#Algernon loves his little hat

[treluna4]

Snippet Sunday

Eventually, Stevie finds her own place not far from the apartment and David spends almost as much time there as he does at his own place.

Until one day.

David heads over as usual and he and Stevie split a joint and sprawl across her couch to watch the Food Network. Once the weed really takes hold, Stevie leaves the room and returns less than a minute later.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?” David shrieks, standing up and flying to the other side of the room so fast that he has no idea how he got there.

Stevie is holding a creature, a monster from the depths of hell, and she is cradling it like a baby.

“David, I’d like you to meet someone very special to me. This is Algernon,” she coos.

“What the fuck? What is it? Stevie Budd, what the hell is that?”

“It’s a bearded dragon, David,” she says, bouncing him a little, “awww, look! He’s saying hi! He loves his Uncle David already!”

David edges around the room, staying as far away from Stevie and the monster as he can and grabs his shoes by the front door, “Nope. No. Fuck you. Fuck this. I’m leaving.”

“But wait! You still haven’t met Florence!” she calls to his retreating back.

David shivers as he waits for an uber, thinking of creature’s scaly skin and creepy eyes and sharp, sharp claws. He climbs into the back seat of the Toyota when it arrives and shivers the whole way home. When he gets there, Patrick holds him and soothes him, until the weed wears off.

#Algernon loves his little hat #it’s basically Sunday here #Doing the Best We Can #pts 2 #Stevie is a troll #she’s also a good person. #David does eventually go back over #as long as Stevie promises to keep the lizards locked in the other room

[brujahinaskirt]

Okay, I obviously made the above post as a leetle joke, but since it's getting not insignificant traction, I do want to offer a more serious note.

I love this about Arthur. It's probably my favorite thing about him, but let me use this fresh new RDR2 meta post to clarify exactly what I mean. Despite the aspects of his personality & appearance that are traditionally hypermasculine, and despite how often he is annoyed with people (especially incompetents or people who meddle with his plans), Arthur is decidedly NOT annoyed by the social performance of femininity or by traits that are/were frequently stereotyped as feminine. Ever. Regardless of subject. I might go so far as to say he seems to canonically prefer hanging out with women and with "feminine" men.

Your long-winded, bullet-pointed analysis is below!

The Girls. Most noticeably, Arthur actually sits down to talk with and actively confides in the camp Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) more than anyone else around. These three are the most traditionally "girly" (single, 20s, active, pretty, unattached, highly social, feminine, chatty) members of the gang, though of course they are still criminals and don't perfectly adhere to all period-typical standards of feminine comportment. He doesn't mock the girls** like he sometimes does with other auxiliary members of the gang (like Uncle and Pearson, playful or not). Notably, he doesn't even gently tease Mary-Beth for writing her "silly" romance novels, a highly feminized hobby which she speaks about in a self-depreciating manner, much like Arthur speaks about his own artistic hobbies. Rather, he talks to her about writing like a peer and encourages her to write more by going out of his way to get her a nice pen. Crucially, there is no canon romantic or sexual interest in any of the girls on Arthur's behalf. He just feels the most comfortable in their company and seems to value their advice/opinions on life the most. To me, this is much stronger proof than his forever-burning torch for the cultured & ladylike Mary, which is (or was once) rooted in romantic desire. ** Unless the player persists in Antagonizing them, and these lines (while sometimes shockingly cruel and offhandedly sexual in nature; see Arthur teasing Tilly about pursuing Javier) are largely about goading them for laziness or, in Karen's case, her alcoholism. That said, many of the Antagonize lines strike me as clumsily tacked-on & poorly rooted in canon, which could indicate: (1) an Arthur who is deliberately trying to be disruptive (a generous interpretation), or (2) writers instructed to add throwaway content that will make a certain type of childishly misanthropic gamer (think 13 y.o. boys) squeal in glee with relatively low impact on the overall story.

Campmates. Following the above point... who doesn't Arthur hang out with much? The manly men of the gang; the very people social mores suggest he ought to be hanging out with. Bill, Micah, Joe, Cleet, and even Dutch. (To some extent, this includes John and Sean, but I'd say John sort of lives at the edges of gang life anyway, and Sean is, well, Sean.) Conversely, which male gang members does Arthur hang out with a lot? Sweet little bookish Lenny, a wordy, positive-energy, breezy intellectual who has just barely become an adult. Introspective, soft-voiced, long-haired Charles, who is traditionally masculine by some standards (strong, usually calm, can be standoffish) but decidedly NOT so when his appearance/demeanor is judged by the white Christian American male standards that began to dominate masculinity concepts in the later decades of the 1800s.

Algernon. Oh, my, Algernon. Arthur clearly dislikes Algernon's fancy, loud, outrageous clothing. But weirdly, he seems to like Algernon, not just tolerate him. Arthur in fact goes through significant personal discomfort to avoid hurting Algernon's feelings (the awful hat, the POST.MAN. sobbing), and he immediately says yes to having tea with him without any awareness of a coming business proposition, though half the time Arthur clearly has no fucking clue what Algernon is talking about. I am left to conclude that on some level, he just enjoys hearing Algernon talk, which is word-for-word what he says while listening to the Girls argue about romance novels ("I just like listening to you [all] talk." Hello????). I mean, for God's sake, he meets the man while he's choking to death on a nut at a fancy party, and the second thing Algernon does is tell him he looks like a guy who wears a corset. If anything was going to set off the boiling defensiveness of a dude who worships masculinity, thirty seconds with Algie would have done it.

Margaret, Mistress of Fucking Danger. It's pretty clear Arthur doesn't like Margaret. But that has little to do with Margaret's femininity & cross-dressing (this doesn't faze him at all when Charles Châtenay does it; more on that below) and everything to do with Margaret's deceptiveness and highly selective memory. It's not until the bullshittery unveils itself that Arthur starts getting visibly pissed off at Margaret. Conversely, Arthur does seem more positively disposed toward Sally Nash. (That said, this quest has a lot of problems and poorly aged lines that are depressingly easy for a politically motivated jerkoff to soundbite and miscast as Rockstar being pro-bigot. Cue 800 heterobnoxious gamerbro ARTHUR MORGAN ULTIMATE ANTI SNOWFLAKE SIGMA MALE OF THE WEST YouTube videos.)

Albert, my beloved. Rather than goading him to man up, Arthur tries to persuade Albert (whom he very obviously likes) to pick safer animal photography subjects, e.g. horses, and doesn't insult him for his lack of wilderness knowledge (an aspect of traditional manliness that is highly relevant to Arthur's lifestyle). You'd think he would tear into him for this shortcoming, given that they share so many of the same interests and passions, and IMO his genuine eagerness to serve as Albert's protector and facilitate his art is highly convincing evidence that Arthur does not necessarily view masculinity as a net positive.

Arthur is a basic goddamn boyfriend-hater. He pretty much harshly disapproves of every husband, boyfriend, male partner, etc. in the game and is very, very vocal about it... except one extremely unlikely candidate: Beau Gray. Weak, dandy artist Beau Gray, whom Arthur takes one look at and promptly hands the only gun to Penelope. Arthur is curt and impish to Beau at times, but helps him in his relationship troubles willingly (without collecting repayment), and seemingly for no other reason than the fact he can see that soft, fearful Beau is genuinely head-over-heels in love with Penelope. Is he projecting his own young love for Mary onto them? Maybe/probably, but Beau could not possibly be more different from young Arthur, and Arthur seems to believe this difference will make him a good husband for Penelope. A good husband, in Arthur's view, seems to simply be a man who ardently loves his beloved, regardless of his ability to provide for/protect her, and whose only goal in life is to live that life at her side. This is completely antithetical to mainstream late-1800s views on what constitutes a good husband and what it means to be a man.

Châtenay. Arthur shows us some of the most obvious delight and mirth he experiences in the game when he's hanging out with Charles "Allo Boys" Châtenay, who is straight up in drag a third of that time. This baffles Arthur a little, but doesn't disgust or repel him. I've written about this mission elsewhere at greater length because it is one of my favorite disasters, but it's worth mentioning here too.

Trelawny. Arthur clearly enjoys Trelawny despite his grumbly claims to the contrary. Most of these "claims" are just Arthur's established way of affectionate teasing (he does much the same with Uncle and Pearson, both of whom he genuinely likes). His authentic gripes about Trelawny are all about a perceived flightiness/lack of loyalty to the gang, not about his flamboyance. And even these gripes are half-assed, in Arthur's usual way.

Bluegills & Daisy Chains. One of the most genuine moments of softness we have with Arthur in RDR2 is when he takes Little Jack out of the camp to go fishing. Arthur's usually a much truer version of himself when he doesn't have to play the Big Bad Gang Lieutenant role, but this moment of escape is especially important, and not just because Arthur reveals his fondness for children and his natural understanding of how to talk to them. I notice this: Arthur tries to gently teach Jack about fishing, and Jack is completely fucking uninterested. Jack prefers to make flower chains for his mommy. Arthur doesn't scold him for his drifting attention or his lack of attraction to masculine past-times; on the contrary, Arthur goes out of his way to encourage and protect Jack's natural sweetness and innocence. That's a wild stance for a murdering outlaw to have re: the "next generation" of his family. Hell, I've encountered far too many 21st century dads in my own family who flip their shit when their tiny sons prefer hanging out with women & partaking in "womanly" hobbies like art, cooking, and flowers rather than hunting and fishing.

"...and be a god damn man." This seems like classic masculine bluster on the surface, but what does this keynote line mean in the context in which Arthur says it? Well, it's complicated. This statement serves as (a) Arthur's goodbye to John, (b) Arthur's final call to action for John, and (c) Arthur's last wish for his brother's life. But it certainly does not mean standing and fighting or being tough; i.e., "dying like a man." In that moment, it means abandoning all masculine bluster and revenge fantasy, and running away: leaving violence and fighting and brotherhood and all that crap behind to simply be there (alive, present) for your wife and son.

The Best Women People. Who are the best people Arthur knows, by his own crystal-clear declaration? Abigail and Sadie. Sadie's a rough-and-tumble, super-violent gunslinger and Abigail's a stubborn thief & a former sex worker (in the time Arthur has known her), but they are also, critically, two wives: the most traditional feminine role for a woman of the time period (and indeed perhaps most of human history once the concept of "wife" subsumed that of "mother"). It's also important to note that Arthur doesn't truly give up on Dutch until Dutch abandons Abigail, which serves as Arthur's point of no return. The other men left in the gang at this point specifically note that she's "just a woman" and not worth going back for. Arthur is straight-up shocked by all of this; he obviously considers her among the most worthwhile and value-having members of the gang, and certainly one of the most core members of the gang. Without any hesitation or doubt, the instant it's clear Dutch is cutting Abigail loose, Arthur declares: "That's that, then."

tl;dr: Arthur unironically prefers hanging out with women and queens and I love that for them.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #i promise to wait an appropriate amount of time before hurling another one of these massive essays at you tumblr #redmeta

[shilohsylvanian]

Happy World Frog Day! Here are the Bullrush Frogs and a bit of info dump about them <3

They were first released in 1991 for the UK and then re-released in 2001. So there are Tomy and Flair versions, as well as a release in the US, which has slightly different clothes and sitting/crawling twins. The Tomy clothes for them are similar to the Urban Life era, being a bit fancier. Official Bios (this one cracks me up):

FATHER WALTER BULLRUSH is known for being very, very lazy, but this is not really true. If Walter likes to do something, he will put all his limited energies into it. He will always be ready to drive the Country Bus for instance, he will even get up early in the morning if you need a driver. Fishing, of course, is his main love, that is, dangling a hook in the water. He does not like to catch anything because if he did, he would have to then find something else to do. Walter has found that by singing at the top of his croaky voice he can frighten all the fish away! His singing also frightens everyone else away, so he spends many a happy, uninterrupted afternoon on the riverbank singing and sunning himself.

MOTHER LYDIA BULLRUSH, unlike her darling husband, is always working and working very hard. She runs a beautifully spotless house and cares for her husband and four children, and that full time job is only a small part of her busy life. Lydia has a passion for wicker work, whether it is making baskets, hats or mats, her workmanship is imacculate and very artistic. Collecting bulrushes, dying them bright colours before leaving them to dry in the summer sun is the only job she gets any help with. Algy, her oldest son, enjoys the summer afternoons down by the river helping his mother whilst she enjoys teaching him to weave.

BROTHER ALGERNON BULLRUSH hates his full name, so everyone calls him Algy, even his mother who does not like nicknames and only does so, because it pleases her wonderful son. Algy, like his mother, has a passion for weaving, but unlike his mother he prefers to create impractical items like wall hangings. He claims these items he creates are art, not picture art like in art class at school, but abstract art where the shapes and colours portray the meaning and message. Lily his sister says he gets these strange ideas from reading too many stuffy books.

SISTER LILY BULLRUSH loves to sing and unlike her father has a beautiful voice. Because she is a little shy she does most of her practising down by the river where everyone avoids going because of her fathers singing. She originally wanted to be a pop star but now wants to be an opera singer because people go to see the opera all the time. Pop singers only have concerts when they have a record in the charts. Ottilee Marmalade is also giving Lily tips on how to be more confident, hoping she will overcome her shyness.

BABY BROTHER MOSES BULLRUSH must be about the only little boy in Sylvania who loves having baths. He spends hours and hours in the bath playing with his rubber duck and other bath-time toys. If only Lydia or Walter had more time, he would spend all day playing and splashing around in the tub.

BABY SISTER IRIS BULLRUSH must be one of the cleanest little children in Sylvania, because she just hates having baths, so therefore never gets dirty. When ever it is her turn to have a bath, she just cries and cries, then bawls her eyes out and splashes about until her parents get her out of the bath. Bath-time in the Bullrush household is always rather nerve racking!

*having trouble finding official photos so here is one from Sylvanian Store Keepers and the rest are my family who dont have the right clothes lol

<3 In my town Mr. and Mrs Bullrush are renamed Sunnypatch and they are co-mayors of Sunnypatch Gardens.

#frogs #sylvanian families #calico critters #world frog day #toys #toy collector #toy blog #bullrush frogs #infodump #toy photography #shilohscollection

[reddeadreference]

Duchesses and other Animals

-Click here to return to the index for Stranger Missions-

After saving Algernon from choking during The Gilded Cage Arthur (or John, as he still has the business card Arthur got) visits his shop just outside Saint Denis.

He asks the player to bring him plumes and orchids for a commission he’s making for the Duchess of Sorrento.

5 Little Egret Plumes

5 Reddish Egret Plumes

5 Snowy Egret Plumes

15 Lady of the Night Orchid (All found in and around Bayou Nwa)

Second Encounter

The player returns with the items requested; he gets paid $100-

and is given another list of new items for a commission for Baroness Von Buchwald.

