family estate

the only marriage proposal i will accept

it’s daybreak. i’m meandering through a field on my family estate. i look up and see u there striding towards me in tight pants, riding boots, a half open shirt, and an overcoat. the music swells. u stutter through what is possibly the most romantic proposal of all time. i kiss ur knuckles and gaze into ur eyes as sunrise breaks over the horizon.


Darwin D. Martin Estate Restoration in Buffalo

In 1904 Darwin D. Martin commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright to design the complex of buildings that would become his family home. The Martin estate was completed in 1907 on a 1.4-acre site in the Frederick Law Olmsted designed Parkside neighborhood of North Buffalo. The composition consisted of five elements; the Main House, the Pergola, the Conservatory, the Carriage House, and the landscape. The complex so pleased Wright that he called it “the opus”.

In 1992 the not-for-profit Martin House Restoration Corporation was formed whose mission was restoration and management of the entire Martin estate. HHL Architects lead the design of the reconstruction of the three missing buildings and restoring the house to its 1907 condition through a phased construction program.

Reconstruction resulted from a multi-year search for materials matching the originals including roman brick, interior/exterior mosaic floor tile, handmade terra cotta roof tiles, cast-in-place concrete, limestone, art glass windows, old growth cypress, quarter-sawn oak, light fixtures, and bronze or brass hardware. To ensure the conservation of the buildings, a geothermal based HVAC system was incorporated to maintain constant temperature/humidity control in the buildings without requiring the use of chillers or cooling towers.

Follow the Source Link for image sources and more information.

tennessee williams play
  • withered, once-beautiful matriarch: my, it sure is hot tonight in... the south.
  • smoulderingly handsome, reckless heir to the family estate: *leans on a doorframe* hot- yes, just like the heat of my repressed homosexuality and barely concealed rage.

Get Out will be released on Digital HD on May 9 and on Blu-ray and DVD on May 23 via Universal. Written and directed by Jordan Peele (of Key & Peele fame), it’s sure to go down as one of the year’s best and most important films.

The acclaimed, record-breaking horror/thriller film stars Daniel Kaluuya, Allison Williams, Bradley Whitford, Catherine Keener, Caleb Landry Jones, Milton “Lil Rel” Howery, Betty Gabriel, Marcus Henderson, and Lakeith Stanfield.

Special features are listed below.

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The BatB/Downton Abbey AU no one asked for

This might get long. Sorry. 

