#Georgiana Drew

[sparrowsfallingfromthesky]

In case anyone else was curious, these are all* the names people have given Trent Crimm’s daughter in fanfiction**:

*unless I've missed any **on ao3 as of November 7, 2022 [updates below]

Seraphina/Sera

Emma

Evelyn/Evie

Georgie/Georgina/Georgiana

Leith

Katie

Amina

Genevieve

Sophie

Lola

Mia

Sara

Maisie

Rose/Rosie

Amanda

Olivia

Poppy

Mella

Annalise

Imogen

Samantha

Maud

Edie

Ruby

Annabelle

Willow

Lucy

Maggie [could be nickname for Margaret which will show up later]

Beatrice/Bea

Joanie

Ellie/Eleanor/Elle [later variation: Nellie]

Deliah

Freya

Cressida/Cressy/Chrissy/Cress/Chris (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Ching-ling)

Drew

Alice

Ophelia/Ofelia/Feeli (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Clementine)

Lizzie/Elizabeth (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Tabitha [later addition: another fic has the middle name Jessminder])

Adelaide/Addy

Tabitha/Tabby

Charlotte

Madeleine/Maddy [later variation: Madelyn]

Mabel

Tessa

Clementine

Anna

Khadija

Kendall

Penelope/Penny [later addition: one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Rose]

Simone/Simi

Amelia/Emilia

Rowan

Pia

Lily

Addison

Emily

Octavia

Isabel/Izzy [later variation: Isobel/Issy]

Violet

Kieran

Freddie

Estelle/Estie

Miranda

Flora

Olive

Sibyl

Winifred

Camille

Megan

Jemima

Eloise

Malia

Mina

Isla

Emmeline/Emmy (middle name Nicola)

Thea

Cassie

Some fun facts: - This list is not quite in order of when the first usages of these names appeared, but it's pretty close. - Assuming I caught everything and did the math correctly, Trent's daughter has been mentioned by name in 192 fics! For reference, Trent has been tagged as a character in 395 and does not actually appear in some of those, so she's really named in over 49% of the fics he's in. - Of the approximately 77(!) names used, ~33 have been used in multiple fics (including several series), and ~21 of those have been used by multiple different authors. - Seraphina and Georgie are tied for most usages (18 each) but when it comes to usages by the most authors, Seraphina (probably unsurprisingly, given how many people have been inspired by a kind of dwell and welcome) wins in a landslide with 15.

EDIT March 14 2023 I don't feel like updating the math but here are the new names that have been used since I originally posted this:

Ivy

Rosa

Clara

Eliora Eli Asher (nonbinary in this one)

Persephone

Agatha

Sadia

Lottie [could be a nickname for Charlotte (already on the list) but not necessarily and not clarified as such]

Mira

Karime

Lydia

Billie Rose

One more day to season 3, can't wait to see if we get a confirmed name! Either way, it's been fun <3

EDIT April/May 2023 to add:

Isadora

Molly

Darla

Patricia/Trish

Amaya

Ella

Meg/Margaret

Charlie [again I'm assuming this is a nickname for Charlotte but that's not stated]

Eliza [Could be standalone name or could be nickname for Elizabeth]

Carmilla/Millie

Annie [Could be a nickname for a number of other names. EDIT: One of the two fics using this name just revealed it's a nickname for Cordelia Annabel. Not sure how to count this tbh.]

Frances

Emi

Kara

Ingrid

Astrid

Beth [again this is probably a nickname for Elizabeth]

Claire

Maya

Cindy

Harriet

EDIT after the finale aired (this info also added to a reblog):

Well, it seems we're not getting a canon name! I guess she's our daughter now. I haven't decided whether I'm going to maintain this list going forward (though for my own sanity I'm leaning towards no) but at least it's fully up to date as of 7:30 pm est today (May 31, 2023).

Some "final" statistics: The numbers aren’t perfect, because there were a few names I grouped together and probably should have counted separately, and a few names I counted separately and probably should have grouped together, and those may or may not have balanced out, but keeping that in mind, about 110 names were used! About 49 were used in multiple fics (including individual installments in several series) and about 35 of those were used by multiple authors. Trent’s daughter has been mentioned by name in about 298 fics by 149 authors. This includes works in which she’s mentioned but doesn’t show up as a character, but doesn’t account for works in which her existence is mentioned but not by name. Fun fact, about 21 new names were used just while season three was airing!

[sillyandsensibleheart]

Excerpt from 'Letters from Hertfordshire' on Ao3:

"After a brief struggle, Darcy’s cravat draped limply from his fingers. His hand rubbed the side of his aching neck as fatigue settled heavily upon him. As he approached the staircase that led to the upper floor, a soft rustling from above drew his attention.

There, standing on the curved landing above, was Georgiana. Dressed only in her nightgown and a heavy shawl, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, she looked almost like an apparition in the flickering candlelight. Her long, dark hair lay in a single plait over her shoulder, and her pale face was etched with lines of worry.

Darcy straightened, clearing his throat as they studied one another.

“You are awake,” he said at last.

“Fitzwilliam…” she replied in a small voice.

As he looked up at her in the gloom, the present seemed to dissolve into the shadows, and before him stood a young girl on the grand stairs of Pemberley’s entrance hall, her face bathed in tears. He remembered clearly the cherubic sentinel, dressed in her nightclothes, her hair bound with a glossy black ribbon. The sight of her that night had been as surreal as the long carriage journey home from London, a haze of eternal twilight. To him, none of it felt real—Pemberley, forever altered by the absence of his father.

He remembered the governess approaching his tiny sister, her black dress blending seamlessly with the surrounding shadows. With soothing murmurs, the kindly woman took Georgiana's hand and gently guided her away. Darcy, though reluctant to see her go, found himself unable to voice even a word of protest. Georgiana’s head turned back, her haunted eyes fixed on him as she followed the governess into the encroaching darkness.

Darcy turned away, surrendering to the footman’s guidance, lost in a stoic trance of sorrow. Moments later, the unnatural silence was shattered by a mournful wail, its tragic echoes reverberating through the grand house as if the walls themselves were weeping—the agonizing lament of a broken child.

Her pain had struck him like a stinging powder burn, searing across his composure. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth, and silently prayed for the strength to master himself. Despite the rawness of his grief, Darcy knew he could not falter. Duty bound him, and soon he would face his father’s steward. He had to demonstrate, with unwavering resolve, that he was worthy of his legacy. 

Through him, Pemberley would endure.

Beneath his tight self-control, Darcy had yearned to be with the one person who understood this new emptiness as deeply as he did. More than anything, he had wished to offer Georgiana comfort, hoping that in soothing her, he might find solace for himself.

Yet he had walked away from her. 

One duty taking precedence over another. It was what he was meant to do, or so he had told himself—but the recollection of that moment still filled him with remorse.

Then, a more recent memory surfaced, offering a balm to his burning guilt.

“You can say nothing wrong if you speak from your heart, Mr. Darcy. I am certain that it cannot dishonor you,” Elizabeth had said. Yet no grand words came to mind, no perfect phrase to convey his feelings. Instead, his thoughts remained a tempest of powerful, contradicting emotions, both overwhelming and paralyzing.

But as he searched within himself for what to say, he found, with a sudden, unshakable certainty, that it was not words he needed.

Darcy moved.

He climbed the stairs three at a time, each stride closing a distance not measured in steps, but in years. Georgiana’s expression melted into tears as her arms rose to reach for him. Without hesitation, Darcy embraced the young woman before him. As he squeezed her tightly and felt her bury her face into his chest, he hoped somehow that if he held her tightly enough, the young girl he’d forsaken all those years ago would feel it too."

