, and to keep him safe from all harm. Because you loved Izzy Hands most of all, and you would never ever let him go or let him forget how truly loved he was.

#izzy hands #izzy fucking hands #izzy hands era #izzy hands our flag means death #our flag means death #ten days of izzy hands x reader #ten days of izzy hands #erebus adjacent's ten days of izzy hands #izzy hands x male reader #izzy hands x reader #aro ace izzy hands my beloved

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norabrice1701 · 8 months

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The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 7

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 7 Warnings: Discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy

A/N: Thank you to everyone reading and commenting, sharing and liking ❤

Exhaustion gnaws at his weary soul. His peace in the countryside of his duchy never lasts, and Henry recalls him to court all too soon.

Of course, Henry can’t leave well enough alone. Of course, his pride pushes him. Of course, he has to have absolutely everyone swear the damn Oath of Succession. And of course, Charles must pay witness to the show of unquestionable power.

But even now that he’s released to return to Westhorpe, the memories of recent months haunt him. He can’t stop seeing Thomas More’s face on the scaffold. How the man had faced his death with such calm serenity. How he had mounted the chopping block with such unwavering courage. How he had borne his final days in prison with such absolute dignity.

As long as Charles lives, he swears that he’ll never meet another man as pure as Thomas More.

The thought sours his stomach as he shifts in his horse’s saddle. Especially since Thomas More’s head still rots high above London Bridge. In life or death, More has done nothing to deserve a traitor’s fate, and Charles is glad for a break from witnessing such a sight on a daily basis.

Not that it lessens the shame he carries, powerless as he had been to do anything but watch the executioner’s ax swing.

And all for that she-devil Anne. Time and time again she has proved her ability to hold sway over the king. But this? Convincing Henry of his own religious grandeur and the dynasty of their offspring to the point that an entire country must publically swear allegiance? And now, Henry’s long-time mentor and one-time close friend has met an unjust death because of it.

How long will it be until she convinces Henry to fly Charles’ head high above London Bridge?

How much more of his soul will he be required to give to Henry’s whims? Is his soul still worth less than his head?

He urges his horse forward, desperate to leave his raging thoughts behind. “Fall back! Do not follow me!” The command carries over the thundering of his horse’s hooves and his guards don’t give chase. No doubt they assume that he simply rides ahead to Westhorpe, but they will have no answers when they arrive before Charles does.

He has another destination in mind.

His thoughts blur as he guides his horse through the trees with determined purpose. Tree branches brush and catch on his clothing as he passes, one scrapes his face, but he pays them little mind. After the past two visits, it’s easier to find Avian nestled in the forest’s wilderness. The rough little cottage brings him a strange sense of peace as it emerges through the trees. The midday sun burns high above the trees, but no smoke rises from the chimney and no firelight flickers out from the distorted window. His stomach sinks to think that she isn’t at home.

He swings down from his horse, patting the mare’s strong neck in reassurance before dropping the reins. “Avian!” His voice rings amongst the trees but only the leaves rustling in the breeze answers him. With soft steps, he approaches the cottage door, studying its crude construction. He doubts that it latches securely, but it’s hardly polite to just invite himself inside her home. Even if he is a duke.

Glancing back over at his horse, he considers just returning to Westhorpe. He can always try again tomorrow or the next day - perhaps after a quiet night’s sleep - but what exactly does he have waiting for him there? A hot bath after days on the road, yes - but otherwise? A lonely dining room full of shameful memories? An empty bed full of haunting heartbreak?

A wave of exhaustion rolls through him as he sighs and turns back towards the cottage, not wanting to admit the truth. Not wanting to admit that he’s only here because there is nowhere else he wants to be right now.

Stepping up to the dwelling, he turns his back to the wall next to the door and lowers to sit. He stretches his legs out against the ground and leans back against the uneven wall. The gentle breeze ruffles his hair and a yawn hinges his jaw. He studies afternoon sun shining its light through the trees, and maybe he has a little time that he can spare to wait. The quiet sounds of the forest offer peaceful company, and his horse seems to enjoy wandering and snuffling about. His eyes drift closed as he sighs deep, inhaling the scent of fresh pine and wood.

***

Hefting her full basket on one arm, Avian picks up the hem of her cloak as it catches on another snag. The stickyweed plant proves itself useful - poultices for burns, tea for body restoration - but it’s such an inconvenience to gather. Even as she leaves the grove behind, the hooked hairs on the fruit burrs cling to her protective cloak. As she pulls free from the final ensnaring plant and starts back for the cottage, she doesn’t look forward to the task of deburring the cloak. But that task will have to wait for tomorrow.

Pale orange and pinks of twilight filter through the darkening trees, painting the woods in hazy, dreamy lines. The heat of the day fades as the colors soften, and the pleasant breeze against her cheeks heralds a cool evening. Entering the familiar grove of her cottage, her steps falter when she sees the horse idly milling about. On quiet footsteps, she approaches for a closer look, surprised to see no evidence of a rider.

The fading daylight does nothing to disguise the fine quality of the saddle and reins, and her heart leaps with hope. She can only hope it’s him - the duke returned yet again. With protective instinct, she takes the basket in both hands - ready to wield it in self-defense if needed - and walks around the front of the cottage.

Unbidden warmth sparks in her chest at the sight. Indeed, the duke has returned and rests against the cottage wall. His long legs extend along the ground, ankles crossed with his head tilted down. Long eyelashes rest against his cheeks, and surprisingly, a small gash mars his left cheek. A thin weep of blood stains his skin, drawing her concerned gaze. Has he come here injured? Is he just sleeping… or is he…

Working an uncertain swallow down her throat, she steps closer. “Your Grace?” She calls out, searching him for any sign of response before raising her voice. “Your Grace?”

Still, he remains motionless. She drops her gaze to his broad chest, watching for the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath the dark fabric. A wave of relief runs through her to confirm his breathing, teasing a small, almost fond smile to her face. The poor man must truly be so exhausted. Just what has happened to him while he’s been away?

Setting the basket down, she shrugs out of her gloves and burr-ridden cloak, hanging it on a peg opposite the cottage door. Tucking a braid behind an ear, she crouches down next to him. His gloved hands rest in his lap, and she reaches out with a gentle touch to rest a hand over his.

“Your Grace?” She repeats, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

His eyes open as he draws a slow, deep inhale. Drawing her hand back, she watches him stretch his neck with a grimace before his eyes meet her, still addled from sleep.

Her brow creases in confusion and mild concern. “Are… are you alright, Your Grace?”

“I think so.” His voice sounds rough from recent disuse as he glances around, taking in his surroundings. “My apologies, though. It was not my intention to fall asleep on your doorstep.”

She blinks with slow uncertainty, focusing on his wound instead. “You have a cut on your cheek. Are you otherwise injured?”

His hand rises, gently prodding along the wound. “You know, I hadn’t really noticed. While riding, I guess I misjudged the height of the tree limb, but the sting of its branches wasn’t obvious.”

The corner of her mouth lifts as she nods. “Well, come on, then. Let’s see to your cut, Your Grace.”

His grimaces, exhaustion overtaking his face as he rises to his feet. “Not ‘Your Grace’,” he grumbles wearily. “Charles. My name is Charles.”

She stares back at him uneasily. “A-and your surname?”

“Brandon.”

“Well… Mr. Charles Brandon.” The name rolls awkwardly off her tongue as her mind spins. Has he really just given her permission not to use his formal address? Is that even allowed for a commoner?

Blinking away her uncertainty, she steps over to the cottage door, pushing it open and motioning for him to follow. The setting sun does no favors for the darkening cottage and she reaches for a lantern with its thick beeswax candle. His footsteps sound behind her as she kneels by the small wood pile in the firebed, reaching for the nearby flintstone and knife. “Thank you for waiting outside,” she says over the snick of metal against stone. “I don’t think many others would have been as considerate. Especially when they already know that my door doesn't latch securely.”

“I’m not here to exploit you. Not yet.”

“Of course. Not yet.” A shiver runs down her spine at the ever-present reminder of what his presence represents. But if he is not here to bring her to face deliberation and verdict on her supposed crime of witchcraft, then she still has time. The blade strikes against the stone again, sparks igniting in the air and catching on the thinner branches. As the flames spread in the firebed, she angles the thick candle to catch the wick, and a warm glow emanates from the lantern.

Holding the lantern’s rope handle, she stands and glances over at him. The pale flickering light highlights the fine cut of his heavy traveling clothes, splattered with mud and dust. She motions at one of the chairs tucked against the large table. “Please sit. I’ll make you a poultice for your cheek.” Taking the lantern with her, she walks over to the tall table against the far wall before reaching for a mortar and pestle.

“Why are you offering to help me?” His voice floats behind her with an almost sad curiosity. “Especially when you know what I will have to do one day.”

“But you haven’t done anything yet.”

“Your aide will not sway me.”

“I didn’t say that it would.” She reaches for the lid of a crock, plucking out a small white vegetable and adding it to the mortar before grinding it down. “This is our fourth meeting, and every time now, you talk to me of threats and references to what will happen, but you have yet to actually harm me.”

Splashing a dash of liquid in the bowl, she resumes mashing the paste. With a few more twists of her wrist, she adds a couple shakes of dried herbs and raises the mortar, eyes closing as she draws a breath of the contents. A satisfied smile lights her face as she sets the pestle down, reaching for a strip of muslin cloth that lays close by. “You have not harmed me, and I have not harmed you,” she clarifies as she wraps the paste in the cloth. “Until that balance is disrupted, I see no reason to not treat you favorably.”

“Favorably?” His wry tone takes her by surprise as she turns around, surprised to see him still standing near the doorway. “Is that what you call spraying those powders in my face in our first two meetings?”

A grin cracks her face before she can stop it as she walks over to him. “On both occasions, you threatened to upset that balance, and I acted to maintain it.” She looks up at him – noting his rather tall height – and holds out the poultice. “Please, you should sit.”

“Why?” He arches a suspicious brow, studying the poultice carefully. “Will that render me unable to stand?”

“No, but it is tiresome for my neck to continually look up at you.”

Amusement flashes in his blue eyes. “A bold statement to make to a nobleman.”

“Even to a nobleman who has given me permission to use his Christian name?” She sets the poultice in his hand and glances at his cheek, just able to make out the dark line of blood and inflamed skin. “Hold that to your cheek for a while. It might sting at first, but that should readily fade.”

He looks down to the poultice, as if trying to decide if he should trust it. At length, he walks over to the table, dropping to sit as he tentatively raises the poultice to his cheek.

He grimaces at the damp contact against his skin. “What causes the smell?”

“Wild onion, to reduce swelling. The dampness comes from the juice the onion releases when it’s mashed, and there’s a splash of poppy milk to reduce discomfort.”

His eyes darken as haunted shadows cross his face. “I’m familiar with poppy milk.” He presses the poultice harder against his skin, the line of his jaw tightening.

Her heart clenches the longer she looks at him. “Unpleasant memories?”

He hums softly. “Not for me, personally. But, yes… I’ve seen physicians pour enough poppy milk into a man for them to cut him open and sew him back up without waking.”

“Also from your days on the battlefield?”

“Yes.”

Silence lapses as she watches him retreat into his thoughts. Time and time again, he continues to baffle her. If not to arrest her, then why has he returned today? Why has he waited - even so long as to fall asleep - for her to return? He had looked so strangely lost upon waking, and truthfully, he looks no better now. Even with the firelight catching in his eyes.

His handsome, soulful eyes.

Heat rushes to cheeks as she realizes that she’s staring. “Apologies,” she says softly, shaking her head to gather her thoughts. It should probably alarm her how much she’s let her guard down in his presence. “I’m sure that you didn’t come here to talk about unpleasant memories.” Her stomach growls loudly in the wake of her words, her blush intensifying as he glances up to arch a curious brow. “Forgive me, please,” she tries to keep the embarrassment from her voice. “I have not eaten in some time.”

“No forgiveness needed.” His words sound several tones lighter as she turns for a cabinet along the tall table.

Reaching in for her food stores, she pulls down a cloth-covered bowl and earthen jar. “Given the sunset,” she says before she can think better of it. “I don’t know when you last ate, but if you are hungry, you’re welcome to avail yourself, too. It won’t be anything as grand as what you’re accustomed to, but it is filling.”

