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samgirl98 · 10 months

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Mending a Family 15/?

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It had been two weeks since Jason’s powers came in. It had been a challenge.

He kept turning intangible and breaking things. Sometimes he would end up falling through the floor. Jason had become very familiar with the dirt under his house. (He was glad he got a house that was isolated.) Still, with the help of Danny and Jazz, Jason felt he was getting the hang of his new abilities.

Jason was on the porch, watching the sunrise. He sipped his cup of Earl Gray tea. God, he missed Alfred.

As Jason watched the son slowly rise on the horizon, an idea hit him. They had been living in the small town of Tadoussac for almost three months now, and either than the small convivence shop five miles away, they hadn’t explored the little town at all. It was a tourist town, so there were attractions that could excite the kids. He knew they were big on whale watching. Maybe he could take them on one of them. It’s not as if he didn’t have the money from his crime lord time.

Hell, he could even take Danny to the planetarium. Jason took out his phone and googled how far the closest one was. It was only a five-hour drive away. His son would love it.

His son…Jason still couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth. How could he be so lucky to get Danny? After all the blood he has spilled, including his family's blood, who thought to give Red Hood a second chance at family?

“You know your emotions are screaming loudly, right?”

Jazz left the house and sat on the rocking chair by Jason’s old rickety chair.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? Did I wake Danny?”

“Nah, I woke up because of a nightmare I had. Danny and Ellie are still asleep. Ellie floated to Danny sometime in the night. They’re so cute together.”

“Yeah, I saw them this morning. I didn’t want to wake them up, so I let them be after I took a picture. Want to see it?”

“Hell yeah,” Jazz said enthusiastically. Jason and Jazz ended up looking at photos of Danny and Ellie for the rest of the morning.

After that, they both sat in compatible silence.

“What do you think about taking the kids on a day out to town this weekend?”

“That’d be nice. We’ve had them cooped up for too long. This space is big, but kids need more stimuli.”

“Yeah,” Jason bit his lower lip.

“I want to put Danny in school. You know, so that he could meet more kids his age.”

Jazz blinked at that, “Oh, Danny will hate that.”

Jason sighed.

“I know, he’s technically sixteen, but now he’s five. He might act mature in some things, but I’ve read that kids need to develop their social skills with peers their age. It looks like Danny will be stuck growing up again, and he needs to be around more kids.”

“Hey, you don’t need to justify it to me; it’s Danny you’ve got to talk to. Though I have a feeling he’ll be bored in regular classes.”

Jason frowned; he hadn’t thought about that. He suddenly remembered Danny reading theses on astrophysics and engineering. Yeah, he would be bored in a regular classroom.

“Maybe I can find special programs to put him in,” Jason mumbled to himself, suddenly unsure of his plans. “Not to mention that Tadoussac was a French-speaking province, so Danny would have to learn a new language.

Thanks to Bruce and his league training, Jason already knew French, but he doubted Danny knew any.

Jazz patted Jason’s leg, “You’ll figure it out. You always have Danny’s best intentions in your mind.”

Jason wondered if Bruce ever had Jason’s best intentions in his mind. Jason remembered all the baseball Bruce would take him to, all the piggyback rides, and the late nights he would stay up helping Jason with his homework when he needed help. All the tears he would help dry, and nightmares he would soothe.

Jason had to believe his dad Bruce had loved him, right? Before Jason had died and returned as a twisted version of the boy he used to be, Bruce had wanted him, right?

“What’s wrong,” Jazz asked.

“I’m just wondering, did Bruce love me when I was younger? Did Bruce ever feel for me what I feel for Danny?”

“What do you think,” his actions before my death tell me yes, but if that’s true, why did he stop loving me after? If Danny ever did any of the things I did, I would be disappointed, but I would never stop loving him. I would move heaven and Earth to bring him home. Bruce never did that with me. He washed his hands of me and left me.”

“When I was younger, I never idolized my parents, never thought of them as perfect. They left us to our own devices. Honestly, their attack on Danny doesn’t surprise me. It hurts, Ancients does it hurt, but I’m not surprised.”

Jason frowned, his eyebrows creasing.

“Did you ever think of Bruce as perfect when you were younger?”

Jason thought back. His dad was Batman; he was infallible. Bruce had been larger than life, and he could never be wrong in Jason Todd’s younger eyes.

“Maybe,” Jason said.

“Parents aren’t perfect. There comes a time in a child’s life when they figure that out. Unfortunately, you found out your dad wasn’t perfect in the worse way possible.”

Jason put his hands over the scar on his throat.

(He could still see the Batarang coming toward him.)

“Do you think he would have ever accepted me back?”

“I don’t know,” Jazz answered, “I do know that thinking about the what-ifs can drive a person mad.”

“If it weren’t for Danny, I would’ve stayed and waited for God knows how long, just hoping for a crumb of their acceptance. Not even love, just acceptance.”

“Do you think you’ll ever talk to them again?”

Jason thought about it. A part of him would love to reconnect with his family. To show them how much better he has gotten. To brag about Danny. But he was scared. Scared Bruce would take Danny away from him. Scared Bruce would see Jason as unfit and throw him in Arkham.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jazz said, “I always used to fear my parents would take Danny away from me, too.”

Liminal’s abilities were useful sometimes.

Jason sighed, “Thanks. I needed this talk.”

“No problem,” Jazz paused for a moment, “so, when should we tell them we want to go on a trip this weekend?”

Jason smiled. He loved having a family again.

____

Tim couldn’t believe it.

Tim and Barbara had gotten a ping on the anomaly North of Gotham, close to the Canadian border.

Even though Jason was hiding behind a hat and had painted his hair, Barbara and Tim recognized him.

Who they didn’t recognize was the kid holding Jason’s hand.

“Bruce is going to freak,” Tim murmured.

“Which is why we won’t tell him yet.”

“What, why not?”

“Jason left for a reason. What do you think Bruce will do when he finds out Jason has been spotted at the Canadian border with a kid in tow?”

Tim frowned. Bruce would leave at the moment, find Jason, and demand answers.

Tim’s silence was enough confirmation for Barbara that he understood.

“I’ll find and see what’s going on. If he’s alive and well, we let Bruce know, but we don’t tell him where he is,” Tim said.

“Tim, this is proof that Jason is alive. That’s all I needed. I can guess why he left, and it has to do with the kid. I say we leave him be until he comes to us.”

“And if he never does,” Tim snapped. It wasn’t fair. Bruce was hurting; he deserved to know his son was fine.

“Then we honor his wishes,” Barbara said and disconnected the call. Tim gritted his teeth. That wasn’t good enough for him.

He would find Jason and bring him home. It was his fault he was gone. Tim would make it right.

So, I brought up a family trip because a. it would be cute, b. I've been researching Tadoussac, Canada and it looks like a fun place, and c. it's gonna transition into a big plot point.

Hope you liked.

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#Mending a Family #dc x dp #dp x dc

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scotianostra · 19 days

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On May 2nd 1568, Mary, Queen of Scots, escaped from Loch Leven castle and revoked her abdication.

Mary was imprisoned at Loch Leven Castle following her surrender to the Protestant nobles at the Battle of Carberry Hill on 15th June the previous year. It was there that she is said to have miscarried twins fathered by James Hepburn, 4th Earl of Bothwell, a man who had been linked to the murder of, Lord Darnley.

On the 24th July 1567 she was forced to abdicate, and her son became James VI of Scotland with Mary’s illegitimate half brother, James Stewart, Earl of Moray, acting as Regent.

This was her second attempted escape, in March, disguised as a laundress she had been recognised by the boatmen taking her across the loch and so was returned to her prison.

Her next attempt, on this day in 1568, was successful. This time, she was helped by sixteen-year-old Willie Douglas, a page in the castle. He sabotaged all the boats at the jetty except one and signalled to Mary, who had swapped clothes with her lady, Mary Seton, when the coast was clear and everyone was busy with May Day festivities. Willie rowed Mary across the loch where they were met by George Douglas, younger brother of the Laird of Lochleven and a man who had been determined to help the queen after witnessing her forced abdication.