Summary of work:

After accidentally overhearing a conversation between Elizabeth Bennet and Charolette Lucas at the Netherfield ball, Darcy is forced to admit that he has made an embarrassing misjudgment. Elizabeth Bennet detests him. The trouble is, she might be the very person he needs most to help his sister out of her depression. Darcy must overcome his pride to ask a woman who does not even LIKE him to befriend his lonely sister, while Elizabeth must open her heart to a young woman in need. Darcy and Elizabeth learn to know each other in broken pieces through letters sent to a mutually beloved girl.   Elizabeth Bennett and Georgiana Darcy become 'pen pals'.

[biscuitboxpink]

I was tagged by @movrings

Tagging @deardarlingthings @mexicangela @mtfunkzoo @roamwithahungryheart @existential-labrador and anyone else who wants to do it. No pressure!

Take this test https://openpsychometrics.org/tests/characters/ and present yourself with who you got:

I definitely did this three times 😂

These are the (first 20) results of the recommended:

1. Eliza Hamilton (Hamilton): 93%

2. Valentine Wiggin (Ender's Game): 93%

3. Pam Beesly (The Office): 92%

4. Belle French (Once Upon a Time): 92%

5. Dana Polk (The Cabin in the Woods): 91%

6. Andrea Sachs (The Devil Wears Prada): 91%

7. Anastasia Steele (Fifty Shades of Grey): 91%

8. Mia Dolan (La La Land): 91%

9. Georgiana Darcy (Pride and Prejudice): 90% (awww cute!)

10. Sun-Hwa Kwon (LOST): 90%

11. Ariadne (Inception): 90%

12. Rosalind Walker (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina): 90%

13. Mary Margaret Blanchard (Once Upon a Time): 90%

14. Penny (Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog): 90%

15. Jane Villanueva (Jane the Virgin): 90% (yeah!)

16. Lexi Howard (Euphoria): 90% (honestly so me lol)

17. Nina Locke (Locke & Key): 90%

18. Rita Hanson (Groundhog Day): 90%

19. Egwene al'Vere (Wheel of Time): 90%

20. Beth March (Little Women): 89% (I’m definitely Beth)

The (first 20) results of the quick version:

1. Jane Villanueva (Jane the Virgin): 99% (okay fair haha)

2. Mary Margaret Blanchard (Once Upon a Time): 96%

3. Hazel Grace Lancaster (The Fault in Our Stars): 96%

4. Prairie Johnson (The OA): 96%

5. Lexi Howard (Euphoria): 95%

6. Pam Beesly (The Office): 94%

7. Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender): 94%

8. Belle French (Once Upon a Time): 94%

9. Mia Dolan (La La Land): 94%

10. Nina Locke (Locke & Key): 94%

11. Rita Hanson (Groundhog Day): 94%

12. Egwene al'Vere (Wheel of Time): 94%

13. Marge Simpson (The Simpsons): 93% (okaaay…I’m definitely more Lisa lol)

14. Ariadne (Inception): 93%

15. Kate Pearson (This Is Us): 93%

16. Bonnie Bennett (The Vampire Diaries): 93%

17. Eliza Hamilton (Hamilton): 93%

18. Penny (Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog): 93%

19. Manny Delgado (Modern Family): 93%

20. Jane Eyre (Jane Eyre): 93%

And the (first 20) results of the exhaustive version:

1. Emma Pillsbury (Glee): 85% (again, fair)

2. Amy Antsler (Booksmart): 84%

3. Anita 'Needy' Lesnicki (Jennifer's Body): 84%

4. Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place): 83%

5. Clare Edwards (Degrassi: The Next Generation): 83%

6. Bruce Banner (Marvel Cinematic Universe): 82%

7. Lexi Howard (Euphoria): 82% (Lexi in the top ten all three times. A pattern)

8. Nick Carraway (The Great Gatsby): 81%

9. Linus Caldwell (Ocean's 11): 81%

10. Columbus (Zombieland): 81%

11. Nina Sayers (Black Swan): 81%

12. Charlie Kelmeckis (The Perks of Being a Wallflower): 81%

13. Drew Baylor (Elizabethtown): 81%

14. Hazel Grace Lancaster (The Fault in Our Stars): 81%

15. Evan (Superbad): 80%

16. Matt Saracen (Friday Night Lights): 80%

17. Timothy McGee (NCIS): 80%

18. Randall Pearson (This Is Us): 80%

19. Konstantin 'Kostya' Levin (Anna Karenina): 80%

20. Vanya Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy): 80%

[forasecondtherewedwon]

2022 End-of-Year Fic Review

Thanks for tagging me, @aadmelioraa!! :)

1. What is your AO3 account?

ForASecondThereWedWon

2. How many words did you write total in 2022?

According to AO3, 218,766 words.

3. How many fics did you publish in 2022? How many multichapters vs oneshots?

59 total—4 multi-chapter fics and 55 one-shots.

4. What was your longest fic? Your shortest fic?

Longest:

Love Me Like You Drew 30,585 words | Nancy x Ace | E | Nancy Drew

Shortest:

“Rug Chat” 284 words | Bess x Addy | M | Nancy Drew

5. What was your most popular fic? Your least popular fic?

Ok, I’ve crunched the numbers because considering kudos alone undervalues anything written for a smaller fandom that actually went over very well in terms of the hits-to-kudos ratio (a reader was interested, they clicked on the fic, they indicated enjoyment by leaving kudos).

Most popular based on hits-to-kudos:

“Interviews by the Pool” (The Wilds)

“Feel the Heat, See the Light” (Top Gun: Maverick)

“An All-American January Christmas” (Hawkeye)

Least popular based on hits-to-kudos:

“The Night Today” (A Discovery of Witches)

“every way (love’s a little stronger)” (Nancy Drew)

“Lucky Penny Benjamin” (Top Gun: Maverick)

Most popular based on kudos alone:

“Perpetuatin’ Prophesy” (Top Gun: Maverick)

“An All-American January Christmas” (Hawkeye)

“Time and Tide Wait for Hangman” (Top Gun: Maverick)

Least popular based on kudos alone:

“Fender Is the Night” (Dollface)

“Finding Georgiana” (Sanditon)

“Rug Chat” (Nancy Drew)

6. What fic didn’t perform as well as you thought it would?

My only expectation for anything I write is that it makes me happy. If other people enjoy it, wonderful! I’m not concerned with how it “performs.”

7. What fic performed way better than you thought it would?

Again, the “performing” thing...

But everything I threw at the Top Gun: Maverick fandom went over absurdly well. The first fic I posted there was “Don’t Say Uncle.”

8. What was your favourite fic you wrote from 2022?

Gonna list a few because I can!!

“Consecutive Miracles” (Top Gun: Maverick)

“Horizontally Speaking” (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)

“Sailors’ Hands” (Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?)

Love Me Like You Drew (Nancy Drew)

“An All-American January Christmas” (Hawkeye)

9. What was your favourite fic that somebody else wrote in 2022?

I can’t remember what I read, because I haven’t read very much fanfic in the last couple of years. My fandom involvement has not been great!

10. Tag your friends to do this year-end fic review as well!

Since it’s no longer the end of the year but the beginning of the next year, feel free to tag yourselves if you haven’t done one of these yet and would like to!

[therewerenorelevanturlsavailable]

Tl:Dr different sites have different needs and I’m tired of people dismissing the utility of short tone indicators out of hand.

I’m maybe risking getting a little annoying but all these posts about how useless tone indicators are getting annoying 2 me. On tumblr yes they are less useful than just putting ur meaning in brackets but they were implemented on Twitter and tiktok. This is because Twitter and tiktok (at least the comments sections) have a character limit.