20 Heron Plumes (found in Bayou Nwa)

7 Lady Slipper Orchid (found in Big Valley)

10 Moccasin Orchid (found in Roanoke Ridge)

Third Encounter

Upon returning with the items the player is paid $125 and given a new list for “a displayer cabinet of curios for the Contessa Di Bellagio's new palazzo on Lake Garda.“

25 Gator Eggs

3 Acuna's Star Orchid

7 Cigar Orchid

5 Ghost Orchid (All found in and around Bayou Nwa)

Fourth Encounter

Upon returning with the requested items the player is paid $150 and Algernon shows him a hat he’s made for him.

The player tries to decline the hat but Algernon asks he put it on.

They both agree it just isn’t him. The player is given a new list for a commission for “a wonderfully spoilt little girl on Fifth Avenue.”

30 Spoonbill Plumes (found in Bayou Nwa)

10 Rat Tail Orchid (found in Bluewater Marsh and Bayou Nwa)

5 Spider Orchid (found in Bayou Nwa)

5 Night scented Orchid (found south of Braithwaite Manor)

Fifth Encounter

After bringing the items to Algernon the player is paid $175. The next request is for the Contessa again. Algernon plans to confess his love for her.

5 Clamshell Orchid (found east of Caliga Hall)

5 Queen's Orchid (found in Bayou Nwa)

10 Sparrow Egg Orchid (found in northern Roanoke Ridge near a Hermit location)

5 Dragon's Mouth Orchid (found in Grizzlies East)

Final Encounter

Upon bringing the last request items the play is paid $200. They find Algernon depressed, stating he doesn’t need the flowers anymore because-

 Contessa he was going to profess his love for... married a postman.

Algernon asks the player to shoot him.

The player keeps the gun so Algernon doesn’t do anything rash.

Algernon gives Arthur an exotic hat he made for him.

Journal Entries

Went to see that odd fellow, Algernon Wasp, I met at the party. Not sure how to describe him, but I won't forget him anyway. I could not do him justice. Different kind of fella. But he says he'll pay good money for assorted feathers and eggs and whatnot for his creations for various rich women. Gave me a list of things he wants.

Algernon is quite a character. Here’s a sketch of him.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 photo mode #rdr2 algernon wasp #Arthur Morgan

[kazoo5480]

Almost finished! 30 chapters down, a few more to go. Thanks to those of you who wrote awesome notes, and who provide inspiration to us newbies every day with your lovely tales!

Chapter 1 Arrivals

Prologue – September 1943, New York City

25-year-old Killian Jones steps down the ramp off the Algernon straight from Belfast. He has $40 to his name, the clothes on his back. Having lost his brother in an accident, his mother to illness, and abandonment of his father when he was 7, Killian made a choice to leave his homeland and make his way to America. America was currently engaged in World War II, with no family left, he decides that a fresh start in a new land and a new line of work away from the IRA is just what he needs after the arrests and massacres taking place back in Ireland.

Gun running and violence is not a life he wants any longer, nor is a life in prison, or death. He is hopeful that despite his heritage, he will be able to settle into a new life, away from the massacre left behind on the emerald isle. Finding honest work is harder than he expected, even in a city this large.

Waiting in those long lines with all those other expats, hoping to find honest work and nothing. He goes every day for two weeks but quickly realizes that no one wants to hire an Irishman or give him a fair shake. But he believes you make your own destiny and believes in hard work and determination.

He hears the other men talking, that security and lounges, the US Army, and driving taxis are just about the only people hiring anyone right now if you aren’t American.

Killian has no interest in joining Americas crusade, so he finds a gig working the doors and security a little dingy nightclub at first, but slowly descends into the more glamorous nightclubs and lounges.

Word spreads quickly to his newest employer, Louis Lepke, who owns the Riobamba- one of Manhattan’s most posh nightclubs that Killian was once part of the IRA and has a hell of a left hook. Lepke, one of the most dangerous mob bosses in New York at that time sees potential in Killian, thinks that his past IRA ties could be beneficial to their enterprise, and he offers him a better paying job running pickups and drop offs of packages that Killian doesn’t open and doesn’t want to open.

While the money is nothing to turn your nose up at, Killian continues this path, socking away the cash and crafting an entirely new persona for himself while making his own contingency plans to disappear for a quieter life someplace near the sea, perhaps finding peace and burying his demons for good at last.

Killian will never forget the day he was able to move out of the vermin infested room he had been renting in a boarding house on the lower east side, and into a three-room apartment of his own for $80 a month near Washington Square Park. Not cheap by any means, but it’s a second-floor walkup, with a fireplace, and wide windows that overlook the street.

Lepke pays him three hundred a month right now, but he always earns tips from both ends of pickup and delivery, and that extra cash is always appreciated.

He will never forget the first suit he purchases, or his first pair of new shoes in god knows how many years. He knows with his new employment, he needs to look the part, so he only is careful in his wardrobe choices, dark colors that won’t show dirt easily, well-tailored shirts, wingtips in black and white, and two hats that he sees the other men wearing.

He manages to pry a floorboard in the back of his new closet loose, securing the hole with a thin layer of wood, ensuring nothing would fall through or be lost to the ageing building, and he uses this as home for his cash and very little valuables. He has no furniture to speak of, except a mattress on the floor with linens, but he knows soon enough he will have money to furnish his new home.

For now, he is only willing to spend money on rent, and groceries, he saves every dollar that he earns after his necessities are purchased.

What he does not expect is meeting Emma Swan, an enchanting blonde lounge singer at the Riobamba. Frank Sinatra even plays there on occasion, so the joint was always packed. But amongst all those entertainers, is Emma. With the voice of an angel, the body of a bloody goddess, and a fire in her green eyes.

He knows that from the moment he saw her dancing and singing across that smoke filled room, that he was going to have her no matter the cost. Tonight, her golden curls pinned back on one side with a glittering clip, wrapped in a floor length sequin dress cut scandalously low in the front, even for the nightclub scene at that point in time.

She is easily the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, and he wonders if she works for Lepke as well, a personal relationship perhaps, and the thought of any man touching her at all has him see red when those thoughts flit through his mind. He always hopes divine intervention is on his side to catch a glimpse of her during her sets, whether picking up or dropping off to his boss.

Occasionally he just sits in the back nursing a rum while he watches her, gliding around the small stage, dressed like sex personified, singing in that angelic voice of hers, enchanting the entire room.

She sings songs of love and happiness, sometimes she covers popular music of other entertainers, but he sees the sadness and demons lingering behind those emerald eyes, the glittering dresses and gorgeous gold curls. He wants to know more, scale those walls he can spot a mile high surrounding her.

On more than one occasion he is thankful for the low lighting of the club and his dark suits to hide the evidence of his rock-hard arousal that she stirs up every damn time he lays eyes on her. Green eyes that sparkle in the low lighting, locking on his blue. She sees him and he sees her, never exchanging words, just eye locks and then he is off.

In a rare occasion that Killian indulges the other members of his crew in playing craps, he casually asks about Emma to one of the kinder men, Bill Starkey, a slightly older married man, who handles the books for the clubs that Lepke owns.

“What of that lounge singer Starkey, she is a sight for sore eyes if I may say so myself”, Killian mentions with a smile. The older man looks him over for a second, and replies “She is a quite a dame, isn’t she? Voice of a siren an everything, but she is not to be trifled with - She keeps to herself, is a bloody fantastic piece of entertainment, draws the crowds in, but she does not mess with our crew. Many of ours have learned that the hard way he says with a laugh, Tough as brass that one is, so don’t bother with her”, and the man went back to the game.

When Starkey bids goodnight, leaving the younger men to their games, another crew member that Killian has somewhat befriended named Victor Whale leans over, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “If its Emma you’ve set your sightings on, you are not as slick as you think ya git, my girl Ruby mentioned that she caught you watching her shows on occasion, but Emma doesn’t date anyone around here, if she does date, it isn’t anyone related to our line of work”.

Bidding goodnight to Killian and the few stragglers still playing, he stands and Killian notices Ruby Lucas in her coat waiting by the door with a smile on her face. Whale takes her hand and pulls them out the door. Killian feels a pang of jealousy at their obvious companionship but pushes the thought away.

Ruby Lucas, the costume coordinator for the club, is a gorgeous specimen of her own right with long chocolate locks, hazel eyes, and legs for days. She has worked in the club a long time, and if anyone knows Emma, its Ruby. Killian decides that perhaps he shall inquire to Ms. Lucas about Swan but tucks the thought away for another time.

He has gained enough information about her for one night, he will have to just be patient. If Ruby has noticed him watching Emma, he would bet the few dollars left in his lightened pocket tonight that she has told Swan about him, and that is something he is not quite sure he knows how to feel about.

He wonders what Ruby would tell Emma, since she was obviously very much with Whale, she must know more about their conducted business, but appears to know when to keep her mouth shut. Maybe, the tides will be in his favor since he tends to keep a low profile in his job. The bosses like him because he is discreet and is known not to be messed with.

Emma sees him alright, black suits, navy wool suits, tuxedoes at parties, custom made shirts, and she would bet her last dollar that those cufflinks he always wears are actual sterling silver.

He has slicked back inky hair, tousled in just the right places, a permanent five o’ clock shadow, and forget me not blue eyes that haunt her for days every single time she catches a glimpse of him staring right back at her. 

She notices the way he carries himself, so confident, dangerous, and definitely a hustler. He must be connected somehow, and Emma does not want that complication in her simple life.

He looks at her sometimes like he would devour her like a man on death row, and she being his last meal. She cannot get mixed up with someone like him, she has survived this long without someone, and the last time she allowed someone into her heart it nearly broke her in two.

Her friend Ruby has casually mentioned him, his name is Killian Jones, he works with her boyfriend Victor, but she does not know exactly what his role is. Ruby giggles as she talks about how handsome Killian is, and notes that he always throws her a generous tip, never ogling her or being disrespectful like some of the other crew who think that any woman in the club is dumb enough to roll in the sack with them.

Ruby has been with her boyfriend for a few years from what she mentions, having been together since before Victor’s job with Lepke’s crew, whatever that may be. Ruby is also one of the few people that makes Emma smile genuinely and lifts her spirits. Emma considers the brunette one of her very few real friends.

One night after her set is done, Emma enters her dressing room, and slips out of her dress, carefully hanging it inside the garment bag, and lights a cigarette, swallowing a sip of her Manhattan. Her roommate Mary Margaret is getting better and better with her sewing skills, her emerald green gown tonight is delicate, covered in sequins and green feathers float around the hem of her dress, she admires the gown once more before zipping the bag.

Standing in her silk stockings and garters, she begins removing her jewelry and realizes suddenly that she is not alone. Sitting in a low chair in the back corner of the dressing room is Killian fucking Jones. She grabs for her silk robe, tying it quickly- trying to regain some of her modesty. Watching her with those blue eyes, fingers crossed under his chin while he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"Don't stop on my account love, I simply wanted to introduce myself, and I thank the bloody gods that I was granted enough luck to watch your private show just now. He smirked at her, running is tongue over his bottom lip, and she wanted to punch that smirk off his smug face, even if her heart beat faster in her chest and not from anxiety.

“Emma breathe,” she internally chastises herself. Her brain reconnects, she stamps out her cigarette, and she manages to spit out “listen pal, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I am not that type of woman. Go buy one down the street if you need to get your rocks off but get the hell out.”

He stood up, adjusting his trousers by the belt, which she noticed were fitting awfully tight, the evidence of his arousal clear but now covered as he buttoned his coat up.

He spoke, his voice a lilting Irish accent, “I apologize lass, I simply wanted to introduce myself and give you these in person,” he held out a large bouquet of creamy white roses tipped in pale pink, tied with a black silk ribbon. 

“You are a vision, both on and off the stage Swan, and I simply was hoping to make your acquaintance as we seem to catch each other’s eye from time to time. I thought perhaps my interest was reciprocated, but clearly it is not, and I shan't bother you again”.

Emma did not know what to say, still shocked, her red painted mouth in a grim line. She caught his cologne as he made his exit, carefully avoiding touching her in any way. He smelled of wood and spice, and definitely rum.

Right as he was crossing the threshold to exit, Emma made a rash decision, and grabbed his hand, locked eyes with him and said, “Don't ever do that again, thank you for the flowers, but I am not interested.” 

“They're nothing compared to you Emma, but I do apologize again”, and with that parting line Killian quietly exited, making sure to close the door fully behind him.

Emma locked the handle, ensuring no one else would interrupt her. She cleaned most of her face off and pulled on her burgundy wool dress and matching coat, gathered her things, and her flowers hailing a cab home.

Tagging a few who might be interested! @wefoundloveunderthelight @itsfabianadocarmo @purplehawkcaptain @the-lady-of-misthaven @the-captains-ayebrows @thesschesthair @myfearless-love @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @hookedpirate @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @letmedieahooker @captainswanouat @captainswoon @cathloves @laschatzi @timeless-love-story @asluve @ao3feed-cs @ahookerandproud @ineffablecolors @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @kymbersmith-90 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @tnlph @the-captains-ayebrows @captainswoon @captainswanouat @captain-swan-coffee​ @jrob64​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​ @captainirishstubble @onceuponadaily​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @greenlef777 Let me know if you want to be added or removed! 

#once upon a time #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan

[saxonspud]

The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 35 - Algernon Wasp & Epilogue

Izzy sat in the little carriage as is it wended its way around the cobbled streets of St. Denis. She was actually beginning to feel the part of a lady. Josiah, helped. He looked very much the gentlemen, in his top hat and frock coat.

Not that Dutch didn't. He was always smartly dressed. It just seemed to Izzy a pointless venture when you were in a camp in the middle of nowhere.

To be fair it had always seemed a pointless venture, when her mother had insisted she wear a dress. The dresses her mother made her wear though, were nothing like this one. Generally it was when her mother decided to have a little impromptu soiree at the house. That was while her father was still alive. He would wink conspiratorially at Izzy, while trying to loosen the stiff collar he had to wear. Her mother, would give the pair of them black looks from time to time. It had been no surprise, when her father had disappeared, that her mother made a beeline for St. Denis.

The carriage came to a sudden halt. She hoped that Josiah hadn’t been trying to make polite conversation. If he had, she wouldn't have known. She had been miles away with her thoughts.

Josiah held out a hand, and Izzy took it, as he helped her down from the carriage.

They were on the outskirts of St. Denis. The houses here were quite smart, and they were heading towards one which looked like it was almost all made of glass.

“This is the shop, of one Algernon Wasp.” Josiah explained.

Izzy looked up at the sign above the door.

‘Algernon Wasp, Purveyor of the exquisite’ it read.

Izzy couldn’t help but smile. She smiled even more when she was introduced to the man himself.

The jeweller in Blackwater had been right, he was a strange man indeed.

“Algernon Wasp, Purvey of the exotic and the exquisite, enchante,” He bowed.

He was a strange weaselly looking man, with a single eyeglass. He was dressed in a fine blue coat, adorned with gold buttons, and a pale blue cravat, which looked like it was made of the finest silk.

Izzy supposed this was all part of the facade.