Mary and her supporters suffered a crushing defeat at the Battle of Langside on 13th May 1568 and Mary fled to England. She landed near Workington in Cumberland on the evening of 16th May and was placed in protective custody in Carlisle Castle under the orders of Elizabeth I. Little did she know that she was to spend the rest of her life as Elizabeth's prisoner in England and that her life would end on the block on 8th February 1587.

#scotland #scottish #history #mary queen of scots

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 1: The Modiste

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer From a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 3.5k

Masterpost Next chapter

Author's Notes: Welcome to my headcanon rewrite of AOFAG. Please refer to the masterpost for notes on story timeline and chapter structures. This first chapter is a fully original work by me, so no book quotes or notes included. Thank you to everyone who expressed interest in this project which motivated me to get the first chapter out! It may be a long wait for the next one as I wrap up other stories before writing the masquerade. 💙

Sophia Beckett had one friend in the entire world and her name was Genevieve Delacroix. She was the only person who spoke to her as if she were a woman deserving of respect. Not an underling, a disappointment, a secret who must be kept hidden. Every time Sophie visited the modiste’s shop, Gen greeted her with the same bright smile as she gave any of her high-born customers but with even more honesty in her eyes. Over the first several weeks of the London season they had caught one another rolling eyes at the frittering of the ton ladies enough times that a friendly trust had formed. Then, the first time Sophie had visited her shop on an errand alone rather than in tow with the Cowpers, Gen had locked up, invited her to the back room and lapsed into an altogether surprising Cockney accent as she revealed her true self and encouraged Sophie to do the same.

They were two of a kind, working women in hiding in their own ways. Gen posing as a French expert of fashion to dupe the empty headed mamas of the ton, when in reality she was an orphaned girl from Cheapside with fearless drive and a serious talent for couture. And Sophie, envious of Gen’s glamorous life, who was the worst of all things, a bastard, and was lucky that her benefactors had agreed to house her as their maid rather than turn her out into the street after her father died. He had been the Earl of Penwood and her mother was his maid. After her mother died in childbirth and she was left on the doorstep of Penwood Park he had kept her as his ward, protected but not worthy enough to bear his name. She was a Beckett, not a Gunningworth, a name that she never learned the origins of, though a servant boy had once told her it was the name of her father’s favorite horse.

She had enjoyed some degree of luxury as a ward in the heath-ringed halls of Penwood Park. Her father ignored her entirely but a governess was procured to educate her as a lady. To teach her to read and write, speak Latin and French, pour tea, play the piano, and even dabble in mathematics. It was a lonely existence, with the only affection she received being an errant pat on the head from the cook or a servant, but it was the only life she had ever known and so she didn’t want for much more.

Everything changed when her father died suddenly, cut down in his prime as he sat reading in the garden one day. Then at the age of sixteen, Sophie’s life took a turn for the worse. The inheritor of the earldom was her father’s distant male relation. So distant Sophie couldn’t make heads or tails of how they were actually related and she suspected Lord Cowper couldn’t either, given how surprised he appeared through the whole turn of events. A sallow, pinch-faced man with a sallow, pinch-faced wife and daughter, Lord Cowper had attended her father’s funeral and stared down his nose at her as she stood for inspection along with all the staff of Penwood Park. No doubt he had learned of her origins through her father’s solicitor and he seemed rather unsure of what to do with her. But his wife was ready to whisper in his ear. Eyes always cold and hair always pulled taut into a hideous basketweave arrangement, Lady Cowper proposed keeping Sophie on as a servant, just one more among many.

After the Cowpers swept back out to London the Penwood steward informed her that the family would provide her with room and board in exchange for her service as a housemaid. It was a step back from the lifestyle she had enjoyed in her childhood, but she knew it was the best she could hope for, given the shame of her birth. And what else was she supposed to do? Leave the only home she had ever known with no name, connections or employable skills and try to sustain herself? Insulting as it may have been, it was the only path that made sense. To follow in her mother’s footsteps and serve as a maid to the new Earl of Penwood.

It wasn’t too awful at first with the new owners staying in residence at Penwood Park so infrequently. Sophie found a degree of pride in learning to clean and mend and cook. Caring for her family home, especially when the Cowpers were away, felt like caring for herself. The aristocratic part of her that was undeniably there, just not allowed to shine to its full potential. She also felt as if she were honoring the memory of her mother. She liked to imagine that she was dusting the same tables and folding the same linens as her mother once had - points of connection with the woman she had never known, but who had moved through the same halls once upon a time. She began to envision an oddly satisfying life spent at Penwood, where perhaps she could marry a man from the nearby village and return to him at night after her chores were completed for the day. She saw him as a farrier, someone with dark hair and crafty hands who was strong and sweet simultaneously. There was some kind of life to be had, the best a bastard could hope for, and it was those dreams that fueled Sophie through each monotonous day.

Things carried on that way for years until Cressida Cowper, Lord Cowper’s daughter and only child, approached her third London season still unmarried and without a lady’s maid to serve her. Somehow Lady Cowper had managed to blame Cressida’s failures in the marriage mart upon the hair techniques and ironing skills of the half dozen lady’s maids Cressida had churned through, and now none would apply for the vacant position. That was the spring the Cowpers seemed to remember Sophie’s existence and plucked her out of Penwood Park to join them in London. It was a marvel how Lady Cowper, or Araminta as Sophie referred to her, always spoke to Sophie with such treacly sweetness in her voice and simultaneous burning contempt in her eyes. Between her training as a lady and her service as a maid, she could cobble together the skills needed to wait upon Cressida for the season, addressing her every passing need and outfitting her in ridiculous gowns and hairdos in the hopes to attract a wealthy suitor.

Sophie had tried to see it as an adventure. She had never been to London before and the whirl of the season was staggering, but with an undeniable beauty. Crowds all dressed in their finest, the drawing room of Cowper House laid out for elegant teas and the dining room set for elaborate dinner parties. Every week brought an assortment of invitations to balls and musicales and garden soirees, each necessitating its own elaborate and themed garment. That was how Sophie began visiting the modiste’s shop with such frequency, and it was where she met the first woman who ever looked at her and saw a whole person.

But the happiness that her modiste visits granted her could not overshadow the bitter realities that awaited her in Cowper House. Lord Cowper was so disinterested and Cressida so self-involved that Sophie was largely left at the mercy of Araminta. What started out as curt orders soon turned into cutting insults and then physical acts of retribution for perceived offenses and failures. She was slapped, pinched and tripped. Her hair was pulled, her meals denied and she was locked into closets whenever Araminta decided some small household mishap was her fault. And it was always her fault. The other staff never intervened, too scared to invite wrath upon themselves. She knew that she was the chosen scapegoat for all of Araminta’s frustrations and insecurities. Being the same age and of distantly shared blood, Sophie wondered if Araminta imagined her to be an alternate version of Cressida herself, one upon whom she could visit all of her seething punishments without guilt or scandal.

As the months wore on, Sophie considered running away several times. But she feared the only life that awaited her was one on the streets. She could only be hired as a maid by another noble house with a letter of reference and that was certainly not something she could obtain from the Cowpers. So she endured, reminding herself that the season would come to an end eventually and she could ask to be returned to her life of quiet servitude at Penwood Park. She took comfort in her visits with Genevieve and developed a new hobby, losing herself in the ton’s most infamous gossip sheet, Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers.