So if ur tweeting some long stream of consciousness and get worried people might take u the wrong way you will run out of characters before you can finish the indicator of (not addressed to any of my followers) or (I’m being sarcastic) or (this is a good thing). So having 4 character indicators like /nbh [no body here] or /s [sarcastic] or /pos [I mean this in a positive way] is helpful. Yes expecting everyone to memorise a million indicators is foolish. No they’re not that hard to look up if you are confused.

That being said they are no help for tumblr because you can write whatever the hell you want on tumblr and there is no character limit and there is no staff to interrupt you and there is no god so you can write whatever the hell you want and you will never run out of time. Put a million tone clarifying brackets in your sentence who gives a fuck. Now to demonstrate my point about a lack of character limit I will ruin your dashboard. My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, “Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,” I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine,—who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle,—I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.

“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it, sir.”

“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!”

“Pip, sir.”

“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!”

“Pip. Pip, sir.”

“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!”

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself,—for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my feet,—when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously.

“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you ha’ got.”

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my years, and not strong.

“Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em,” said the man, with a threatening shake of his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!”

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from crying.

“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”

“There, sir!” said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.”

“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”

“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,—supposin’ you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?”

“My sister, sir,—Mrs. Joe Gargery,—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.”

“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine looked most helplessly up into his.

“Now lookee here,” he said, “the question being whether you’re to be let to live. You know what a file is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know what wittles is?”

“Yes, sir.”

After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.

“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me wittles.” He tilted me again. “You bring ’em both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or I’ll have your heart and liver out.” He tilted me again.

I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both hands, and said, “If you would kindly please to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and perhaps I could attend more.”

He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped over its own weathercock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:—

“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a keeping that young man from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?”

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the morning.

“Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man.

I said so, and he took me down.

“Now,” he pursued, “you remember what you’ve undertook, and you remember that young man, and you get home!”

“Goo-good night, sir,” I faltered.

“Much of that!” said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. “I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!”

At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his arms,—clasping himself, as if to hold himself together,—and limped towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.

When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy or the tide was in.

The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the beacon by which the sailors steered,—like an unhooped cask upon a pole,—an ugly thing when you were near it; the other, a gibbet, with some chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, and come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him. But now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.

Chapter II.

My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours because she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to find out for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both brought up by hand.

She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed to have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,—a sort of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.

My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her figure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in front, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerful merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this apron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have worn it at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have taken it off, every day of her life.

Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the dwellings in our country were,—most of them, at that time. When I ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and having confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the moment I raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it, sitting in the chimney corner.

“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s out now, making it a baker’s dozen.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.”

At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled frame.

“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at Tickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowly clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at it; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.”

“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger species of child, and as no more than my equal.

“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on the Ram-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a-coming! Get behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.”

I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open, and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, and applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by throwing me—I often served as a connubial missile—at Joe, who, glad to get hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietly fenced me up there with his great leg.

“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her foot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away with fret and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if you was fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.”

“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and rubbing myself.

“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have been to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by hand?”

“You did,” said I.

“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.

I whimpered, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I may truly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were. It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) without being your mother.”

My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at the fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the mysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was under to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before me in the avenging coals.

“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard, indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by, had not said it at all. “You’ll drive me to the churchyard betwixt you, one of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without me!”

As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me over his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, and calculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under the grievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling his right-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with his blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.

My sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us, that never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard and fast against her bib,—where it sometimes got a pin into it, and sometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then she took some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf, in an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,—using both sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and moulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a final smart wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a very thick round off the loaf: which she finally, before separating from the loaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other.

On the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful acquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew Mrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my larcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe. Therefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my trousers.

The effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose I found to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap from the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water. And it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In our already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his good-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare the way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to each other’s admiration now and then,—which stimulated us to new exertions. To-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast diminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but he found me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and my untouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperately considered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it had best be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at me, and got my bread and butter down my leg.

Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss of appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he didn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than usual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like a pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head on one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw that my bread and butter was gone.

The wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold of his bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’s observation.

“What’s the matter now?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup.

“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very serious remonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll stick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.”

“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.

“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do it,” said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’s your elth.”

By this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe, and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little while against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking guiltily on.

“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of breath, “you staring great stuck pig.”

Joe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and looked at me again.

“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek, and speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone, “you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you, any time. But such a—” he moved his chair and looked about the floor between us, and then again at me—“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!”

“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.

“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, with his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was your age—frequent—and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I never see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Bolted dead.”

My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying nothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.”

Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard; having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a choice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and meditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging from myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had none before.

Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret burden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe—I never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the housekeeping property as his—united to the necessity of always keeping one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then, as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to secrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve until to-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his hands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood on end with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’s ever did?

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the load on his leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the bread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.

“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that great guns, Joe?”

“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.”

“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.

Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, “Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.

While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe put his mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, that I could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.”

“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re firing warning of another.”

“Who’s firing?” said I.

“Drat that boy,” interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, “what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”

It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite unless there was company.

At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed to Mrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joe wouldn’t hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of the word.

“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “I should like to know—if you wouldn’t much mind—where the firing comes from?”

“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”

“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”

Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”

“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.

“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me out with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right ’cross th’ meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in our country.

“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” said I, in a general way, and with quiet desperation.

It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what, young fellow,” said she, “I didn’t bring you up by hand to badger people’s lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had. People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by asking questions. Now, you get along to bed!”

I was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I went upstairs in the dark, with my head tingling,—from Mrs. Joe’s thimble having played the tambourine upon it, to accompany her last words,—I felt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks were handy for me. I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking questions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe.

Since that time, which is far enough away now, I have often thought that few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror. No matter how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was in mortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and liver; I was in mortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortal terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted; I had no hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed me at every turn; I am afraid to think of what I might have done on requirement, in the secrecy of my terror.

If I slept at all that night, it was only to imagine myself drifting down the river on a strong spring-tide, to the Hulks; a ghostly pirate calling out to me through a speaking-trumpet, as I passed the gibbet-station, that I had better come ashore and be hanged there at once, and not put it off. I was afraid to sleep, even if I had been inclined, for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must rob the pantry. There was no doing it in the night, for there was no getting a light by easy friction then; to have got one I must have struck it out of flint and steel, and have made a noise like the very pirate himself rattling his chains.

As soon as the great black velvet pall outside my little window was shot with grey, I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, and every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up, Mrs. Joe!” In the pantry, which was far more abundantly supplied than usual, owing to the season, I was very much alarmed by a hare hanging up by the heels, whom I rather thought I caught, when my back was half turned, winking. I had no time for verification, no time for selection, no time for anything, for I had no time to spare. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket-handkerchief with my last night’s slice), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had secretly used for making that intoxicating fluid, Spanish-liquorice-water, up in my room: diluting the stone bottle from a jug in the kitchen cupboard), a meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round compact pork pie. I was nearly going away without the pie, but I was tempted to mount upon a shelf, to look what it was that was put away so carefully in a covered earthenware dish in a corner, and I found it was the pie, and I took it in the hope that it was not intended for early use, and would not be missed for some time.

There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.

Chapter III.

It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now, I saw the damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort of spiders’ webs; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. On every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh mist was so thick, that the wooden finger on the post directing people to our village—a direction which they never accepted, for they never came there—was invisible to me until I was quite close under it. Then, as I looked up at it, while it dripped, it seemed to my oppressed conscience like a phantom devoting me to the Hulks.