Turning back to the table, she dares to meet his gaze as the sounds of the crackling fire in the firebed fill the cottage. He stares up at her, hand fallen from his cheek as his eyes swim with a mix of guilt and astonishment. “First, the poultice and now, the invitation of food.” He shakes his head incredulously. “Do I truly look so forlorn as to warrant this outpouring of charity? I didn’t come here to take so much from you.”

She nearly rolls her eyes as she sets the bowl and jar down in front of him. “It wasn’t your intention to fall asleep outside my door, and now it’s not your intention to accept my hospitality. With all that, it makes me wonder all the more why you are even here. Again.” She takes the cloth cover off the bowl, revealing an assorted collection of mushrooms. Removing the lid of the jar reveals a mix of red berries and brown tree nuts.

The openly curious look on his face nearly tugs a grin to hers as she reaches for a handful of mushrooms. She pops them into her mouth, chewing through their earthy texture as he watches her. If the action appalls him, he shows no sign. Lifting the jar next, she shakes out a handful of berries and nuts.

His soft sigh draws her attention, watching as he licks his lips with the weight of a decision made. “I would imagine… living as you do, that you stay largely unaware of the country’s dealings?”

“You would imagine?” She mumbles around a mouthful. “I keep my ears open during my visits to the village, which happen more frequently than you may think. But I am not completely ignorant of the world beyond, including the king – who passes new bills, and takes a new wife and all authority unto him. If that is what you refer to, I have heard.”

“There is so much more than you know.” His voice comes heavy, his eyes burning with frustrated displeasure. “And it is treasonous to speak against His Majesty or the woman crowned queen.”

She tilts her head around another bite of mushroom. “But as you have previously explained - since I am already a condemned woman, no one will give credence if I claim that the Duke of Suffolk speaks ill of their majesties. In fact, I do believe that you may have spoken ill of her already.”

“Not in so many words.” He lifts his gaze to glance around her cottage. “Out here, you are truly free from prying eyes and listening ears. In court, there’s no escape from it. In every corner, every shadow – you never can be sure a friendly smile isn’t covering a knife to stab you in the back.”

“That sounds demanding. Taxing.”

“Even within my own home. It’s not unheard of for servants to spy on their masters for other masters who pay better. But here… there’s peace here.”

The urge to counter and correct him gnaws at her. She wants to remind him that he only finds peace here because he is still ultimately in charge. He holds all the cards, all the power. Sure, he can sit here and whine about life in court, but he will still return to his cushy bed, plentiful food, and fancy clothes while she continues to scratch her life out of the trees and dirt.

He sighs, though perhaps it’s more of a laugh as he hangs his head with a heavy shake. “There’s peace, and… by God, I must be half-mad. I fell asleep outside your door and accepted your wares for my cheek. And now? The invitation to dine.”

She cuts him with a shrewd look, nudging the bowl of mushrooms forward. “Is that not the Christian way? Did Christ not dine with the men who betrayed him?”

He huffs a laugh, reaching a hand towards the bowl. “Just one man - indeed, Judas was present at the Last Supper. But that is not something that I would have looked to a rumored witch to know.”

The corner of her mouth ticks up as she shakes more berries and nuts into her palm. “And now you sit, accepting said rumored witch’s help and food from her table. So you tell me, how does that sit with your faith, Mr. Charles Brandon?”

He raises his head, reaching a hand out to the bowl and picking out a mushroom. “My faith is too much of a tangle to get into here. But I’ll say this much – while your lightning trick remains a mystery that I intend to solve one day, I personally do not believe that you are a witch. However, so long as the people of my duchy continue to speak of a witch, you will have to be brought to account. But, God help me…” he breaks off with a self-deprecating laugh as he takes a bite of the mushroom. “I trust you.”

Surprised confusion flashes in her eyes as her brow furrows. It’s such a simple, yet odd confession. He trusts her? And he doesn’t believe that she’s a witch? Honestly, she should just take the victory and not question it. But that doesn’t change anything, just as he said. Does he expect her to say it in return? But does… does she trust him?

His soft hum of appreciation distracts from her raging thoughts. “These are tastier than I expected.” His words sound around another mouthful of mushroom, shooting her a deliberately teasing smile. “You’re sure these aren’t poisonous and you’ve just built up a tolerance?”

An uneasy laugh bubbles in her throat, a release of her nerves. “No, they’re perfectly safe.”

“Did you have to eat many bad ones to learn which ones were good?”

“No.” She shakes more berries and nuts from the jar before sliding it over to him. “My father already had that knowledge.”

“Your father? I guess I always assumed that you lived here alone.” He says, accepting the jar to fill his palm. “Where is your father now?”

“Dead.” Her voice holds no remorse as she doesn't hesitate. “Old age wasted his physical person and he no longer wanted to live. He ate a sprig of hemlock one night, and that was the end.”

“And you found him?”

“I did.”

He takes a bite, nuts crushing between his teeth. “And was that when you moved out here?”

“No. We already lived here.”

His head tilts with intrigue. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost as long as I can remember,” she hears herself say, not sure why she’s answering him so readily. Perhaps she trusts him more than she cares to admit. “I have the vaguest memories of a house in Ipswich – of wood paneling and a bright fireplace. But when we moved here, at the time, I was too little to understand why my father had been run out of his teaching post at the university. But the end result was the same – an escape to the woods, a retreat to life based on my father’s knowledge.”

“Where was your mother in all this?”

“Already dead from childbirth, so my father only had me – for companionship, for daughter, for assistant, for apprentice.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“At times.”

He nods, taking another bite of mushroom. “So, it was just you and your father living here. Run out of Ipswich to fend for yourselves. And then, you have lived out here alone ever since he passed away.”

The muscles of her jaw tighten as unpleasant memories flash in her mind, and she reaches for the bowl of mushrooms. “I’ll only say that I tried village life for a time after his death. It did not have a happy ending and I returned here.”

“‘It did not have a happy ending’,” he echoes softly. “That sounds like a failed love.”

“I said that’s all I would say.”

Mischief twinkles in his eyes. “A pity. Broken hearts often have a lot in common.”

“And are you broken-hearted?” The air goes thick as her voice tightens.

“I’m twice widowed, so yes, there’s a measure of heartbreak for each.”

“My condolences,” she says, hating how awkward it sounds. “Belated, as I’m sure they are.”

“Thank you. Mine to you, as well. For your father.”

She gives a sharp shake of her head. “You needn’t waste the words. He took his own life – there’s little mercy that should be afforded for such an act.”

“But surely you must miss him? Even a little.”

Her lips pull to a tight line. She remembers the reed lashings for a ruined powder, bloodied fingers from too many rough plant stems, and the hot stick of his bodily release between her fingers. “In truth, no,” she hears herself say. “The moments of fatherly tenderness were few and far between.”

His face softens as he studies hers and realization dawns. “You were relieved to find him dead.”

She bites her lip, recalling the scorn that she received when she voiced that sentiment in the village. Apparently, it’s wrong to be glad for someone’s death, but her father never bothered to teach her that. “It doesn’t matter,” she dismisses with a shake of her head. “I have since been given to understand that it’s wrong to feel relief and gladness over a death.” Dropping her gaze to the tabletop, she clenches her jaw and awaits his condemnation.

His voice comes slowly, as if he himself is still deciding. “It’s easy… to judge an unconventional upbringing. Just as it’s easy, I suppose, to not regard one’s own upbringing as unconventional when there’s nothing else to compare it to.”

“People are not always kind, including my father. Exposure to the larger world has shown me that now.”

“Well, then,” the grin that lights his face sends a curl of warmth through her belly. “Let us not speak of unkind things while time permits.”

***

He doesn’t know the hour, nor does he care. His riding cloak and cap rest on the table next to him, and the fleeting thoughts he spares for his horse are overruled by the conversation at hand, even by the surprisingly tasty forest fare. While true, it’s hardly the grand spread of gourmet food that he’s accustomed to, he still feels satisfied.

As the darkness of night deepens, he watches the firelight burn low and catch in the green of her eyes. They hold him like a spell - and perhaps he should be more mindful of that implication - but they reveal such a world-weary, guarded intelligence. Perhaps it makes sense given how long she’s lived alone, but her conversational ease strikes him - and it startles him to realize how comfortable he finds himself in her company.

He laughs at her incredulous expression. “If I had a deck of cards, I’d certainly teach you a thing or two.”

Confusion further wrinkles her face. “And what use would I have for a deck of cards?”

“Why, you could make a fair penny! Shed the witch’s skin and become a card player.”

She guffaws with a shake of her head. “A fanciful thought, Mr. Brandon.”

His heart pangs with the desire to hear her call him Charles, but at least she has abandoned his formal title, so he settles for the compromise. It further sharpens how much he misses his wife tenderly whispering his name in the late night hours. But maybe that will come with time.

Goodness, just listen to him. Is he really so desperate for the company of a woman? There are several in court who will eagerly warm his bed should he ask. But that’s not all that he seeks… in fact, for all the time that he’s sat at her table, retiring with Avian to her bed remains a distant thought. A pleasant one, albeit, but he doesn’t see a need to press the matter unless by some chance she offers.

A yawn hinges her jaw as she ducks her head. “We appear to have a full moon tonight,” she says, indicating the ground. “Look just there.”

He glances over his shoulder at the moonlight spilling in through the window. “I’ve generally found moonlight quite bothersome.”

“Surely not?”

“Surely so,” he counters as he turns back to face her. “It clearly betrays your movement to enemies on the battlefield. Shines through pesky cracks in the shutters at night in bed.”

She hums in gentle acknowledgement. “I find it quite peaceful. It’s caught somewhere between the harsh sunlight and the dark of night. Much like the moment right when one falls asleep – not fully awake but not yet asleep.”

His lips lift with a wistful edge. “I don’t find that time peaceful. Too many ghosts.”

“Of your own making?”

He raises a wry brow, unable to believe how she can cut through him. “Some, yes.”

“Then you should make peace with yourself. Maybe, then… sleep will come easier.”

He tilts his head with a self-deprecating grin. “Does guilt work like that?”

Her brow furrows with concern. “The great Duke of Suffolk carries that much guilt?”

“I don’t feel like such a great duke.” His words echo in his ears, and he almost can’t believe it. Maybe he can just blame the late night hour. Surely, there wasn’t anything in the mushrooms loosening his tongue.

Surely.

Her lips lift to a small amused, if reproachful smile. “Forgive me if I don’t pity you.”

“Then how do you take me?” He watches the firelight dance in her eyes and catch in the fall of her hair. Would she protest if he leans across the table and kisses her?

She smiles back at him as if the answer is obvious. “I take you as you are.”

His breath catches on such a simple statement. No pretense, no indignation, no scorn. It’s a reassuring balm that he doesn't even know he needs. His gaze strays to her lips that glow a dusty-pink in the low firelight. Would she rebuke him if he closes the distance? If he learns the shape of her mouth and her wild taste?

He slides a hand across the table just as she stands to her feet, exhaling sharply. “The hour is late.” She says, walking over to the window, moonlight coloring her face. “Your horse doesn’t appear to have run off, though.”

Pulling his hand back, he tries to squash his disappointment. He takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of sleepy weariness roll over him. “No,” he agrees. “I didn’t think that she would run off.”

“How long of a journey home for you?”

“In the dark?” He muses, recalling the distance. “Quite some time, I should think. Wouldn’t want to risk my horse breaking an ankle.”

She hums thoughtfully, crossing her arms against her chest. “You’re welcome to stay here for the night. Unless your horse requires special care.”

A bolt of unbidden arousal shoots through him. The obvious question hovers in his mind and he has to put it to rest. “Is that an invitation to share your bed?”

Her head tilts down, and he can just make out the pinch of her lip between teeth. “You’re welcome to my bed,” she says at last. “But I will not be in it if you accept.”

He forces a hard swallow to curb the sparks igniting his blood. “No. I will not make you sleep on the floor.”

“Then, does… does that mean you will stay?”

God help him. “I’d like to.”

She turns with a delightful blush high on her cheeks. “The pelt in front of the fire should be comfortable enough for you. Though, I can spare a cover for tonight.” She walks over to her bed, pulling at the collection of fur pelts and freeing a dark gray cover. Stepping over to the pelt in front of the fire - much like a rug - she drops the cover for his use and excuses herself outside.