As she read about scandal after betrothal after scandal among the social tier of her employers, Sophie imagined that she was one of them with nothing better to do than be dressed, feted and courted by an array of handsome, titled men. This world was so close to hers. She moved within it, watched it spin around her, felt the pull of it in her half-noble blood. It was just out of reach on the other side of the windowpane. But Lady Whistledown gave her a clear glance through the glass. Toward the end of the season the repeat headline news was of the impending masquerade ball hosted by the esteemed Bridgerton family. Lady Whistledown dedicated an inordinate amount of column space to the Bridgertons but Sophie could understand why. With such a large brood of beautiful and eligible sons and daughters, incredible wealth and a reputation that never failed to rebound from scandal, they seemed to be a jewel among the families of the ton. She had passed by Bridgerton House on a number of occasions and never failed to marvel at its proud brick facade climbing with fragrant wisteria. She had only ever seen the Dowager Viscountess and her daughter-in-law the new Viscountess when out on errands with the Cowpers, and found them to be kind and beautiful women who seemed wise to Araminta’s true nature but never failed to be genteel.

The thought of a midnight masquerade, an evening of mystery and magic, was an intoxicating escape from her daily reality and Sophie found herself swanning through her chores more often than not, twirling around with linen baskets as she imagined herself in the arms of a masked gentleman. She had been doing just such a thing when Araminta had spotted her, boxed her ears as punishment and ordered her to take Cressida’s costume back to the modiste for more alterations. Cressida would be attending the masquerade as a mermaid and this was the third time she had decided that she wanted to change the length of the fins on her skirt. Keeping her face steely and ignoring the burning pain in her ears Sophie nodded, gathered the costume and made her way through the city, grateful for the temporary break.

Genevieve could see in her eyes how poorly things were going at the house and treated Sophie to a glass of sherry while she slowly picked at Cressida’s costume. No one else was in the shop so they allowed themselves to relax and speak freely. A copy of the latest Whistledown was on a table and Sophie sank into the upholstered chair beside it, idly leafing through as she sipped her drink and watched Gen sewing.

“This masquerade is the talk of all the ton,” she sighed wistfully.

Gen nodded. “It is. You should see some of the mad costumes the ladies are demanding. Lady Eton wants me to dress her as an Eton mess. Can you imagine?”

Sophie snickered. “Are you going to do it?”

“Of course,” Gen shrugged. “If they pay me enough I’ll do whatever they want. It’s an opportunity to showcase my talent.”

“Only you could make someone look beautiful as a ‘mess’.”

Gen smiled. “You’re sweet.”

“Lady Eton will be sweeter.”

The two of them could not contain their laughter. If there was ever a source of endless amusement, it was observing the peculiarities of society women, and both of their professions gave them front row seats. Quieting again, Sophie rubbed her ears and continued to pore over the gossip sheet.

Genevieve broke through her thoughts, asking quietly. “How have you been? How are things…at home?”

Sophie met her concerned gaze and returned a weak smile. “The same. I will try and convince Cressida that the fins are perfect this time. I’m sorry to keep coming back here for this.”

“I enjoy the excuse to see you.” Gen’s tone grew serious. “You know you can come to me any time. For anything.”

Something tugged in Sophie’s chest, so unused to having someone to turn to. She appreciated that her friend recognized her burdens, even if there was nothing she could do to alleviate them. “Thank you, Gen.” She sniffed to keep tears from forming, then reiterated her hopes aloud. “After this ball the season will wind down and then I hope to be free of them. For the cold months at least. If I’m truly lucky, perhaps Cressida will land herself a husband at the masquerade and then I’ll be sent back to Penwood forever. She can poach a new lady’s maid from her husband’s staff. She’d never want me around in her married life.”

Genevieve smiled. “Well for your sake, I hope it does work out that way.”

“Yes, only pity the gentleman.” Sophie smirked. “Maybe even one of these poor Bridgerton brothers.” She gestured to the paper she held. “That’s who she’ll be aiming for. She’s always talking about them.”

Gen’s ears perked but she turned back to her sewing. “The Bridgertons? I think her chances with them are unlikely.”

“Yes, they seem to have taste.”

They both chuckled again.

“They are kind hearted too. They’ll see right through her.” Gen explained, then murmured almost as if to herself. “Especially Benedict.”

“Benedict?” Sophie raised a brow at the familiar name. “He’s the one all eyes are on. Eldest bachelor now that the Viscount is married. The catch of the season according to Whistledown.” She skimmed her eyes over the sheet once again and sure enough, discussions of the upcoming masquerade were peppered with mentions of his name and repetitive reminders that he was the ‘number two in an illustrious family’.

Genevieve kept her head down, focusing intently on her sewing as she spoke softly. “He is a good man. He’ll make some lady very happy one day.”

Sophie knew her well enough to suspect something from her tone. “Do you know him?” When all she did was blush, she pressed her further. “Gen?”

Sophie was inexperienced with men but knew the basics of the marital act through servant gossip and a rather lascivious book she had discovered in the Penwood library. She also knew from her time with Genevieve that her friend was quite the opposite of inexperienced and enjoyed dalliances with men from every walk of life. She was a bohemian, a dabbler in the demimonde and Sophie sat in awe of her courage and freedom. To know that Gen spent her days earning her own money and spent her nights associating with the most eligible men in London was a lifestyle entirely beyond her comprehension.

Gen relented, looking up with a wry smile. “We were…acquainted for a time. He has a very good heart. Sensitive. Talented. He’s a catch indeed but I doubt he cares that he’s been named top prize by Whistledown. He’s probably miserable at the thought of attending this masquerade.”

Sophie frowned, imagining he must be a dour sort of fellow regardless of how good and sensitive he was. “I don’t know how anyone could be miserable about a masquerade. A beautiful ball but one where you don’t exchange names.” Her eyes grew misty imagining it. “A place where you can hide in plain sight and no one needs to know who you truly are. Just don a costume and you could be anybody.”

She stared at the swirls of the ceiling decorations while her mind wandered off into what she imagined the Bridgerton House ballroom looked like. Grandeur, candlelight, and everyone equalized by anonymity. Masked strangers dancing beautifully arm-in-arm. Whispered flirtation, no inhibitions. She didn’t realize she had slipped into a daydream until Gen suddenly called her name.

“Sophie,” she smiled, setting aside the mermaid costume. “I’m done here but there’s a dress in the back room I’ve been working to finish. Would you model it for me so I can make sure it’s just right?”

It was an odd request. Gen had never asked her to model anything before and she had an army of dress forms, but she wouldn’t refuse her friend. It was undeniably exciting. She followed her into the back where she revealed the most beautiful gown Sophie had ever seen. It was a costume or should have been, because it was in the style of dresses that had been popular two generations prior. With a tight bodice billowing into a hooped skirt, it was made entirely of a shimmering silver fabric that sparkled like the night sky when angled in the light. As Gen carefully fitted it onto her, Sophie’s fingers trailed over the intricate details. The silver gemstone trim along seams of the waist and the sleeves, silver lace overlays and the silver ribbons of the corseted back. Some embellishments were pinned and had yet to be sewn on but it was already stunning. Genevieve guided Sophie back to the main room and helped her up onto the dais before the mirrors. She held her breath, dazzled by what she saw before her. She looked as if she had been draped in stars.

“Gen,” she gasped. “It’s so beautiful. Whose is it?” She imagined that whichever lady wore the dress to the masquerade would be the envy of all the ton.

“Well, that’s the thing.” Genevieve orbited around her, pinning here and tucking there. “It’s one of my own designs and I haven’t shown it to anyone yet. Just you.” She stood behind and rested her hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “It’s yours Sophie. For a night at least.”

She balked, certain she had misheard. “What?”

Gen squeezed her shoulders. “You want to go to this masquerade. I can see it plain as day. And you deserve to go. You’ve earned one night of happiness.”

Sophie’s eyes began to dart, her mind reeling. Her friend was being too indulgent, too fantastical. How on earth would she attend the ball?

“Gen, no. I couldn’t possibly…”

“Just wait until the Cowpers leave, come here and I’ll dress you.” She explained, calm and matter of fact as if this wasn’t a ludicrous undertaking. “Bridgerton House is a short walk away. Guests won’t be showing invitations so that they can hide their identities. All the ladies have been talking about it. You could slip right in.”