The mist was heavier yet when I got out upon the marshes, so that instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. This was very disagreeable to a guilty mind. The gates and dikes and banks came bursting at me through the mist, as if they cried as plainly as could be, “A boy with somebody else’s pork pie! Stop him!” The cattle came upon me with like suddenness, staring out of their eyes, and steaming out of their nostrils, “Halloa, young thief!” One black ox, with a white cravat on,—who even had to my awakened conscience something of a clerical air,—fixed me so obstinately with his eyes, and moved his blunt head round in such an accusatory manner as I moved round, that I blubbered out to him, “I couldn’t help it, sir! It wasn’t for myself I took it!” Upon which he put down his head, blew a cloud of smoke out of his nose, and vanished with a kick-up of his hind-legs and a flourish of his tail.

All this time, I was getting on towards the river; but however fast I went, I couldn’t warm my feet, to which the damp cold seemed riveted, as the iron was riveted to the leg of the man I was running to meet. I knew my way to the Battery, pretty straight, for I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and Joe, sitting on an old gun, had told me that when I was ’prentice to him, regularly bound, we would have such Larks there! However, in the confusion of the mist, I found myself at last too far to the right, and consequently had to try back along the river-side, on the bank of loose stones above the mud and the stakes that staked the tide out. Making my way along here with all despatch, I had just crossed a ditch which I knew to be very near the Battery, and had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man sitting before me. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, and was nodding forward, heavy with sleep.

I thought he would be more glad if I came upon him with his breakfast, in that unexpected manner, so I went forward softly and touched him on the shoulder. He instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but another man!

And yet this man was dressed in coarse grey, too, and had a great iron on his leg, and was lame, and hoarse, and cold, and was everything that the other man was; except that he had not the same face, and had a flat broad-brimmed low-crowned felt hat on. All this I saw in a moment, for I had only a moment to see it in: he swore an oath at me, made a hit at me,—it was a round weak blow that missed me and almost knocked himself down, for it made him stumble,—and then he ran into the mist, stumbling twice as he went, and I lost him.

“It’s the young man!” I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified him. I dare say I should have felt a pain in my liver, too, if I had known where it was.

I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man,—hugging himself and limping to and fro, as if he had never all night left off hugging and limping,—waiting for me. He was awfully cold, to be sure. I half expected to see him drop down before my face and die of deadly cold. His eyes looked so awfully hungry too, that when I handed him the file and he laid it down on the grass, it occurred to me he would have tried to eat it, if he had not seen my bundle. He did not turn me upside down this time to get at what I had, but left me right side upwards while I opened the bundle and emptied my pockets.

“What’s in the bottle, boy?” said he.

“Brandy,” said I.

He was already handing mincemeat down his throat in the most curious manner,—more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent hurry, than a man who was eating it,—but he left off to take some of the liquor. He shivered all the while so violently, that it was quite as much as he could do to keep the neck of the bottle between his teeth, without biting it off.

“I think you have got the ague,” said I.

“I’m much of your opinion, boy,” said he.

“It’s bad about here,” I told him. “You’ve been lying out on the meshes, and they’re dreadful aguish. Rheumatic too.”

“I’ll eat my breakfast afore they’re the death of me,” said he. “I’d do that, if I was going to be strung up to that there gallows as there is over there, directly afterwards. I’ll beat the shivers so far, I’ll bet you.”

He was gobbling mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all at once: staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round us, and often stopping—even stopping his jaws—to listen. Some real or fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly,—

“You’re not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?”

“No, sir! No!”

“Nor giv’ no one the office to follow you?”

“No!”

“Well,” said he, “I believe you. You’d be but a fierce young hound indeed, if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched warmint hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched warmint is!”

Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a clock, and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over his eyes.

Pitying his desolation, and watching him as he gradually settled down upon the pie, I made bold to say, “I am glad you enjoy it.”

“Did you speak?”

“I said I was glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thankee, my boy. I do.”

I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now noticed a decided similarity between the dog’s way of eating, and the man’s. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog. He swallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast; and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thought there was danger in every direction of somebody’s coming to take the pie away. He was altogether too unsettled in his mind over it, to appreciate it comfortably I thought, or to have anybody to dine with him, without making a chop with his jaws at the visitor. In all of which particulars he was very like the dog.

“I am afraid you won’t leave any of it for him,” said I, timidly; after a silence during which I had hesitated as to the politeness of making the remark. “There’s no more to be got where that came from.” It was the certainty of this fact that impelled me to offer the hint.

“Leave any for him? Who’s him?” said my friend, stopping in his crunching of pie-crust.

“The young man. That you spoke of. That was hid with you.”

“Oh ah!” he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, yes! He don’t want no wittles.”

“I thought he looked as if he did,” said I.

The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and the greatest surprise.

“Looked? When?”

“Just now.”

“Where?”

“Yonder,” said I, pointing; “over there, where I found him nodding asleep, and thought it was you.”

He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his first idea about cutting my throat had revived.

“Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained, trembling; “and—and”—I was very anxious to put this delicately—“and with—the same reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn’t you hear the cannon last night?”

“Then there was firing!” he said to himself.

“I wonder you shouldn’t have been sure of that,” I returned, “for we heard it up at home, and that’s farther away, and we were shut in besides.”

“Why, see now!” said he. “When a man’s alone on these flats, with a light head and a light stomach, perishing of cold and want, he hears nothin’ all night, but guns firing, and voices calling. Hears? He sees the soldiers, with their red coats lighted up by the torches carried afore, closing in round him. Hears his number called, hears himself challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, hears the orders ‘Make ready! Present! Cover him steady, men!’ and is laid hands on—and there’s nothin’! Why, if I see one pursuing party last night—coming up in order, Damn ’em, with their tramp, tramp—I see a hundred. And as to firing! Why, I see the mist shake with the cannon, arter it was broad day,—But this man”; he had said all the rest, as if he had forgotten my being there; “did you notice anything in him?”

“He had a badly bruised face,” said I, recalling what I hardly knew I knew.

“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek mercilessly, with the flat of his hand.

“Yes, there!”

“Where is he?” He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of his grey jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down, like a bloodhound. Curse this iron on my sore leg! Give us hold of the file, boy.”

I indicated in what direction the mist had shrouded the other man, and he looked up at it for an instant. But he was down on the rank wet grass, filing at his iron like a madman, and not minding me or minding his own leg, which had an old chafe upon it and was bloody, but which he handled as roughly as if it had no more feeling in it than the file. I was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself into this fierce hurry, and I was likewise very much afraid of keeping away from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice, so I thought the best thing I could do was to slip off. The last I saw of him, his head was bent over his knee and he was working hard at his fetter, muttering impatient imprecations at it and at his leg. The last I heard of him, I stopped in the mist to listen, and the file was still going.

[nicolae]

Cunoașterea Științifică, Volumul 1, 2022

EDITORIALE Cunoașterea, de Nicolae Sfetcu Cuvânt introductiv pentru (și despre) „Cunoașterea Științifică”, de Adrian Klein Viitorul științei – Știința științelor, de Nicolae Sfetcu ȘTIINȚE NATURALE Teste gravitaționale, de Nicolae Sfetcu Inside, and Beyond „Nothingness”, de Adrian Klein și Robert Neil Boyd Anomalii ale relativității generale, de Nicolae Sfetcu ȘTIINȚE SOCIALE Fondarea Uniunii Europene și evoluția tratatelor comunității europene, de Alexandru Cristian Istoria eugeniei, de Nicolae Sfetcu Contextul intrării României în al Doilea Război Mondial, de Nicolae Sfetcu Dezvoltarea capabilităților europene în domeniul managementului crizelor, de Alexandru Cristian The Security Management System from the Perspective of the Global Energy Crisis and the Extended Black Sea Region Escalating Conflict, de Daniela Georgiana Golea, Andreea Florina Radu, și Tiberiu Tănase Closed Economies, Autarchy – Failure and Economic Disaster, de Darius-Antoniu Ferenț ȘTIINȚE FORMALE Ontologii de intreprindere în tehnologia blockchain, de Nicolae Sfetcu Învățarea automată a regulilor de asociere în mineritul datelor (data mining), de Drew Bentley FILOSOFIE Platon: Biografia, de Nicolae Sfetcu Karl Popper și problema demarcației între știință și ne-știință, de Nicolae Sfetcu A Scientifically Acceptable Mechanism for the Reincarnation Process of the Self, de Adrian Klein RECENZII CĂRȚI Lebăda Neagră, un risc asumat – Merită?, de Nicolae Sfetcu Republica lui Platon, de Nicolae Sfetcu Read the full article

