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ANNA, 20, USA
Here you will find a lot of Downton Abbey (particularly Lady Mary), long-dead royals, living royals, NBC comedies, Harry Potter, Gilmore Girls, cats, and politics."...the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination. The child must have a secret world in which live things that never were. It is necessary that she believe. She must start out believing in things not of this world. Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination. " -Mary Rommely, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
:Mary forced to marry Matthew to save the family from the king. On matthew’s arrival Mary as someone fight Matthew for her honor , but when Matthew wins he doesn’t kill the challenger& let’s him live. Then refuses to marry Mary thus leaving the family at the kings will , so Mary must try to change matthew’s mind. Good luck with that.
This review of my story is kind of bewildering. Is anon speculating, or telling me that’s how the story should go?
- soulmates au
- childhood best friends au
- teacher/student au
- teacher/single parent au
- one night stand and falling pregnant au
- meeting at a coffee shop au
- fake relationship au
- roommates au
- meeting online au
- high school popular kid/nerd au
- partners in crime au
- writer and editor au
- co-stars au
- lab partners au
- meeting in the E.R/A&E au
- brand new neighbours au
- meeting at a party whilst drunk au
- waking up with amnesia au
- parents meeting when they take their kids to class au
- dysfunctional relationship au
- best friends sibling au
- two miserable people meeting at a wedding au
- meeting on a train ride au
- literally bumping into each other au
- librarian/avid reader au
- sitting on the same park bench au
- meeting at a support group au
- knocking on the wrong door au
- going away to war au
- tourist/knowledgeable local au
- prostitute/client au
- doctor/companion au
- celebrity/fan au
- meeting at a masquerade ball au
- one of them trying to get the other one off of drugs au
- living in a society where their love is taboo au
- meeting in prison au
- cop/person getting a speeding ticket au
- long distance relationship au
- exes meeting again after not speaking for years au
- ghost/living person au
- star-crossed lovers au
- falling in love with their best friend’s partner au
- one of them being diagnosed with a terminal illness au
- pretending to hate each other au
- nanny/single parent au
- meeting at a festival au
- meeting again at a high school reunion au
- boss/intern au
- going through a divorce au
4 728 notes (via thebarefootflapper & molliehooper)
163 227 notes (via ever-the-stormbraver & official-petersimmonds)
This drabble is a commissioned piece for the Downton Charity Drive.
Prompt: Despite their best efforts, the Crawleys have no choice but to downsize the staff and make other difficult decisions to reduce their costs. I’m mostly interested in the reactions and emotions around those decisions. No need to get into the technical details. a Mary/Carson & Mary/Robert + Mary/Blake, 1000-words fic.
“I’m sorry, James, but there really is no other option. We shall provide you with two week’s worth of wages and excellent references, but I am afraid that your time here with us here at Downton is at an end.”
He watched the young man’s shoulder’s slouch under the weight of her words, knowing what this was costing her even as she held her emotions in check.
“Understood, my lady,” Jimmy returned shortly, unable to look her in the eye, staring straight ahead lest he be unable to keep his composure. “How long do I have before I’ll need to be packed up and ready to leave?”
“You will have a week,” Carson answered, the slight sag in Mary’s always impeccable posture alerting him to how personal this had become. “That should hopefully give you enough time to make some other arrangements.”
Was it anger or a trace of malice that he viewed in the footman’s eyes as they darted from the butler to Lady Mary herself? He nearly jumped from his seat to a stance of defense, but held himself back, knowing he was a mere outsider in this highly personal setting. Mary had included him in these proceedings as a friend and consultant, but nothing more. Yet somehow, it had become personal—much too personal for his own comfort. How had he allowed himself to become so entrenched in the difficulties of this family and their estate, to become so invested in their success?
He knew the reason well. She was now standing at the window, regaining her composure as Carson dismissed Jimmy from the room.
“Who’s next?” Lord Grantham asked, the rough edge to his voice signaling his own emotional state.
“One of the gardeners,” Mary returned flatly, moving away from the window as she paced the floor.