As her friend smiled at her in the mirror, a spark flickered within. When she outlined it all, it did seem rather simple. The masquerade was not a place for bastard maids and her attendance would be nothing short of trespassing. But with everyone’s identity kept secret and in an opulent costume, would anyone be the wiser? Was she really daring enough to chase a dream for one night? If she could borrow Gen’s dress and a fraction of her courage, it was beginning to seem plausible. Except…

“But I…the Cowpers will be there.”

“Yes,” Gen nodded. “But Sophie won’t.” She stepped away to pluck a silver demi-mask from the variety she had on display. Jeweled and feathered, it matched the dress perfectly. She stood behind Sophie once again and lowered the mask over her eyes, holding it in place. “Look there.” She nodded at their reflection, whispering insistently in her ear. “Who do you see? Sophie the housemaid? Or a beautiful debutante?”

Sophie stared at the image before her, breathing shakily at the odd sensation of not recognizing herself. She had never been dressed in something so fine nor so flattering. With the mask obscuring half her face she could no longer see the tired, lonely eyes that stared back at her every morning in the mirror. She didn’t look like a maid and she didn’t feel like a maid. Genevieve had woven magic into the dress and it was proving powerful enough to transform her right before their eyes.

Gen grinned, knowing her persuasion had succeeded. “You said it yourself: you could be anybody.”

With a novel feeling of hope swelling in her chest, a slow smile spread across Sophie’s face. She had suffered as Sophie Beckett long enough. She was ready to be anybody.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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richmond-rex · 5 months

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Did Henry Tudor meet Elizabeth of Edward IV of England and York in house of york?

Hello, I'm not sure I understand your question. Are you asking if Henry Tudor ever met Edward IV and Elizabeth of York whilst Edward was still king? It's impossible to know, but there might actually be a possibility that Henry met Edward IV (less likely he met Elizabeth imo). To be clear, this is a personal theory based on some of the testimonies given for Henry and Elizabeth's marriage dispensation in 1486.

William, earl of Nottingham (64 years old): 'says that he has known the aforesaid prince Henry well for twenty years and more, and the said lady Elizabeth for sixteen years' => That means he knew Henry since at least 1466, and Elizabeth since 1470/1.

Sir Richard Croft (54 years old): 'says and answers that he has known king Henry well for twenty years, and the said lady Elizabeth for sixteen years' => Again, that means he knew Henry since at least 1466 and Elizabeth since 1470/1.

Sir William Tyler (43 years old): 'says that he has known prince Henry [now king] well for twenty years, and the lady Elizabeth for twelve years' => That means he knew Henry since at least 1466 and Elizabeth since 1470/1.

Those two dates are relevant to the Yorkist establishment (hold this thought). I think it's possible those three men first met Elizabeth of York as she fled with her mother and siblings in 1470 to the Tower and then to Westminster Abbey, or they might have met her in 1471 when Edward IV returned and rescued his family from sanctuary. I don't know exactly what kind of ceremonies were held after Edward's triumph over the Lancastrians but it's possible Elizabeth was present on those occasions.

Some of the other witnesses said they knew Henry for sixteen/fifteen years as well — specifically Christopher Urswyck (Margaret Beaufort's confessor) and Sir William Knyvett. It would make the most sense for the majority of people to say they knew Henry since 1470/1, considering Henry Tudor came to London during the readeption of his uncle Henry VI, and would have met the courtiers at that time. But those three people* — the Earl of Nottingham, Sir Richard Croft and Sir William Tyler — said they knew Henry at least since 1466. What was Henry Tudor doing in 1466?

At that time Henry was a 9 year-old in the custody of William Herbert, an important representative of the Yorkist king in Wales described as 'King Edward's master-lock'. It's possible William Berkeley (later Earl of Nottingham), Sir Richard Croft and William Tyler all knew Henry from visiting the Herberts in Rhaglan Castle**, though it's impossible to say if they had any degree of personal friendship with the Herberts. In 1466 there was however an event that was of importance for both the Herberts and Edward IV.

In that year William Herbert married his eldest son and heir to Mary Woodville, the king's sister (in-law) in a ceremony that took place in Windsor Castle, one of the king's residences. It was apparently such a great event a Welsh poet later praised it in one of his poems dedicated to Willaim Herbert:

The foremost king of Britain and its realm / Gave his sister to him / He held a great wedding-feast in Windsor / For this man, in his royalty / A generous feast for our lord who is of our tongue, / May he be seen again as a prince!

This is pure speculation but I ask myself: is it possible William Herbert took his whole family to Windsor, including his ward Henry Tudor, for his son's wedding feast? If so, many Yorkist partisans such as the Earl of Nottingham and Sir Richard Croft would have had the opportunity to meet Henry on that occasion — in turn, Henry would have had the opportunity to at least see King Edward. Of course there's no way to really know that whilst no concrete evidence comes up, but it's fascinating to think Henry might have seen/know Edward IV.

This isn't taking into account, for example, the possibility that Edward IV might have visited William Herbert at Raglan in one of his travels, to which Henry would have seen him as well. A royal visit to Raglan is the only way I can think of that Henry might have seen Elizabeth of York, as she was only merely a few months-old at the time of her aunt's wedding in Windsor, and would not have attended the ceremony. Furthermore, if Henry and Elizabeth had been present on the same occasion/wedding the three witnesses above would have given the same number of years for knowing them both***, which was not the case.

However, I think a royal visit from Edward IV to Raglan is less likely, given it was not documented anywhere, not even in Welsh poetry, and William Herbert was enough of a patron to have this visit documented in that way. So all in all, I think it's very unlikely Henry Tudor ever met Elizabeth of York before 1485, though I think there's a slight chance that he have met Edward IV in 1466. Again, this is all pure speculation, though.

_____________

* It's important to notice that all three were Yorkist partisans: Sir Richard Croft fought at Mortimer’s Cross, Towton and Tewkesbury on Edward IV's side — he and his brother were tutored with or were the one who tutored Edward whilst Earl of March and his brother Edmund in Ludlow*. Apparently the letter Edward and Edmund jointly wrote to their father Richard of York complained about Sir Richard Croft and his brother. The Crofts were neighbours of the Mortimers, which then encompassed Richard of York and his sons. The Battle of Mortimer's Cross took place on Croft soil. Sir Richard's wife Eleanor ran the household of Edward Prince of Wales, Edward IV's son, and his younger brother (also called Richard Croft) was one of Edward's tutors in Ludlow. Henry VII later made Sir Richard Croft his treasurer, and also made him Prince Arthur’s steward in Ludlow later on.

William Berkeley was created Baron Berkeley by Edward IV and became one of his privy councillors in 1482/3. He might have been the same William Berkeley, knight of the Body, who was attainted in Richard III’s Parliament and joined Henry in exile. It would be weird for the act in Parliament not to mention his title, though, since he was created Earl of Nottingham two days after Richard III was declared king. Either William Earl of Nottingham or this other William Berkeley, knight of the Body, hosted Margaret of York when she visited England in 1480.

** It would be really awkward if William Berkeley (later Earl of Nottingham) was intimate enough to visit the Herberts, considering he killed in battle William Herbert's son-in-law, Thomas Talbot, 2nd Baron/Viscount Lisle (Margaret Herbert's husband) after Lisle challenged him to a trial of arms over the Berkeley lands in 1470. Lisle had been Herbert's ward in the same way Henry Tudor had been. His wife Margaret Herbert miscarried a boy shortly after his death. I believe this is the dowager Viscountess of Lisle that Henry granted a financial settlement in 1492.

*** For example, Sir William Knyvett said he knew Elizabeth of York from the day of her birth 🥺 (and had known Henry for fifteen years, that is, since 1470/1 the Readeption years).