  • Adam Bourbon is the sole heir to the Earldom of Villeneuve, and loves to attend parties in London, gamble and spend ridiculous amounts of money of clothes and material possessions. 
  • He’s been the centre of numerous scandals (with both married and unmarried women) that his father desperately pays to keep out of the papers for fear of his own reputation.
  • After realizing they’re loosing money and their estate is at risk due to a bad investment, Adam’s cold and distant father tells him he must marry and settle down, or he’ll be disinherited and the estate and title will do to the next heir (a very distant cousin). 
  • Not wanting to lose his inheritance or title, Adam begrudgingly agrees and his father orders him to stay at the family estate in the country to keep out of trouble. His father rarely spends time there, but nonetheless starts organizing dinners with respectable potential brides for Adam, though he shows little interest. 
  • Months of unsuccessful marriage attempts go by, and Adam feels as though there’s no one for him, until a woman in a maid’s dress catches his eye. 
  • Belle is hired by Cogsworth and Mrs.Potts as a housemaid in the earldom’s big house. She is content with her position, but knows that she’d doesn’t want to work in service forever. She’s saving up to travel and see libraries all over the world.
  • Belle quickly becomes friends with Plumette, the head housemaid.
  • Adam and Belle accidentally meet when she walks into the library to dust and set the fire, and is taken aback to see that Adam is there. 
    • She apologizes, saying she thought he’d be hunting with the rest of his visiting relatives, and he says he was never keen on the hunt. He also lets it slip that his father teases him mercilessly because of it, and says some not-so-kind remarks about him. After quickly realizing he shouldn’t have said that, Belle promises not to tell anyone. Adam smiles, doesn’t say a word, and leaves Belle to her duties. 
  • Adam starts “accidentally” running into Belle whenever he can, interrupting her duties. Belle eventually becomes slightly frustrated with Adam’s advances as he’s inconveniencing her and if they were to be found out, she would be sacked. He realizes this, eventually, and backs off (if a little reluctantly).
  • One afternoon, Adam catches Belle in the library, secretly reading his mother’s copy of Romeo and Juliet, and can’t help but let out a snort of disapproval. Belle jumps, quickly putting the book back as Adam saunters into the library. 
    • Adam: “Of all the books in this room, you choose to read that one?” 
    • Belle: “It’s my favourite, actually.” She’s trying (albeit not successfully) to not sound offended. 
    • Adam: “But all the heartache and the pining… there are so many better things to read.” 
    • Belle: “Well I haven’t had the luxury of a library such as this.” 
    • Adam: “You have that now.” 
    • Belle looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “What- what do you mean?” 
    • Adam: “You can borrow any of these books, if you want to.” 
    • Belle: “Does your father allow the staff to borrow from the library?” 
    • Adam: “Oh, no. He keeps a ledger that even I have to use. But I would be willing to sign my name next to the books you want to read.” 
    • Belle can’t help but let out a small laugh of joy. 
  • On one of the staff’s nights off, Belle, Plumette, and the other maids head down to the visiting fair in the village. Belle decides to stay a bit later, and is noticed by a few young men who start to make unwanted advances. These advances start to get violent, and Adam (who had come to the fair out of nostalgia and remembering when his mother used to take him) notices these men ganging up on Belle and fights them off. 
    • With all the adrenaline and an injured Belle, Adam rushes home and doesn’t leave her in her small bedroom in the servants’ quarters, but instead brings her to a guest bedroom. 
  • Adam decides to revive a tradition put away when his mother died: the servants’ ball 
    • It’s basically an excuse for his to dance with Belle in a non-scandalous setting.
    • Cogsworth is worried by the idea, thinking the Earl will find out, but Adam persists (with the help of Lumière and Plumette) and Cogsowrth eventually, begrudgingly accepts. 
Fic: Walking in the deep blue night

Part three of my Heartlines AU.

Part 1 Whiskey on a Pink Dress

Part 2 - Breathing in the Half Light


Originally posted by undertheinfinite

He arrived outside Taps for the third time and checked his watch. 6.45. He’d been round the block three times and it was still far too early. Should he go in and wait? Or should he wait outside? Or should he walk around a while longer to avoid looking too over eager?

“Jesus, Jamie. Getting a bloody grip on yerself man. She’s only a woman”

But what a woman. He hadn’t been able to get the image of her out of his head. He’d spent the whole day languishing around his apartment like a lovesick teenager, thinking about her. The soft curl of her hair on her shoulder. The way she looked at him when she’d run her finger down his cheek. He’d also fielded several angry calls and text messages from his friends wondering where he’d run off to.

“Ye’re no Cinderella, ye know’ grumbled Rupert “Ya didna need to be running off before the clock struck midnight.”

“Ah, but my work there was done, Rupe. I’d already been swept off my feet” He recounted his meeting with Claire and his plans to see her that evening.

“Ye were cramping our style there anyway.” laughed back Rupert.

“Aye, I can see how 4 married men in their thirties and forties would have been the toast of the club” Despite his big talk, Rupert had been happily married to his childhood sweetheart for 15 years and was as blissfully happy now as he had been the day he married Gina.

Rupert laughed again. “Aye, well. Gina asks are ya coming to dinner on Wednesday, she’ll likely grill you about the lassie but the kids have been asking for their Uncle Jamie.”

“I’ll be there, wouldn’t want to disappoint the bairns. Or Gina.” he added wryly.