“A lad named Horace,” Carson added, moving towards the earl as he spoke. “He has been with us but two years, my lord. But I think he will still take the news with some difficulty.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Mary put in, her gaze dropping momentarily. “A lifetime can be lived in two years.”
He realized her mind had strayed elsewhere, into that private realm he dared not yet disturb. She had offered him glimpses, a story here, a comment there, a remark of how George was so like his father in one way or another. Yet he understood this was still tender ground upon which he trod, sensitive territory into which he would allow her to forge a path for him as she felt comfortable.
“Are you certain this is our only option?” Robert questioned. “That there are not cuts still to be made elsewhere?” Mary looked at him in exasperation as she answered this inquiry for the third time.
“Do you honestly think we would be doing this had we any other viable options to keep Downton afloat?”
The creased pain in her expression struck him as sharply as needles piercing skin, and he suddenly despised his position, feeling like a turncoat as he recalled assumptions made in haste the first time he had laid eyes on her.
His first impression of Lady Mary Crawley could not have been more wrong.
“But the pigs have brought in extra revenue,” the earl continued, forging a trail across the carpet in a new direction. “And the new shipment should arrive any day. You were so convinced this venture would help to save Downton, Mary, yet here we stand, depriving people who depend upon us for their livelihoods.”
She shook her head, dropping her hands in defeat before her body slouched into a nearby chair.
“If I may, Lord Grantham,” he interrupted, unable to watch her bear the brunt of a responsibility that was shared any longer. “Lady Mary’s idea to raise pigs was both inspired and practical, and it will eventually pay off in spades thanks to her hard work and dedication. But the blight that killed so many of them could not have been anticipated. When you take into account the large number of salaries for which your family is responsible and place them on top of the basic operating expenses of an estate such as yours, additional cuts are necessary lest the entire venture go under.”
She shot him a look of gratitude from under her lashes as her father took measured steps in his direction.
“And what of those tossed overboard to keep the ship afloat, Mr. Blake?” Robert questioned, his eyes narrowing. “Do they not matter at all in your estimation? Should we just watch them drown from our safe vantage point on deck without at least offering to toss them a life raft?”
“Oh, please, Papa,” Mary cried in exasperation, standing on tired legs. “Mr. Blake bears no fault in our difficulties, and he is here at my invitation. If anything, he deserves our gratitude for helping to save our pigs when they first arrived.”
He met Lord Grantham’s eyes squarely, considering each word that passed over his lips.
“No one is going to drown, Lord Grantham, not if they are willing to embrace the changes taking place in our society and adjust their way of life. The servants dismissed today can find work elsewhere if they will but search for it and make the necessary changes. And you are being more than fair with their severance pay and references. Many employers aren’t doing nearly as much for those they must let go, unfortunately.”
Carson made a small noise behind him, and whether it was one of approval or disgust, he could not discern.
“Necessary changes!” Robert spat bitterly. “Is there nothing left of decency and tradition in our world anymore? Of responsibility and guardianship? Of honor and dignity? Are such virtues simply incompatible with survival in this new era of which you speak?”
She moved to her father with an elegance he could not help but admire, the touch of her hand on the earl’s arm soft and deliberate.
“Of course there is, Papa,” she reasoned, her tone measured. “We simply must understand that the manner by which those qualities are demonstrated may be far different now than they were five years ago.”
His breath caught in his chest as her eyes captured his, something unspoken in their depths grabbing him in a manner he felt physically. He suddenly wished he could take this trial from her, that he could lighten this burden resting squarely on her shoulders and hear her laugh again as she had that muddy night in the barn.
That night had changed everything for him.
“But we must move on,” she continued, her unwavering glance speeding his pulse. “We must understand that the past is behind us and can never be recaptured. Stepping forward is our only option, opening ourselves to new possibilities the only means by which we will survive and live.”
Was he understanding her correctly? Surely he had not just imagined the intensity of her stare nor the intimacy of her statement. He opened his mouth to speak, to assure her, to somehow let her know that he would not abandon her in this new era into which she had been so cruelly thrust.
“Horace is here, my lord,” Carson interrupted, breaking their connection as uncomfortable reality descended yet again.