#ask #henry vii #edward iv #elizabeth of york #william herbert

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the-last-dillpickle · 1 year

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DS9 trivia from IMDB - Part 2

- After production ended, and the sets were dismantled, the Defiant bridge set was declared "fold and hold" and placed in storage. It was re-dressed and used as the bridge of an alien cargo ship and a Klingon battlecruiser on Star Trek: Voyager (1995) and the bridge of the ECS Fortunate on Star Trek: Enterprise

- When the Nielsen ratings started to go down during the broadcasting of the third season, the studio pressed for radical ideas for the fourth season to increase the show's popularity again. Some of their suggestions included blowing up planet Bajor, or taking the action away from the station. They finally decided that the show needed a popular character from an earlier Star Trek series. Initially, the producers weren't too pleased, because they had set up a subplot within the Dominion War storyline where the Federation would be facing off against the Klingons, and were already having difficulties making it work. However, the studio decision turned out to be a blessing in disguise when someone suggested to introduce The Next Generation's Worf (Michael Dorn) to the cast as an intermediate between the Federation and the Klingons, which conveniently solved most of the script problems.

- The name "Deep Space Nine" originated from an early working title, and pre-dated the decision to set the series on a space station. Producers intended on coming up with a new title after the show was fully developed, but stayed with the name, feeling it had an intriguing quality to it.

- Malcolm McDowell, who had been in Star Trek: Generations (1994), once said he'd like to appear on this show, but only if his nephew, Alexander Siddig (Dr. Bashir), would direct the episode. Such a chance was offered in season five, episode eighteen, "Business as Usual", but never materialized due to scheduling conflicts.

- When Nana Visitor became pregnant, her condition was explained away in the show by having Kira become an emergency surrogate for Keiko O'Brien's baby. Astonishingly, Visitor was only absent for one episode (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Let He Who Is without Sin... (1996)) due to the birth of her son. She actually cut her maternity leave short, out of fear that a prolonged absence would cause the writers to significantly reduce her role in the rest of the series.

- Marc Alaimo was nicknamed "The Neck" on-set for his naturally long neck, which inspired the look of the Cardassian neck ridges.

- Despite being credited as a regular, Cirroc Lofton appeared in only eighty-five of the show's one hundred seventy-three episodes. Morn (Mark Allen Shepherd), the most frequent recurring character, appeared in ninety-two episodes. Curiously, Sheppard isn't credited with this total on DS9's cast listing.

- Jadzia Dax was originally supposed to have a forehead appliance as the Trill were first shown in Star Trek: The Next Generation: The Host (1991), but after a test, most people thought that Terry Farrell's face was much too beautiful to be partially covered by or with prostheses. Instead, she got to have spots on the side. They were drawn on personally by Michael Westmore each day, a process which initially took over an hour, but over time, this eventually was reduced to close to forty minutes. Westmore actually "signed" his work by adding two spots in the shape of an M and a W. From then on, all Trills were shown to be like this, rather than the version shown on Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987).

- Amongst the actors to read for the role of Captain Sisko were Carl Weathers and Eriq La Salle. James Earl Jones and Tony Todd were offered the role but declined. Todd (who appeared as Worf's brother Kurn on Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987)) made two appearances on this show; first as an elderly Jake Sisko in season four, episode three, "The Visitor", then as Kurn in season four, episode fifteen, "Sons of Mogh". He appeared in Star Trek: Voyager (1995) season four, episode sixteen, "Prey".

- Alexander Siddig originally auditioned to play the part of Sisko. Rick Berman thought that Siddig was too young for the part, and felt him to be a better fit to play Bashir instead.

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d20unfuckability · 1 year

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Sweet Sixteen

Garthy O'Brien vs Lady Chirp Featherfowl, Countess of Cluckingham

Big Barry Syx vs Kingston Brown

Ricky Matsui vs Pete Conlan

Major Knickolas Pnackleless Hob vs Jawbone O'Shaughnessey

Gilear Faeth vs Gooey

Sofia Lee vs Margaret Encino

Sklonda Gukgak vs Captain Annabelle Cheddar

Esther Sinclair vs Lord Squak Airavis, Earl of Peckersberg

#masterlist

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peninsularian · 1 year

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Heavy, with Manasseh

#earl sixteen #zion city #reggae #rastafari #dub #manasseh

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princesssarisa · 1 year

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Sleeping Beauty Spring: "Sleeping Beauty" (1959 Disney animated film)

In contemporary American popular culture, this lavish animated feature defines the story of Sleeping Beauty. Countless children have grown up with this version of the tale, not just through the film itself, but through dolls, picture books, Halloween costumes, t-shirts, accessories, and visits to the pop culture icon that is Disneyland's Sleeping Beauty Castle. Yet as an adaptation of of the fairy tale, it plays particularly fast and loose with the original plot. But the liberties it takes work to its advantage. Disney infuses the tale with emotion, conflict, and action that more strictly faithful adaptations lack, but which suit the art form of cinema.

The film's first and foremost departure from the classic tale is to flesh out and humanize the fairies, rather than portraying them as just ethereal agents of fate. The three good fairies, Flora (voice of Verna Felton), Fauna (Barbara Jo Allen), and Merryweather (Barbara Luddy), are small elderly ladies, each with her own distinct, endearing personality. In sharp, powerful contrast to their goodness and warmth stands Maleficent (Eleanor Audley) – not the mere angry fairy of tradition, but a majestic dark sorceress, the self-proclaimed "mistress of all evil," and one of Disney's most iconic villains. Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather are the true protagonists of this film, as the story is rewritten to revolve around their efforts to save Princess Aurora (voiced by the golden-toned operatic soprano Mary Costa) from Maleficent's evil magic.

After Merryweather softens Maleficent's curse on Aurora from death to sleep, the three good fairies take further steps to try to prevent the curse from coming to pass at all. In another drastic departure from the traditional tale, King Stefan and his queen entrust their baby daughter to the fairies, who disguise themselves as peasant women and raise her as their foster child in the forest, changing her name to "Briar Rose." (Thus her name from the Grimms' version of the tale and her name from Tchaikovsky's ballet both get their due.) They plan to take her back to the castle at sunset on her sixteenth birthday, when the curse will end, to reunite with her parents and to marry her betrothed, Prince Phillip (Bill Shirley).

Sixteen years later, in the forest, Briar Rose and Prince Phillip meet by chance and fall in love, neither knowing the other's identity. Afterwards, Briar Rose is distraught to learn her own royal identity and betrothal, because it means leaving her "peasant boy" behind. When the fairies take her back to the castle, they allow the sad princess a few moments alone. Unfortunately, Maleficent seizes the chance to hypnotize Aurora and leads her up to a tower where a spinning wheel waits.

As the fairies put the whole royal court to sleep along with Aurora, they learn that the young man she met in the forest was, in fact, Prince Phillip. But Maleficent captures and imprisons the prince to prevent him from waking Aurora with true love's kiss. This leads to what may be the most dramatic change from the traditional story: Aurora and the court's enchanted sleep doesn't last for a hundred years, but just one night, the length of time it takes for the fairies to help Prince Phillip escape from Maleficent's dungeon and reach King Stefan's castle. After Phillip chops through the forest of thorns Maleficent creates to bar his way, Maleficent transforms herself into a fire-breathing dragon, and an epic battle takes place. In the end, of course, the dragon is slain, and Phillip's kiss wakes Aurora, who finally meets her parents and takes her place as princess by her prince's side, while the good fairies happily look on.

Walt Disney set out to make Sleeping Beauty his greatest animated feature thus far, and its visual spectacle and elegance have rarely been equalled before or since. With artist Eyvind Earl as the animation's chief stylist, the entire picture has the look of a rich medieval tapestry, combined with with sleek traces of 1950s modern art too, and the film's widescreen Super Technirama 70 format gives it an epic dimension far different from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or Cinderella. The visual beauty is enhanced by the classical-flavored musical score by George Bruns, based on motifs from Tchaikovsky's ballet – of the few songs sung by the characters, the standout is the main love theme, "Once Upon a Dream," based on Tchaikovsky's famous Garland Waltz. Some critics might find the whole atmosphere too sophisticated and serious compared to other, livelier films in Disney's animated canon. But the excellent voice cast brings their roles to life, and the film's focus on Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather adds warmth, lightness, and gentle humor to balance out the medieval elegance.