[plumbobusuninterruptus]

whatever lmao i’ll forget worse later

gen 2 namesakes: john gilbert, minta durfee, oliver hardy, louise brooks, [i forgor lol some actress’s birth first name was eulalie and that’s really pretty]

gen 3 namesakes: norma shearer, rudy valentino, cary grant

gen 4 namesakes: farley granger, douglas fairbanks sr, georgiana drew

like. there’s a “theme” but it’s rather loosely adhered to. i also get like. Expectations for newborns

[waywarddragonfury]

Learn all About Darcy Lapier Dating History

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That sounds like a nightmare. Appears like a blast! In the course of the 1500s, Leonardo da Vinci drew up designs for an ornithopter -- an aircraft with wings designed to flap like a chook's. Similar tales of failed flights on faux wings pop up throughout the final 2,000 years. Daedalus survived the flight, whereas Icarus plummeted to his demise when the sun melted the wax holding his wings collectively. Tragically, the Bronze Age aviator promptly fell to his death. Soon it is going to become the norm to not even question age between women and men. All of it started on the tender age of 14, when Dave joined the Manchester United Youth crew. Oh, man, do not even get us started with how many times we've deleted Tinder - only to reinstall it once more. Even with all its modern improvements and whatnot, dating remains to be hectic AF. And, even when it doesn't present complete readability, we promise it'll be entertaining. Rumerman, Judy. "The Earliest Efforts at Flight." U.S. Hart, Clive. "The Prehistory of Flight." University of California Press.

[perfettamentechic]

2 luglio … ricordiamo …

2 luglio … ricordiamo …

2019: Pat Crawford Brown, attrice statunitense. Insegnante d’inglese alle scuole superiori sino alla pensione, cominciò la sua carriera di attrice all’età di sessant’anni.  (n. 1929) 2014: Chad Brown, è stato un giocatore di poker, attore e personaggio televisivo statunitense.  (n. 1961) 2005: Carla Candiani, attrice italiana, molto fotogenica lavora nel cinema, anche in film di successo sino al…

[artemis-fowl-incident-report]

Build a Fowl Day

My new Fowl to add to the roster is:

Florence Georgiana Victoria Fowl, or Flow Fowl as she was called by friends, born 1839. The Crime she was known for was Murder, and the Fairy she managed to tick off were the sprites.

Flow was the youngest of the three children in the house at the time, namely her brothers Leopold and Cecil. Leopold was a bully, who's only real talent was wriggling his way out of trouble without any repercussions, and enjoyed hunting way too much for a healthy, well adjusted person. Cecil, on the other hand, was a sickly child, forever dealing with some kind of sniffle, and much preferred being left alone in the library then spending time with others.

Their father was always distant, preferring to lock himself in his study, or be far away on various operations within the Fowl Criminal Empire, finding an immense sense of joy defrauding the British Government out of their various goods they stole from other nations.

Their mother wasn't home much either, only coming back during the winter months, and leaving for the parties and glamour of London as soon as the season began.

Flow's only real company was her Butler, Jones, and his daughter Emma. Emma was the daughter of one of Jones's old army friends, having originally been born between him and an Indian woman he had fallen in love with and taken as his wife. When both Emma's parents died of cholera, she was sent to England, but her family didn't want her so she was adopted by Jones.

Flow and Emma were very much in love, from a very early age, and Flow always promised that one day they would travel the world together without the Fowl family legacy to bother them.

One day in their early teens, Emma was being harassed by a collection of boys in the woods lead by Leopold. Seeing this, Flow flew into a rage, committing her first murder on her own brother. The girls hid the body in the woods, and managed to frame the drunken gardener, who had always hated the boy.

Flow's father, however, knew the truth. However, he did not reprimand the girl, instead putting her natural talent for murder to good use, making her the families most trusted assassin. He was of the older Fowl mindset that the strongest, most cunning, most ruthless of the family should be the ones to succeed those who were not.

Flow didn't come into contact with the fairies until she was in London on a "business trip", running into a group of Sprite smugglers, and extorting them out of their hard stolen goods. The Sprite smugglers, the Rooftopers, vowed vengeance, always hunting Flow down when she was in a city they had a foothold in. This rivalry would continue until the end of her days, or at least what the Rooftopers presumed was the end of her days.

In those in-between years, Cecil had taken his role at the head of the family, gotten married, and had some children, dying from a common cold at age 39 after he stayed up too late reading. The family didn't really mourn him so much as drew a collective sigh of relief. Cecil never really had what it took to be a crime lord, and was more of a figure head than anything.

Everyone was more than happy for Flow to take over the position as head of the family, but when they tried pressuring her into getting married to a man to form a political alliance between themselves and another criminal empire, Flow died on a mission to take out a British politician. Emma, distraught, left Fowl manor never to return.

On an unrelated note, Emma was seen months later, traveling with a mysterious "female friend" of hers (who she would only refer to as "The Old Owl"), and their shared dog called "Sapho". Both women lived well into their 80's, and died in 1919 barely three days apart.

Alright, challenge time. Create your own :

@tarchey , @a-c-u-l-o-s , @orangerosebush , @shortace

[witchofinterest]

Percy Jackson AU!! Pick some ocs, who’d be their godly parent?

I’ve been so excited to get to these questions, and I’ve finally got enough time!! Thank you so much!!! Also awesome questions, thank you so much!!

Hunter of Artemis: Rory (yes I’m including this category I love it and it fits Rory so well)

Athena: rylee O’Connell

Aphrodite: Genevieve,

Hermes: Sam

Apollo: Ronnie Curtis (idk man it suits her)

Nemesis: cj

Hebe: evander Salvatore (my eternally forgiving eternal teenager was made for this house)

Tyche: Jude drew and Sophie wicker

Hades: Dinah laurel Winchester and ivy lane

Hecate: Georgiana mills and poppy halliwell

Iris: Akira Ito

[silverhallow]

For your Head Canon request- I would love to know your HCs on which Bridgertons / spouses have tattoos (including what of & where)

Sooooo this is a difficult one. I’ve had to go below the cut as this got long!!

Daphne definitely doesn’t have one.

Anthony didn’t until the kids were born and then he got each of his kids names on his arm, above the cuff of his shirt with their Dates of Birth on. He then got his wedding anniversary and Kate’s birthday and a tulip tattooed over his heart.

Benedict hasgot one tattoo but it’s a combo of a few things and it’s on his chest and right shoulder. It’s made up of moments of his and Sophie’s life. It was a tit for tat tattoo. He drew one for her and she agreed as long as he got one. It started as a mask, a camera and paintbrush and grew. Adding things for each of their children along with their names, Sophie’s birthday and their wedding anniversary dotted in it.

Colin has a few drunken ones from his travels. He’s got a smiley face tattooed on his backside, he cannot remember getting it but remembers the pain in having to sit on a 7 hour flight home with it. He’s also got the property of Penelope Featherington tattooed on his arm which he got on his stag do… he also randomly has his phone number tattooed to his wrist. This is eventually changed to his wedding date.

Eloise rebelled a little and got one at 16. She has the suffragette flag on her arm. She managed to keep it hidden until one day Hyacinth dropped her in it to get out of trouble. When she turned 18 she got “It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do” tattooed along her ribs. She gets flowers when she marries Phillip, she lets him pick them.