Josiah took the lead, which Izzy guessed had always been part of his plan. She were just the window dressing. Normally she would have protested, but it was a means to an end, that was the most important thing right now.

“Mr Wasp,” Josiah began, “a mutual friend from Blackwater suggest I look you up, he is also an artisan, a fine craftsman!”

Algernon huffed, “He is a philistine compared to me. No one can compare to the items that I create!”

Josiah nodded, “quite so, which is why we are here, and not in Blackwater!”

Algernon smiled, “what is it I can do for you and your lady.”

Izzy smiled sweetly at the man, waiting for Josiah to make the next move.

“I understand that you pay well for rare items of beauty?” Josiah enthused, he nodded towards Izzy, who proceeded to hold the box containing the sapphire in the palm of her hand.

Algernon Wasp, looked at the box curiously, so Izzy flipped open the top, revealing the Logan Sapphire.

He gasped, glancing between Izzy and Josiah.

“May I?” he asked.

Josiah nodded, and Algernon removed the sapphire from the box. He allowed the monocle to drop from his eye, and grabbed a jewellers eyeglass from the desk.

He studied the sapphire closely, before looking back at Josiah and Izzy, a glint in his eye.

They could both tell by the look on his face, he wanted the sapphire, and he wanted it badly.

“So...Mr Wasp. You know what this is?” Josiah asked.

Algernon Wasp smiled and nodded.

“The question is, how much are you willing to pay for it?” Josiah asked.

Algernon turned and went to the back of the shop. He moved a tapestry that adorned the wall.

Both Izzy and Josiah were surprised to see a safe behind it.

He quickly opened the safe, and pulled out several wads of dollar bills.

“I’ve been hoping for an opportunity such as this,” he beamed. “I know what this is worth, its every artisans dream to get his hands on it!”

Josiah quickly counted the money. He bowed to Algernon.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr Wasp.”

Josiah held out his arm, and Izzy took it. Once they were outside, she looked at him.

“Well Josiah, how much did he give you?”  

Josiah grinned, “Three hundred…and fifty!”

Rather than returning to St. Denis with that much cash on them, Josiah paid off the driver, and decided to drive the carriage himself.

Izzy sat in the carriage, feeling a little like the lady of the manor as they approached the gates of Shady Belle.

She waved at John, who was on guard duty, as the carriage drove past him.

He just rolled his eyes and chuckled. He hoped that Abigail didn't see that dress, or she would be nagging him as to why he never bought her anything nice!

Josiah drove the carriage right up to the front of the large plantation house. Normally Susan would have moaned about having horses in the camp. This time she just gazed in awe, as Josiah helped Izzy down from the back of the carriage.

Dutch stood on the front steps beaming, as he gazed at Izzy.

She twirled, “do you like it?”

Dutch took her by the hands, and pressed his lips to hers.

He whispered in her ear, so that only she could hear, “it makes me want to rip it off to get to the prize underneath!”

Izzy felt her face flush, which made Dutch chuckle all the more.

He wrapped his arm around Izzy’s waist, and looked across at Josiah.

“Well?” he asked, hopefully.

Josiah smiled, “all you need to decide now, is where you want to go.”

He handed Dutch the money, “Three hundred and fifty!” he beamed.

Dutch laughed, “lets put this somewhere safe, then I think its time to celebrate!”

EPILOGUE

Tahiti! That's where they would be headed. She wasn't quite sure where the idea had come from, but she didn't mind. According to Dutch, it was a good place to go, and she trusted him. After everything that had gone on, he was the constant in her life now, the anchor.

Izzy sat on Dutch’s lap, his arms wrapped around her. She was still wearing the dress that Josiah had bought for her. Well he hadn't actually bought it, rather conned it out of the poor tailor. She doubted that the tab would ever get paid.

She smiled as she listened to Javier playing his guitar, accompanying the out of tune voices that sang along. She didn't mind, not in the least. She felt more at home with these people, with Dutch, than she had ever felt in the house in Valentine.

She didn't even mind if there was no treasure hunting to do. She’d always thought that treasure hunting would be more important than anything else. She now realised that this was not the case.

The most important thing was family, and being with the person she loved.

#rdr2 fanfic #dutch van der linde #original female character

[selfship-uncharted]

The Fugitive part VII - Cinderella man

part I - part II - part III - part IV - part V - part VI - 

part VII - part VIII - part IX - part X -  part XI - part XII  - part XIII  - part XIV

A/N: As promised, since I finished the game here you have the continuation of my fan fiction. Thank you so much for all your kindness! I hope you will enjoy the continuation as much of the previous parts! A/N2: From now on this fic will be xOC and it will contain spoilers from Chapter 4 to the end of the game A/N3: English is not my first language. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC (Claire Russell) Warnings: embarrassed grumpy cowboy and spoilers from Chapter 4 Shady Belle Words: 3,092 (so unusual of me)

Tags: @asiramhera @missdictatorme @zoilalove213 @avast-you-dirty-dog @lowkeyofsassguard Special thanks to @asiramhera for being so patient with me and being my beta reader. Tons of love for you! 

Months had passed since Claire's failed attempt to escape. She didn't see Arthur and she was losing hope to meet him again. During that time, Claire married Theodore Cornwall, the son of Leviticus Cornwall, the biggest magnate from the railway, sugar and oil. Claire's father was quite content with the union seeing his fortune increased. Claire was lucky Theodore was not a very smart man, she could easily trick him to not spend time together or to excuse herself and go see her dear friend Géraldine and stay at her house some days. Truth to be said, Claire missed Arthur so much, not only for the night she spent with him, compared to her husband was far the best night she ever had but for all that she lived with him, all those exciting experiences she knew she couldn't have them again if she stayed. Claire was getting ready for the ball tonight helped by her dear maid Marianne. "You look beautiful, Mrs Cornwall." Marianne admired her fixing her hair in a side braid with some ornaments. "Don't call me that...." Begged Claire, she then sighed, bored. "I'm so tired of all those stupid parties..." "I bet they are not boring." Marianne dared. "Believe me, they are..." The women were interrupted by the knock on her room door. "Darling, are you ready?" It was Theodore who was waiting for her for an hour ago. Claire rolled her eyes and got out of the room while Marianne wished her luck. The carriage stopped in front of Mayor Henri Lemieux's mansion. Theodore helped Claire to get out of the carriage and they went to the garden of the house where the party was held. As soon she was able to, Claire separated herself from her husband and went to find her dearest friend who was already flirting with some gentleman. But when Géraldine spotted Claire she abandoned her prey to come to her friend. "Look at you!" Exclaimed Géraldine getting near Claire. "You look stunning." "Thank you, Géraldine. You look so good too." Claire replied with a warm smile. "So, what's interesting of this party?" Géraldine drew a naughty and enigmatic smile on her beautiful face. "What? What is it?" Claire asked curiously. She knew Géraldine so well that that smile meant she knew something that Claire didn't. Géraldine took her friend by her arm and softly dragged her to a corner of the garden and made her look up right to the balcony. Claire fixed her eyes on Angelo Bronte, a dangerous man. He owned most part of Saint-Denis and Claire was sure that the rest of it too. He used to come to parties like that but always kept himself above everyone in his private space. "What do you want me to see?" Claire asked a little bothered, she didn't like that man. "Look closer." Her friend insisted. "There is someone else than the fellow dogs of that bastard." Claire tried to fix her eyes to see what her friend was talking about, she saw a black-haired man wearing a top hat, she didn't recognise him, behind that man there was a shadow. She tried to focus on that shadow but a drunken man pushed her. The man apologised but Géraldine made him go away. When Claire looked up again to the balcony those unknown men were not there anymore. "I couldn't see anything." Complained Claire. "What it was?" "Oh, you will see." Géraldine answered mysteriously squeezing her friend's chin. "Just, have fun tonight. And if you need a place to rest, you know you are welcome to my house." She winked at her and disappeared into the crowd leaving her friend Claire completely puzzled, sometimes, she didn't understand Géraldine. Claire looked around her and found herself surrounded by acquaintances she didn't want to greet. So she went to one of the tables to take some food, hoping her husband wouldn't take long to want to go home. Behind her a man started coughing, he looked like he was choking with something. She recognized him, it was Algernon Wasp and extravagant milliner. Before she could do anything to help a tall man dressed in a black suit came near Mr Wasp and helped him to remove what was blocking his lungs. Mr Wasp thank the newcomer who presented himself as Tacitus Kilgore. Claire giggled at the funny name but she recognised that deep rusty voice at the moment. Mr Wasp gave Mr Kilgore a card and went away while Tacitus Kilgore looked puzzled at the card on his hand. Claire then came close to Mr Kilgore to greet him. "So," Claire cleared her voice to draw his attention. "Tacitus Kilgore, isn't it?" Tacitus Kilgore turned around annoyed, he didn't expect anyone to talk to him but when he saw Claire his expression changed and a surprised gasp escaped him. "Claire?" "Hello, Arthur." She smiled at him. "It's nice to see you." Arthur looked at her from tip to toe not being able to recognize her in that fancy lavender dress. "Nice to see ya too." He babbled. Arthur seemed nervous, Claire checked on him and a chuckle escaped her lips. "You look horrible." She said hiding her smile with the back of her hand. "Well, thank ya..." He hesitated scratching the back of his neck. "I'd say the same but ya actually look pretty good in that dress." Claire smiled at him. She was so happy to see him, if it was for her she would hold him tight right now. "You cut your hair. And shaved." She noticed eyeing him intensely. "You look handsome." He looked away embarrassed. "But I prefer your usual style." "I had to... to melt with the crowd..." He brushed his hair away from his face, Claire could easily see he was not comfortable in those clothes and that ambient, she was amused at his sight. "Hum... How..." Arthur hesitated. "How have ya been?" Claire showed him his wedding ring. "As you see, I couldn't get away from my destiny." She sighed. "Is... Is he good to ya?" He sounded worried. Claire let a sad smile drew on her face. "Listen, Claire..." Continued Arthur. "I'm so sorry... I... I shouldn't... When I saw yar father hit ya I..." "It's okay, Arthur." Claire calmed him slightly touching his arm. She wanted so hard to hold him and being touched by those big rough hands once again. "It's not your war. At least I'm thankful that when I tried to run away my father sent you." Claire took a champagne glass from a waiter that came close to them and siped on it. "And I am quite lucky he is just stupid." She pointed out somewhere in the crowd, Arthur followed her gaze and saw a sad man all alone eating from the tables, nobody near him, actually, people seemed to whisper around him and avoid him. "And what about you?" Claire asked changing the subject, she was tired of thinking of her dumb husband. Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Nothin' special, really..." He dismissed her. Claire felt he was hiding something but didn't dare to ask. "So, what are you doing here?" She tried again. Arthur hesitated, he wasn't sure if he should tell her or not. "We were invited by Angelo Bronte." He finally said. "Angelo Bronte?" She asked surprised. "What could you want with that man?" "Long story..." He sighed rolling his eyes. "Arthur," she took his arm once again to grab his full attention. "Angelo Bronte is a really dangerous man, don't play strange games with him." "I know, I know, don't like him neither... But Dutch seems interested in him. He invited us, so here we're, makin' some contacts and findin' some information about Lev..." He fell silent suddenly avoiding Claire's eyes. "About Cornwall?" She adventured. Arthur was troubled but he nodded. "I can help you with that." She rested the empty champagne glass on the table next to them. "I dunno... Don't want to mess ya with all that..." "It's not a problem, and I am the best positioned to help you." She insisted with a smile. "Maybe, you should know mayor Lemieux, he is doing some business with Cornwall." Claire linked her arm to his surprised and lead him to the party. She noticed an old classy man looking at Arthur surprised. "Do you know that gentleman?" Asked him, Claire. Arthur looked around him apparently nervous, looking for the man Claire was referring to. When their eyes meet, the old man nodded at Arthur approvingly making Arthur's colour grew to his ears. "Hum... That's Hosea." Arthur answered clearing his throat. "He is with me." "Oh." Simply said, Claire. "I guessed he is surprised to see you in the company of a lady." "Ya bet he is... I am surprised myself... Didn't think to find ya her'" he confessed scratching his now absent beard. "That's what I should say, to find me in a party like this, not strange at all. But to find you in that kind of party, dressed so fancy and clean, that is indeed a surprise." She giggled. "I think, miss, ya're enjoyin' yourself too much on my behalf." He complained faking offence. "It is Mrs." Claire corrected him ignoring his complaint. Claire dragged him in the middle of the garden where the mayor Henri Lemieux was chatting with other guests. "Ah, Mrs Cornwall," said the mayor. "It's always a pleasure to see you." Claire gave him her hand to let him kissed it. "It's nice to see you too, mayor." She greeted back. Mr Lemieux looked at Arthur wondering who he was. But before she could introduce her a man by her side started to talk nonsense to the mayor. "It ain't complex, Lemieux..." by the sound of his voice it was easy to notice he was drunk. "and only an idiot like you, buddy, would try to make it so." "I will not deny idiocy, sir, but perhaps now is not the time," answered Lemieux trying to be polite. The man laughed so hard. "Typical pansy!" he added. "You're drunk, Ferdinand." Stated the mayor. "I'm not drunk, you fool!" he protested. "But this man... this man love darkies." Claire rolled her eyes and nudged Arthur gently to make him understand he should take care of the situation. He didn't take long and took the annoying man by his shoulders. "You are pretty drunk. What's say you and me cool off?" Arthur pushed the man away from the garden while the mayor looked at Claire amazed. Claire gave him a smile and waited for Arthur to get back. "This is Tacitus Kilgore." Presented Claire. "Henri Lemieux." The mayor replied shaking his hand. "I hope you are enjoying my party." "That's quite a place ya got ther'" Arthur said looking around him. "It's not mine, and the city is horrible in debt but we can still put on a good show." The mayor explained. "Do you know Evelyn Miller?" "My Lord..." gasped Arthur. "The writer?" "Well, we seem to have another deranged drunkard on our hands." Mr Miller noted. The conversation reached an end when the fireworks started. "Shall we?" invited the mayor. Arthur looked at the sky amazed and without realizing it he advanced to see them better. Claire followed him. "They are beautiful, isn't it?" She said smiling to him. "Yeah..." he simply said being unable to look away from the lights in the sky. Claire stared at him, seeing how the fireworks reflected in his eyes. She slowly moved her hand to grab his startling him, he turned at her surprised. Claire didn't say anything she just smiled at him and turned to look to the fireworks. She felt Arthur's hand closing around hers caressing her softly with his thumb. She missed his touch so much, she got close to him and rested her head on his shoulder closing her eyes. The moment didn't last long that she heard a servant come near mayor Lemieux and told him that Leviticus Cornwall was waiting for him on the phone to sign some contract. She turned to Arthur who was also eavesdropping. "Follow me." She ordered. Arthur nodded and followed her. They kept the distance from the servant who was calmingly going inside the house checking on servants and that the house had its standing up. Seemed it was really important to him. They followed him trying to pass unnoticed. Suddenly, Arthur pushed Claire against the wall. Someone was coming. Arthur motioned her to keep quiet with his finger while he tried to cover her with his body. Her heart began to beat very hard remembering what she missed so much. She felt his scent invading her, that scent she grew to love. She stared at him, analyzing his features while he was looking at the corridor, he had some new wrinkles around his eyes and his eyes showed he was tired, slowly she raised her hand to touch his shaved cheek. Arthur turned to look at her surprised. Claire ignored his surprise and caressed his cheek following the shape of his face to his bottom lip. She rubbed it staring intensely at those dry lips. "Claire... I..." he started. Claire didn't let him continue, she stood on the tip of her toes and joined her lips to his. Arthur didn't take long to react although he was caught completely off guard. He kissed her back with the same eagerness as hers. Claire cupped the back of his neck to pull him close to her, Arthur pressed her against the wall with all his body while his hands roamed her waist fitted in that silk dress. Arthur bit her ear and went down to her neck, a soft moan escaped her lips. "You can't be here!" a voice startled them. It was one of the servants of the mayor. Arthur wanted to look at him but Claire kept his head hiding in her shoulder, she didn't want anyone to recognize him. "You better watch your tongue." Claire menaced the servant. "Yes, miss..." He was taken aback and answered nervously. "It's madame to you." Claire didn't give him a break. "Yes, ma'am..." The poor guy was shaking. "Now, you better leave us alone or I will have a chat with the mayor." The servant nodded anxiously and Claire motioned with her head him to go. The servant left as fast as he could and Claire relaxed releasing Arthur's head from her grip. Arthur looked at the woman in front of him astonished. "Not that I like it..." Claire excused herself fixing her hair. "But that's the only way to keep them quiet." Arthur cleared his throat. "Hm... we should go..." He pointed upstairs avoiding her eyes. He didn't like to lose control like that. "It looks clear." Claire nodded and followed him. "This is the mayor's office." She announced. "What are you looking for might be here. I'll wait for you outside in case someone is coming." Arthur glanced at her but didn't take long to enter the room. Claire stood in front of the door ready to alert Arthur if someone was coming. She only heard the laughs of the men on the balcony, the Bronte's men. Claire didn't like that man, he believed himself superior to everyone in Saint-Denis, and maybe from the world. He sure was rich but he was an evil man, a real demon. Some minutes later Arthur got out of the room. "Did you find anything?" Asked Claire noticing some of her lipstick on the collar of his shirt. "I think so." He replied watching the corridor in case someone was coming or because he was still unable to look at her. "Now let's go." Arthur took Claire by her arm and went downstairs. Outside in the garden, there was a man behind the railing looking at the party and drinking champagne. He was the dark haired man Claire saw on the balcony with Angelo Bronte. Arthur went to him without hesitation, he cleared his throat and leaned to the railing. "Find anything?" asked him the dark-haired man. "I think so..." Arthur poked his chest to show him he got something. The dark-haired man turned around feeling Claire's presence, he looked at her suspiciously. "Dutch... this is Mrs..." "Mrs Claire Russell." advanced Claire before Arthur couldn't continue. At her father's surname, Arthur glanced at her surprised but rapidly understood that Claire might want to keep her Cornwall relation from Dutch. "Dutch Van der Linde." answered Dutch kissing her hand, but still there was suspicion in his eyes. "Claire helped with the Cornwall information." Noted Arthur. "I didn't know you need help with that..." added Dutch with distrust, Dutch eyes narrowed at the lipstick that was in Arthur's collar. Arthur was going to answer when two other men joined them. "Nothing! This town is a waste of time!" announced the biggest one. "Maybe not." added the older one. Hosea, as Claire remembered, he was the man staring at Arthur and her earlier. Hosea noticed Claire and turned to look at her, then to Arthur and of course, he didn't miss the detail in Arthur's collar. A big smile grew on his face. "Hosea Mathews." presented himself with friendly cordiality. "Claire Russell," she replied with a smile. "Who is she?" asked the other man. "No time for this." said Dutch looking severely at Claire and Arthur. "Time to go." The fourth men went to the front door but Claire took Arthur's arm to stop him. He turned to look at her. "Will I see you again?" asked she. "I... I dunno..." Arthur hesitated not being able to look into her eyes. "If you want to see me..." Claire continued. "You will find me in Rue de l'homme armé. Ask for Marianne, she is my trusted maid." Arthur took her hand from his arm and squeezed, he didn't dare to promise anything in case he couldn't keep it. "I'll have that in mind..." he finally said. "Arthur! What are you doing?" the man that Claire didn't know his name came back to look for Arthur. Their eyes kept locked into each other but none of the two dared to move. Claire finally sighed with a sad smile. "See you." She said releasing his hand. But before letting him go she signalled his collar with a mischievous smile. Arthur looked at her puzzled but when he touched his collar he noticed the grease of the lipstick and blushing tried to clean it before getting back with his gang.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x OC #Claire Russell #rdr2 OC #The Fugitive #art post #I was ready to post this without the picture #not convinced at all #when I have to play with lights I die...