While I can't say if Walt Disney succeeded or not in making Sleeping Beauty greater than all his earlier animated features, it's most definitely one of the crown jewels of the Disney animated canon. And while it's not the most faithful retelling of the classic fairy tale, its sheer artistic quality as a film is hard for any other version to equal.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @thealmightyemprex, @faintingheroine, @reds-revenge, @the-blue-fairie, @comma-after-dearest, @themousefromfantasyland, @paexgo-rosa, @thatscarletflycatcher

#sleeping beauty spring #sleeping beauty #1959 #disney #animated film #fairy tale

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rykuunas · 2 months

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︱ABOUT ME ⋆˚✿˖°

- mya, she/her

- sixteen ₊⁺ pisces

- mixed -> ecuadorian, african-american, crackuh

︱EDITS EDITS EDITS ⋆˚✿˖°

i edit on alight motion :p mostly jujutsu kaisen ...until my next hyperfixation begins. i use capcut for my coloring or custom text overlays!! don't be shy to leave me some edit ideas, suggestions, or requests, i'd be more than happy to take them :)

︱DESC. ⋆˚✿˖°

small yap sesh tehe

this is my only blog and tbh i started it to have another platform to post my edits, which im very passionate about, but i've grown to love being on here and looove all my amazing moots!! i love jjk (obv), ohshc, death note, csm, haikyuu, and more. im a big fat music nerd and def cannot narrow it down to just three artists, so i'll give you a few andd link my playlist (you're all welcome ;)) my no.1 4 evaa is tyler, the creator. i like kali uchis, frank ocean, mitski, steve lacy, sade, clairo, earl sweatshirt, lone, lil yachty, mf doom, and soo many more.

︱DNI ⋆˚✿˖°

weirdoes. just don't be a weirdo. thx :)

︱LINKS⋆˚✿˖°

THINKIN’ BOUT YOU -> here

my tiktok -> here

my (personal) instagram -> here

my playlists -> tidal + apple music

#intro post #welcome #fr7nchise

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theflirtmeister · 3 months

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based on @octakiseronliker post about the audiobook but i feel like everyone forgets that silas canonically has one of the deepest character voices, imagine glancing at the sixteen year old boy with the fancy braid and he starts speaking like james earl jones

#character of all time #he wears a headband to sleep in!#he gets punched in the face!#he sucks on his nephew like a battery!

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 11 months

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If you don’t mind writing angst or sad right now, how about a snippet from when Holly loses the rest of her Rotwell team. :))

Holly Louise Munro is sixteen years old and doesn't think she's going to make it to seventeen. Plenty of psychic agents don't, after all. And this window isn't a very good reassurance.

The night started ordinarily enough. The case was somewhat routine, disturbances and disruptions that her team was sent to investigate and mitigate. Most poltergeists don't make a habit of violently hurling knives the instant the sun goes down, though. Most wait, most build up to full attacks, most don't do this-

Holly has to remind herself to breathe, but not too loudly. It's only barely one in the morning, still comparatively early in a usual worknight. If she breathes too loudly, or moves too much, or panics, the Visitor will hear her, or sense her, or notice her, and she can't have that. She has to file a report, it's only proper procedure, she has to- She has to tell their families.

Arthur was the first to be killed. Holly was in the kitchen prepping tea, quickly and clipped and just the way she always does, while the other three made their rounds, set up chains, laid iron filings. Arthur, a supervisor around her height with a face full of freckles, stopped into the kitchen to check in with her. Holly's head was ducked, not looking his direction even though she heard him coming with his cheerful, "Oy, Munro-". The instant he poked his head of tousled ginger hair around the entrance to the kitchen, a knife flew through the air and stabbed into his neck, all but pinning him to the wall of the hallway behind him.

Holly's head had whipped up at the grisly thunk, in just enough time to see the light go out of his eyes. Her mind was utterly blank for far too long, and it was the first time she had to remind herself to breathe that night. The blank look in Arthur's eyes, the knife protruding from his windpipe and the thin trickles of blood falling down around it, are seared into her memory. She'll never forget that.

Selfishly, she'll hate herself for it later and has already kind of started, her first thought is it's in here with me. It's fuzzy and slow, the realization, but it sticks in her head anyway. She puts a hand on her rapier, tries to remember where she'd seen the knife block sitting on the counter before the sun set, and thanks God above for the gift of shock.

Poltergeists are drawn to strong emotion. If she were feeling anything in particular at the moment, she would easily become the next victim. She'd never seen a Visitor become so violent so quickly before coming to Cotton Street. There isn't an iron circle in the kitchen. They hadn't thought there was enough space or need.

"Brenton," Holly calls as loudly as she dares, "Christa," and the other two members of her team hadn't responded. Brenton refused to go by his first name, and Christa was barely fourteen years old. Arthur had loved caramelized biscuits. He'd probably been coming to beg some from her when he was killed.

For the longest time, Holly stood stock still in the cramped kitchen of a home on Cotton Street with the body of one her supervisor, who loved caramelized biscuits and earl grey tea and had too-long ginger hair that stuck up every which way and freckles almost as dark as Holly's own skin, and all she could think of was lists of details of these children she works with. Children who likely won't see another birthday. Children sent to die in a home on Cotton Street.

All she could think was that Christa's favorite color is green and she'd had strawberry cake from a storebought boxed mix that she'd made herself for her birthday last week even though Holly had offered to bake something, and that she'd worn non-regulation platform boots to make herself look taller, and her wispy blonde hair fell in front of her eyes like mare's-tail clouds. All Holly could think is that it took her six months to find out Brenton's first name, Augustin, and that he'd been named for a Saint who preached unity even though the boy himself picked more fights on sillier grounds than anyone Holly had ever met, even all her aunts and uncles at family reunions when she was very little, and that she brought chamomile tea along even though it wasn't a standard because she knew he had anxiety and it helped to calm his nerves. And that these were the children Holly now had responsibility for, as the oldest of them, and who she can't save from this.

"Christa," she tries again. "Brenton!" Her voice is getting more shrill, she knows it, can feel it trembling in her jawbone. All of a sudden she wants to cry. She's only sixteen. She's more of an adult than any of them, but she's not, not really. She just has to be. She has to be the adult, because that's what would keep them alive. They needed her. "I need you!"

"Alright, Holly?" Came one high, airy little voice, and if Holly hadn't choked out the tiniest little sob as she dares to step out into the hallway, closer to Arthur's body but father from the knife block which she remembers now is sitting under the tiny square window with curtains she had thought earlier were pretty, with embroidered daisies and dandelions, she's a liar.

"Christa, come here right now," Holly says. "Rapier out." A rapier won't do much good against a Visitor with no corporeal form, but she isn't going to tell the other girl that. The key right then was to stay calm, to hold themselves together to hopefully keep them alive. "Was Brenton with you?" She asks, stepping out to meet Christa and keep her from seeing Arthur with a knife in his neck. They see so much in this job, but she can try to protect the littler girl from this much.

Christa shakes her head. "He was in the bedroom."

Holly nods, shouts Brenton's name again, and stiffens when she hears rattling from behind them. She doesn't dare turn around to look back toward the kitchen, but she would have and did bet her life that the knives were moving, slipping from their slots and drawers and Arthur's throat. She takes Christa by the shoulders, bends to look her in the eye because even platform boots can't make a little girl big all at once.

"Go find him and get into your chain circle. That's what he was doing, right?" When Christa nods, Holly continues. "Go tell him I said to get in the chains, right now. stay there until I say so." For the first time, fear shows in Christa's eyes. For the first time, she looks back over Holly's shoulder. She gasps and goes even paler than usual and starts to tremble in Holly's hands. "Don't look," Holly says. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

"Do you promise?" Christa asks. And Holly, trying to be the adult, trying to remind herself to breathe, nods once and firmly.