He follows suit when she returns, pushing out into the cool night air to tend to his horse. Once he loosens the saddle straps and rigs a loose harness to a tree, he pauses to relieve himself before going back inside.

He finds her standing at the tall table along the wall, two green leaves in hand. A small pitcher and basin also rest nearby.

She glances up at him sheepishly, holding out the leaf. “I know it’s not your accustomed level of grooming, but a mint leaf for you. Should you wish it.”

He huffs a breath of amusement, first reaching for the pitcher and splashing water on his hands. “I’ll need the benefit of your wisdom to get the most from it.”

Her eyes glitter with a curiously wry, bashful edge. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out easily enough.”

He takes the offered leaf and watches her. With quick, short motions, she rubs the leaf along the surfaces of her teeth before closing it in her mouth to chew and swallow.

He chuckles low in his throat. “You know, I’ve seen different things on the battlefield for grooming, but never this.” Raising his own leaf in a mock-toast, he ducks his head before scrubbing at his own teeth. Pleasingly enough, the minty flavor slowly fills his mouth and while different, it does feel refreshing after he swallows the chewed-up leaf. “That’s a wonderful trick to know.”

She hums in agreement. “It’s only wonderful if you know what wild mint looks like.”

“I imagine that choosing poorly could be quite detrimental.”

“Quite.” Her soft laugh holds his attention as her gaze meets his, and he can’t look away.

Will she balk at him now for a goodnight kiss? Her eyes darken with a delicious edge that he wants to chase as her mouth parts ever so slightly. His fingers itch to trace the swell of her bottom lip, to cup her jaw as his lips shower her with tender appreciation. Every instinct pulls him forward as his breathing quickens, and he reaches out to gently touch her arm.

But by God, how can he? How can he take further advantage of her? Has she ever even kissed a man, let alone laid with one?

The thought douses him like cold water.

His mouth pulls to a tender smile as his thumb sweeps against the fabric of her dress along the curve of her upper arm. “Goodnight, Avian. Thank you for everything.”

A shaky exhale leaves her as her gaze holds his. “Goodnight, Mr. Brandon… Charles.”

He squeezes her arm fondly, unable to stop his smile at hearing his first name. With a gentle nod, he lets go and turns for his makeshift bed by the fireplace. It won’t be the most comfortable night of sleep, but he’s spent nights in worse places and doesn’t hesitate to shuck off his boots.

With a last glance, he watches her blow out the lantern and settle under the bed covers. Only then does she reach a hand out for the fireplace poker to smother the smoldering embers with ash. As darkness descends in her small cottage, he closes his eyes against the smell of smoke and something pleasantly floral on the animal pelt.

#charles brandon #duke of suffolk #the tudors #henry cavill #charles brandon x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors fanfic

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namesetc · 2 years

Text

moth names part 1

because. list source (x)

an / ann - annulet

antler

apple

argent

ash - ashworth

arch / arche - arches

bar - barb - barber - barberry

barred

beau - beauty

belle

belt

bird

blair

blood

blot - blotch / blotche - blotchy

blox - bloxworth

blu / blue / bleu

bord - border

box

bri / bry - bright / brite - brighton

brown

brim - brimstone

brin / bryn - brind - brindle

braud - broad

bee / bea

buff - buffy

bur / burr - burn / byrn / byrne - burnet / burnett / burnette

brass

button

blush

car - carpet

cher / cherr - cheri / cherry

canary

case

chalk

chestnut

chim - chime - chimney

choco - chocolate

cin / cinn - cinna - cinnabar

cis - cist - cistus

clan - clance - clancy

clif - clifden

cloa - cloak

clou - cloud

cream

crims - crimson

cur / curr - currant

clear

clove - clover

dark

death

dec - dece - deca - deco - decem / decemb - december

dew - dewick

dingy

dot / dott

drab

drink - drinker

dusk - dusker - dusky

dag - dagger

ermine

em - emer - emera - ermeral - emerald

eye

earl - early

el / ele / elle - elephant

em - emp - emper - emperor

es / ess / esse - essex

es - est - estu - estua - estuar - estuari - estuarin / estuarine

egg - eggar

for - forest / forrest - forester

fea - feath - feather

fest - festoon

fier - fiery

fire

fish - fisher

five

flame

four

fox - foxglove

frost

goth - gothic - gothica

grey / gray

green

gal - gali - galia - galium

gar - gard / guard - garden - gardenia

ghost

goat

gold

grass

glory

hook

hawk - hawkmoth

heath

honey - honeycomb

haw - haworth

heart

horn - hornet

hum / humm - hummer - humming - hummingbird

jersey

july

knot

ken - kent - kenti - kentish

Lune - Luna - Lunar

leaf

line

lute - lutestring

loop - looper

lack - lackey

lace

lappet

lattice

lead

leo - leopard

lichen

lime

liquor - liquorice

moth - mothy / mothie - mothica

mocha

magpie

maid - maiden

manchester

map

mar - marble

march

mer - merv / merve - merveil / merveille

mint

mist - mistle - mistletoe

mot / mott

narrow

net / nett

north - northern

nov / nove - nova - novem / novemb - november

ora / aura - oran - orange

Pine

per / par - pareil

plume

plus - plusia

pug

pier - pierce - piercer

pearl

quake - quaker

rust - rustic

riv - rivu - rivul - rivulet / rivulette

red

shade

sable

skel - skele - skeleton - skeletonizer

stripe

straw

snout

silver - silverline

sweep - sweeper

swift

spot

speck

shell

swallow

tooth

tree

tail - tails

thor - thorn

tiger

treble

umber

vein

wing

white

wave

wane / wain - wainscot

wax

yellow

#moth names #types of moths #names from #names from moths #name suggestions #read dni #name ideas #name lists #name blog #read my dni #name request #name inspiration #baby names #gender neutral names #fleur speaks

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the-deeds-to-shibden · 2 years

Text

Thursday 23 July 1840

[up at] 4

[to bed at] 10 3/4

very hot in the night but slept well – all quite ready at 5 – the horses lost – no not brought home from the pasture till 5 3/4 therefore wrote the whole of this page so far till now 6 – they brought us more bread and a couple of nice boiled fowls – Ann went to church at 2 a.m. to prayers for 1/2 hour – went into the neat little church on coming away and gave one of the monks for the charity box 1/. silver and on mounting my horse the kelossan (who had got us everything last night) being there gave him an abasse, and off at 6 20/.. Reaumur 19° at 5 a.m. – we seem to go out of this valley nearly due north and then turn (right) to nearly due Southeast – off at 6 20/.. [written on] Sunday 26 July – stop at 6 32/.. for Ann to sketch monastery on square high basement wall our balconies hanging over, and 2 chimneys à la Turque to our room and another rising like steam engine chimneys

on the South side – neat little church – wood beech, hornbeam, oak birch and some elm and Spanish chesnut, and much of the shrub treemallow Ann’s sketch done in 10 minutes – Off again at 6 3/4 – at 7 25/.. fairly at bottom and a few fields of Indian corn – perhaps a 100 yards of selvedge (thalweg) – the valley gradually opened a little – at 8 5/.. turn (left) up steep grassy hill side and at top at 8 1/2 – fine look down upon corny valley we have left – high above the wood (right, and behind us) a wall of hoary calcareous rock – and look down upon wooded corny largeish combe our river Djerootchĭ winding in the bottom and escaping thro’ deep rocky wooded cleft (ecluse) – and 5 minutes afterwards picturesque good lane thro’ Indian corn and vines to village of Starārki – some fencing here and before

(2 stakes tied together and leaning bars on upon another resting their heads between the coupled stakes as in Sweden and Norway[)] – very hot sun now at 7 40/.. a.m. near Satchikéri a Georgian Russian employé (de bureau) arriving from Koutaïs came up with us and rode with George – says 25 monasteries great and small in this district of Satchikhetti – 13 families of Tseritelli live here – prince Grégoire the best off – his house on the plan of that at Oni but rather larger? looks very handsome on the hill-side – a brother or 2 live a little distant – arrived just below the house and took shelter from the sun under the verandah of the cowhouse at 9 1/2 – sent the Cossack and Adam with the paper – the prince receives us – Ann had begun sketching the fine old ruin of castle on ridge of rock high above us a little distant to the right – at 9 3/4 sent compliments to say we would go to the castle – about an hour away, and then go chez le prince – left Ann sketching and set off with our Jew guide Elia Danielitch – difficult road – not up at the castle till 10 1/2 – enter East – a square tower at each corner in both apparently the same size enter at the north corner along narrow corniche of rock to the tower, projecting and low (about 5 feet x 3 feet) door in the projection fronting the South – tower and court full of the prince’s goats and goatherd with them – court 20 x 15 yards – old koupchines, immense red pot amphorae buried up to the top in the ground of the court – round stone well (i.e. cut in the rock) about 2 feet diameter communicating with a great rain water reservoir below the surface of court (also cut in the rock) said the man – the court is divided off from the narrowing part behind it by a line building continuing South side a more modern building – in the middle a little 5 feet wide vaulted church and north side little square tower kitchen 4 x 3 yards suppose it to have been the kitchen from the sunken oven – the more modern building seems to have had 4 (about 3 feet 6 inches x 2 feet 6 inches?) windows looking South down into the fine valley, and to have been about 7 x 5 yards inside – the part behind these buildings soon narrows off to a mere passage of about 5 feet wide between the 2 walls (all that the breadth of the ridge of rock would allow) leading to a little square tower occupying the whole end of this singularly picturesque hoary calcareous rock – the door into this tower being à la Teutone, I did not get in – George scrambled along one of the outside walls and got into it – stone vaulted ceiling and straight staircase to chamber above but des immondices that he did not go up – the entrance tower measured inside by the breadth of a breadth of my pelisse = 40 inches is 5 x 40 + 6 inches = 17 feet 2 inches and 4 x 40 + 6 inches = 13 feet 10 inches i.e. entrance tower 17 feet 2 inches x 13 feet 10 inches they say it is not many years since this krepost was abandoned by the Russians – the prince Grégoire Tsiretelli has 3 brother one bishop at our monastery but now at his country house another a colonel in the Russian service – the rez de chaussée of the entrance tower is ceilinged in stone (boulder and irregular stone well grouted) with evident traces of this having been faced with boards – the ceiling chevron wise

as at Rêbi i.e. Ghebi – left this interesting old castle at 12 10/.. – Ann and I walked down, leaving the horses to the men to get down as they could, and walked to the hall – passed along the piscina, well stocked with fish – fountain with run of fresh water (about an inch bore pipe at moderate pressure) constantly running height from far – the prince received us very graciously – a remarkably fine man between 40 and 50 – the tallest I ever saw? apologized for the princess – not well – we found on the table some slices of medium thin cake, and a cold boiled fish (perch or carp?) from the piscina, and slices of horse-radish? very pungent – and liqueur and wine, and lemon and sugar and cold water in a moscow silver very pretty antique shaped pitcher

– we made lemonade – another lemon was ordered – we used that too, and enjoyed our breakfast exceedingly then came poulet soup excellent and then poulet (I use the word poulet to mean between chicken and fowl) – we declined ham – I was so thirsty, I drank besides the lemonade several glasses of weak wine and water and then feeling sleepy, our host left us (at 1 10/..) and I threw myself on one of the 2 divans, and slept till 2 10/.. much refreshed – very hot – then till 3 20/.. looked over his books – (we were in his room[)] – very good of him to give it up to us – the house not finished – the upper story of the 2, the one inhabited – this not quite finished and the rez de chaussée probably still less – among the books Typographia Tiflis. 1819. Russian and Georgian vocabulary

Telemachus manuscript Georgian written by prince Grégoire himself small folio with small quarto line engravings – by ‘C[hristian]. A[lbrecht]. Wortmann sculp[tor]. Petropolis. 1763’

Curious small folio line engraving (with explanatory text in Latin) history of our saviour ‘Hieronymus Wierx sculp[tor]’ no date – the 1st engraving is the Annunciation – the archangel Gabriel holds a turncap lily in left hand – always 5 petals – why this lily?