[blustersquall]

Hey! If you’re taking requests at the moment and can find a way to fit it into your canon, I would absolutely love to see Arthur and Isabel’s first “I love you” 💛

Sorry this took a while for me to get to! It’s been a weird few days! I hope it is satisfactory. This takes place... during Chapter 6 at Beaver Hollow. I did a lot of random quests and a lot of hunting during Chapter 6 because everything was going to shit and I wanted Arthur to have some relax time.

Admittedly this is a bit out of the blue, but it works for them. I think. >.>

@rdr-oc-appreciation @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

It would be at least another day, if not more, before Arthur and Isabel reached Van Horn. Not that there was any pressing matter pushing them in that direction, but a decent bed and a bath were definitely two things that would not go amiss, after about five days of camping and travel on horse back. 

Arthur knew they would make better time if they pushed the horses faster, but given they were both on the look out for orchids for Algernon Wasp, their pace was slow but the pay off would make up for it. 

He was becoming quite good at recognizing the different orchids Algernon requested, and going by the small cluster they had already, Arthur reasoned another two or three and they would have the amount requested. Juno and Valkyrie were hitched about twenty paces away, down a small hill while Arthur used his hunting knife to gently ease an orange bloomed flower from the trunk of a tree. He would look for more, while Isabel tracked whatever creature had caused her to halt them in the first place. 

As he slipped a flower into his satchel, there was a crack of a twig behind him and Arthur span on his heel, reaching down for the gun in his holster. He was met with a gun barrel pointing directly at his face. Behind the gun, was a man, short but suited, a bowler hat on his ginger hair. 

Pinkertons? Arthur realised. Alarmed, he glanced around behind the man for a sign of Isabel and saw nothing. 

“Can’t believe my luck!” the man said, pressing his thumb down on the hammer of his pistol. “When that drunk in the saloon said they saw Arthur Morgan pass through Annesburg, I didn’t believe it. But here you are,” he gestured, laughing to himself. “In the flesh.”

“An’ you are?”

“Agent Stephens.” He reached for the gun in Arthur’s hip holster and tossed it to the side about ten feet away. He did the same with the gun in his off-hand holster. Both guns lay in the dirt, out of reach. “Turn around, Mr Morgan. You’re worth more to me alive, than dead.”

“You don’t wanna be doin’ this...” Arthur growled. He glanced over the man before him, looking for a weakness. He was shaking a little, from fear or from excitement - it was hard to tell. The hand holding the gun was shaking. One false move and Agent Stephens looked prone to pulling the trigger. That meant Arthur couldn’t attack him. He wouldn’t be able to get a punch off quick enough. He wasn’t stupid. If he moved in a way that was too fast, or looked aggressive he knew he would wind up with a bullet between his eyes. 

“Turn around, Mr Morgan.” Agent Stephens repeated, his voice steady despite the trembling of his hand. 

Slowly, Arthur lifted both hands and began to turn so his back was to the Pinkerton. It occurred to Arthur how strange it was that the Agent was alone. Agent Milton was always flanked by Agent Ross. 

“Where’s yer partner?” asked Arthur, trying to engage in conversation while trying to think of a way to get out of this predicament. With his guns away from him at both sides he was at a disadvantage. He could grab his hunting knife and plunge it into Agent Stephens gut if he acted fast enough. But that would require retrieving the knife from his belt, and doing that would undoubtedly give away to Stephens his plan. 

“Shut up.” Stephans nudged the barrel of his gun into the back of Arthur’s head. Arthur grimaced, gritting his teeth. He wouldn’t go down like this. Not peaceful and quiet like this. “Lower your hands slowly.” Arthur did as he was told, lowering his hands a little at a time. Behind him, he heard the jangle of metal. 

Shackles. 

Cold metal closed around one of Arthur’s wrists. His heart was racing as fast as his mind. How could he have been caught unawares like this? After everything he was taught and told? How could he have let his guard down to be caught by some bumbling idiot who had probably never held a gun before, let alone shot one. 

“I can’t wait to bring you into Agent Milton,” Stephens said, speaking mostly to himself than to Arthur. “It’ll mean a promotion for me, for sure.”

Where was Isabel? Arthur hoped she was safe, perhaps she saw Stephens and ran to save her own skin. Not that Arthur would blame her. He didn’t want her getting involved or killed on his account. He wasn’t worth losing her life over. If she was safe, then that was fine. If she went back to Beaver Hollow and made it known what happened, then some members of the gang would come for him... Wouldn’t they?

Sadie and Charles, surely. John, he hoped so. Javier? ...Maybe. Dutch...? Dutch was so far removed from the man Arthur knew once upon a time, it was impossible to even try to imagine how he might act if Isabel alerted them all to his capture. 

The second shackle closed around Arthur’s other wrist. He clenched his hands. No plan formulated in his mind, and now with his hands bound like this, his options for escape were even less. He was tempted to whistle for Juno. She could charge Agent Stephens, trample him under her hooves... But he didn’t want to risk Stephens firing off and killing his horse. 

“Get moving, Mr Morgan.” Agent Stephens smacked the back of Arthur’s head with his gun. “No sudden moves. No back talk, y’hear?”

“Yea, yea, I hear ya.” Arthur replied, wearily. He took a heavy step, his foot sinking into the soft soil on the hillside. 

“HEY!”

Isabel’s voice came from above. Both Arthur and Agent Stephens looked up and there she was perched on a tree branch, bow string pulled back, arrow nocked. Before the Stephens could get off a shot, Isabel loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air piercing through Stephen’s right eye and out the back of his head with a sickening crack. Agent Stephens gave a gasp of shock, the gun fell from his hand, and his body followed, dropping and rolling down the hill. 

As Arthur found his voice, he turned his gaze back to Isabel. “When did you get up there?” he asked, watching her finding hand and foot holds and making her way down. 

“When he was puttin’ the shackles on you.” Isabel replied. She jumped the last ten or so feet from a branch onto the ground. “He was congratulatin’ ‘imself so much he didn’t hear a damn thing.” She went to Stephens body on the ground and dug through his pockets. Once she had the keys to the shackles, she went to Arthur. “You okay?” she asked once his hands were freed and the shackles were on the ground. “That was a nasty smack on the head...”

“I had worse.” Arthur offered her a wry smile. One Isabel returned, shifting her weight from one side to the other. “I was thinkin’ you mighta run off.” Arthur said, looping his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans. “I wouldn’t have blamed you... if you had. Better t’save yer own skin, than risk yerself for me.”

“Arthur,” Isabel gave him a slightly withering look before sliding her hands along the lapels of his jacket, flattening the material to his chest. “You got me, Mr Morgan. I love you. I ain’t goin’ no where.”

She kissed him, but Arthur found himself unable to fully enjoy or reciprocate. His eyes were stuck open and his lungs were empty. She... loved him? Is that what she said? She loved him? Was she serious? He didn’t think he would hear those sentiments from someone... ever again after Mary. He never thought anyone would feel that way about him again. Especially not now with his illness...

But Isabel... she loved him? And she said it with no mirth, and no tone of mocking. She was sincere... At least, sounded sincere. She was earnest and forthright and...

Oh God, she loved him.

“Arthur--”

“I love you,” he blurted out, blinking hard at the confusion and worry on Isabel’s face. Immediately, he grimaced, squeezing his eyes closed and inwardly cursing. “I... I mean...” He searched for a way to fix his uncouth confession, but after a few seconds and bereft of inspiration, he sighed, turned and marched himself towards one of the guns Agent Stephens had thrown to the side. He took his time retrieving it, cleaning it of dirt and examining it for damage, glancing back to see Isabel collecting the other handgun. 

He went to where Juno and Valkyrie were standing. Nearby was Agent Stephens body. Arthur began to kick leaf litter and the fallen foliage over his corpse in the hopes it might hide him from passers by. Or, at the very least, by he and Isabel some time while they left this area. If they were lucky, perhaps some hungry wolves or a hungry cougar would happen upon Agent Stephens and the world would forever wonder what happened to the upstart Pinkerton agent. 

Isabel joined him. She picked up bundles of leaves and fronds of ferns, tossing them onto the body. When Arthur was satisfied it was mostly covered, he tossed some slabs of meat used for baiting carnivorous creatures onto the heap. The scent would attract them faster. 

After she handed him his gun and Arthur had it securely holstered, he unhitched Juno and started to lead here away from the scene. Isabel caught up to him, leading Valkyrie by her reins. When Isabel took his hand, sliding her fingers between his, Arthur did not resist. They walked in silence through the trees a few minutes, following the path through the forest.

“Did you mean it?” asked Isabel, her eyes fixed forward.

Arthur did not need to ask what she was referring to. He nodded, “yes.”

Isabel smiled, “me too.”

I don’t hate this ending!Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know in comments/reblogs/tag flailing!Feedback feeds writers, you guys!

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption #rdr 2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr oc #rdr ocs #rdr2 oc #rdr2 ocs #red dead redemption oc #red dead redemption ocs #red dead redemption 2 oc #red dead redemption 2 ocs #arthur x oc #isabel ashwood #arthur x isabel #prompt #prompted #short #writing #my writing #ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

[hovercraft79]

Winter Song

Ch 19 There’s A Song In The Air

Chapters: 19/31 Word Count: 1,030 Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017) Rating: Teen Warnings:  Sooo… the fact that I used a reworked version of ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ might be worth a warning. I am one of the people who thinks that the original lyrics of this song are... problematic, to say the least.  Summary: It’s quiet in the castle, at least it is until Gwen and Algie decide to create a little night music.

Notes: This story is part of the B-Sides: Stories from the world of Hecate’s Summer Playlist series. It is a prequel to Hecate’s Summer Playlist.

There’s A Song In the Air is a traditional Christmas carol and a Methodist hymn from the Cokesbury hymnal. It’s Sparky’s favorite song.

For anyone interested, the first chant is original and the second is a reworking of the Hazelmaas chant from The New Worst Witch. As mentioned above, I don’t care for the original lyrics to ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside.’ Algie is always a proper gentleman and would never try to coerce anyone into anything. Thus, the roles are flipped and the most offensive lyrics have been changed. Because I can.