"I promise." She pushes Christa toward the bedroom, toward hopefully safety. The girl doesn't look back. She was always whip-smart, Holly can tell her parents that, always did the inventory twice as well as anyone and enjoyed the mathematics and memorized the regulations, knew what to do if she had to go off-book, too.

She was so, so bright and had mare's-tail hair and she had trusted Holly so completely that when she picked up her pace and started running on her size four platform combat boots, Holly truly thought she'd be safe in the chain circle with Brenton in only a few seconds. She hoped it, believed it so much that she turned away to return, steeling herself metaphorically and literally, to the kitchen where her bag was.

She had flares, salt bombs, precious senses of safety in there. Quickly, clipped, she collected her things, strapped extras onto her body, stared at the knives hovering just above their places in the knife block. It wasn't attacking her right now. It couldn't, of course, because it's focus was on the tiny girl down the hall. The thud sent chills through Holly, the sudden ice cold that comes with being pierced through with abject terror.

Dropping her bag, she'd run toward the sound, and come to a desperate halt when she saw the knife, the same one that had sliced through Arthur's windpipe, embedded between Christa's shoulderblades. It must have severed her spine in just the right place, because she's dead by the time Holly tries to find her pulse. She thinks, and will continue to think, that it's a mercy. Still, tears come to her eyes and she's forced to blink them away, keep breathing, keep breathing, when Brenton appears, sweaty and shocked.

"Munro?" He says weakly. She shakes her head.

"Go," she hisses, and hears metal rattling ominously. "Get in the circle," she cries, standing to her feet and running to push him ahead of her. "It's a Poltergeist," she explains hastily, shoving him roughly into the bedroom where a wide circle of chain sits in the clear space between the bed beside the door and the window at the far wall of the room. "Get in-"

She flinches, drops her grip on Brenton's arm and covers her head in fear when something shiny flashes in the corner of her eye. She doesn't know what it is, but this Visitor's hallmark is metal things, harmless metals like copper and composites free of iron or silver, cheap faux silverware and bargain jewelry.

It's an ornamental gold pocketknife and a hatpin this time, that do sweet terrified Brenton in. The knife is just large enough that she can see it sticking out of his stomach, the hatpin embedded in between two of his ribs, probably puncturing a lung. She whimpers a small, useless "No!" as Brenton crumples to the floor just outside the chain. She blinks hard and fights back tears once more, struggles to breathe even shallow shaky breaths, and clings to the small sweaty hand he holds out.

"The circle," Brenton wheezes, moving his arm like he's trying to push her into it. Almost robotically, she crawls across the chain, into the protective circle, but never let's go of Brenton as she does.

"It's going to be okay," she whispers uselessly, "You're going to be fine."

Brenton stared at her, hopefully in too much shock to feel the pain as he had bled slowly out against a chest of drawers. His eyes were wide and green and every part of him was trembling. His breaths were strained and labored and Holly knew, the whole time, that she was lying to him. He was dying right in front of her. Her whole team was dead or dying. They were just children.

Brenton fumbled with her hand, his palm slipping. Something thunked into a wall outside in the hall. "I'm scared, Hol, I'm so scared, please, Holly-"

"I've got you," she told him, "It's alright, August, I'm here, I'll-" She couldn't say protect you. She's already failed at that. "It's alright. I've got you." She says it over and over, until internal bleeding or a collapsed lung takes the light from his eyes. She keeps saying it even after he's dead as if that can bring him back or make it true.

She keeps saying it for so long that she doesn't realize at first how loud the rattling throughout the house is. Drawers are shaking, items that aren't shiny or sharp now threatening at every angle. There is a trail of Holly's dead teammates leading to this room, and there's next to no good way to fight a Poltergeist this strong. Holly is completely alone except for a thing that wants to kill her and will probably succeed, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing.

The window is her only chance. It's a second floor, but she can probably survive that. The odds are better than staying here through the night, rapier useless and team dead around her. She thinks she's going to be sick. She thinks there's almost no point. If the fall doesn't kill her she'll still be alone til morning.

She gives up on the chains and finds herself pressed against the wall beneath the window, shaking. A drawer flies open in the bedside table and a desperate sob rips out of her. She can't time it properly, can't see the Visitor's approach as it comes to take her life. She forces herself to breathe once, twice, and then turns, scrabbles at the window latch and throws it open. It screeches with disuse, takes all her shaky strength to pry it open and lift it wide enough to get out, and she almost falls headfirst when she manages it.

The noise in the house builds to a fever pitch as Holly rolls out of the window, finds herself on a tile roof, and keeps sliding. The impact when she hits brick, a chimney, will leave her with bruises and a single broken rib. She can still hear the rattling and pounding inside the Cotton Street flat, can see all three of her teammates lying dead inside. For the first time since the sun went down, she doesn't have to force herself to breathe.

When they find her in the morning, the flat's owner and DEPRAC and a Rotwell department head, still lying against the chimney barely aware of the world around her, she's cried herself out. She's dehydrated and exhausted, but there's no more rattling inside the house. She'd cried for hours, rattling sobs wrenching out of her, in the dark against that chimney. It was loud and ragged and she doesn't know how none of the neighbors heard her. She cried so hard her head hurt and she couldn't even speak to explain what happened to her for nearly a full day.

The scene inside the flat had spoken for itself, though. Holly was the sole survivor, of course. And she got to see her seventeenth birthday, not that it mattered much. She was taken off of active duty, assigned a desk and inventory and peperwork that she did twice as well as anyone else in honor of Christa Wells, who didn't live to see fifteen. She drinks chamomile tea when her hands shake because she remembers how scared Augustin Brenton was when he died, and she keeps a pack of caramelized biscuits in a well-oiled drawer in her desk because she sometimes still expects Arthur O'Connor to come by and ask if she has any.

She is very good at her job, no matter how angry she finds herself at the adults, real adults, who so fail the children in their care and instead leave the children to each other. Even in that, she finds herself numb more often than not and wonders if this is what it's like for Visitors. She doesn't know why she survived and they didn't. She doesn't know why she's alive, or how to be.

Holly has to remind herself to breathe sometimes.

#bestie I am always down for angst. like even if I'm down in the dumps it's cathartic #muahahaha #actually also this gets addressed in the #girls trip fic #which I have a fair bit of done I'm just kinda slogging through midpoint filler atm so yeah #anyway. her middle name is louise now bc I said so :)#also the tense changes are somewhat intentional please don't think I'm a bad writer akdkfnskfnskfnskf #Lu writes #lockwood & co #L&c #holly munro

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scotianostra · 4 months

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Happy Birthday Scottish actor Ewen Bremner, born January 23rd 1972 in Edinburgh.

Bremner has worked with many of the most respected directors in world cinema, including Danny Boyle, Mike Leigh, Ridley Scott, Joon-Ho Bong, Werner Herzog and Woody Allen. Hen has established himself by creating unique characters in critically acclaimed films, as well as going toe to toe with many of Hollywood's biggest stars.

Ewen had worked widely in theatre, television, and film for years before being cast in his breakout role in Trainspotting, by Oscar-winning director Danny Boyle. He was the first to be cast in the role of Mark Renton in Edinburgh's Traverse Theatre production but lost out to Ewan McGregor in the film version, instead he was handed the role of Spud Murphy and earned screen immortality with his character's infamous "speed fuelled" job interview scene.

Prior to Trainspotting, Bremner gave a striking performance in Mike Leigh's Naked, fellow Scot Susan Vidler played his girlfriend Maggie in this excellent film.