He’d then spent an inordinate amount of time picking out clothes and trying to decide if the fact he had his knickers in a knot about going out for a drink with a woman he had spoken to for probably no more than 7 minutes meant he had severe emotional problems. Why was he so uptight? Whilst he’d not exactly been Glasgow’s version of Casanova, he had been on dates in the last few years. There had been the nice dentist that he met in the supermarket and gotten to talking to over a discussion on the merits of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc versus Napier. They’d had dinner a few times. He’d even kissed her, but he felt no desire to pursue her and when she text him to let her know she’d been asked out by someone else, he’d wished her joy and simply never thought of her again. He vaguely realised now that probably hadn’t been her main motivation is revealing that tit bit to him.  Then there was F&B journalist he’d met at a craft beer fair when he’d first started diversifying the farm. They’d gone out once she’d spent the entire night talking about her ex, who was a musician before puking in his car on the way home. He’d seen her at a few events since but she’s given him a wide berth. His car still smelt a bit on hot days.

But this, he knew, was different. He wanted to see her, to be in her company, to breath the same air as her. The thought of hearing her laugh, of maybe being the one who made her laugh…

After his fourth lap of the block he arrived back outside the bar. 6.55. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It was quiet, being Sunday night and the bar contained about a dozen people. A small group of men in the corner drinking stout and discussing the different brews, a couple at the bar, and Claire.

She sat at a table near the window, staring out at the street. There was a book of poetry spine up in front of her and she had glass and bottle in front of her. Her hair was pulled back slightly, but was starting to escape near the front. She wore black jeans and a black shirt.Her pale skin seemed to glow.  She was lovelier than he had remembered.

“I promise to try not to spill that one down you” he said with a smile. She looked up at him and he motioned to the drink in front of her. “I’m not saying I won’t, but I promise I’ll try”

She smiled back and stood. There was an awkward moment when neither of them seemed to really know what to do. He wanted to touch her, but a hug seemed too familiar, a handshake too formal. Claire solved the dilemma by putting her hand on his arm.

“It’s lovely to see you, Jamie” she said sincerely and he felt the heat rise in his face slightly.

“Oh great” he thought, “now I’m blushing” Claire sat, not seeming to notice the colour which had flooded his cheeks. She gestured for him to do the same. “I’ll just get a drink, can I get you another? A whiskey this time?”

“Oh, no, a little early in proceedings for whiskey yet. I’ll have another of these.” She tipped the bottle towards him. Lady Broch Taurach pale ale. He grinned at her. “You like that do you?”

 “oh yes, my friend Joe at work introduced me to craft beers and he’s a big fan of a little brewery near Inverness, Lallybroch, I think they’re called. I’ve developed a taste for this one”

He nodded and headed to the bar. Lallybroch microbrewery was the most recent expansion he had made to his family business. Lallybroch had been in his family since forever and was a the main factor in his decision to leave oil and gas and come home to Scotland. He was strangely chuffed that she was drinking his beer, brewed on his farm and although he knew it to be simple coincidence, he could not help but feel the same jolt of serendipitous good fortune that he’d felt when he had, quite literally, bumped into her the night before.

He returned with the drinks and sat down next to her so they could both look out of the window. Its started to rain. Because of course it had. It was Scotland. They chatted aimlessly and easily and Jamie’s nerves dissipated slightly. He was still incredibly aware of her, but she was so unassuming, so funny. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. She told him about her job at the hospital. She’s a surgeon. He told her about Lallybroch. She picked up the bottle in front of her. “I’m impressed. And who or what, exactly is a Lady Broch Taurach?”

“Well,” he settled in to tell a much loved story. “Lallybroch has been in my family since the eighteenth century. Back then we owned the whole estate, and our family were Lairds. The estate was called Broch Taurach, the Laird and his Lady were named for the estate. We just have the farm now, but it’s plenty.  The farm itself is a proper working hill sheep farm and we have some highland cattle as well. We have a tourist bit, with a gift shop and a restaurant and the such. And then about 18 months ago I opened the brewery. We sell to quite a few places. ‘The Laird’s bedroom’, which is a stout and the pale ale” he gestured to Claire’s drink “are probably our top sellers. I live in Glasgow most of the time, running the business side of things and my sister and her husband run the farm day to day”

“A brewer, my dream man” she said with a giggle taking a swig. By this point they’d both had more than was probably sensible or wise on a Sunday night and were both finding life and each other hilarious.