Sparky is still hanging in there, editing away and kindly not mentioning that I do the same maddeningly incorrect things with semicolons Every. Damn. Time. 

 Gwen tested the chord again, frowning. Something was still just a familiar’s whisker off. She made a light adjustment to Nadia, her classroom organ, and tried the chord again. Pleased this time, Gwen climbed onto the bench, settling herself into a comfortable position before launching into a traditional Yule chant.

 Scent of clove and flake of snow,

Winter sky with stars aglow

Boughs of green and candles bright

Guide us through this sacred night!

 Algernon looked up from the book he was reading, anticipating the show. First, a flurry of snow swirled across the ceiling, appearing from nowhere. As the chant progressed, the ceiling disappeared altogether, replaced by an image of the night sky.

The snow continued to sparkle and swirl, spinning tighter and tighter until it coalesced into a glittering Yule tree.

“Brilliant, my dear! You haven’t lost a step!” Algie snapped his book closed and hopped over to the tree, gleefully running his fingers through the boughs as it faded out of sight. “As good as it’s ever been!”

Gwen didn’t say anything but beamed at him over her shoulder. She segued into another chant, this one for the upcoming Solstice.

 Longest night with glowing moon

Hear us chant a witching tune

Thank the sun for dimming long

Make way for darkness clear and strong

sand and sea, frost and flame

work together in the Goddess’ name

to vanquish wrong and welcome right

spreading goodness through the night.

In deep of night our magic grows

And through our veins it thrums and flows.

So bless us one and bless us all

When we answer this night’s call.

  “A new one?” Algie bounced back to the organ like a little boy, delighted at the shifting images flowing into one another. The flames dancing across the floor bathed him in a warm glow, filling his chest with a burning desire to go out into the night and stare at the moon. “It’s beautiful, my dear.” He blew a kiss her way. “Though not nearly as beautiful as you.”

“Humph!” Gwen scoffed, despite her blush. “Dodgy old flatterer.”

“Not flattery at all, dearest. Just Merlin’s own truth.” He crossed a finger over his heart. “I swear by my best hat.” Algie squeezed on to the bench beside Gwen, bumping her with his hip until she gave him just enough room to sit down. He pecked out a series of notes on the keyboard.

La-da-de-da-dah

“Pffft…” Gwen flicked her fingers at him. “You know how I feel about that song…”

“Even with my new lyrics?” He plucked the notes out one last time before singing the words.

La-da-de-da-dah

“I really can't stay”

Gwen just looked at him.

“I've got to go away” 

He was off-key, but trying. Gwen looked up at the ceiling, an almost imperceptible smile on her lips.

“This evening has been,” he crooned.

               “I’m glad you dropped in.” Gwen joined in.

So very nice

             I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice

Would you like me to scurry?

               beautiful, please don't hurry

But maybe just a half a drink more

             put some records on while I pour

I wish I knew how

               your eyes are like starlight now

To break this spell

              I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell

I really can't stay

            Oh baby, don't hold out

But baby, it's cold outside

 **** 

The girls might be gone, but old habits are hard to break, and Hecate found herself doing rounds in an empty castle. She felt restless, off-balance, and she couldn’t decide if it’s because she’d been spending so much time with Pippa lately, or because she hadn’t seen Pippa in two days. The sound of Gwen’s pump organ carried through the empty corridor. Hecate veered off her normal route and followed the music to the chanting room. It wasn’t until she was almost to the open door that Hecate could hear Algie and Gwen singing. She froze, lurking just outside the door, not wanting to disturb them. Peeking around the door, she could see them dancing around the room, desks magically sliding out of their way as they spun, still singing. She recognized the tune of an Ordinary Christmas song, if not all the words.

Hecate watched them for a few minutes. The dance wasn’t elegant or graceful, not by any means. It was comfortable, though, relaxed and…altogether lovely. Loving. No wonder Gwen had never been able to move on. How could anyone move on from someone who looked at you the way Algernon looked at Gwen? Once again, a flash of anger at what Miss Gullet had stolen from them burned in Hecate’s chest. She knew she’d been robbed of much the same thing. At least, she might have been. She’d never been able to figure out if Pippa had felt the same way as she did, way back then. She was terrified to ask now; they still felt too fragile, the connection too tenuous to risk.

It was getting stronger, though. Every day. She watched Gwen and Algie a few more minutes before transferring herself back to her quarters.

****

Algie dipped Gwen – shallowly, to be sure, but enough to count. He waggled his eyebrows at her before pulling her up and spinning her around again.

 I don’t want to go

                Baby, it's cold outside

I’ll dance with you slow

                But baby, it's cold outside

Your welcome has been

                So glad you dropped in

So nice and warm

                Let’s stay up and watch the dawn

I feel like I’m home

                 Baby, I’ll keep you here

I won’t need a coat

                It's up to your knees out there

You've really been grand

               I thrill when you touch my hand

I really must stay

            You really must stay

Baby, it's cold…

“Baby, it's cold outside,” they sang together, as they laughed and spun around the room.

“All right, I give.  I’ll admit you’ve improved the lyrics immeasurably, Algie.” Gwen kissed him on the cheek, just above his beard.

Algie stepped back, bowing deeply. “Perhaps it’s time to retire, my dear?” He held an arm out and waited for Gwen to take it. “Unless you’d rather hear my new rendition of ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus?”

#ww2018winterfluffevent #gwen bat #algernon rowan-webb #hecate Hardbroom - as an eavesdropper! #hints of hicsqueak

[flynnspeaks]

Flynn Marathons Doctor Who, Part 11

(for anyone needing caught up–I’m doing a watch of Doctor Who from the very beginning of the show, bingewatching it by episode instead of by serial (which I find to be closer to the original spirit of the episodes, albeit still nothing like it at all), and then doing a writeup roughly every three serials or so)

Continuing Season 4, starting up the Troughton era:

The Power of the Daleks: Stunning. Absolutely brilliant. Gripping and tense, with a marvelous build-up over the first five episodes to the unrelentless action of the sixth. The Daleks are fascinating here--if I’m right, this is the first episode that really establishes how dangerous even one Dalek can be. Before this, we’ve understood them as galaxy-conquering terrors, but it was always in groups. Here, just one Dalek is enough to send the Doctor into a panic.

The story is well-liked enough, so I’ve only a few things to add: I like how Whitaker essentially structures the story as a two-parter leading into a four-parter, with the first episode spent mostly dealing with the regeneration (which is of course handled sublimely, both in the writing and Patrick’s performance (and I love the detail of Ben being suspicious and Polly just going with it)) and the second with Lesterson reviving the Dalek--all of course leading to the Dalek recognizing the Doctor, conclusively confirming Troughton as our new hero, and the iconic “I am your servant” cliffhanger. Other minor things: interesting that Whitaker brings back the whole “Daleks run on static electricity” detail, which for the most part was forgotten after “Dalek Invasion of Earth”. Also interesting that two of Troughton’s recurring lines (”When I say run...” and “I would like a hat like that”) come from this serial, which I didn’t know.

I also love how the story deals with the rebels, effectively showing how revolutions are so easily co-opted by fascist militants (who in the story are in turn co-opted by the uberfascist Daleks). It’s a surprisingly smart depiction of revolution that is unsettling and relevant today.

So yeah. Marvelous story. By far the best in the series so far.

The Highlanders: So the first three episodes left me kinda bored--not that I felt they were bad, but they weren’t particularly engaging and I wasn’t enjoying the story as much as I had previous historicals. Then the fourth episode happened, and honestly I kinda dug it. The story ended up in some directions I wasn’t expecting, and made the first three more interesting in hindsight. I enjoy the supporting cast, and the reversal of Grey seeming like a good guy, getting the Doctor and his friends out of trouble, but turning out to be a slave trader for the West Indies plantations (and then Perkins turning on him in the end was deeply satisfying).

One of the things I did like about the story from the getgo was how no-nonsense Polly was--from the outset getting out of trouble and preferring action over sitting and waiting to be rescued. In particular her and Kristy capturing Algernon was fantastic, as was his eventual arc in helping them out in the end. I dunno, in general this was a fun little outing, and I think a fine sendoff to one of the more odd facets of Doctor Who’s early days.

(one thing though: I think Episode 1 of this has possibly the lamest cliffhanger in all of Doctor Who, in which Polly is threatened by someone with a knife, only to find in the next episode that it was Kristy...the girl she had been travelling with nearly the whole episode. It’s the cliffhanger equivalent of that horror movie “it’s a jump scare but it’s a cat!” cliche)

The Underwater Menace: Love it. Balmy in the most wonderful ways--”we get the fish people to go on strike!” is one of those lines of dialogue that just makes me happy to be a Doctor Who fan. It helps that this is the first story in the Troughton era to have existing episodes, so you get to actually watch Troughton perform--of course, he’s absolutely magnetic. Always compelling, making active choices with the material and playing off of others brilliantly--his early scenes opposite Zaroff are a particular highlight.

About the only problem I actually have with the story are the companions--Ben is great as usual, and over the past few serials has had a remarkably consistent, interesting character, but Polly’s character changes constantly depending on the needs of the writers. It’s really obvious when you’re watching them in context--last serial Polly was no-nonsense, clever, and conniving; here she suddenly becomes a peril monkey. It’s inordinately frustrating that the female characters continue to be wholly inconsistent like this (meanwhile, Jamie weirdly doesn’t get a lot in the story, mostly shining in the TARDIS bookends).

Outside of that, I can see why this story was hated for such a long time, but like “The Web Planet” it’s just so damned crazy I can’t help but love it. Disgraced scientists in the near-future hidden deep underwater in the Lost City of Atlantis, living off of plankton and trying to blow up the world for the sheer marvel of it? Brilliant (I want to emphasize--I really love the detail that Zaroff wants to blow up the world just for the scientific marvel of it. That’s a fascinating detail that gives interesting layers underneath the copious amounts of ham Furst imbues him with).

Speaking of Furst actually, I don’t mind the camp here--the whole point is that Zaroff is clearly unhinged but everyone is too superstitious to take notice of it, so the ham kind of works. There’s a fantastic moment where the Doctor tells Theos to watch Zaroff’s eyes, and a scene later you see Theos start to see what the Doctor is talking about when he talks to Zaroff. Plus I mean, look, “NOTHING IN ZEH WORLD CAN STOP ME NOW” is fucking fantastic. Nah, this story’s great fun, with a ton of interesting concepts. To me, this stort of story is exactly what Doctor Who is for.

#doctor who #classic who #second doctor #patrick troughton #flynn marathons doctor who

[longforgottenunofficial]

When the Spooks Have a Midnight Jamboree

They say that whatever music you loved when you were 17, that's the music you will love the rest of your life.  For Buddy Baker, who wrote the music for the Haunted Mansion, that would be 1935.  For X. Atencio, who wrote the lyrics to "Grim Grinning Ghosts," it's 1936.  That's just an interesting factoid to keep tucked away as you read what follows. No one doubts that a big part of the Mansion's appeal is its superb musical scoring.  The "Grim Grinning Ghosts" tune, written by Buddy Baker, appears in numerous arrangements throughout the ride, and however much it's rearranged and recast, it always sounds creepy.  Magic!

The lyrics are not exactly Shakespeare.  Actually, the title is Shakespeare.  The phrase "grim grinning ghost" appears in line 933 of the epic poem, "Venus and Adonis." "Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, Hateful divorce of love,"—thus chides she Death,— "Grim grinning ghost, earth's worm, what does thou mean To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet? Too bad it wasn't in line 999.  Whether X borrowed the phrase consciously and deliberately or plucked it from a subconscious memory of his readings in Shakespeare—who knows? Anyway, there is no point in pretending that the lyrics are poetry with a capital P.  The graveyard jamboree scene (the only place you hear the lyrics sung) is not conducive to hearing a song with any kind of narrative.  "Grim Grinning Ghosts" is calculated so that someone can hear a line here or a piece of a phrase there and still get the general idea of ghosts and ghoulies coming out to party.  Except for the tagline at the end of each verse, you could almost put the rest of the lines in a hat and reorder them at random. [Edit 8/13: But see now the argument by T. Hartwell in the Comments.]  The song is a laundry list of spooky phenomena, explained at the end of each verse as ghosts coming out to socialize.  The arrangement is suitably rollicking and undeniably catchy: Grim Grinning Ghosts [Audio Link]

Grim Grinning Ghosts When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake, Spooks come out for a swinging wake. Happy haunts materialize, 
 And begin to vocalize. Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize.

Now don't close your eyes and don't try to hide. Or a silly spook may sit by your side. Shrouded in a daft disguise. They pretend to terrorize. Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize.

As the moon climbs high o'er the dead oak tree, Spooks arrive for the midnight spree.
 Creepy creeps with eerie eyes, 
 Start to shriek and harmonize. 
 Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize.

When you hear the knell of a requiem bell, 
 Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell. 
 Restless bones etherialize, Rise as spooks of every size.(Laughter)

Incidentally, those singing busts have official names, which are on the blueprints and the film strips for each one (before things went digital).  Left to right you've got Rollo Rumkin, Uncle Theodore, Cousin Algernon, Ned Nub, and Phineas P. Pock.  We've already met Rollo and Phineas as tombstones in the original outside queue.  "Cousin Algernon" is the name of a character in the Oscar Wilde play, "The Importance of Being Earnest."  There was originally going to be a sixth bust, Aunt Lucretia, but they went with an all-male chorus, and Aunt Lucretia found useful employment elsewhere in the Mansion.

But let's get back to our topic.  When it comes to comic songs about ghosts and goblins coming out to party, the first one that comes to most people's minds is probably "The Monster Mash," but long before that record came out the theme was popular.  In fact, the heyday of such songs was the 1930's and 40's.  If you listen to some of those, you're probably hearing the inspirational roots that led to GGG.  Put another way, GGG is part of an established genre of novelty songs rooted in the 30's and 40's.  At times, the lyrics to some of these songs come so close that you could almost suspect direct inspiration, but there are no smoking guns that I know of.  Nevertheless, I've highlighted a few such lines in what follows.  These songs are a real kick to listen to, whatever the excuse for doing so.

The Skeleton in the Closet [Audio Link]

There's an old deserted mansion on an old forgotten road, Where the better ghosts and goblins always hang out. One night they threw a party, in a manner à la mode, And they cordially invited all the gang out. At a dark bewitching hour, when the fun was loud and hearty, A notorious wallflower became the life of the party. The spooks were having their midnight fling, The merry making was in full swing, They shrieked themselves into a cheerful trance, When the skeleton in the closet started to dance. Now a goblin giggled with fiendish glee, A shout rang out from a big banshee, Amazement was in every ghostly glance. When the skeleton in the closet started to dance. All the witches were in stitches, while his steps made rhythmic thumps, And they nearly dropped their broomsticks when he tried to do the bumps. You never heard such unearthly laughter, or such hilarious groans, When the skeleton in the closet rattled his bones.