at 3 20/.. went into the open salon – prince Grégoire there – very intelligent – sent for George again to interpret – advises us by all means to see the monastery of . . . . cut out of the rock – steps cut in the rock lead up to it – the only think of the kind in the country – would not be much out of our way –

versts

Satchikhéri to the monastery of Djirōotchi 15

Monastery of Djirootchi to Oni . 40

should not go from Satchikhéri to the source of the Kvirila 60 versts but from Oni along the Djedjora 40 versts we were within 20 versts of the source (a lake with swampy ground about it – no snow mountains in sight) where we turned (left) to the iron mine – the road from Satchikhéri to the source of the Kvirila is (beginning at no great distance from here) impracticable for horses – I see there is a long narrow gorge (an ecluse) to pass along, which must be very fine – Satchikhéri to Sarapana 55 versts we could go in 2 days very well –

Sarapana to Koutaïs 44 versts

Satchikhéri to Koutaïs by Katsree and Tchārĭ 80

Satchikhéri to Koutaïs by Khotevi and Kreiti 100+

200 houses in the valley of Satchikhéri – the soil very rich but the people dont know what to do with it – the whole property (the land) divided into 8 – eight Tseritelli are the princes, seigneurs, owners of the district – the Russian chef of the district is at Sarapana an old Greek settlement – prince Grégoire Tseritelli 3 1/2 archines high or 2 1/2 breadths of pelisse + 1 inch = 40 inches x 2 1/2 + 1 inch = 101 inch = 8 feet 5 inches I do not reach with my casquette on, quite to his shoulder – the emperor is only 3 archines high – admitted into the princesses room about 5 and had tea in glasses with slices of lemon – she a large fine-looking person – in bed with a dark blue (calico or linen?) chemise on – ill depuis un mois – maladie de femme – blood flowing to the head – could not sit up even in bed long – sister to prince Dadian père therefore aunt-in-law to our young princess Dadian and Dadian père married the sister of prince Grégoire so that the old princess Dadian lately dead, of whom Dubois speaks, was sister to our prince here – he says she was as tall nearly as himself and more like a man than a woman – Dubois was at Satchikéri and spent one night at prince Grégoire’s but he did not speak of him as if he had been particularly taken with him – from the prince’s manner I should judge the contrary and it is odd that Dubois does not mention having been at Satchekèri – prince Grégoire engaged – had something to do for government – and the princess ill, or would have gone with us everywhere – sent a man with us and we took George and Ann and I out at 6 – George’s uncle Shutka, tambour major at St. Petersburg, 1/4 arshine = 7 inches taller than prince Grégoire –

fine broad open rich valley – the finest (largest, widest) says prince Grégoire in the Caucasus, and next the Ratchas – piscine 16 yards x 4 – fish breed here – none put in unless when very young – fed once or twice a day – about 6 a.m. and in the evening, cela depend, on bread and Indian corn – a large piece of table-rock in the middle on which the fish are fed – they are called together by the bell-ringing (a little bell hung at one side of the place) – the piscine covered over with long thin board roofing like the houses – lowish roof – 6 or 7 feet+ or 8 feet to the square and good flagged way all round – nice cool little walk – castle calcareous Rock white and chalky at bottom as shewn by an open [?] down place (a chalky scar) and compact limestone hard rock of which the castle is built – 6 years since house was begun here – built by men from Trebizond – the house at Oni to be soon finished by the same – the prince goes there in a fortnight – between here in winter and Oni in spring and summer – Hotter here in summer? Ann sketched from 6 20/.. to 6 3/4 – then walked thro’ the bazaar i.e. the main street of the village – one or 2 little shops where printed calico handkerchiefs etc. to be sold – several shops shut – rather too late – picturesque scattered village – all the 6 or 7 good houses we see are inhabited by Tseritelli – on returning went into the prince’s little wood church, near the house – he is very pious – has a private chaplain, and goes to matins and vespers regularly every morning and evening – the princess, too, very pious, and attends prayers as regularly when well – home about 8, and sat talking to the prince till 8 3/.. in the open salon (Hèïvān) – must go to Elbrous from Gori – 40 or 50 versts from there – good road can go in a teleaga – Reaumur 23 1/2° and Fahrenheit 85° now at 9 50/.. p.m. in our room – supper (alone) from 9 8/.. to 9 50/.. poulet soup again and poulet and salted and fresh cucumbers and apples as at breakfast – then 3/4 hour catching fleas – their running about one is as bad as the biting – very fine day – did not undress – only took my pelisse off –

Anne’s marginal notes:

Satchikéri

Satchĭkhē’ri castle or krepost Mōdĕnākĭ (Mōd-dĕn-nāh-khĭ)

prince Grégoire Tseritelli 8 feet 5 inches high!

George’s uncle 9 feet high!!

Hèïvan

Elbrous.

WYAS pages: SH:7/ML/E/24/0161 SH:7/ML/E/24/0162 SH:7/ML/E/24/0163

#anne lister #ann walker #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #diary1840unannotated #russianempire1840 #georgia1840

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rosesarereds-posts · 1 year

Text

"The Glass Essay" by Anne Carson.

I can hear little clicks inside my dream.

Night drips its silver tap

down the back.

At 4 A.M. I wake. Thinking

of the man who

left in September.

His name was Law.

My face in the bathroom mirror

has white streaks down it.

I rinse the face and return to bed.

Tomorrow I am going to visit my mother.

She lives on a moor in the north.

She lives alone.

Spring opens like a blade there.

I travel all day on trains and bring a lot of books—

some for my mother, some for me

including The Collected Works Of Emily Brontë.

This is my favourite author.

Also my main fear, which I mean

to confront.

I am reading her diary in her kitchen.

Honey-colored air surrounds me

and the windows of her house

are open to a green field.

I can smell the bushes near the shoreline where

the large peonies are out.

Her rotting shingles falling

on the grass are a kind of perfection,

as this ivy on the chimney.

Also a sunken pear tree

out by the moor lane, and the whole

nature shrine ablaze with foxgloves.

She is walking back and forth,

up and down, as though

questioning the very floor.

Who is it now?

Who is it?

weeps my mother,

circling the dining table.

Who has come back to us?

Who?

III

The night is darkening round me,

the wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

and I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

their bare boughs weighed with snow.

And the storm is fast descending,

and yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

wastes beyond wastes below;

but nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.

It is a glass of water

steady on the bedside table:

the fragile kind, that is

and transparent the way only

inanimate objects are.

I taste its coolness, and in this kind of heat

my pleasure is guilty.

Two years ago I was in Newfoundland

for Christmas. It was cold.

My sister-in-law lives there.

She is the one

who said "You have to go on living,

you can't kill yourself

just because you can't get a man."

She said that.

I met a man once

and loved him.

He loved me not.

It was terrible.

VII

I have been thinking

about the changeable

and fickle nature

of love.

I have been thinking

about the moment

when you first realize

that love is not enough.

VIII

I remember

a little

the way

my mother

would kneel

on the floor

in front of

the tall

wooden radio

and tunefully

transform

the pain

in her voice

into a rich

and moving

sensation.

The radio

was a temple

and she

was the priestess

who nightly

entered

the world

of the unseen.

I am in a glass case

emotionally.

Looking out.

Lately the only thing

that interests me

is the possibility

of finding

a new way

to say things.

In the dream

I am sitting

at my father's table

and my father is sitting

at his table

and Law is sitting

at his table

and we are all

having a meal together.

It is a Sunday

afternoon.

It is a meal

I have prepared

for the three of us.

But Law is angry

and starts shouting at me

about my cooking.

He is so angry

he begins to knock dishes

off the table one by one.

I try to ignore him

and keep eating

but he begins

to throw things

at me.

I stand up

to get away from him

and when I do

he throws the table

at me.

I am under the table

looking at his feet

and the table is pressing

on my head.

He is standing there

with his fists

clenched and I know

he is going to kill me.

I woke up

and went to the window.

A bus was passing.

The sky cleared

and I saw the moon.

XII

I am a glass

person.

I am a glass

person.

I am a glass person.

XIII

In the dream

I am a girl

with a glass eye.

I look out

the peephole

and see

the world

as a chamber

of empty

space.

I am afraid

to go out

for fear

of falling

into that space.

XIV

In the dream

I am walking

with my father

and he is talking

about the history

of fish.

He says

they have been here

for millions of years

and that we

know very little

about them.

I think of you

and feel sad.

I am writing

this in a place

where I can see

the sea.

It is winter

and it is night.

I am alone.

I have never

been so alone

in my life.

XVI

I am a glass

person.

I am a glass

person.

I am a glass

person.

#jonafer #jonafer creative nonfiction #lyric essay

1 note · View note

whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

1836 Oct[obe]r Thurs[day] 20

7 1/2

No kiss ver[y] fine sunny frosty morn[in]g F[ahrenheit] 48° at 8 20/.. a.m. out w[i]th Rob[er]t Mann + 3

sink[in]g lower[in]g the gr[ou]nd 2ft. in fr[on]t of the h[ou]se and w[i]th Ingh[a]m + 2 men and a boy at the dry wall arch[in]g – and h[a]d Mr. Husb[an]d

ab[ou]t the latt[e]r etc. etc. till br[eak]f[a]st at 8 55/.. - A- [Ann] r[ea]d Fr[en]ch - out ag[ai]n at 10 till ca[me] in

to A- [Ann] for 1/2 h[ou]r at 1 - (she rode to Cliff Hill at 2 1/2 b[a]ck at 4 1/2) - and then out fr[om] 1 1/2 to 6 1/4 –

Rob[er]t Schof[iel]d and his man Jos[e]ph Sharpe (as for the last few days) at the Lodge r[oa]d in the wood – wall[in]g

foundat[io]n wall und[e]r the bank to rubble ag[ain]st and today shovell[in]g the mud of the r[oa]d, so cut up

Frank c[ou]ld n[o]t get al[on]g it w[i]th sods etc oblig[e]d to go r[ou]nd to the Lodge and cart the st[one] the gard[ene]r

want[e]d for rough wall[in]g (fr[om] the bridge to near[e]r the Lodge) - Frank br[ou]ght 2 doz[en] of lime this morn[in]g

1 doz[en] for the masons - 1 d[itt]o for grout[in]g ov[e]r the top of the dry wall arches – Ja[me]s the mason at the

Drab r[oo]m chimney all the day till as long as he c[oul]d see this aft[ernoo]n then help[e]d Ab[raha]m w[i]th the ash pl[a]ce etc in the

new court - Booth and Amos and Jos[e]ph Sharpe g[o]t 2 large plinth st[one] set this morn[in]g on the

west tower - Amos und[er]foot[e]d the s[ou]th parlour front wall this aft[ernoo]n - the gr[ea]t king post at

the west front corner ga[ve] way ab[ou]t the 8th of an inch – chief[l]y w[i]th the gard[ene]r at the

Lodge r[oa]d (Hemingway and his boy n[o]t there today) fr[om] 1 1/2 to 3 1/4 - off w[i]th Mr. Husb[an]d at

3 20/.. p.m. to the Stump X Inn to see ab[ou]t his plan for Mawson’s new stabl[in]g etc.

ord[ere]d – est[a]te £300 includ[in]g the mater[ia]ls of the Staups old barn – Longbott[o]m wants

a cot[tage] in his gard[e]n - told Mr. Husb[an]d to plan a pict[uresque] one - to be done for ab[ou]t £30

consid[erin]g the old mater[ia]ls I ha[ve] at one pl[a]ce or oth[e]r - then w[e]nt to Spa-h[ou]se wood, and

point[e]d out to H- [Husband] four larches for A-‘s [Ann] gates for upper Hagstocks - the 4 trees

to be br[ou]ght here and cut up int[o] gate-stuff here – ho[me] at 4 1/2 - and then a lit[tle] whi[le] w[i]th

the gard[ene]r, and ab[ou]t ho[me], and had Jos[e]ph Mann - has g[o]t the Lit[tle] marsh quarry-hole d[o]wn

18ft. deep - 5ft.+ good cutt[in]g - then a lit[tle] shale or scale then ab[ou]t 2ft.+ mo[re] of good st[one]

and then wat[e]r – ord[ere]d him to bore 2 y[ar]ds to see if we sh[oul]d then co[me] to scale ag[ai]n or stuff

easy to dri[ve] in so as to drain off the wat[e]r - the gr[ou]nd in front of the h[ou]se low[ere]d 2ft.

to bey[on]d the ent[ran]ce door - (as board as to the door int[o] the court) and 4 steps put up temp[orar]y

fr[om] the porch int[o] the gard[e]n – din[ner] at 6 35/.. - just bef[ore] A- [Ann] h[a]d ------ Hebblethwaite who

sign[e]d his agreem[en]t for the wool-comb[in]g cot[tage] at Lower Hagstocks - in go[in]g past Staups this

aft[ernoo]n saw Riley work[in]g in his garden on the hill side - the bit tak[e]n in – belong[in]g to Sam[uel] Holdsw[or]th

and offer[e]d to me for purchase thro’ W[illia]m Keighley - told Riley to settle the th[in]g w[i]th SH- [Samuel Holdsworth]

one way or oth[e]r - I w[oul]d gi[ve] wh[a]t w[a]s reasonab[le] – din[ner] at 6 35/.. – coff[ee] upst[ai]rs – look[in]g

ov[e]r map of the Austr[ia]n domin[ion]s - A- [Ann] r[ea]d her Fr[en]ch - I half asleep on the sofa - for 1/4 h[ou]r

+ till 9 3/4 then wr[ote] all the ab[ov]e of today till 10 1/4 p.m. at w[hi]ch h[ou]r F[ahrenheit] 46° ver[y] fine day –

sat read[in]g tonight’s pap[e]r till 10 50/.. p.m. - Just bef[ore] din[ner] A- [Ann] h[a]d Hinton and G. Storey the

currier the latt[e]r sign[e]d his agreem[en]t for the Hatters st[ree]t cot[tage] -

new stabl[in]g at the Stump X Inn

Quarry hole

Hatters’ st[ree]t cot[tage]

0 notes

daily911 · 3 years

Photo

You’re family.