“Show him in, Carson,” Robert returned, moving towards the door as he straightened his spine.
She looked into him but a moment more before her mask of impenetrable steel was put back in place, the transformation rather startling. He had not imagined it, then, that silent transaction between them that had ended nearly the moment it had begun. He watched her with renewed fascination as she squared her shoulders and drew a steadying breath, preparing herself for the unpleasantness to come. Then she left him standing in the corner, hoping for a future with her that neither of them dared yet define.
21 notes (via lala-kate)
67 notes (via skyllianfive)
Can you please oh please oh please continue “First Look” for M/M? Do whatever you want, but I need more! :D
chickwriter said: awwww yes. i don’t want to be that person who requests 125,000 words on this by Monday, but…
thematthewreview said: Lovely - please tell me more about Fr. Matthew Crawley if you feel so inclined….
maryjosephineblake said: Oh my gosh I think you may have to continue this!!
wee-monster said: I want more!!! (please)
As part 1 was so short, I have included it here. Hope you enjoy it, my lovelies!
It had been in the hospital corridor when he had first noticed her, standing alone yet regal, tugging self-consciously at a silken scarf worn to conceal blatant pain. He had moved stealthily in her direction, tingling the moment she made eye contact, brown orbs brimming with courage and fear that halted him in his tracks.
God, she was so lovely it hurt, and he wondered how she would look with hair the hue of her lashes cascading freely down her shoulders. He reprimanded himself silently. Those were not appropriate sentiments to entertain when desperation looked back at him under a mask of ivory skin.
“You can beat this,” he assured her as her gaze narrowed then dropped. “Don’t ever give up.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” she answered, her erect posture drooping slightly. “But it’s not easy. Sometimes I get so tired.”
His throat constricted as he moved into her space.
“That’s completely normal,” he returned softly. “I assure you.”
He took her hand, something washing over him with the fresh delicacy of a spring rain. As a minister, he was used to encouraging those facing impossible circumstances, was used to praying with strangers and carrying burdens that would weigh on him with the heaviness of lead, was used to offering support for those simply trying to survive.
But this—this was different. And he knew instantly that this woman would change his life.
He had been hoping to see her again, cursing himself for not giving her his card, glad his parishioners were unable to hear words that slipped from his mouth when concerns about image fell away and his soul felt exposed. He wished he had asked for her name, prayers for a woman he thought about more than he could understand somehow not feeling as potent as they should when he could call her little more than “she”.
He needed a name. He wanted to know her.
29 notes (via lala-kate)
i put my root beer in a square cup and now it’s just beer
488 notes (via giliananderson)
This is what I woke up to playing out in my head and I just want to stab myself and die right now.
“Can I call Mr. Blake ‘Papa’?”
It takes a moment to catch her breath at his unexpected question. “No, darling. I know you are anxious over having a papa, but your papa will be who Mummy decides to marry.”
Pale blue eyes gaze at her above his pout. “But I want Mr. Blake to be my papa.” The softness of his voice combined with his expression tears at her.
She has to swallow hard to get her next words out. “But Lord Gillingham would make a good papa, too.”
The face that stares back at her is too familiar, though softer for all the roundness of childhood. The downturn of his mouth, the identical blue of eyes framed with masses of dark gold lashes. The cowlick on his forehead that sends a tumble of blond waves across his forehead no matter how much they are brushed back into place.
She feels she is being judged by a ghost as well as her son.
He is silent now, but she can tell his thoughts remain stubbornly on Charles. She glances over to where he stands, still chatting with nanny, polite as ever in allowing mother and son privacy, though she catches his frequent gaze of fondness toward the little boy.
Hands smooth over the wide sailor collar, skim down arms to take small hands in hers. “Give Mummy a kiss before you go back to nanny.”
His lips brush her cheek as hers brush his, and she swims in the warm scent of him, soap and fresh air, and still the faintest hint of newborn that makes her heart ache. She stands as she watches him walk back over to where nanny is, his head down, clearly still upset. He politely shakes Charles’ offered hand before turning his face into nanny’s skirts and leans into her with all the disappointment of a three year old with a broken heart.
22 notes (via miscreantrose)
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