That's Satchmo himself, of course, Louis Armstrong, from the soundtrack of the 1936 film, Pennies from Heaven.  The similarity of theme between "Skeleton" and GGG is obvious.

Swingin' at the Séance [Audio Link]

In a house up on a rock along the countryside, At precisely twelve o’clock the spooks begin to rise. Swingin’ at the seance, twelve ticks, Swingin’ at the seance, hot licks, With the medium in trance, How that horn began to dance. Swingin’ at the seance, five men, Swingin’ at the seance, jive men, When the trumpet blasted out, All the spooks began to shout. That music came through so sweetly low-down, Yet nobody knew who was riff-riff-riffin’ around. Swingin’ at the seance, black coats, Swingin’ at the seance, blue notes, While the trumpet could have won a cup, Its jivin’ broke the seance up, And who do you think was a riffin’ away? No one else but Billy May.

That's the Glenn Miller Orchestra, with Dorothy Claire, in 1941.  Looks like it may have been written by Billy May.

The Headless Horseman [Audio Link]

Now, gather ‘round while I elucidate On what happens outside when it gets late. ‘Long about midnight the ghosts and banshees Get together for their nightly jamboree. There’s ghosts with horns and saucer eyes, And some with fangs about this size. Some short and fat, some tall and thin, And some don’t even bother to wear their skin. I’m a-tellin’ you brother, it’s a frightful sight Just to see what goes on in the night.

When the spooks have a midnight jamboree, They break it up with fiendish glee. Ghosts are bad, but the one that's cursed Is the Headless Horseman, he's the worst.

When he goes a-joggin' 'cross the land, Holdin' a noggin in his hand, Demons take one look and groan, And hit the road for parts unknown.

And there's no wraith like a spook that's spurned. They don't like him, and he's really burned. He swears to the longest day he's dead, He'll show them that he can get a head.

So close all the windows, lock the doors, Unless you’re careful, he’ll get yours. Don’t think he’ll hesitate a bit, ‘Cause he’ll flip your top if it’ll fit.

And he likes them little, likes them big, Part in the middle, or a wig, Black or white or even red, The Headless Horseman needs a head.

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop, He's out lookin' for a top to chop, So don't stop to figure out a plan, You can't reason with a headless man.

So after dark he’ll get the goods. Head home, the way that you should, ‘Cause right outside, a-waitin’ there, Is the Headless horseman.  Beware!

Now we're closer to home.  This was sung by Bing Crosby in Disney's The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (1949).  Nothing at all against Bing, but I prefer this version by Kay Starr, released only a few months after the original Crosby version.  Kay's lyrics are slightly different, as you can see, since I've printed the BC version.  When she and those background singers get to "...what goes on in the nighhhhht" you know you got your money's worth for THAT record.

The Haunted House [Audio Link]

When the doors all squeak And the windows creakAnd the ceilings leak ‘Cause the roof’s antiqueAnd you hear a shriek And your legs feel weak— It’s a haunted house

There’s a dismal moan Like a weird trombone And the old hambone Is suddenly thrown You are all alone With the great unknown In the haunted house

There’s only one good spirit, it’s the spirit in the bottle. With shaking hands you pull the cork and pour some down your throttle.

There’s a clank of chains And a smell of brains And a gory stain Where the Duke was slain And you’ve got chilblains And varicose veins In the haunted house.

When the old oak beam Feels a corpse [?], you seem To feel a wet stream With a sinister gleam And you wake with a scream From a horrible dream Of the haunted house.

When the cavalier With the dreadful leer Tried to disappear Through the chiffonier And you cling with fear To the chandelier It’s a haunted house.

The air is full of clammy claws that clutch you by the collar. So gargle night and morning just in case you have to holler.

There are lights and sprites And awful frights In flesh-pink tights But the dead of night Comes a woman in white So you’re quite all right In the haunted house.

When the old church clock Strikes twelve, there’s a knock. With a sudden shock You remember the lock On the door is a crock— Oh, why did you mock? At the haunted house.

It is black as pitch And your eyeballs twitch In the darkest niche Sits a dirty witch And the lighting switch Is out of reach In the haunted house.

When the slavey’s filled with gravy why is she so pallid? Something pushed her in the pantry when she fetched the salad.

“I’m filled with dread. Yes I’m nearly dead. I saw a head Underneath my bed. Come out if you can. I could do with a man In the haunted house.”

That's the oldest one of the bunch (almost: see below).  1931, Ray Noble and the New Mayfield Orchestra.  It's British, and there are a couple of pop culture references in there that are hard to decipher at this distance.  "Slavey" is slang for any menial servant.  What the flesh-pink tights are all about, I don't know [Edit: see comments].  The opening line is startlingly like GGG, and the structure of the song is similar: a litany of spooky phenomena with an explanatory line repeated at the end of each verse.  No partying spooks in there, however. This list could easily be extended by quite a bit.  You can buy a whole CD full of these '30s-'40s novelty ghost tunes.  But you get the idea.  "Grim Grinning Ghosts" features a contemporary arrangement (for 1969), but it feels right at home with some of these old chestnuts, don't it? Reader Melissa has directed our attention to a Gilbert and Sullivan ditty that may be the granddaddy of all these songs, and as it happens, it's a very good match to GGG in a number of ways.  The laundry list of spooky phenomena followed by an explanatory final line.  The topic?  Ghosts having a midnight jamboree.  The repeated lines at the end of each stanza explain that to us.  This is a lot like GGG.

When the Night Wind Howls by: W.S. Gilbert (1836-1911)

When the night wind howls In the chimney cowls,  And the bat in the moonlight flies And the inky clouds Like funeral shrouds, Sail over the midnight skies--

When the footpads quail At the night-bird’s wail, And black dogs bay at the moon, Then is the spectre’s holiday-- Then is the ghost’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

Then is the ghost’s high noon! As the sob of the breeze Sweeps over the trees And the mists lie low on the fen, From grey tomb-stones Are gathered the bones

That once were women and men, And away they go, With a mop and a mow, To the revel that ends too soon, For cock crow limits our holiday-- The dead of the night’s high noon!  

Ha! Ha!

The dead of the night’s high noon! And then each ghost With his ladye-toast To their church yard beds take flight, With a kiss, perhaps, On her lantern chaps, And a grisly grim, “good night!”

Till the welcome knell Of the midnight bell Rings forth its jolliest tune, And ushers in our next high holiday-- The dead of the night’s high noon!  

Ha! Ha! 

The dead of the night’s high noon!

W. S. Gilbert (1836-1911) Taken from: Ruddigore: or, The Witch’s Curse (London: G. Bell & Sons, 1912)

We will revisit this song and go into greater detail in THIS post.

Originally Posted: Friday, August 13, 2010 Original Link: [x]

#haunted mansion #audio links #long forgotten

[allbestnet]

The Big Meta Book List

9.5 | Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) by George Orwell 9 | Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov 9 | Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce 9 | The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald 9 | Midnight’s Children (1981) by Salman Rushdie 8.9 | Brave New World (1932) by Aldous Huxley 8.9 | The Sound and the Fury (1929) by William Faulkner 8.8 | The Lord of the Rings (1954) by J.R.R. Tolkien 8.8 | The Grapes of Wrath (1939) by John Steinbeck 8.8 | Pride and Prejudice (1813) by Jane Austen 8.6 | Anna Karenina (1877) by Leo Tolstoy 8.6 | Invisible Man (1952) by Ralph Ellison 8.6 | The Catcher in the Rye (1951) by J.D. Salinger 8.6 | Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller 8.6 | One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez 8.6 | Gone with the Wind (1936) by Margaret Mitchell 8.5 | Clockwork Orange (1962) by Anthony Burgess 8.5 | To Kill a Mockingbird (1960) by Harper Lee 8.5 | The Hobbit (1937) by J.R.R. Tolkien 8.5 | Crime and Punishment (1866) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8.5 | The Little Prince (1943) by Antoine de Saint-Exupery 8.5 | Les Miserables (1862) by Victor Hugo 8.4 | To the Lighthouse (1927) by Virginia Woolf 8.4 | On the Road (1957) by Jack Kerouac 8.4 | War and Peace (1869) by Leo Tolstoy 8.4 | Beloved (1987) by Toni Morrison

8.3 | The Trial (1925) by Franz Kafka 8.3 | Animal Farm (1945) by George Orwell 8.3 | The Brothers Karamazov (1880) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8.3 | Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Bronte 8.3 | Lord of the Flies (1954) by William Golding 8.2 | Slaughterhouse Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut 8.2 | Great Expectations (1861) by Charles Dickens 8.2 | The Master and Margarita (1973) by Mikhail Bulgakov 8.2 | The Stranger (1942) by Albert Camus 8.2 | Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) by Lewis Carroll 8.2 | Heart of Darkness (1899) by Joseph Conrad 8.2 | Love in the Time of Cholera (1985) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez 8.2 | The Count of Monte Cristo (1845) by Alexandre Dumas 8.2 | Hamlet by William Shakespeare 8.2 | Don Quixote (1605) by Miguel de Cervantes 8.2 | Jane Eyre (1847) by Charlotte Bronte 8.2 | East of Eden (1952) by John Steinbeck 8.2 | One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1962) by Ken Kesey 8.1 | The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) by Oscar Wilde 8.1 | The Name of the Rose (1980) by Umberto Eco 8.1 | The Handmaid’s Tale (1985) by Margaret Atwood 8.1 | Middlemarch (1874) by George Eliot 8.1 | The Idiot (1869) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8.1 | The Magic Mountain (1924) by Thomas Mann 8.1 | The Old Man and the Sea (1952) by Ernest Hemingway 8.1 | The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1979) by Douglas Adams 8.1 | The Color Purple (1982) by Alice Walker 8.1 | Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker 8.1 | Fahrenheit 451 (1953) by Ray Bradbury 8 | Fairy Tales (1812) by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm 8 | Native Son (1940) by Richard Wright 8 | Infinite Jest (1996) by David Foster Wallace 8 | American Psycho (1991) by Bret Easton Ellis 8 | For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940) by Ernest Hemingway 8 | The Fault in Our Stars (2012) by John Green 8 | And Then There Were None (1939) by Agatha Christie 8 | Persuasion (1818) by Jane Austen 8 | Rebecca (1938) by Daphne du Maurier 8 | The War of the Worlds (1898) by H.G. Wells 8 | The Kite Runner (2003) by Khaled Hosseini 8 | House of Mirth (1905) by Edith Wharton 8 | Journey to the End of the Night (1932) by Louis-Ferdinand Celine 8 | Of Mice and Men (1937) by John Steinbeck 8 | Lonesome Dove (1985) by Larry McMurtry 8 | Three Musketeers (1844) by Alexandre Dumas 8 | Pale Fire (1989) by Vladimir Nabokov 8 | Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1915) by James Joyce 8 | The Hunger Games (2008) by Suzanne Collins 8 | Emma (1815) by Jane Austen 8 | The Godfather (1969) by Mario Puzo 7.9 | Call of the Wild (1903) by Jack London 7.9 | Sons and Lovers (1913) by D.H. Lawrence 7.9 | A Prayer for Owen Meany (1989) by John Irving 7.9 | The Stand (1978) by Stephen King 7.9 | Little Women (1868) by Louisa May Alcott 7.9 | Brideshead Revisited (1945) by Evelyn Waugh 7.9 | Cloud Atlas (2004) by David Mitchell 7.9 | Sense and Sensibility (1811) by Jane Austen 7.9 | Mrs Dalloway (1925) by Virginia Woolf 7.9 | Diary of a Young Girl (1947) by Anne Frank 7.9 | Othello by William Shakespeare 7.9 | Maus by Art Spiegelman 7.9 | Absalom, Absalom! (1936) by William Faulkner 7.9 | King Lear by William Shakespeare 7.9 | Of Human Bondage (1915) by W. Somerset Maugham 7.9 | Madame Bovary (1857) by Gustave Flaubert 7.9 | Leaves of Grass (1855) by Walt Whitman 7.9 | A Tale of Two Cities (1859) by Charles Dickens 7.9 | As I Lay Dying (1930) by William Faulkner 7.9 | Odyssey by Homer 7.9 | Gulliver’s Travels (1726) by Jonathan Swift 7.9 | Frankenstein (1818) by Mary Shelley 7.9 | Things Fall Apart (1958) by Chinua Achebe 7.9 | Age of Innocence (1920) by Edith Wharton