Fran has two. She has a Scottish thistle on her hip bone. Michael’s lip print on her chest but that is for his eyes only

Greg thought about getting his kids names but Lucy joked he would run out of space for them so he has their initials running down his left arm. He also has the rebel alliance logo tattooed on his right ankle.

Hyacinth got them after she married Gareth. She got a B tattooed on her arm but the B has each of her siblings names made up of the shape. She has an Italian flag with her husband and two children’s names on the colours. And as a joke before Isabelle was born she got Gareth’s lip print tattooed on her foot.

Kate… she’s got a paw print, Newton’s paw print on her hip. In each of the pads is her children’s initials and her husbands initials and their wedding date in the middle of the big pad. Newton’s, name and date of birth is tattooed underneath it.

Sophie let Benedict draw her one to cover one of her scars that was making her self conscious about wearing a bikini on their honeymoon. Benedict designed an intricate flower pattern with her favourite flowers and the words “Though she be but little she is fierce” underneath it. She added a paintbrush, her children’s names to it and it’s only ever visible to her husband.

Simon has a tribal tattoo from when he was travelling. He gets his children’s names added to it.

Phillip has a Gladiolus flower tattoo and his brother's name as the stem. He gets a Peony after he marries Eloise, the twins name and their three children, Penelope, Georgiana and Fredrick are all tattooed in the petals.

Penelope has the flag like Eloise. She was dragged along. It’s the only one she has.

Lucy has one tattoo. She got Rebel One with the alliance logo tattooed on her wrist. The day she got it is the day she conceived Katharine…

Michael has several different tattoos from his time in india. Each with a different meaning, but he gets Fran tattooed over his chest and around his wedding ring finger. And no one but Fran knows this but he has a lipstick print of Fran’s lips tattooed on his inner thigh. He had it on his chest over his heart as well.

Gareth is covered in them. It was his rebellion against his father. He had a left sleeve before he was 18. Some he did himself. Hyacinth designed his right sleeve and it’s entirely their life together. On thé days he had to see his father he always wore a vest. Even in the middle of winter just to annoy his father so he could see his rebellions and Hyacinth all over his arm. He even has the Bridgerton Logo and the combined Bridgerton Penwood logo tattooed on his arm. His father nearly had an aneurysm when he saw it.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

My (Eclectic) Masterlist

Hello! Under the cut, you’ll find all of the fics I’ve written for the fandoms listed below!

TV:

The Artful Dodger | Bodyguard | Bridgerton | Daybreak Deadly Class | Dickinson | A Discovery of Witches Dollface | The Falcon and the Winter Soldier For All Mankind | Gilmore Girls | Hawkeye | Heartstopper The Irregulars | Loki | The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel Masters of the Air | Nancy Drew | Never Have I Ever Peaky Blinders | Percy Jackson and the Olympians Preacher | The Queen’s Gambit | Riverdale | Sanditon Schmigadoon! | Sex Education The Sex Lives of College Girls | Stranger Things Ted Lasso | WandaVision | Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? The Wilds

Film:

Avengers: Endgame | The Hunger Games | Inception King Kong | Marriage Story | No Time to Die | Spider-Man Star Trek | Thor: Ragnorak | Top Gun: Maverick Wonder Woman

One-Offs

Bodyguard : “Don’t Ever Let Me Start”

Daybreak : “Garden-Variety Monsters”

Dollface : “Fender Is the Night”

Heartstopper : “we sum up perfection like a handbook”

Inception (2010) : “Je Ne Regrette Rien”

The Irregulars : “The Sun Is Coming Up (I Think It’s Time)”

King Kong (2005) : “I’m Actually Quite Familiar With Your Work”

Marriage Story (2019) : “the whole night and the next day together”

No Time to Die : “The Blood You Owe”

Preacher : “Lonely, Handsome”

Sanditon : “Finding Georgiana”

Schmigadoon! : “I Fleetly Flee, I Fly”

The Sex Lives of College Girls : “An Abundance of Caution Tape”

Wonder Woman (2017) : “Unconquered”

Deadly Class

“Rats’ Waltz” - E / 5k / Petra x Billy

“We Test on Rats” - E / 9k / Petra x Billy x Lex

A Discovery of Witches (Phoebe x Marcus)

“Gladly Be a Fool” - E / 2k

“The Night Today” - E / 3k

Gilmore Girls (Rory x Jess)

Dreams I’ve Yet to Find - E / 11k

You Need Me to Be With You - E / 24k

Peaky Blinders

The Grand Dream of Things - E / 15k / Tommy x Grace

“Preferred Pastimes” - E / 3k / Tommy x May

Sex Education

“and the stars (they all aligned)” - E / 3k / Ola x Lily

“Please May I...?” - E / 2k / Maeve x Isaac

Star Trek

“The Deserted Planet, the Gorgeous Woman, and the Goddamn Torpedo” - E / 3k / Bones x Carol

Something to Fix - E / 7k / Scotty x Jaylah

Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? (Frankie x Bobby)

“One-Man Chauffeur” - E / 2k

“Sailors’ Hands” - E / 5k

Dickinson

“Another Dickinson” - M / 2k / Emily x Sue

“How Luscious Lies”  - T / 1k

“Lands Away” - G / 376 / Emily x Sue

For All Mankind

“The Bridges of Madison” - T / 1k / Margo x Sergei

“Ode to the Front Porch” - G / 286 / Pam x Ellen

“This Mortal Doyle” - T / 1k

The Hunger Games

“Elevator Pitch” - E / 2k / Peeta x Johanna

“Finally, Finally” - E / 2k / Katniss x Peeta

“Lonely at the Top” - E / 4k / Katniss x Cato

The Wilds

“Fourth Coming” - T / 2k

“Interviews by the Pool” - T / 738

“a verse about expecting the worst” - T / 1k / Shelby x Toni

Never Have I Ever (Devi x Paxton)

“Boy Meets Girlfriend” - E / 4k

“No Harm, No Towel” - M / 2k

“Runaway Ride” - T / 4k

“Swimming the Sonoran” - M / 5k

Stranger Things

“Always Mr. Right” - T / 2k / Steve x Nancy

“And Here’s to You, Chrissy Cunningham” - T / 458 / Eddie x Chrissy

“The Kate Escape” - T / 1k / Lucas x Max

“The Lovers’ Lake Effect” - T / 1k / Lucas x Max

Ted Lasso

“Cat Ladies” - E / 8k / Keeley x Rebecca

“Crimminology” - T / 1k

“The Halftime of It” - E / 2k / Roy x Keeley

“Sass Backwards” - E / 3k / Ted x Sassy

Percy Jackson and the Olympians (2023- )