Image ID: gifset of a scene from 911, Season 2 Episode 12: Chimney Begins

gif 1: Anne says, “Your dad is a jackass.” She catches her self and apologetically says, “I’m sorry. I should be calling him names.”

gif 2: Chimney shakes his head and says, “No, no, no, no, no. I like where this is going. Please continue.”

gif 3: Anne responds, “Your mother, your mother was so vibrant. So full of joy. I just never understood how she ended up married to such a colorless man.”

gif 4: Chimney purses his lips and nods slightly but doesn’t say anything.

gif 5: Finally, he looks down and says, “I miss her.”

gif 6: Anne looks towards Chimney and says, “So do I. She was my best friend.”

gif 7: Chimney responds says, “If you and Mr. Lee hadn’t taken pity on me after she died...”

gif 8: Anne responds, “It wasn’t pity. We took you in because we love you, Howie. You’re family.” Chimney stares at her.

gif 9: Chimney, with tears in his eyes, smiles and says, “Then that’s all I need.”

gif 10: Chimney talks towards Anne, who is extending her arms, and they hug.

726 notes · View notes

beautifulbizarremagazine · 3 years

Photo

Amazing work by Mary Jane Ansell, "Eventide" [Oil on Aluminium Panel, 12" x 12"] for our upcoming exhibition 'Animalia' at Haven Gallery - Opens this Saturday!The opening reception at Haven Gallery will be open to the public, all are welcome!

Exhibition Dates: October 23rd – November 28th, 2021Opening Reception: Saturday, October 23, 5 - 7pmAt: Haven Gallery90 Main St, Northport, NY 11768, United States

To receive the Collectors Preview please email Erica on [email protected]

Participating artists including the Winners of the 2021 Beautiful Bizarre Art Prize: Adam Alaniz, Alessandra Pisano, Alex Louisa, Alpay Efe, Amahi Mori, Andi Soto, Annie Montgomerie, Bella Kotak, Bill Mayer, Brad Woodfin, Brian Mashburn, Brian Viveros, Brittany, Brodie Colbourne, Caia Koopman, Crystal Morey, David Rice, DD-Anne, Dewi Plass, DULK, Ed Binkley, El Gato Chimney, Elizabeth Wakou, Ellen Jewett, Erika Sanada, Ewa Prończuk-Kuziak, Forest Rogers, Gail Potocki, Hope Doe, Howard Lyon, Ian Francis, Jisu, Jana Brike, Jason Mowry, Jesus Inglés, Jon Ching, Joseph Weinreb, Julio Reyes, Kate MacDowell, Kelsey Bowen, Kevin Peterson, Kevin Sloan, Kim Slate, Koh KiSung, Kris Lewis, Kristin Kwan, Kristine & Colin Poole, Kseniia Boko, Laura Colors, Lavely Miller, Lesley Thiel, Lindsey Carr, Lucia Heffernan, Lucy Havard, Madeline von Foerster, Margo Selski, Mary Jane Ansell, Mathieu Nozieres, Matt Dangler, Michael Bergt, Miho Hirano, Naoto Hattori, Nicole Evans, ONEQ, Phillip Singer, Rachael Bridge, Richard Ahnert, Roland Mikhail, Rose Freymuth-Frazier, Ross Jaylo, Ruth Speer, Sana Yoshida, Scott Brooks, Scott Musgrove, Scott Radke, Stephanie Law, Steven Kenny, Sui Yumeshima, Susan McDonnell, Susannah Martin, Thomas Ascott, Tina Yu, Tran Nguyen, Travis Louie, Vanessa Foley, Victor Grasso...#beautifulbizarre #artexhibition #artinfo #newcontemporary #art #havengallery #bbanimalia #newyorkart #artforsale #artcollector #maryjaneansell #oils #oilpainting #figurativepainting #portraitpainting #realismart #redhead

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ellsworth-kelly · 2 years

Photo

Smoke from Chimneys, Automatic Drawing from Rue de Blainville, Ellsworth Kelly, 1950, MoMA: Drawings and Prints

Gift of Sarah-Ann and Werner H. Kramarsky Size: 19 5/8 x 25 1/2" (49.8 x 64.8 cm) Medium: Pencil on paper

http://www.moma.org/collection/works/160131

#museumarchive #museumofmodernart #ellsworthkelly

8 notes · View notes

sp00kworm · 4 years

Text

A Den of Iniquity (Part 5)

Pairing: Dracula/Count Dracula/Vlad Tepes x Female Reader

Warnings: Death, Murder, Blood, Gore, Injuries, Violence, Vomiting and Adult content.

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

---

Anne’s ability to remain sober was yet to be seen. Dracula felt amusement ripple through him as his shadowed fingers moved along the walls of her basement home once again. She was asleep in front of her sofa, sleeping off the night shift she had just finished. The sun wasn’t up yet this late into the winter, and so, Dracula’s powers were not weakened by the threat of the sunrise. His smoke curled from the shadows, rippling in a wave down the walls, collecting on the floor like a pool of liquid nitrogen, cold and churning. The vampire’s form took shape within the rippling cloud before he reached within to produce the Van Helsing’s family book. The cracked leather back contacted the coffee table with a dull thump and Dracula turned his red eyes on the sleeping form of Anne. She didn’t stir. The vampire opened the book to the front page as he reformed into a human shape, his gloved fingers peeling free a page of her notebook silently. Dracula took her pen from the table and penned out a message in old cursive just to spite the woman’s eyesight.

‘Perhaps we can talk about the mysteries of the darkness once more in the morgue? This evening.’

With a curl to the end of his name, the vampire tucked the note inside the front cover and closed the book carefully, admiring the old cursive of Abraham’s writing as he made sure to place it in front of her. The vampire snatched the whiskey from her hand and replaced the lid before moving to tuck it away in her cabinet once more. He paused as he peered inside at the three other bottles. He looked at the label of the bottle in his hand, contemplative of such a desire to drink, before he replaced it in her cupboard and left in a rush of cold mist, trickling from her window over the small garden and out into the night once more.

Anne woke up with a start. Her neck burned with agony from being laid against her armchair, her head pressed back against the side of the headrest. With a groan, she raised her head and clutched at the back of her neck, trying to rub some blood flow back into the region. The sunlight was harsh against her eyes. She’d forgotten to close the curtains again when she got home. Anne looked at the window, glaring at the sunshine as she untucked herself from the armchair and glanced at the heavy, coffee table in front of her. Her blue eyes widened with disbelief as she gazed at the leather cover of her family’s Vampirology book. It was laid beside her empty whiskey tumbler. In a rush, she grasped the book from the table and cracked open the cover. A piece of paper skittered free, flopping onto the side of the armchair. Anne scowled as she plucked the paper from the armrest. Vladimir. That damn Vampire had been in her home once more. She read the cursive and scoffed before angrily slamming her book down onto the coffee table.

“That fucking vampire.” She ran her fingers through her hair, huffing and puffing to herself as she stormed over to the window and looked though. It was open. She slammed the window shut before balling Dracula’s note into a small ball and throwing it at her desk in the corner of the lounge. With a growl she kicked the armchair before taking a deep breath and picking up the balled-up note and rereading it. On the back there was a carefully written date and time.

It wasn’t like she had much of a choice. The King of Vampires knew where she lived anyway.

The packets of cigarettes weren’t really a good substitute for the drinking, Anne figured out as she stood on top of the hospital roof, by the huge incineration chimneys. The incinerators were not burning, so she was free to smoke up on the roof for a while.

A rush of wind made her shudder before a smooth voice spoke behind her, “It is a beautiful night.” Dracula purred from above her. She pushed away from the wall and took a long drag of her cigarette as she looked up at the vampire who hung from the bar fixings of a satellite on the roof. A creature wrapped in its own wings morphed into the shape of a man, covered in a dark coat. He flopped from the bar yet landed like a predator, gracefully on his feet, his black coat hiding his form, wrapped around him tightly. Anne tapped the end of her cigarette, flicking ash onto the floor as she watched the monster walk across the roof, his heeled shoes silent against the concrete.

“Maybe for beasts like you. I’m fucking cold.” She took another drag of her cigarette and ignored the vampire as he loomed over her, stood inches from her back.

Dracula grinned with fangs, “Those sticks will kill you, hunter.” His voice curled in her ears like a dark promise.

“I’ll be dead with the liver cirrhosis first.” Anne stubbed the end out against the bricks before she dropped the end into the wall mounted ashtray, “What do you want, Dracula? Weren’t we meant to meet in the morgue?”

Anne turned around into his chest and scowled at the closeness, looking up at his human face with distaste. A pale face was framed with dark hair which twisted with a mind of its own. His eyes were human-like, the dark brown almost black as he rubbed at the pointed facial hair on his jaw. The vampire’s hands stretched out between the two of them, and his fingers uncurled to reveal a single glass vial.

“Your blood?” Anne looked at the vial suspiciously, “What do you want me to do with it?”

Dracula’s other hand disappeared behind his own back before Anne gasped. A smoky hand revealed itself, her blade clutched in his hand. The vampire grinned with a hiss, mocking her as he tossed the weapon behind himself.

“Do what you want with it. Try and find a way to kill me. Seek cures for your diseases or simply drink it. I care not.” He hissed at the sight of her crucifix and flicked a finger, watching the silver melt from her neck before he continued, “Consider it a payment in blood for your…help.” He drawled the word before dropping the vial into Anne’s outstretched hand, “May its mysteries unravel swiftly, Doctor.”

She wasn’t fooled. Dracula wasn’t an idiot. He wanted her to have his blood for a reason.

“You’re a creature of lies, Dracula. I’m not an idiot. I know when I am being made fun of.” Anne eyed the blade behind his imposing figure, “You must know, that after six hundred years, there is no return from the damnation of death you have chosen?”

Dracula looked at her, his eyes bleeding to red as the wind whipped at both of them, “The blood is the life.” He offered before he stepped back towards the shadows, his body melting into them as he flashed white fangs, “Perhaps you can find the answers of that life?” He laughed as he disappeared, not a trace of his red eyes or white teeth left in the shadows of the hospital as Anne rushed for her blessed blade.

The vial of blood was cold in her hand and she looked at the label with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. His office number was penned over the sticky note.