7.9 | Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (1940) by Carson McCullers 7.9 | Harry Potter (1997) by J.K. Rowling 7.9 | Tropic of Cancer (1934) by Henry Miller 7.8 | Iliad by Homer 7.8 | Watership Down by Richard Adams 7.8 | Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937) by Zora Neale Hurston 7.8 | Where the Wild Things Are (1963) by Maurice Sendak 7.8 | Room With a View (1908) by E.M. Forster 7.8 | Charlotte’s Web (1952) by E.B. White 7.8 | Green Eggs and Ham (1988) by Dr. Seuss 7.8 | Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry 7.8 | A Song of Ice and Fire (1996) by George R.R. Martin 7.8 | Oliver Twist (1837) by Charles Dickens 7.8 | Blindness (1995) by Jose Saramago 7.8 | In Search of Lost Time (1927) by Marcel Proust 7.8 | Passage to India (1924) by E.M. Forster 7.8 | The Perks of Being a Wallflower (1999) by Stephen Chbosky 7.8 | The Secret Garden (1911) by Frances Hodgson Burnett 7.8 | The Lorax (1971) by Dr. Seuss 7.8 | The Pillars of the Earth (1989) by Ken Follett 7.8 | The Wind in the Willows (1908) by Kenneth Grahame 7.8 | The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1984) by Milan Kundera 7.8 | The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis 7.8 | The Help (2009) by Kathryn Stockett 7.8 | Matilda (1988) by Roald Dahl 7.8 | Black Beauty (1877) by Anna Sewell 7.8 | House of Leaves (2000) by Mark Z. Danielewski 7.8 | Bell Jar (1963) by Sylvia Plath 7.8 | Watchmen (1987) by Alan Moore 7.8 | Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) by Thomas Pynchon 7.8 | Treasure Island (1883) by Robert Louis Stevenson 7.8 | Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (1964) by Roald Dahl 7.8 | The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902) by Arthur Conan Doyle 7.8 | American Gods (2001) by Neil Gaiman 7.8 | Sophie’s Choice (1979) by William Styron 7.8 | The Magus (1977) by John Fowles 7.8 | Flowers for Algernon (1959) by Daniel Keyes 7.8 | Schindler’s List (1982) by Thomas Keneally 7.8 | Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie 7.8 | It (1986) by Stephen King 7.8 | Tender Is the Night (1934) by F. Scott Fitzgerald 7.8 | World War Z (2006) by Max Brooks 7.8 | Life of Pi (2001) by Yann Martel 7.8 | Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) by Robert A. Heinlein 7.8 | Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol 7.8 | Book of Mormon by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints 7.8 | American Tragedy (1925) by Theodore Dreiser 7.8 | Moby-Dick (1851) by Herman Melville 7.8 | Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa 7.8 | A Christmas Carol (1843) by Charles Dickens 7.8 | The Kingkiller Chronicle (2007) by Patrick Rothfuss 7.8 | All Quiet on the Western Front (1929) by Erich Maria Remarque 7.7 | A Fine Balance (1995) by Rohinton Mistry 7.7 | Scarlet Pimpernel (1905) by Baroness Orczy 7.7 | The Very Hungry Caterpillar (1969) by Eric Carle 7.7 | Bleak House (1853) by Charles Dickens 7.7 | The Giving Tree (1964) by Shel Silverstein 7.7 | Howards End (1910) by E.M. Forster 7.7 | Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) by A.A. Milne 7.7 | Anne of Green Gables (1908) by Lucy Maud Montgomery 7.7 | The Heroes of Olympus (2010) by Rick Riordan 7.7 | His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman 7.7 | Fight Club (1996) by Chuck Palahniuk 7.7 | The Road (2006) by Cormac McCarthy 7.7 | Metamorphoses by Ovid 7.7 | Giver (1993) by Lois Lowry 7.7 | Looking for Alaska (2005) by John Green 7.7 | The Day of the Jackal (1971) by Frederick Forsyth 7.7 | Roots (1976) by Alex Haley 7.7 | Tess of the d’Urbervilles (1891) by Thomas Hardy 7.7 | The Sheltering Sky (1949) by Paul Bowles 7.7 | Dune (1965) by Frank Herbert 7.7 | Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett 7.7 | Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 7.7 | The Thorn Birds (1977) by Colleen McCullough 7.7 | Good Omens (1990) by Terry Pratchett 7.7 | Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886) by Robert Louis Stevenson 7.7 | Fifty Shades of Grey (2011) by E.L. James 7.7 | The Red and the Black (1830) by Stendhal 7.7 | The Book Thief (2006) by Markus Zusak 7.7 | The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri 7.7 | Finnegans Wake (1939) by James Joyce 7.7 | Ficciones (1956) by Jorge Luis Borges 7.7 | Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare 7.7 | Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852) by Harriet Beecher Stowe 7.7 | The God of Small Things (1997) by Arundhati Roy 7.7 | I, Claudius (1934) by Robert Graves 7.7 | Atlas Shrugged (1957) by Ayn Rand 7.7 | Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) by Philip K. Dick 7.7 | The Green Mile (1996) by Stephen King 7.7 | The Shining (1977) by Stephen King 7.7 | Aeneid by Virgil 7.7 | The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994) by Haruki Murakami 7.7 | Mansfield Park (1814) by Jane Austen 7.7 | Women in Love (1920) by D.H. Lawrence 7.7 | Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (1974) by Robert M. Pirsig 7.7 | A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007) by Khaled Hosseini 7.7 | Cat in the Hat (1985) by Dr. Seuss 7.7 | Outsiders (1967) by S.E. Hinton 7.6 | Zorba the Greek (1946) by Nikos Kazantzakis

7.6 | Trainspotting (1993) by Irvine Welsh 7.6 | Time Machine (1895) by H.G. Wells 7.6 | We Need to Talk About Kevin (2003) by Lionel Shriver 7.6 | Macbeth by William Shakespeare 7.6 | The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien 7.6 | The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (2003) by Mark Haddon 7.6 | The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (2000) by Michael Chabon 7.6 | Night (1956) by Elie Wiesel 7.6 | The Woman in White (1860) by Wilkie Collins 7.6 | Much Ado about Nothing by William Shakespeare 7.6 | The Time Traveler’s Wife (2003) by Audrey Niffenegger 7.6 | Man’s Search for Meaning (1946) by Viktor Emil Frankl 7.6 | Atonement (2001) by Ian McEwan 7.6 | In Cold Blood (1966) by Truman Capote 7.6 | Breakfast of Champions (1973) by Kurt Vonnegut 7.6 | Fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen 7.6 | Perfume (1985) by Patrick Suskind 7.6 | V for Vendetta (1989) by 7.6 | Around the World in Eighty Days (1873) by Jules Verne 7.6 | Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain 7.6 | The Tin Drum (1959) by Gunter Grass 7.6 | The BFG (1982) by Roald Dahl 7.6 | How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1985) by Dr. Seuss 7.6 | Candide (1759) by Voltaire 7.6 | Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928) by D.H. Lawrence 7.6 | Fountainhead (1943) by Ayn Rand 7.6 | Nostromo (1904) by Joseph Conrad 7.6 | Little Princess (1905) by Frances Hodgson Burnett 7.6 | Holes (1998) by Louis Sachar 7.6 | Mere Christianity (1952) by C.S. Lewis 7.6 | Phantom Tollbooth (1961) by Norton Juster 7.6 | David Copperfield (1850) by Charles Dickens 7.6 | Goodnight Moon (1947) by Margaret Wise Brown 7.6 | The Man in the High Castle (1962) by Philip K. Dick 7.6 | Time to Kill (1989) by John Grisham 7.6 | Steppenwolf (1927) by Hermann Hesse 7.6 | Cryptonomicon (1999) by Neil Stephenson 7.6 | The Remains of the Day (1989) by Kazuo Ishiguro 7.6 | Norwegian Wood (1987) by Haruki Murakami 7.6 | The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer 7.6 | James and the Giant Peach (1961) by Roald Dahl 7.6 | Dubliners (1914) by James Joyce 7.6 | Doctor Zhivago (1957) by Boris Pasternak 7.6 | Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1943) by Betty Smith 7.6 | Memoirs of a Geisha (1997) by Arthur Golden 7.6 | Essential Rumi by Rumi 7.6 | Buddenbrooks (1901) by Thomas Mann 7.6 | Far from the Madding Crowd (1874) by Thomas Hardy 7.6 | Hiding Place (1971) by Corrie Ten Boom 7.6 | The Princess Bride (1973) by William Goldman 7.6 | All the King’s Men (1946) by Robert Penn Warren 7.6 | The Maltese Falcon (1930) by Dashiell Hammett 7.6 | The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876) by Mark Twain 7.6 | Ouran High School Host Club by Bisco Hatori 7.6 | Plague (1947) by Albert Camus 7.6 | Jurassic Park (1990) by Michael Crichton 7.6 | The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson 7.6 | Shogun (1975) by James Clavell 7.6 | A Town Like Alice (1950) by Nevil Shute 7.6 | Ambassadors (1903) by Henry James 7.6 | Blood Meridian (1985) by Cormac McCarthy 7.6 | No Country for Old Men (2005) by Cormac McCarthy 7.6 | The Castle (1926) by Franz Kafka 7.6 | Phantom of the Opera (1910) by Gaston Leroux 7.6 | Middlesex (2002) by Jeffrey Eugenides 7.6 | The Book of the New Sun (1994) by Gene Wolfe 7.6 | Vanity Fair (1848) by William Makepeace Thackeray 7.6 | Heidi by Johanna Spyri 7.6 | Bluest Eye (1970) by Toni Morrison 7.6 | Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand 7.6 | Pippi Longstocking (1945) by Astrid Lindgren 7.6 | The French Lieutenant’s Woman (1969) by John Fowles 7.6 | North and South (1855) by Elizabeth Gaskell 7.6 | Percy Jackson & the Olympians (2005) by Rick Riordan 7.6 | Gilgamesh by 7.6 | The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare 7.6 | Millennium series by Stieg Larsson 7.6 | Cat’s Cradle (1963) by Kurt Vonnegut 7.6 | Northanger Abbey (1817) by Jane Austen 7.6 | The Secret History (1992) by Donna Tartt 7.5 | Screwtape Letters (1942) by C.S. Lewis 7.5 | Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare 7.5 | The World According to Garp (1978) by John Irving 7.5 | A Confederacy of Dunces (1980) by John Kennedy Toole 7.5 | Birdsong (1993) by Sebastian Faulks 7.5 | Dandelion Wine (1957) by Ray Bradbury 7.5 | Light in August (1932) by William Faulkner 7.5 | The Glass Castle (2005) by Jeannette Walls 7.5 | People’s History of the United States (2010) by Howard Zinn 7.5 | Lamb by Christopher Moore 7.5 | Water for Elephants (2006) by Sara Gruen 7.5 | Moneyball (2003) by Michael Lewis 7.5 | Three Men in a Boat (1889) by Jerome K. Jerome 7.5 | Jungle (1906) by Upton Sinclair 7.5 | The Forever War (1974) by Joe Haldeman 7.5 | Le Pere Goriot by Honore de Balzac 7.5 | Number the Stars (1989) by Lois Lowry 7.5 | Siddhartha (1951) by Hermann Hesse 7.5 | Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams 7.5 | Misery (1987) by Stephen King

[unconventional-hero]

Chapter 19: The Epilogue

Written by “The Countess”

Originally titled “Chapter IX” 

* * * * *

A weary, weary stretch of five years. Again we see the dusty lane leading up to the Tucker cottage in Bozeman. Again we see Mrs. Tucker, arrayed in the identical blue calico gown she wore when last we saw her. Again we hear the soft lowing of the cows, catch the faint fragrance of the roses over the door; again, -- but no! this is not the Betty we knew five years ago!

A pale, handsome woman of twenty-five, in a tea-gown, simply made and gay with rose-buds, a full-blown rose at the crossing of her kerchief over her breast-- a rose typical of her own full-blown beauty. No, it is not the same Betty. The years have brought many changes to her. Her very voice is different.

“Mother,” she says, coming to the door and slipping an arm around Mrs. Tucker’s ample waist, “you don’t see Jack coming, do you? I hate to have Algernon out so long. Oh, there the come! How Jack loves him.” She rushes down the road, regardless of the dust and throws her arms about her husband’s neck. Yes, it is the same Jack-- a trifle thinner and with a few gray hairs perhaps-- but who is the little prince who walks at his side, his golden curls floating about his head like a halo, his serious brown eyes suddenly lighted at sight of the pretty woman in the tea-gown? She stoops and kisses him, while Jack puts an arm about each. Mrs. Tucker, in the doorway, wipes the tears from her eyes at the charming tableau.

“Algernon Montmorenci Morningstar, you rogue, where have you been?” Betty asks, untying his hat.

“Oh, ‘way off, mamma. Papa took me to see the place where Black Bess threw little Clyde. Wisht Bess wuz a’livin’ now. I like wild horses. Ever’-thing wild. I tame ‘em!”

“Oh, Betty, he’s your own son. He’s afraid of nothing. And think how well the boy has held up for a three-year-old. He’s been walking around all afternoon.”

“Papa rested lots. I don’t like to rest,” asserts Algernon eagerly.

“Supper’s ready!” Mrs. Tucker calls and they find themselves in the kitchen, where, five years ago, Betty listened to Jack’s recital of his woes, and was even pleased at his avowal of his love for Clyde. Oh, the change that the years bring to us! Here she was, Jack’s wife, the mother of Jack’s child, home for the first time since she went to New York to defend him. She had married him the week after broken-hearted Clyde had left with her rascally husband for England. Jack had confessed that he was sorry he had been so morbidly romantic. He had said, “I might as well have loved a star as Clyde, but you, Betty, are tried and true, and will make me the dearest little wife in all the world-- if you’ll have me.” And Betty had promised to marry him the next day and she kept her word. That very night they had heard of Mr. McClure’s suicide. Desperate at last, unable to face the world after his failure, disgraced by his daughter’s secret marriage, irritated by his sister’s constant fault-finding, the poor man had ended it all by one shot through his broken heart.

Miss Dorothy had died in Betty’s arms a year ago-- a miserable, semi-idiotic invalid, who had never recovered from the shocks that had fallen upon her so heavily. She had been cut by all her former friends-- only Jack and Betty had remained true-- they had even given her a room in their handsome suite in a Fifth avenue tenement house, and she had been as grateful at the end as Dorothy Jennings could be. And in her occasional moments of rationality she had told Betty that she should not lose anything for all that care. So in a will Miss Dorothy had made one day with no legal help and with only Jack and Betty as witnesses, she had given all her personal property-- her elaborate costumes and what remained of her nice large fortune to Betty as a reward for “her faithful services.” The McClure and Jennings diamonds, which she held intact, she desired to go to Clyde, “if she ever reputed” and to Betty’s baby, if Clyde should die or never be heard of again. Her family pride never deserted her a moment.

Jack had been prosperous after all. Very little of his fortune had been really lost and by fortunate speculations he was soon classed among the wealthy men on Wall Street. His marriage and the birth of his son had restored all his old cheerfulness, and now, at thirty, he is sanguine and contented.

“It was all a waste of time to track Jim Paxton. No one will ever catch him but the devil, as I’ve often told Mis’ Barkalow,” says Mrs. Tucker, pouring a cup of rich cream for Algernon Montmorenci, who, by the way, bears the name of one of his mother’s favorite heroes. “And laud, how I’ve missed you two!”

“But you’ll go home with us in September, mother,” Betty cries gayly. “It is so pleasant in New York in the winter and you will meet new friends, the Reynolds, the Raymonds and the Duttons. I’m going out in society next winter, we’re getting quite popular, and I know I’ll enjoy it. Mrs. Landhurst is my best friend. You’ll like her so well, mamma dear. Last winter I couldn’t go any where on account of Miss Jennings and the winter before Algernon was sick so long but we’ve bought Mrs. Stewart’s house now and I’m going to be just as gay as you please.”

She laughs and is taking the rose from her breast to toss to Jack when a timid knock is heard at the door. Betty runs to open it. In the early twilight she does not at first recognize the beautiful face raised to hers. A black dress shows off the marble whiteness of the woman’s complexion to wonderful advantage. Two or three golden curls escape from the folds of her black bonnet. She extends an ungloved hand, and stares intently at Betty’s face.

“Come right in,” calls Mrs. Tucker from the table. “Supper’s just ready.”

“Is-- is this Mrs. Jack-Morningstar?” the woman on the doorstep asks, chokingly.

“Yes.-- Why, can it be possible? Jack, here is Clyde,-- I mean Lady Paxton!”

Jack rises hastily, almost overturning Algernon’s chair, and Mrs. Tucker, anxious to see the fair cause of all Jack’s trouble follows him to the door.

“Don’t be afraid,” Clyde says in a soft voice. “Jim is not here. I left him in Livingston. We are traveling with a theatrical party. I am leading lady and Jim is manager. I came-- because-- I thought I should like to see some one I used to know, even if my husband did wrong you both. We only stopped in New York one day. You know we have no pleasant recollections of it. So I only stayed long enough to visit poor papa’s grave and find where Aunt Dorothy is buried. You were very kind to her. I read all about it in the papers I got from New York and the European edition of the ‘Herald’. I want to tell you both that I will do any thing in my power for you. You are rich, they say, so you will not accept money but I mean to make it all right some time. Believe me, you have neither suffered as I have!”

Her voice sobbed into silence and Betty, her bright eyes filled with tears, caught her about the waist and drew her into the house.