“So how did you end up in Scotland? A wee Sassenach lassie like yer self?” he deliberately thickened his highland accent  in the second half of the question and once again felt a warmth in the pit of his stomach at the sheer pleasure of making her laugh.

“Oh, well” her face darkened a bit “Well, it was my husband. Frank.”

“Your, your husband?” he swallowed audibly.

“Oh we’re divorced now. That tends to happen when your wife finds you in bed with your Phd student” She said this flippantly enough, but her jaw was set and her eyes had dulled.

“I’m sorry t’hear that, Claire”

“It’s fine, really, it’s just, well” She gestured vaguely into the air in a manner that conveyed that whilst things might be fine now, at some point in the not very distant past they had been a long way from fine. “It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t just lost the baby” Tears welled in her eyes and he could see her trying to master herself. He reached forward and took her hand.

“You don’t have to tell me. You don’t owe me anything, but if you want to talk. Well, I’ll do what I can to listen”  She gave him a watery half smile at that.

“Thank you, but really. It’s in the past. It was very hard at the time. I had to do a lot to move past it, but I did and I try not to look back.”

She squeezed his hand.

“I think I might let you buy me that whiskey now”

Several very good whiskeys later he had in turn told her all about Geneva, his terrible relationship history and the real reason for his being in the nightclub on the previous night.

Claire was doubled over with laughter as he reenacted the various conversations he had with people in the run up to the night itself.

“Why everyone seemed so sure I was gonna meet the love of my life in a dodgy Glasgow disco with sticky carpets and one pound shots I’ll never know? They must have really thought I was a hopeless case”

“I’m fairly certain that was why we ended up there as well. Glenna, one of the nurses I work with, has been trying to set me up for the past year. I know that Altered Images is definitely not poor Mary’s scene and from the way Geillie and Glenna were literally trying to throw me in the path of every man that came by, I suspect this was another attempt at finding me ‘a braw laddie’” She did a truly awful Scottish accent and they both laughed again.

“Ya know what, Claire?” he asked as he regained his composure, “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I have tonight, with you” Her colour heightened slightly at the compliment and she looked him in the eye.

Her eyes are the same colour as the whiskey he noted abstractly. Warm and golden, and so deep and rich you could lose yourself in them.

The moment was broken by the bar man coming over and asking them to drink up. Glancing around Jamie realised they were alone in the bar. He glanced at his watch.

“I er, well” He stuttered trying to find his thoughts. He did not want the night to end, but given that it was a Sunday night could think of no way to extend it.

“Would you like to come back to my place?” Claire asked outright with no hint of nervousness. “I have whiskey” she added teasingly, seeing him hesitate.

“Aye, why not?” He suddenly felt very alive and not a small bit reckless. He had no expectations of her, but the idea of irresponsibly drinking Scapa Glansa on a Sunday night with the woman of his dreams seemed like too good a chance to pass up.

“I only live around the corner, we can walk” Gathering up her book, which lay discarded on the table, and bag she held out a hand to him. He took it and together they walked out into the rainy night

i know this is cliche af but i want a plot where muse a is broke as hell and does little jobs to get by and gets hired to spend a summer at some rich family’s estate and do some stuff around the house. meanwhile there’s muse b who is a part of the family who owns the estate and leads a lifestyle of lavish parties and thoughtless spending, and is entirely different from muse a. still, they keep bumping into each other, and eventually end up growing close to the point where muse b sneaks muse a into fancy parties, and muse a takes muse b out to know the seedy little bars hidden out of the view of the wealthy or for motorcycle rides in the dead of night because they keep this relationship under wraps? and maybe there’s even some angst and jealousy when muse a runs into an ex they never thought they’d see again or muse b is flirting with someone else at a party muse a is working at. this could be so much fun tbh