The vampire watched the moon as he soared over the London rooftops, contemplating the foolishness of his own actions. Perhaps, he had just handed the key to his demise to a Van Helsing. The last descendant of the line. The last one that could kill him. There was a secret in his own condition. What he was could not be changed, he was too steeped in blood for that, but perhaps he could find the key to saving someone? Death wanted you. It wanted your life, but your soul would be damned, slipping through his fingers to hell if he did not act before the creature sought to take you. To condemn a person to darkness was for them to never be the same. A walking corpse and a shell of a person, filled with the desire to drink, sin and kill. He remembered, vividly, the feeling of your spectre on top of him and wondered if that was the future as he opened his wings and swooped down towards St.Paul’s Cathedral. His claws gripped at the tip of the spire on top of the dome. The night was loud beneath the building, taxis beeping still in the streets below. Humans never did truly rest anymore. Dracula peered at the stars with hellish eyes and watched the clouds roll over them, a cold fog dripping over the buildings around him from the drop in temperature.

Dogs barked as he soared away from the cathedral, his wings spread as he caught the frigid wind and climbed higher over the city, gazing down at the orange streetlamps glittering below. It was a beautiful place, full of life even at a late hour. He compared his previous knowledge about London to its current state and purred at the delightful tastes of the humans scuttling below. People from all walks of life. Thinking of the taste of blood made him hunger for it and the vampire circled slowly towards the night time clubbing scene as he thought on the words of Death. Her death. As he landed, he felt his wings fall back into a coat and looked at the entrance to one of the rock bars. A man was outside in the fresh air of the side alley, looking up at the sky. His arms were covered in gooseflesh as she shivered in the cold of the November air, his vest clearly not the correct choice for the weather. Dracula watched from the streetlamp as he pulled his phone from his pocket and began typing something on it. The vampire walked across the road, his dark eyes flashing as he turned his influence on the man, churning his thoughts with desires he never knew he had until the darkness played with them. The man turned his head and opened his mouth as he looked at the vampire walking towards him.

Dracula peered down at the young man, “Good evening.” Hypnotism clouded the man’s eyes as he reached to brush a finger over his cheek, nail dragging against the skin.

“Your place or mine?” He asked as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

The vampire pressed him against the alley and covered his eyes before feeling the heaviness of hunger in his gut and the sharpness of his own teeth, “Here is fine.” He muttered as he exposed the man’s neck, holding his legs open so it would appear like a tryst in the alleyway if anyone were to walk past. His gloved hand muffled the scream that escaped the man as he bit into his neck, hard and deep. Blood spurted over his tongue as he lapped at the wounds, sucking harshly before it started to flow by itself, the artery spurting violently from the damage of his teeth. His stomach ached with fullness as he tore himself away and licked at the wounds, looking at the puckered flesh as he cleaned the neck completely clean. Dracula took his scarf from his own neck and wrapped it around the man’s shoulders and neck, hiding the damage as he tucked him close to the alley entrance and slipped into the shadows once more.

“You will remember nothing of this. Go home. Sleep.”

A moment later, the man awoke with a groan, clasping his neck and head in pain before he shivered and pulled the shawl of the scarf tighter around himself, hailing a taxi from the side of the road. The vampire licked blood from his chin as he turned down a side road, the feed not helping to clear his mind any.

“I’ll be home tomorrow morning, Drac. Sue said she’d come in and check in on you early and I filled your bowls.” You looked at your cat and sighed. He was sulking, tucked up on top of the cupboards again out of the way, “Be good!” You tugged his tail and dodged his paw before you picked up your overnight bag and headed towards your door. You locked it and tugged the handle before descending the stairs and heading towards the pavement. There, parked up on the curb, was a slick black car. The tinted glass slid down smoothly, and Vladimir poked his head out of the car, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose as he smiled at your approach.

“Somehow I’m not surprised by the BMW.” You joked as you looked at him through the window. He was dressed in a heavy turtleneck jumper, his hair tied back with tight jeans ironed to perfection. Vlad open the door of the driver’s seat and shuddered in the cold.

“It was more money than I expected to pay.” He opened the back of the car with a press of a button and huffed, “I think the dealer got most of what I paid.”

“Imagine that being your only concern.” You laughed and rolled your eyes, “It is a gorgeous car.” You complimented as you put your bag in the back and walked around to the passenger seat. Vladimir made no move to open you the door but simply climbed back inside and pushed the stick into gear as you clipped your belt into place.

“Let us go, then. I have a few things for us to do.” He pulled away from your home and shop with a spin of the wheel.

“Does that list include the movies you promised?” You glanced around at the interior of the car.

“But of course!”

His home was as grand as ever, though devoid of any extra staff this time. You looked at the wood to carpet floors and sighed. It was a dream home. You looked at the curtains and rugs and smile at the change from red to purple.

“Did you get new curtains because of me?” You asked as you pulled your coat free and felt your hair. It was raining outside, in a typical November fashion, and you made sure to hang your coat a little closer to the radiator on the stand, so it would dry and not smell too musty from the rainwater.

Vladimir tugged at his jumper and decided it was dry enough to not change before he replied, “I might have changed them. I decided royal purple was more fit for a woman of your stature, madame.” He dipped to take your hand, kissing it like a prince before he laughed joyously and twirled you under his arm.

You were a little overwhelmed with the treatment and blushed at the attention as Vladimir spun you towards the stairs.

“You can put your bag in the guest bedroom.” Vladimir pointed to the top of the stairs and turned his finger to the right, “It is the door to the right of the bathroom. Second door on the right.”

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled and took your bag handles in your hand before climbing the stairs to deposit your things in the guest bedroom.

It smelt of fresh roses. Fresh Tudor roses sat in a vase on the vanity by the window. The soft scent wafted across the fresh bedding and permeated from the curtains that were drawn over the window. It was dark now outside, the winter making the days incredibly short. With another inhale of the fresh smell, you placed your bag on the bed and smiled around at the décor. It was all expensive. Real wood and shined wax surfaces with rich coloured walls. There was even a canopy bed. You pulled the ties from the sheer curtains and watched them fall with a grin. It was a room fit for a princess. You took your toiletry bag from your satchel and walked to the vanity. It was cleaned and lined with intricate glass bottles, made for expensive oil-based perfumes. The toiletries in your bag paled in comparison to how much the Egyptian glass bottles must have cost Vladimir. The stopper was hard to pull out but when it popped free you hummed at the smell of the Myrrh based perfume. You looked at the oil inside and frowned as the liquid dripped up to the edge of the bottle. A drop of oil clung to the corner and you pressed your finger to it before dabbing it against your neck. Another drop followed it. It dripped, floating upwards before dropping back into the bottle as though it had never defied gravity. You took the stopper and tapped it back into the bottle before dabbing the oil on your neck, a dot behind each ear and one on each wrist. It was a heavy smell. A light scent of cinnamon mixed in with cardamom behind a heavy base of Myrrh.

Vladimir was sprawled out on a large sofa in the lounge, his feet up on a stool and his fingers playing with the buttons of his remote control for the television. You smiled as you entered the room, playing with the corner of your top before you sat in the spare seat next to him, tucking your feet under yourself as you looked at the television. He’d been passing the time with dramas, though his phone on the cushions told you he hadn’t been bothered for actually watching what was playing. Vladimir held his arm up off the cushions and curled the fingers of his other hand. For a moment, you were apprehensive, but you were quickly swayed by the idea of a hug, and scooted along the cushions before letting Vladimir tug you close, hugging you to his side as he offered you the television remote.

“Guest’s choice first, my dear.” Vladimir let you take the remote and ran his fingers over your hair before lowering his nose beneath your chin, “Did you use a perfume?” He asked as he tucked cold fingers under your chin, swiping it over your skin before sniffing at the smell on his hands, “Myrrh is expensive. A good choice.”

Embarrassment coloured your skin, “It smelt nice so I…”

“I’m not mad. They are made for using.” Vladimir cooed before he watched you open the various streaming services he had.

“What was it that you wanted to watch?” You asked Vladimir as he pushed your drink across the coffee table and handed you a menu for take-out.

The business owner hummed, “There was a film.” He opened his hand before pointing to the screen as you scrolled over a film, “That one. About…Ah yes. The monster and the woman. Apparently, it won awards, no?” He asked as you clicked open the film for him to see.

“It did win a lot of awards, yeah.” You confirmed as he settled back against the cushions, his arm wrapped around you firmly, holding you against his side as you pressed play, “What do you want to order?” You asked, holding out the menu for him to see, “Chinese?”

“I’m not hungry. I had a business dinner before three o’clock. Order what you want, my dear. I’ll pay for it.” He offered as you hummed, “I have heard that the chow mein from there is good.”

You laughed at his pronunciation but nodded none the less, “I think I’ll get that then.” The menu had the number on the back, and you rang to order before returning your attention back to the movie that Vladimir had requested be put on. It was about a mute woman and her fish god lover. You quickly became entranced, warily pressed up against Vladimir as his hand circled your waist.

The blood pumping against him was a temptation he was now very able to resist. Hundreds of years meant he could control himself. It was a short leash, and he felt the urge to simply feel the crunch of bone and meat under his teeth intensely. His leash grew a little shorter as he ghosted his fingers over your wrist, feeling the thumping of a nervous heart underneath the skin. Dracula’s ear perked at the door and he took the excuse to escape the blood and flesh that felt so divine underneath his fingers. He heard you pause the movie and cursed that you were listening.

“Hi. Chinese delivery.” The driver offered him the bag of food.

The vampire smiled thinly, “Thank you.” He gave the man a twenty-pound note, “Now please take your multi-tool and cut your arm.” The words were carried on a heavy breeze, thick and laced with temptation. The delivery man’s eyes went cloudy, unfocused as he tugged a swiss army knife from his pocket and flicked open the blade. The vampire watched him cut the skin and hissed through his teeth, opening his mouth as the man held his arm higher in the air, letting blood fall from his skin. Dracula shuddered as he opened his mouth to catch the stray drops. He licked the skin with a cold tongue, smearing pink spit in his wake as he sucked fast mouthfuls of blood into his mouth, thankful all the curtains were drawn to hide him.

“Have you got enough money to pay?”

The vampire released the wound and licked the blood from his mouth, his meal settling in his stomach. He licked a drop of blood from the plastic bag handle and wiped at his mouth.

“Have a good evening, sir.” He spun his index finger and watched the delivery driver nod and disappear back towards his car, blood dripping down towards his fingers, “I’ve got enough don’t worry.” He clinked some coins in his pocket and closed the door as the driver pulled out of his drive and onto the street. He grabbed a tissue and wiped his face. There was only a small trickle of blood and he sucked at his teeth before he went to the kitchen to fetch you a plate and cutlery.

Vladimir smiled under your gaze as he entered the lounge again, “I got you a few things. I didn’t know whether you would eat it out of the box?” He placed the plate and cutlery down followed by your food.

“Thank you. You’re sweet.” You cooed at him as he sat back down, “Oh. I think they spilt some sauce on the box.” You grumbled at the splodge of blood on top of the plastic box. He felt his heart sink a little before you simply wiped it away with a curl of your nose. Dracula smiled as you tucked into the food, settled back at his side as you ate quietly. He restarted the movie, feeling relief flood his system as you didn’t question the mysterious red substance.

The beast purred at the idea of the next meal being you. His gripped your thigh gently to ground himself. You were not a meal to be eaten and wasted. He wouldn’t throw you at Death’s feet.

After a movie named ‘The Others’ you both decided it was getting to be late. You looked at the clock and hummed against his side, fingers curling into the black jumper over Vladimir’s chest. It was a fine make, expensive wool soft under your fingers, and you smiled sleepily up at him as he adjusted you, sitting you in his lap, your thighs either side of his own. It was intimate, but you found your heart soaring at the contact and at the idea of where it meant you both were with each other.

“Are you tired, my dear?” He asked softly, his nose pressed to your ear before he leaned down to kiss your shoulder, the smell of Myrrh intoxicating.

“Mmm.” You hummed, fingers playing with the ends of his beautifully wavy hair, the dark, black locks slipping through your fingers like snakes.

“Would you like to rest now?” Vladimir made a pleased noise at the attention to his hair.

Your fingers paused in his locks, “I’d like a shower…If that’s alright?” You asked quietly.

“That is more than fine.” He nodded before letting you stand up, his cool fingers lingering against your hands as you stood, “You know where the bathroom is, yes?”

“First door on the right. I know.”

“I’ll bring you some fresh towels.” He promised as you left the room, closing the door behind you.