“but for the grace of gods” - G / 830 / Sally x Poseidon

“lullaby for a rottweiler” - G / 1k

“salt-and-vinegar dreams” - T / 1k / Percy x Annabeth

“soundtrack to a tooth alignment” - G / 967 / Percy x Annabeth

“a tall, tall tale no one believes” - M / 875 / Sally x Poseidon

Bridgerton

All the Belles and Whistles - T / 11k / Eloise x Penelope

“Candle With Care” - E / 1k / Colin x Penelope

“In Charlotte’s Garden” - E / 2k / Charlotte x George

“An Invitation to Misinterpretation” - E / 2k / Kate x Anthony

The Ladies Whistledown - T / 11k / Eloise x Penelope / in progress

“Wallflower After Hours” - M / 2k / Penelope x Colin

The Artful Dodger

“Amputated Nights” - E / 776 / Hetty x Jack

“And Spit at the Stars (And Scream in the Dark)” - T / 962 / Jack x Belle

“Bodies in the Theatre” - E / 1k / Jack x Belle

“Experimental Treatments” - E / 1k / Jack x Belle

“Fair Days” - T / 2k / Hetty x Jack

“Lettuce-In-Law” - T / 2k / Belle x Jack

“Long Leaving” - M / 1k / Belle x Jack

“Private Practicing” - E / 2k / Jack x Belle

“remember it once” - E / 25k / Jack x Belle

“Take What Is Given” - T / 912 / Hetty x Belle

Masters of the Air

“coming in clear” - T / 1k / Gale x Bucky

“daring tales of heroism” - T / 1k / Rosie x Crosby

“dear john” - E / 2k / Gale x Bucky

“eggs in heaven” - T / 1k / Gale x Bucky

“hanging clothes” - M / 1k / Crosby x Sandra

“how to cook the loch ness monster” - T / 2k / Crosby x Bubbles

“little fix” - E / 2k / Gale x Bucky

“my how they fly” - T / 1k

seven degrees east - T / 35k / multiple

“so I smile and say” - E / 2k / Crosby x Bubbles

“stop-motion poetry” - T / 1k / multiple

trading paper dolls - T / 8k / Bucky x Gale

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Midge x Lenny)

“Horizontally Speaking” - E / 3k

“It Was Nearby” - T / 2k

“Mr. Bruce” - E / 2k

“Mrs. M for Mr. Bruce” - E / 3k

“The Pretty Ones (Who Try to Kill You)” - T / 304

“The Real Animals” - E / 5k

“Scuffed Souls” - M / 2k

“Slow Runners” - T / 1k

“The Stand-up Sit-Down” - T / 3k

“A Toast to Never” - E / 5k

“A Wake or Awake?” - T / 835

“We’ll Catch Up (Some Other Time)” - T / 3k

Nancy Drew

“bad girls bend” - T / 712

“every way (love’s a little stronger)” - T / 835 / Nancy x Ace

“In the House of Gil Repute” - E / 1k / Nancy x Gil

“The Hostess With the Ghostest” - G / 1k / Bess x Odette

“how he got here (I don’t know)” - T / 1k

Love Me Like You Drew - E / 30k / Nancy x Ace

“Lustbuster” - E / 3k / Nancy x Ace

“The Mystery of the Library Archive” - T / 2k / Nancy x Ace

“Rug Chat” - M / 284 / Bess x Addy

Shuck Buddies - E / 20k / Nancy x Ace

“Such Bluffs as Dreams Are Made On” - E / 3k / Nancy x Ace

“You Know Dasher and Dancer (And Charlie and Jesse and Ted and Victoria)” - T / 2k / George x Nick

“you know I try (most of the time)” - T / 1k / Nancy x Ace

The Queen’s Gambit (Beth x Benny)

Absolute Penn - T / 4k

“Again?” - M / 1k

“All Hope and No Pawns” - T / 1k

“Copenhagen Revisited” - M / 3k

“The Fun” - E / 4k

“Hand-Me-Down Words” - M / 1k

“It Doesn’t All Go” - M / 6k

“Kentucky Calling” - T / 1k

“Mate in Three” - M / 2k

“Queen Takes” - M / 1k

Shaibel’s - T / 8k

“Strategies for the Advanced Player” - M / 1k

“Winners’ Drive” - T / 1k

Top Gun: Maverick

Rooster x Hangman

“Buzz the Tower” - E / 2k

“Consecutive Miracles” - T / 467

“Feel the Heat, See the Light” - T / 2k

“Perpetuatin’ Prophesy” - T / 1k

“Sharper Than a Hangman’s Tooth” - E / 2k

“Time and Tide Wait for Hangman” - E / 4k

“Trouble With Comms” - E / 4k

Hangman x Phoenix

Bullshit (You Can Be Mine) - M / 7k

“Cry Shark” - M / 1k

“Spend It Like It’s Gold” - E / 5k

“Trapdoor Prayers” - T / 1k

Phoenix x Rooster

and therefore is winged cupid flying blind - E / 27k

“The Night A-Chording to Rooster” - M / 900

“Or Lose Me Forever” - E / 2k

Others

“The Backseat Boys” - T / 1k / Bob x Fanboy

“Don’t Say Uncle” - T / 847

“(Don’t You Want To) Live Tonight” - M / 1k / Coyote x Hangman

“Everybody Wants to Know Halo” - T / 1k / Phoenix x Halo

“Lucky Penny Benjamin” - E / 2k / Hangman x Penny

“Something About the End of the World” - E / 1k / Fanboy x Bob

“Stoking Phoenix” - T / 1k / Coyote x Phoenix

Riverdale

Betty x Jughead

“After the Interrogation” - E / 4k

The Beast Within - E / 8k

“An Evening in Hell, Seven Minutes in Heaven” - E / 3k

“Going South” - E / 2k

“Here to Stay” - E / 3k

“Home Fires Burning” - E / 6k

“It Ain’t Over Easy” - T / 5k

“Jackknife” - E / 2k

“Lipstick Courage” - E / 4k

“Little Details” - E / 4k

“Loyalty Unspoken” - E / 5k

“A Moment in Drive-In History” - E / 2k

“Order Up” - E / 4k

“Over the Penthouse, Under the Stars” - E / 2k

“Paper Chase” - E / 6k

“The President’s Vice” - E / 3k

“Queen Me” - E / 4k

Rain Dance - E / 8k

“River Deep” - G / 2k

“The Silent Type” - E / 3k

“Sock it to Me” - E / 5k

Sweetwater Boundary - E / 117k

Two-Person Job - E / 6k

Yes We Cam! - E / 6k

Bughead Drabbles - T / 10k

Others

“About a Girl” - G / 1k / Archie x Val

“Basic Needs” - E / 2k / Archie x Veronica

Cometh the Rose - E / 26k / Betty x Sweet Pea

Dumped and the Sweet Thereafter - E / 66k / Betty x Sweet Pea

Every Minute - E / 10k / Archie x Veronica

“Sex and the City of Riverdale” - M / 7k

Choni Drabbles - T / 18k / Cheryl x Toni

Falice Drabbles - M / 14k / Alice x FP

Northside Drabbles - G / 2k / various pairings

Numbering Their Days - T / 12k / various pairings

Serpent Drabbles - T / 8k / various pairings

Sweet Bee Drabbles - T / 9k / Betty x Sweet Pea

Varchie Drabbles - T / 5k / Archie x Veronica

MCU

Avengers: Endgame

Dolls’ Eyes - T / 47k / Steggy, Carol x Brunnhilde

“Same Day, Different Jumpsuit” - T / 11k / Natasha x Mobius

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - T / 7k / SamBucky

“À la Carter” - T / 1k

“Chasing Water Pumps” - E / 5k / SarahBucky

The Great Madripoorian Snake Off - E / 8k / SamBucky

“Guest Side Story” - T / 3k / SarahBucky

“Stare Enough” - T / 4k / SamBucky

“They’re Sayin’ (You’re Gonna Be My Man)” - T / 2k / SamBucky

Hawkeye

“An All-American January Christmas” - T / 4k / Kate x Yelena

Loki

“If You’re a Robot and You Know It, Clap Your Hands” - G / 1k

“Mr. Second Chance” - G / 1k

“Riding in Cars With Lokis” - T / 2k

Spider-Man (Peter x MJ)

G

“Her Best Features” - 1k

“Margins in Their Lives” - 1k

T

“21st Century Friction” - 10k

Alright on Paper - 19k

“Apocalypschtick” - 1k

“Beyond a Seasonable Doubt” - 7k

“Catches Secrets Just Like Flies” - 1k

“Critical Mascot” - 735

“Do You Tree What I Tree?” - 8k

For Now, We May Remain Silent - 178k

“The Game’s a Foot on Blue” - 1k

“In the Arms of the Anus” - 8k (Mr. Master)