Jack’s child crept up to her and laid a chubby hand on her arm as she sat near the table, having refused to partake of the meal.

Clyde lifted him up and kissed him.

“I had a child too-- but-- it-- died.” She sighed wearily and idly stroked Algernon’s curls.

Mrs. Tucker, who had been eagerly watching the visitor from behind the coffee urn, suddenly interposed, “That brute! I s’pose he’s broke your heart, too! Why don’t you leave him?”

Had lightning struck the place it could scarcely have been more startling in its effect on Clyde than these words.

She rose indignantly, stood a moment confronting them all and cried boldly, “He is my husband and come what may, I love him and shall adore him to the end!”

Turning abruptly, while the rest watched her in amazement, she was about to leave when Jack, speaking for the first time, exclaimed, “The diamonds, Betty! Tell her about them!”

Clyde’s eyes flashed with interest. “What diamonds?” She asked in a changed tone. So Betty told her of the bank in New York and of Miss Dorothy’s will.

“Keep them--” began Clyde with her old childishness-- “But no-- I will take them because-- he would wish me to!”

#period drama #romantic drama #victorian era #1800's #original fiction #An Unconventional Hero #the Countess #volume 3 #epilogue

[theadventuresoflilyblog]

100 Best Books You Need To Read

Dear Lily, besides uploading different book reviews and in between posts I will be completing the '100 best books you need to read list' that I found online. My posts for this challenge will be every Friday. I have listed them here so that if you like you can join in and let me know what you thought of each one or you can read up on what I thought of each book. However, I will not necessarily be reading them in the order presented. As you can see there are books of every genre. Have fun! Love, Me x 

1. American Gods

2. The Lord Of The Flies

3. Siddhartha

4. Sophie's World

5. A Brief History Of Time

6. The Great Gatsby

7. To Kill A Mockingbird

8. Matilda

9. The Complete Art Of War

10. Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep

11. Long Walk To Freedom

12. Murder On The Orient Express

13. The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat

14. Noughts And Crosses

15. In Cold Blood

16. Frankenstein

17. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland

18. The Secret History

19. Wuthering Heights

20. 1984

21. The Grapes of Wrath

22. Norwegian Wood

23. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

24. The Man In The Iron Mask

25. The Colour Purple

26. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

27. Lolita

28. Great Expectations

29. The Harry Potter Series

30. The Dark Materials Trilogy

31. The Old Man And The Sea

32. The Picture of Dorian Gray

33. The Road

34. Ulysses

35. Bad Science

36. I Capture The Castle

37. Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas

38. Les Miserables

39. The Catcher In The Rye

40. The Wind in the Willows

41. Wild Swans

42. The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy

43. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

44. Crime And Punishment

45. The Poisonwood Bible

46.Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn

47. Gulliver's Travels

48. The War Of The Worlds

49. Anna Karenna

50. Freakonomics

51. A Game Of Thrones

52. The Help

53. Flowers For Algernon

54. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

55. American Psycho

56. Notes From A Small Island

57. Macbeth

58. The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy

59. A History Of Venice

60. The Selfish Gene

61. The Handmaid's Tale

62. A Wild Sheep Chase

63. Schindler's Ark

64. London Fields

65. The Hound Of Baskervilles

66. My Man Jeeves

67. The English Patient

68. The Mill On The Floss

69. The Count Of Monte Cristo

70. The Commitments

71. Gladys Aylward The Little Woman

72. Midnight's Children

73. Tess Of The D'ubervilles

74. The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas

75. Hamlet

76. Goodnight Mister Tom

77. Dissolution

78. The Time Machine

79. Winnie The Pooh, The Complete Collection

80. Animal Farm

81. The Diary Of A Young Girl

82. The Enchanted Wood

83. Dracula

84. All Quiet On The Western Front

85. Bridget Jones' Diary

86. The Kite Runner

87. Pride And Prejudice

88. To The Lighthouse

89. Memoirs Of A Geisha

90. Misery

91. The Chronicles Of Narnia

92. Watership Down

93. The Odyssey

94. War And Peace

95. Bird Song

96. Tell No One

97. Moby Dick

98. A Tale Of Two Cities

99. Middlemarch

100. Jane Eyre

#100bestbooks #books #bookaddict #dearlily

[allbestnet]

The 5000 most popular books ever written part 1

Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) by George Orwell

Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov

Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce

The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Midnight's Children (1981) by Salman Rushdie

Brave New World (1932) by Aldous Huxley

The Sound and the Fury (1929) by William Faulkner

The Lord of the Rings (1954) by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Grapes of Wrath (1939) by John Steinbeck

Pride and Prejudice (1813) by Jane Austen

Anna Karenina (1877) by Leo Tolstoy

Invisible Man (1952) by Ralph Ellison

The Catcher in the Rye (1951) by J.D. Salinger

Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller

One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Gone with the Wind (1936) by Margaret Mitchell

Clockwork Orange (1962) by Anthony Burgess

To Kill a Mockingbird (1960) by Harper Lee

The Hobbit (1937) by J.R.R. Tolkien

Crime and Punishment (1866) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Little Prince (1943) by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Les Miserables (1862) by Victor Hugo

To the Lighthouse (1927) by Virginia Woolf

On the Road (1957) by Jack Kerouac

War and Peace (1869) by Leo Tolstoy

Beloved (1987) by Toni Morrison

The Trial (1925) by Franz Kafka

Animal Farm (1945) by George Orwell

The Brothers Karamazov (1880) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Bronte

Lord of the Flies (1954) by William Golding

Slaughterhouse Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut

Great Expectations (1861) by Charles Dickens

The Master and Margarita (1973) by Mikhail Bulgakov

The Stranger (1942) by Albert Camus

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865) by Lewis Carroll

Heart of Darkness (1899) by Joseph Conrad

Love in the Time of Cholera (1985) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The Count of Monte Cristo (1845) by Alexandre Dumas

Hamlet by William Shakespeare

Don Quixote (1605) by Miguel de Cervantes

Jane Eyre (1847) by Charlotte Bronte

East of Eden (1952) by John Steinbeck

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1962) by Ken Kesey

The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) by Oscar Wilde

The Name of the Rose (1980) by Umberto Eco

The Handmaid's Tale (1985) by Margaret Atwood

Middlemarch (1874) by George Eliot

The Idiot (1869) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Magic Mountain (1924) by Thomas Mann

The Old Man and the Sea (1952) by Ernest Hemingway

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1979) by Douglas Adams

The Color Purple (1982) by Alice Walker

Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker

Fahrenheit 451 (1953) by Ray Bradbury

Fairy Tales (1812) by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

Native Son (1940) by Richard Wright

Infinite Jest (1996) by David Foster Wallace

American Psycho (1991) by Bret Easton Ellis

For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940) by Ernest Hemingway

The Fault in Our Stars (2012) by John Green

And Then There Were None (1939) by Agatha Christie

Persuasion (1818) by Jane Austen

Rebecca (1938) by Daphne du Maurier

The War of the Worlds (1898) by H.G. Wells

The Kite Runner (2003) by Khaled Hosseini

House of Mirth (1905) by Edith Wharton

Journey to the End of the Night (1932) by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

Of Mice and Men (1937) by John Steinbeck

Lonesome Dove (1985) by Larry McMurtry

Three Musketeers (1844) by Alexandre Dumas

Pale Fire (1989) by Vladimir Nabokov

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1915) by James Joyce

The Hunger Games (2008) by Suzanne Collins

Emma (1815) by Jane Austen

The Godfather (1969) by Mario Puzo

Call of the Wild (1903) by Jack London

Sons and Lovers (1913) by D.H. Lawrence

A Prayer for Owen Meany (1989) by John Irving

The Stand (1978) by Stephen King

Little Women (1868) by Louisa May Alcott

Brideshead Revisited (1945) by Evelyn Waugh

Cloud Atlas (2004) by David Mitchell

Sense and Sensibility (1811) by Jane Austen

Mrs Dalloway (1925) by Virginia Woolf

Diary of a Young Girl (1947) by Anne Frank

Othello by William Shakespeare

Maus by Art Spiegelman

Absalom, Absalom! (1936) by William Faulkner

King Lear by William Shakespeare

Of Human Bondage (1915) by W. Somerset Maugham

Madame Bovary (1857) by Gustave Flaubert

Leaves of Grass (1855) by Walt Whitman

A Tale of Two Cities (1859) by Charles Dickens

As I Lay Dying (1930) by William Faulkner

Odyssey by Homer

Gulliver's Travels (1726) by Jonathan Swift

Frankenstein (1818) by Mary Shelley

Things Fall Apart (1958) by Chinua Achebe

Age of Innocence (1920) by Edith Wharton

Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (1940) by Carson McCullers

Harry Potter (1997) by J.K. Rowling

Tropic of Cancer (1934) by Henry Miller

Iliad by Homer

Watership Down by Richard Adams

Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937) by Zora Neale Hurston

Where the Wild Things Are (1963) by Maurice Sendak

Room With a View (1908) by E.M. Forster

Charlotte's Web (1952) by E.B. White

Green Eggs and Ham (1988) by Dr. Seuss

Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry

A Song of Ice and Fire (1996) by George R.R. Martin

Oliver Twist (1837) by Charles Dickens

Blindness (1995) by Jose Saramago

In Search of Lost Time (1927) by Marcel Proust

Passage to India (1924) by E.M. Forster

The Perks of Being a Wallflower (1999) by Stephen Chbosky

The Secret Garden (1911) by Frances Hodgson Burnett

The Lorax (1971) by Dr. Seuss

The Pillars of the Earth (1989) by Ken Follett

The Wind in the Willows (1908) by Kenneth Grahame

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1984) by Milan Kundera

The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis

The Help (2009) by Kathryn Stockett

Matilda (1988) by Roald Dahl

Black Beauty (1877) by Anna Sewell

House of Leaves (2000) by Mark Z. Danielewski

Bell Jar (1963) by Sylvia Plath

Watchmen (1987) by Alan Moore

Gravity's Rainbow (1973) by Thomas Pynchon

Treasure Island (1883) by Robert Louis Stevenson

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (1964) by Roald Dahl

The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902) by Arthur Conan Doyle

American Gods (2001) by Neil Gaiman

Sophie's Choice (1979) by William Styron

The Magus (1977) by John Fowles

Flowers for Algernon (1959) by Daniel Keyes

Schindler's List (1982) by Thomas Keneally

Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

It (1986) by Stephen King

Tender Is the Night (1934) by F. Scott Fitzgerald

World War Z (2006) by Max Brooks

Life of Pi (2001) by Yann Martel

Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) by Robert A. Heinlein

Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol

Book of Mormon by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

American Tragedy (1925) by Theodore Dreiser

Moby-Dick (1851) by Herman Melville

Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa

A Christmas Carol (1843) by Charles Dickens

The Kingkiller Chronicle (2007) by Patrick Rothfuss

All Quiet on the Western Front (1929) by Erich Maria Remarque

A Fine Balance (1995) by Rohinton Mistry

Scarlet Pimpernel (1905) by Baroness Orczy

The Very Hungry Caterpillar (1969) by Eric Carle

Bleak House (1853) by Charles Dickens

The Giving Tree (1964) by Shel Silverstein

Howards End (1910) by E.M. Forster

Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) by A.A. Milne

Anne of Green Gables (1908) by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Heroes of Olympus (2010) by Rick Riordan

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman

Fight Club (1996) by Chuck Palahniuk

The Road (2006) by Cormac McCarthy

Metamorphoses by Ovid

Giver (1993) by Lois Lowry

Looking for Alaska (2005) by John Green

The Day of the Jackal (1971) by Frederick Forsyth

Roots (1976) by Alex Haley

Tess of the d'Urbervilles (1891) by Thomas Hardy

The Sheltering Sky (1949) by Paul Bowles

Dune (1965) by Frank Herbert

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Thorn Birds (1977) by Colleen McCullough

Good Omens (1990) by Terry Pratchett

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886) by Robert Louis Stevenson

Fifty Shades of Grey (2011) by E.L. James

The Red and the Black (1830) by Stendhal

The Book Thief (2006) by Markus Zusak

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri

Finnegans Wake (1939) by James Joyce

Ficciones (1956) by Jorge Luis Borges

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852) by Harriet Beecher Stowe

The God of Small Things (1997) by Arundhati Roy

I, Claudius (1934) by Robert Graves

Atlas Shrugged (1957) by Ayn Rand

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) by Philip K. Dick

The Green Mile (1996) by Stephen King

The Shining (1977) by Stephen King

Aeneid by Virgil

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994) by Haruki Murakami

Mansfield Park (1814) by Jane Austen

Women in Love (1920) by D.H. Lawrence

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (1974) by Robert M. Pirsig

A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007) by Khaled Hosseini

Cat in the Hat (1985) by Dr. Seuss

Outsiders (1967) by S.E. Hinton

Zorba the Greek (1946) by Nikos Kazantzakis

Trainspotting (1993) by Irvine Welsh

Time Machine (1895) by H.G. Wells

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2003) by Lionel Shriver

Macbeth by William Shakespeare

The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (2003) by Mark Haddon

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (2000) by Michael Chabon

Night (1956) by Elie Wiesel

The Woman in White (1860) by Wilkie Collins

Much Ado about Nothing by William Shakespeare

The Time Traveler's Wife (2003) by Audrey Niffenegger

Man's Search for Meaning (1946) by Viktor Emil Frankl

Atonement (2001) by Ian McEwan

In Cold Blood (1966) by Truman Capote

Breakfast of Champions (1973) by Kurt Vonnegut

Fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen

Perfume (1985) by Patrick Suskind

V for Vendetta (1989) by 

Around the World in Eighty Days (1873) by Jules Verne

Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

The Tin Drum (1959) by Gunter Grass

The BFG (1982) by Roald Dahl

How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1985) by Dr. Seuss

Candide (1759) by Voltaire

Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928) by D.H. Lawrence

Fountainhead (1943) by Ayn Rand

Nostromo (1904) by Joseph Conrad

Little Princess (1905) by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Holes (1998) by Louis Sachar

Mere Christianity (1952) by C.S. Lewis

Phantom Tollbooth (1961) by Norton Juster

David Copperfield (1850) by Charles Dickens

Goodnight Moon (1947) by Margaret Wise Brown

The Man in the High Castle (1962) by Philip K. Dick

Time to Kill (1989) by John Grisham

Steppenwolf (1927) by Hermann Hesse

Cryptonomicon (1999) by Neil Stephenson

The Remains of the Day (1989) by Kazuo Ishiguro

Norwegian Wood (1987) by Haruki Murakami

The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer

James and the Giant Peach (1961) by Roald Dahl

Dubliners (1914) by James Joyce

Doctor Zhivago (1957) by Boris Pasternak

Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1943) by Betty Smith

Memoirs of a Geisha (1997) by Arthur Golden

Essential Rumi by Rumi

Buddenbrooks (1901) by Thomas Mann

Far from the Madding Crowd (1874) by Thomas Hardy

Hiding Place (1971) by Corrie Ten Boom

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