The vampire felt his stomach churn with an unknown sensation, the memory of you against him, burned into his skin like a fever.

The water was hot against your skin, soothing the ache in your back from working at the counter the whole day serving tourists. You rubbed at your skin with the minty smelling soap, enjoying the tingle of peppermint over your skin as you washed the lather of soap away. The wet room was slate and sparklingly clean. The glass fogged and you turned in the spray, admiring the chrome shelving and posh soaps and shampoos Vladimir had carefully lined up. A need burned in your stomach, but you ignored the temptation to stir the fire smouldering down there as you turned and swiped at the fog over the glass. Vladimir’s cool hands would make a better job of sating your desires. You were quick to dismiss the idea and turned back into the hot water. That was until the door creaked open behind you.

“I have brought you towels.” Vladimir spoke from the door before pausing, watching your skin disappear as the swiped area of the glass fogged back up, slowly making your form disappear from his view once more, “Forgive me…” He spoke loud enough to just be heard over the harsh spray of water, “But you are beautiful.” Vladimir complimented as he placed the pile of fresh towels on top of the toilet lid

Burning water did not cool your skin as you listened to his voice. You turned under the hot water as you listened to him step closer to the shower screens. You heart thudded in your chest, shaking your hands as you took a step closer to the glass as well.

“You are radiant.” Vladimir purred, “Gorgeous like a goddess. Something to be worshipped.” You looked at the figure beyond the foggy glass and watched him place his hand against the screen.

All of a sudden, you managed to find your voice, “Is that what you say to them all?” The words were half choked in your throat, but Vladimir heard them all the same.

“I have only said those words once before…and she is gone now.” He promised. You could feel the agony in his words and you glanced at the glass before wiping away the condensation to reveal his face, intense eyes looking into your own, despite not being able to see you until a moment ago, “She is dead and no other has ever…filled the hole.” He pressed his forehead to the glass. His dark eyes shimmered with a colour you had never seen before he smiled and turned away from you, “I will leave you. I apologise for being so forward.”

Before he could leave, you opened the shower door and grabbed for a towel, hiding your body from his eyes before he could see you again.

“I…I don’t.” Your mouth seized as his eyes turned darker, a smirk curling on his lips as he admired you, even hidden behind a towel.

“Won’t you let me see you?” Vladimir whispered, “Won’t you let me worship you?” He asked as he came closer, his hands reaching to cup your waist as he looked into your eyes.

Your heart thundered underneath his touch, “I don’t know if I should let you.”

Vladimir’s nose pushed under your chin as he smelt the heavy scent of the Myrrh perfume still clinging to your damp skin, “And why not? Why deny yourself such pleasure?”

You reached for his hair again and pushed it away from his cheek, “Because I don’t feel like I know you.” You confessed, “I don’t know who you really are.”

Vladimir looked at you, your faces close, your noses brushing together before he leaned down to place a single kiss to your lips.

Together, you melded against one another, hands clutching each other at you deepened the kiss a little. He pulled away as quickly as the feverishness began.

“I can tell you. Soon, I will tell you everything.” He promised as you looked at his handsome face. His eyes were wet, red at the corners before he hugged you tightly, “I…I think I feel something deeply for you. I understand this is a lot.” He confessed to you in a rush, shuddering against you as though he was crying.

“I…” Your mouth was dry, “I think I feel the same, but I don’t…I can’t explain it.” You whispered against his jumper.

Vladimir pushed his fingers into your flesh, as though you were going to disappear, “I can’t either.” He agreed, “But I know that I want to be with you…However you want me.” The man fell to his knees, “I am your servant.” The man’s hands grazed up your legs, slowly, dragging cold lines behind his fingertips as he looked up at you, hair falling over his eyes and cheeks.

You reached for his face with a soft smile, “I don’t want a servant.” He let you tug him back to his feet, “I want an equal.”

Vladimir’s lips met your own in a crush of passion, his hands flying to cup your cheeks as he held you as close as he could manage, his arms moving from your face to clutch your body close.

“Do you think you could love a monster?”

“If that monster loved me, I could.”

The sound of an alarm sounding woke you up. It was loud, a persistent beeping noise against the drowsiness in your head. It was sharp and ear piercing. You rushed to find your phone at the noise, rustling in the duvet to find it. After a moment, you opened your eyes, and found the phone on top of the nightstand. You silenced your alarm and groaned into the room as you tried to force the sleep from yourself. The room was silent now. You dragged your phone from the stand and squinted at the time before rolling over and realising you were alone. It was nine in the morning and Vladimir was nowhere to be seen. You sat up with the sheets and looked down at yourself. You were naked yet there was no ache in your body. There was no mess either. Nothing had happened. You remembered laying on top of Vladimir, kissing him between tales from his homeland as you listened and learned. The tale of the beast in the castle. The River Princess. The fog in the hills. All of it fascinated you. You’d listened to the sound of his voice, late into the evening, tracing patterns on his skin as he rumbled with laughter.

The bedside table rustled as you placed your hand on it. You frowned and gripped a piece of paper. It was labelled with your name. You unfolded the paper and looked at the note inside. Vladimir had an early meeting to attend. A sadness curled in your chest as you sat up properly and peered at the grandness of Vladimir’s own bedroom. You got out of the bed and walked over to his vanity before frowning. All the mirrors were covered in black silk, hidden out of view. You pulled back one of the sheets and looked in the floor standing mirror. It was in good shape yet old, like an antique. Your own face looked back before you re-covered the mirror. There wasn’t anything different in Vladimir’s room until you caught sight of the great portrait on the old chimney breast. A painted man looked down at you, a sword laid across his lap. You looked at the sword mounted underneath the painting and gazed in awe at the sharpness and magnificence of them both. Wondering if he was a collector, you took one of Vladimir’s red robes from his door and tied it around your waist before venturing to get some breakfast.

Dracula hissed as the door closed, blood spurting from his mouth, his latest meal laid in the soil next to him as he purred, claws slipping further into the earth as he listened to you move. The sound of silk over skin made him gurgle again as he closed his eyes, wishing that the night could replay over and over in his mind.

‘I know you have gone home but thank you for spending last night with me. I adored it. Will I see you again soon?’

You smiled down at your phone as you paused eating your lunch inside your shop. You replied with a witty comment and waited for his reply before going back to your lunch, thinking on the way Vladimir’s hands could hold you in other ways. Your brain skittered into the gutter for the rest of the afternoon.

Anne held the glass slide in her hand as she tried to comprehend what she was holding in her hand. It was beyond what she had seen before. Nothing compared. No disease had such virulence nor the ability to do what she had seen from Dracula’s own cells. His lymphatic cells were an amazing thing to watch, simultaneously killing and repairing the red blood cells, making them immortal. The blood she had originally was just as active now in her hands. She’d injected a rat with a small does, just to see what happened. The beast had appeared unfazed initially. Slowly, it had died off, its legs stopping working before she did the kindness and put the animal to sleep. It hadn’t died from the drugs. She ended up having to take the creature’s head off. Immortality. The rat was impervious to chemicals and drugs that could kill. It was an amazing thing, but Anne wasn’t swayed. She knew what the blood meant, and what it was capable of. A constant state of death and life. A curse upon those who were infected with Dracula’s blood. Damnation from God. Rejection of the light was not curable. She needed to tell the vampire that. He was beyond the help of mortals. Damned forever. He could live as a hunted beast or die by her hands.

“A frown makes you look older.” Dracula rumbled from underneath her. Red eyes opened in her shadow and Anne jumped backwards as the beast slid from her shadow and coalesced into a physical form. The shadows swirled into the human form of Dracula and Anne levelled him with a look of contempt.

“Has six hundred years taught you no manners?” She huffed as he drew the vial of the vampire’s blood from her coat and held it up for him to see. There was a little more than half left, “I wanted to tell you about this.” She tossed the blood back at the vampire.

Dracula caught the vial and took the top from the vial, smelling his own blood before he stuck out a pointed, long tongue, a mouth full of pointed teeth opening wide as he took his own blood back into himself.

“What did you find, Anne?” He asked as he tucked his hands into his pockets, licking blood from his bottom lip.

“Everything I expected to find. Your own cells are killing themselves and then repairing at a rate that is explosive. You shouldn’t be moving at all.” She huffed, “Though I suppose you aren’t alive. You’re a monster. A walking corpse.” Anne took a holy blade from her sleeve and watched as the vampire’s hair waved over his head in a mind of its own.

“You raise a blade to me after I gave you the answer to eternal life?” Dracula’s voice boomed off the concrete of the rooftop, “After I gave you the answers to everything?” He snarled as his hair covered his face, blood red eyes burning through the strands as he took his hands from his pockets and watched the hands grow and shift into snarling curls of shadowy monsters.

“I raise my blade at a beast and a monster. A creature that has killed for fun, enjoyment and sport. You enjoy all of this. You enjoy playing with people like a game!” She hissed at him as she drew a long sword from her belt. A sword and a dagger. Dracula’s mouth opened up the sides of his face as he faced the hunter, eyes peering from a moving creature of shadows.

“This is the face of life!” He howled at Anne, shadows bursting from him as dogs howled at the night sky below.

“You are nothing but corruption and death!” She shouted back, her feet planted firmly on the floor as the vampire hissed and spat across from her. Without another thought, she sent a small blade flying towards his red eyes. The shadows moved into two pieces, and the dagger flew through him before she was upon him with blessed steel. Her swipes swished through nothing but air as Dracula soared into the sky above her and dived, great clawed talons scratching at her face. Anne launched her dagger at him as he climbed once more and grinned at the vampire howled, blood spurting from his grey skinned side.

With a growl, she watched the vampire soar into the night sky, escaping with her blade lodged under his ribs. The night sky was littered with cold looking stars, clouds rolling over the moon as she watched the bat wings disappear behind the church and rooftops. It was a moment later that she looked at the scratches on her arms and the trail of wet saliva over one of them. Dracula had tasted her blood. He knew her plans, or at least pieces of them. She cursed the beast as she got to her feet, sheathing her old sword before collecting the holy throwing daggers from the rooftop. Anne tucked her coat back around her weapons and looked at her ward watch which was clipped to her pocket. Her shift started in an hour. She had enough time to return home and clean herself before she had dead bodies to look at and examine.

“I’ll finish my family’s work, Dracula…” She opened the stairs, “Starting with that new toy of yours.” The stairwell doors closed with a resounding slam.

#dracula #dracula x reader #count dracula #vlad dracula tepes #vladimir dracula #count dracula x reader #vladimir dracula x reader #dracula x female reader #dracula 1992 #bram stoker's dracula #bram stoker's dracula 1992 #count dracula x female reader #vladimir dracula x female reader #fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #my writing

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theoryofreligion · 3 years

Text

listen much love to caroline dhavernas but seeing the hannibal x ella enchanted comps is making me think what if alana had been played by anne hathaway 😳😳😳 like the way that watching hugh dancy & anne hathaway make out in front of the giant fire set me on course for bisexualism at age seven, i’m just imagining what seeing anne hathaway & hugh dancy making out post-animal in chimney incident would do to me now

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youngsamberg · 3 years

Note

all time bish

ohhhh shit okay i will ATTEMPT to list all of my ships of all-time but i will definitely forget some. here we go

current shows (not specifying endgame/nonendgame for obvious reasons):

roy x keeley (ted lasso), ted x rebecca (ted lasso), laszlo x nadja (wwdits), nandor x guillermo (wwdits), brooke x lance (the other two), roman x gerri (succession), midge x lenny (the marvelous mrs maisel), tk x carlos (911: lone star), grace x judd (911: lone star), maddie x chimney (9-1-1), michael x alex (roswell nm), max x liz (roswell nm), kyle x isobel (roswell nm), jimmy x kim (better call saul), janine x gregory (abbott elementary)

shows that have ended rip (ships in itallics aren’t canon endgame):

jake x amy (b99), holt x kevin (b99), amy x jonah (superstore), dina x garrett (superstore), shawn x jules (psych), josh x donna (the west wing), jim x pam (the office), dwight x angela (the office), michael x holly (the office), will x angie (single parents), ben x leslie (parks & rec), andy x april (parks & rec), ann x chris (parks & rec), david x patrick (schitt's creek), ted x alexis (schitt's creek), johnny x moira (schitt's creek), jeff x annie (community), veronica x logan (veronica mars), magnus x alec (shadowhunters), jace x clary (shadowhunters), simon x izzy (shadowhunters), fran x maxwell (the nanny), zoey x max (zoey's extraordinary playlist), rebecca x greg (crazy x girlfriend), monica x chandler (friends), ross x rachel (friends), rory x jess (gilmore girls), luke x lorelai (gilmore girls), barney x robin (himym), jackie x hyde (that 70s show), katie x greg (great news), nick x jess (new girl), cece x schmidt (new girl), winston x ally (new girl), sam x freddie (icarly), dory x drew (search party)