“It Goes by in a Flash” - 1k

“Kid-Me-Not” - 2k

“Lateral” - 1k

“Parker and Recreation” - 5k

“Really Old Movie Night” - 2k

“Romance Novelish” - 5k

“Shuffle, Swing” - 1k

“Simple Pretending” - 3k

That Floaty Feeling - 7k

“What Can a Ravenclaw Learn from a Spider-Man?” - 5k

M

“Operation Eight-Legged Freak” - 2k

“Overheard at the Bugle” - 5k

“Spiderskin” - 2k

“Spin Again if Not in the Lead” - 3k

E

The Achilles Kneel - 14k

Affinity War - 102k

“Best Man (and a Friend of the Bride)” - 5k

Boyfri(endgame) - 103k

“find light” - 13k

“Good Sportswomanship” - 2k

“Hostel Feelings” - 4k

“In Over His Headboard” - 7k

“The Man in the Spoon” - 1k

“Miss Your Train” - 5k

“nobody actually meets in a bookshop” - 7k

“On the Subject of Your Subject” - 5k

“our love is a bagel” - 6k

“Posing Questions” - 3k

“Queens Club” - 3k

“Schwarzenegger Holiday” - 11k

“Slow Mover” - 12k

“Steers Looking at You, MJ” - 3k

“The Stripping Point” - 6k

“This Spa Day Provided to You by Stark Industries” - 3k

“Track to the Future” - 7k 

“Unhallowed Arts” - 11k (Peter x MJ x Brad)

“Venus, Parker” - 5k

Wavetide - 26k

“Web Fluid Wingman” - 7k

“WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!” - 10k

“With Zero Power” - 3k

Collections

31 Days of Spideychelle - October 2019

31 Days of Spideychelle - March 2020

The Spideychelle Shuffle - September 2020

WandaVision

Hex Life - E / 34k / Darcy x Jimmy

“Mailbox Blues” - G / 1k / Wanda x Vision

“The Neighbour Never Rings Twice” - T / 1k / Wanda x Vision

“One Papaya, Two Papaya” - G / 1k / Wanda x Vision

Only in a Sitcom - T / 26k / Darcy x Jimmy

“Our Names in a Heart” - G / 1k / Wanda x Vision

[the-writerly-night-owl]

All's Well That Ends Well To End Up With You

Book: Desire and Decorum

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Clara Mills)

Summary: Clara gets a note from her son, Ernie, after his first week at boarding school and decides that she wants more kids. Things get heated in Ernest’s office.

Authors Note: NSFW warning! I got some smut in here and I hope you like it. Also the title is not mine, it’s a lyric from a Taylor Swift song lol. Enjoy the fic!

Clara Sinclaire sighed as her daughter plunked along on the pianoforte. Her daughter was doing very well, however, the rain didn’t seem to be helping much distracting the family inside. Ernest was working away in his office as she focused on the children in the drawing room. Laurence practicing his letters and Mabel in her lap.

“Alright, I think that’s enough studying for the day,” she said.

“Thank goodness,” said Georgiana as she knocked into the keys making a loud banging noise. “Sorry mother.”

“It’s alright, perhaps you could entertain yourselves in the ballroom,” she said which basically meant run around since it’s raining. “I’m going to check on your father.”

Eagerly she looked toward the doorway leading to his office. Perhaps, Ernie had written from boarding school? They had just sent him away about a week ago, but she was really hoping for a letter. Normally they’d read Vincent’s letters after dinner, but Ernest wanted to make sure they weren’t reading something inappropriate by mistake.

A little worried, she bit her bottom lip as she headed toward her husband’s office. She brushed away a lock of her hair before knocking. Once she heard a weak voice say come in from the other side, she let herself in.

“Ahh Clara,” he said grinning at her. “Are you looking for the mail.”

“Oh, tell me what Ernie has to say,” she said getting to the point.

Ernest stood up and walked over to her and passed the letter. Unsealing the wax, she skimmed over her sons’ words. He sounded like he was doing well, however, she was appalled to read that he had seen a public beating. By a school master no less! Part of her wanted to pull him out but Ernest seemed to have sensed her fears.

He had stood next to her and read over the letter as well. He drew in a sharp breath but said nothing. Clara missed him dearly of course but understood that he had to go. It was like when they sent Percival to Eton. Except their sons were at the Harrow School instead.

“I’m not sure if Harrow was the correct choice,” said Clara after a second.

Ernest just pursed his lips and sighed wanting to ease her mind.

“My family is has been going there for generations Clara. You know how I turned out,” he said teasingly before pulling her close and putting his hands on her small shoulders assuring her. “Everything will be fine. He’ll enjoy Harrow and make lots of friends. You’ll see; besides, we have Laurence still at home.”

She seemed to have relaxed before pushing against his chest until he backed into the desk. She kissed her husband long and hard, surprising him. Pleased at the sudden attack, he kissed her back until they gasped for breath.

‘Maybe, perhaps,” said Clara between her gasps. “We could try again for another baby.”

“You really want another baby?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice urgent and with more passion and force than ever.

More fervent her kisses pepped down his jaw to his chest. He sat on the edge of his desk letting her lead. This hands on the laces of her dress easing the top to gather around her waist. There was a shiver up her spine. A quiver of want pooled between her legs. Hungrily, she kissed her husband as she pulled her legs around his waist.

“And I’d love to another with you,” he growled in her ear hungrily kissing her back.

She melted into the kiss before reaching for the buckles on his pants. Chuckling Ernest helped her as they landed in a small thump on the floor. An eager look on Clara’s face and her eyes bright in anticipation. Biting her bottom lip, she sauntered over to the office door and made sure that it was locked.

The governess would knock if the children really needed them. She unlaced her corset tossing to the side, unsure where it really landed.

From his spot Ernest drank in the sight of his very needy wife. A side that he wished her saw more, as she kicked aside her chemise next. Her brown curls still pinned up, but honestly, he had a better view that way.  

His hands running his hair before hungrily kissing her like it was their last.

“I love you,” she said kissing him back panting for breaths while he pulled her close. His blue eyes watching her before leaning it and kissing down her neck. He nibbled on her skin suckling and kissed down her breast.

Her eyes slipped closed unable or even wanting to stop him. His hands were around her waist until there was more than just a brush of cool fingers underneath her breast. He had cupped her soft fleshy globe in his hand leaving her to gasp out.

“Ooh,” she groaned hearing her heartbeat in her ears.

He was of course pleased that she was his wife, allowing him permission to bestow on her the pleasures that she deserved. Ernest wanted to take over, desperate to take her bed, however let her run her hands down his chest feeling his skin.

Clara had adjusted as he could feel his manhood ease up her as she gripped him and the desk.

“Clara, may I reverse the roles a little?” he asked kindly as she nodded eagerly pulling  him closer. He had adjusted to be on top enticingly watch her breast bounce slightly as he could tell she was repressing the urge to scream.

“Keep going,” she muttered until he felt himself release.

She wrapped her arms around him and her legs around his waist as they kissed passionately once more. Her breathing deep as he gripped the desk.

“I hope I didn’t get pregnant right then and there so I could do that again,” she said with a giggle.

“We’ll do it every night if we must,” he said kissing her temple. “I could stay like this forever.”

He rested his forehead against hers ready to kiss her again before they heard the crash. Clara groaned a little remembering that she told them to have fun in the ballroom.

“I think that’s my cue to go,” she said regretfully as she smiled at him weakly. “Until tonight?”

“Until tonight,” he said.

They gathered their clothes before he gave her a chaste kiss as she headed out the door.

++++

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