In 1999, Bremner received critical acclaim for his portrayal of a schizophrenic man living with his dysfunctional family in Harmony Korine's Julien, Donkey-Boy. Filmed strictly in accordance with the ultra-realist tenants of Lars Von Trier's Dogma 95 movement and starring opposite Werner Herzog, Bremner played Julien its eponymous hero, requiring him to assume an American accent. He then worked with director Michael Bay in his high-profile 2001 war film Pearl Harbor, proving his versatility once again by portraying the role of a wholeheartedly patriotic American soldier fighting in WWII. The following year, he stepped back into fatigues for a supporting role in Ridley Scott's Black Hawk Down, while rounding out the next several years with roles in high-profile Hollywood releases such as The Rundown, Disney's Around the World in 80 Days), AVP: Alien vs. Predator, Woody Allen's Match Point, the comedy Death at a Funeral directed by Frank Oz, and Fool's Gold starring Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson.

This past few of years proved to be a busy when Bremner was invited to join the DC Universe in the Zack Snyder-produced feature Wonder Woman, directed by Patty Jenkins, co-starring Gal Gadot and Chris Pine. Ewen also reprised his unforgettable role as Spud in the highly-anticipated sequel to Danny Boyle's cult classic, T2: Trainspotting

Bremner appeared in the TNT Drama Series Will with Shekhar Kapur. The series told the story of the lost years of young William Shakespeare after his arrival to London in 1589 but only lasted one season. Other notable film credits include Woody Allen's You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger, Perfect Sense starring again alongside Ewan McGregor, Great Expectations, Jack the Giant Slayer, and Snowpiercer starring alongside Chris Evans and Tilda Swinton. Further credits include Exodus: Gods and Kings, Wide Open Spaces, Mojo, Mediator, Faintheart, Hallam Foe, Sixteen Years of Alcohol, and Snatch.

In television, Ewen has worked on many acclaimed productions including David Hare's Worriker trilogy starring Bill Nighy for BBC, Jimmy McGovern's Moving On and also his Australian mini-series Banished, Strike Back for Sky TV, Dominic Savage's Dive, the Dylan Thomas biopic, A Poet In New York and the adaptation of Day of the Triffids for the BBC. Other noteworthy series appearances include portraying legendary surrealist Salvador Dali in the U.K. television drama Surrealissimo: The Trial of Salvador Dali, and a guest spot on the successful NBC series, My Name is Earl, not to forget an early appearance in Taggart way back in 1990.

Latley Ewen has been one of a number of Scottish actors who are backing a campaign to reopen the Film House cinema in Edinburgh, he has a couple of projects on the go just now, Bluefish, which takes us around the globe to tell stories of people trying to break out of their bubbles of isolation, which I take to mean the Covid pandemic, he also has a film on the go called Roo, but there is nothing to report on that just now.

#scotland #scottish #history #happy birthday #actor #television #cinema #trainspotting

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ohtobealady · 8 months

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Things Given to Tomorrow, Chapter Sixteen

See you next week with another installment! We're doing this thing! :D

Preview for Chapter Sixteen under the cut:

Her aunt’s trousered knee brushed softly against her own, and Sybbie glanced to her at her right. Aunt Edith smiled very, very briefly to acknowledge the contact, but they didn’t speak. They couldn’t. The journalist sat in the chair near the sitting room door, the fireplace at his left side warm, crackling, and inviting as he scratched down the date and names of the people sitting nearest him: Lady Mary Talbot, George Crawley, and the young Matthew Crawley. Donk sat in a chair on his own —the heavy, needle-pointed thing pulled to the center of the rug, closer to the journalist, to the photographer — in pride of place. Edith and Sybbie sat behind the couch, near the piano, watching. Sybbie heard the camera the photographer held take a photo beside her, and she looked up at him, catching his eye for a moment before he turned away.

Her eyes went back to Donk.

“So, just to confirm what we’ve discussed,” the journalist flipped notebook papers over and read from them, “The central piece of the house was the monks' refectory of an abbey that King Henry sold after the Dissolution of the Monasteries. It developed over time as a residential home and country seat for the Earl of Grantham, being first built in 1679. Erm … The house as we know it now was redesigned by the famous architect Sir Charles Barry in the 1840s. Yes?”

Donk didn’t nod, but lifted his white brows.

“Of course great houses take quite a lot of funding and revenue to operate and in the 1880s, it was in danger of being sold away piecemeal?”

Mary sat straighter. “Well, not exactly piecemeal, but there were some debts, yes.”

Sybbie noticed that the journalist made no corrections in his notebook, but muttered a small, “Alright. But, in danger, nonetheless?”

“Yes, but —“

“It would have gone. Yes,” George added.

The journalist nodded. “And in the fashion of the many other American heiresses, the late Lady Grantham saved the estate in 18…90. Early 1890.”

“‘In the fashion’ you say?”

Sybbie watched Donk blink at the journalist who quickly met Aunt Mary’s eye and then looked back at him.

“Well, we’re going to discuss how there was such an influx of American heiresses in the late 1800s. Jennie Jerome, that is, Lady Randolph Churchill; Conseulo Montagu, the Duchess of Manchester —“

“Lady Grantham’s story isn’t quite the same as theirs.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfic #things given to tomorrow #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley

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gearbox-doll · 1 year

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You see, in my past life, I was a demon. I was of fairly high rank but had a dislike of the other demons around me, memories of a life as a human to fuck with my morals, and a very loose concept of what love was that was mostly based on my body.

As a demon, I often fell in love with those I made contracts with - but this love was never returned. Even the times that I was requested to pretend to be a dead or ex partner, I had to live with the fact that it was never truly me that they loved. Those who were attracted to me outside of my contractors were not attracted to the real me either, just the me I projected at the world. So for most of my contracts, my love for my contractors - however fleeting - went unreturned.

Except for Ciel. However, to put it simply, Ciel was a child. He was merely ten when I first met him, and no more than fifteen at the latest when we got together. He was a boy, a little boy who had been shown the cruelty of the world far too early and forced to grow up far too fast.

But unlike my other contractors, he was a kind, gentle master. Perhaps not all the time - children and their tantrums, after all - but far more than my previous contractors. He showed me what it truly meant to be loved, and redirected my learned habits with a gentle voice and a kind hand. He made me feel loved in a way only he could.

He had power over me, as well. Our contract was not a free for all where we could do what we wanted. I had three rules:

One, I must never lie to him. Not only did this prevent me from telling him outright falsehoods, it meant I could not hide anything from him either. If I was asked a question, I had to answer truthfully, without omitting anything. Of course, there were loopholes to this - depending on what I could count as part of the answer, I could choose not to say something as it did not fit the specifics of the question. However, this often annoyed him and was not something I was in the habit of doing unless I was talking about my past.

Rule number two was that I must obey direct orders. Commands did not fit under this, but if he specified that it was an order, I was simply unable to disobey. Even if I did not wish to or it went against a previous command or order, I had to do it.

Rule number three was that I must always care for and protect him, until the day I take his soul. I made do with the bare minimum in the beginning, but as I grew attached I soon found myself doing more and more to go above and beyond with this rule. He was precious to me, and often sick, and easily injured. I needed to do my best for him.

I feel I must point out that times were different than, as well. This life took place in the Victorian Era, right in the middle of London, when the age of consent had just been raised from twelve to sixteen. My little master was serving in the position of Earl and had been given the rights of an adult when the rest of his family died. He was effectively an adult in all but maturity, and it was my job to teach him that maturity in addition to my duties as his butler. It was all part of taking care of him, of course.

I would never hurt him, you must understand that. I was simply incapable of it, the thought never even crossed my mind. Occasional punishments were handed out, but nothing more than a light slap across the palms when he was being a bit of a brat (and continuously having fun at my expense by ordering me to complete increasingly outlandish tasks). He knew I would never hurt him, and that a simple thought could force me to stop if I ever did. He was not being controlled, if anything, he was the one controlling things.

A master and his servant, a child and an adult. Sure, I might have had years of experience that he did not, but he was the one in charge.

He was the only one who ever returned my love, and is the only one I still consider my master. Oh, what I would do to have him back. He could make me do anything and I would do it with a smile, no matter how harmful or humiliating. Just as long as he was satisfied with me...

#rambling about my master #sebastian michaelis kin #black butler kin #kuroshitsuji kin #ciel phantomhive kin #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #sebaciel

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