#anonymous #wow this is insane

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the-deeds-to-shibden · 2 years

Text

Friday 10 July 1840

[up at] 3 1/2

[to bed at] 11

fine morning – the haze just beginning to clear a little and the light getting sufficient to see now at 4 a.m. at which hour Reaumur 18 1/2 and Fahrenheit 73° – could not sleep on the large carpeted bois de lit with Ann – too hot – spread my burca on the floor and slept very well till Ann called me at 3 – at 4 1/4 called George to take the baggage – curious necessary

wattled with rhododendron and spanish chesnut about 8 x 4 1/2 inside – with wattled (basket work) floor with a hole in it abut 20 x 16 inches rather nearer the back end of the place than the wattle door in the front end – on a slope, that front stands on the ground and back on poles 5 or 6 feet high – never saw such a place before – it is at the bottom of the little garden planted with cucumber or melon plants, and kidney beans – 10 bee-hives in hollowed lengths of trunks of trees set on the ground and about 4 feet high – a big stone set on the top – the house, too, is on sloping ground the front on a level with the ground the back on wood posts 6 feet high – I can walk upright with ease all along under the floors at the back of the house

the ground is like that the foundation is a large beam all round on which the wood (boarded) frame of the house is set, and there is not much between the beam in front and the ground – a broad (called somewhere by Dubois abavent?) balcony goes all round the house – about 3 steps up in front to the door into the great centre room that we had – opposite to this an ashler sand stone chimney handsomely carved à la Turc that projects into the balcony behind the front being flush with the side of the room (this chimney the only stone work about the house unless there was another such chimney at each end of the house as I think[)] – looking towards our chimney close to it (right) a door opening onto the back balcony therefore this centre room a passage room and we had no quiet till 11 p.m. when the people went to bed – all our people slept in the front balcony and the horses pastured near in front – the prince himself and his family seem to live in the 2 ends one on each side the great centre room both of which open onto the balconies – tradition says that our family once inhabited Shibden the 2 gables in that way – probable – that accounts for the little old doorway and scraper I found from the north parlour into the upper buttery – the butteries were originally balcony and the door opened on to this balcony as last night at Satzēērĕ’h the place of prince Gheorghi Yorghi Kaidza – but this house is quite modern – he said he was in Russia (au service) when it was built or the door jambs and doors would not have been carved and shaped à la Turc – could not have been prettier – the kitchen with a blazing fire was a separate wood building at a little distance in front, and there were 2 or 3 other wood buildings, storehouse etc. very pretty picturesque place – the prince in a common dirty linen Persian coat, and dirty; and I should not have taken him for owner of the place but for his being evidently above all the rest – the women that we got a glimpse of and children much below the prince himself in appearance – I once thought of giving the servants a silver ruble among them – but nobody came to ask for anything – it seemed difficult to know to whom to give and I came away without giving anything – Off at 5 5/.. cross 2 or 3 little streams at intervals – not very far from the house – labyrinth of combs or little valleys closed in by conical topped wooded hills as yesterday – very beautiful – still pother about the baggage – get 10 minutes before it – Ann and I and George and cross river and stop just on the other side at 7 1/4 and here it is 12 versts from Satzēēréh and 30 versts from Chotévi – in 10 minutes espy our people going along poor looking road by-road-like on the other side the river – recross – at 7 25/.. – and at 7 33/.. open into large beautiful green grassy rock-crested cirque the top and rock beautifully but thinly wooded with pine (spruce fir or a sapin of some kind) the cirque called Nah-ké-rā-tăh the river Treeboul – it was hereabouts we should have breakfasted had I not wished to reach Chotévi tonight, and to get on as far as we could in the cool – the cirque very fine – its green sides like a beautiful sheep-walk – its bold torn pine sprinkled crest of rock very striking and picturesque – begin the ascent at 8 – the last bit of road bad – but here it is evident that the road has recently been made good as it is – it is a very good horse-road – towards the latter part of the ascent it is a zigzag – Dubois would with reason call this cirque one of the parois of an immense crater full of undulations beautiful rounded thickly wooded hills and little valleys – and a fine view down the long winding beautiful valley along which we have come – at 8 33/.. alight at a ‘source’ a good run of good water cold – fill our bottles and dawdle about this 10 minutes – they are clearing away the wood just here for a few little plots for cultivation – from soon after here the zigzags up the grassy rhododendron hill – very beautiful wooded undulating Aetna of a crater – all the hills covered with rhododendron oak, Spanish chesnut, beech, elm and hornbeam and some very fine trees of all these kinds – near houses (as last night) and this morning along the valley here and there some magnificent limes – the largest and finest I ever saw? near the top of the col 3 or 4 men widening and making the road good – at the top at 9 35/.. magnificent view towards Imérétie over crater and our long winding valley of this morning – on entering the Ratcha a magnificent narrow richly and picturesquely wooded gorge – dismounted at the top and walked down and let my horse down to the river – the road very bad – the bad begins with the descent begins at the top for the top is a mere ridge, and continues till the wood bridge over the river at 10, and here the road has evidently been recently made and is in progress – at 10 10/.. Adam said we had 4 versts to go before stopping – Ann tired – weakened by her bowel complaint yesterday and last night and this morning – and very anxious to stop – at 10 25/.. another wood bridge over river and 3 or 4 bridges almost immediately afterwards at short inthervals /intervals/ over swampy ground – passed 34 men at work on this road I think between the 1st and 2nd bridge (i.e. from 10 to 10 25/..)

– at 10 3/4 stopt at a pool of excellent water George saying it was our halting place – no! nothing for the horses – Ann impatient to go on or stop – at 11 5/.. think to stop – good grass – but a man watching it, and refused us – 10 minutes after at 11 1/4 stop – dismount – good enough grass – a woodman and his cart and a fire think to have the kettle boiled for Ann – no water – the river at some little distance – remount in despair – ride down to a herd of cattle and the river Chăh-ōw-ry̌ - cross it – and at last halt at 11 40/.. – we were at breakfast in less than 10 minutes – Adam had sought for 2 eggs all along this morning – went to almost every little cottage or farm house we passed – could only get one egg – Ann had this beaten up with some last night’s wine, and ate a little bit of barley cake of last night and the remainder except the large dace 6 or 7 of our little fish – she then lay down and slept till 3 1/4, and seems now pretty well – I had the barley bread and part of the cheese, and some butter and a cucumber (we had no cold tea) and water and lastly one glass with a little noyau in it – breakfast over at 12 1/2 – then I lay down and slept till 1 – but too hot for me to sleep – then till now 3 25/.. wrote all but the 1st 3 1/2 lines of today – Reaumur 26 1/2° and Fahrenheit 89 1/2° at 3 25/.. in my bag well covered up but a little sun caught upon the bag – Reaumur 25 1/2 and Fahrenheit 87° in the shade where I am sitting now at 3 3/4 – the descent this morning very beautiful – the fine woods of oak, Spanish chesnut, beech and elm alder near the stream beautifully sprinkled with sapins (spruce-like firs) some of the largest I have ever seen – some magnificent trees – and some ditto ditto oak and beech and some fine Spanish chesnuts and a few elms of extra size this beautiful forest all along the fine gorge fringed with sweet bay and common laurel the bright shining green that nothing can exceed, and rhododendron ponticum in full flower – patches of it here and there on the rocks like lilack carpets scattered up and down – now at 3 3/4 (I had left a blank for the last state of Reaumur and Fahrenheit) ordered the horses and put up my things – we are an hour they say from Khotévi

– off at 4 1/2 – at 5 7/.. alight at the monastery (church) of Nikortsminda (vide Dubois ii. 383 et sequentes) the village scattered at a little distance pretty and picturesque and the thin board weathered roofs with stones on them (to weight them down) reminded me of Switzerland – here the valley opened out a little a pretty green grassy corny liveable spot rather in the style of Bagnères de Bigorre till here astonishing at seeing so few cottages or hamlets – merely 3 or 4 houses together now and there and those so hid among orchards or wood, that one scarcely perceived them – several I should not have observed at all had not Adam turned up the little paths at intervals during the morning seeking eggs – and he could only get one before breakfast and 2 in all Khotévi capital of the Ratcha yesterday evening! – one misses the picturesque Swiss villages cottages chalets to relieve the beauty of the valleys here – the church of Nikortsminda dedicated to St. Nicholas (of whom a pleasing picture in the church) very pretty and singular – the interior covered with paintings in fresco consists as it were

of ten vaults, the dome (12 windows) springing from 6 of them (the vaults) – I have made my diagram too oblong – I think the church is a square – the 3 projections North South and West are as many porches accollées, built up against the church, but apparently of the same antiquity – the effect of the dome standing on 6 arcades (2 on each side and one at each end) is very striking and pretty and only rather spoilt by the iconostase blocking the choeur and 2 sacristies – the North and South sides exterior are striking on account of the 3 fausses arcades not being symmetrical

the east end is also finished in 3 fausses arcades regular the centre in the centre, and the largest, the carving and mouldings and cornices the richest and best done we have seen – vide Dubois – vide page 384. I did not observe the Christ on the South front à ‘grande main don’t les doigts replies en forme de benediction rappellent le grand schisme’ between Greek and Latin churches (the filioque) – gave our monk a ./30 silver piece – he looked at it – turned it over – said nothing – satisfied? this church belongs to the archbishop at and of Koutaïs who was here first and often comes – en route again at 5 53/.. – pretty ride chiefly down hill to the stream, river (insignificant) – crossed it, up hill to our quarters, arrived at 6 52/.. a white house the whole rez de chaussée one open stable – terribly dirty – a man partly swept it with a long whisk on our entering – one good sized (about 6 1/2 x 6 1/2 yards, dome-ceiling) room with 3 windows and a small room also with 3 windows at the end, and 2 small rooms at the back opening into our large room – but gave these to our people (George Cossack Adam and the Jew) and made them enter at one of their windows – we are glazed with white paper (several squares torn) 2 windows salon and 1 in the small room, the rest wooden shutters – 2 large tables rickety, but mean to sleep on them – one long bench – 2 smaller, and a sort of stool and a little low table – we are magnificently meublé – not far from us is another house about as good looking as our own with a large covered gallery abavent in front – and there may be 2 or 3 more houses as good on the other side the hill – the little poor church is a little way below us barnlike – 2 gable ends like the old churches near Aténi but rather larger and the facing stones larger and handsomer and regular ashler as to look outside – close to us at a few yards (20 ro 30) distance one or 2 small low houses and a kitchen – we are very well off – the old ruined castle on one isolated hill higher up the valley 1/2 verst or more? From us – the town is partly on this side the valley and partly on the other – very pretty – the high mountains close in the valley in the distance very finely to the north west – but only partly seen – the rest hid in clouds – tea at 8 10/.. – Ann had the 2 eggs Adam got of a friend of his by favour this evening (a dyer) at Nikortsminda – not one to be had here – Ann had still her bowel complaint poorly and out of sorts – I had boiled rice and the barley bread and cheese of last night and butter – Reaumur 20° and Fahrenheit 77° now at 10 55/.. at my bed (table) head – ordered horses for 9 in the morning – no pasturage near here – obliged to take them to where we breakfasted yesterday i.e. 1 37/.. hour distance –

Anne’s marginal notes:

page 292

Satzēēréh prince George Kaidza.

at the top yellow turn cap lily and afterwards yellow iris –

no shew of cottages or villages – no eggs.

Khotévi.

Nikortsminda

Khotévi.

WYAS pages: SH:7/ML/E/24/0146 SH:7/ML/E/24/0147 SH:7/ML/E/24/0148

#anne lister #ann walker #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #diary1840unannotated #russianempire1840 #georgia1840

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