A guide to being an apathetic Byronic aristocrat vampire in the 21st century
  • If the sun is up return to bed and wait until nighttime. There are not enough hours in the night to spend them sleeping. Once it is dark you can be all Dante Rossetti about it and stroll about some darkened woodland or else lay amongst Chinese patterned pillows in the nude reading Marcel Proust. 
  • In fact do a great many things naked. Or if you insist do them naked under a silk robe which trails after you as you stalk the halls of your estate.
  • And since everyone is fated to die anyway smoke cigarettes while you can. Be blasé about death in general. Or lament it constantly – incessantly – until all who know you associate it with your presence. That is what being a Romantic is all about.
  • And in the spirit of Byron take such bad care of yourself – by eating badly and drinking copiously – that you might at any moment pass into that lamented great beyond. The best ways to die are in a battle or in a Revolution as well as from sloth – simply laying about wasting away transfixed by a beautiful painting or the memory of a lost lover – or finally simply succumbing to an illness procured from exposure to the harsh elements of nature. The last is the most probable since you will often find yourself standing on mountaintops above mist-laden seascapes shouting Nietzschean quotes into the frosty air and heralding your own impending doom in the process.
  • Read many books. Watch Orlando by Sally Potter for immortal style tips.
  • Become a sensual creature (as opposed to a sexually satisfied one) so that you may either conquer a harmen of lovers wherein you can loose yourself for hours on end in a kind of Delta of Venus scenario or else live as an Dionysian hermit finding solace entirely in literature, flowers and moonlight.
  • Be not strictly woman or man but rather an amalgamation of femininity and masculinity. Embrace bisexuality. 
  • Keep strange pets. Anything besides a dog or cat or gerbil. Or if you must have a dog then choose a Borzoi or Wolf Hound. And if you must procure a cat then name it Lassitude or Nothing as Jean Paul Sartre did. Raise peacocks and keep a menagerie of exotic fauna and flora in an otherwise overgrown rose garden.  
  • Half of what you say ought to be a quote by John Milton, Dante Alighieri, William Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde. Either that or nothing. If you are not reciting – either the work of others or your own – then be quiet. Observe and consider, but rarely speak.
  • Drink red wine. And white wine. And champagne. Do not however drink vodka unless you find yourself in the Russian Winter Palace filial roaming pale and crazy-eyed down halls with a fur coat whipping behind you and a novel by Tolstoy in your pocket. 
  • Life is a feast. Eat oysters for breakfast and decorate your dinner table – and the food itself – with flowers. Hannibal is the go to cooking program for culinary flair.
  • In fact Hannibal ought to be the only tv show you watch besides Penny Dreadful. 
  • Wear chokers. All your jewelry ought to be heirlooms. 
  • Keep a much younger lover – if you are a woman – or a much older one – if you are a man – and have them rip the choker from your pale neck as you fall together in a passionate throw onto a 17th century ottoman.
  • Dress in shrouds of velvet and silk. 
  • Stay out of the sun.
  • A moushe – a painted-on beauty mark – is entirely appropriate, as is a Jacobin ruff.
  • From now on sex shall be referred to as Making Cattleya.
  • Appropriate venues for socializing are cafés which do not play music or serve cappuccinos, theaters built before 1960 and opera houses not built after 1930. Jazz clubs which refrain from fusion or acid. Libraries and old cinemas in general. Family estates and parental mansions, abandoned houses in the country side, churches and cemeteries, woodland openings and castle lawns, museums and – of course – small apartments where you can sit on the floor smoke cigarettes and discuss the collective sense of ennui you share with your friends.
  • Inappropriate venues are shopping malls, franchise coffee shops and anywhere where reading a novel or smoking might seem out of place. In fact stay clear of any place built after 1980. Avoid food courts, gyms, sports or hotel bars and clubs with more than one dance floor as the plague.
  • Refer to your circle of friends as your Family. Be religiously devote and romantically involved with them. When it comes to your actually family a cool somewhat distanced relationship is the most appropriate. Or if so inclined consider a more obsessive cloistering constellation that will inevitably lead to rumors of past inbreeding – the French aristocratic kind – and scandal. Refer to your parents by their first name or not at all and thus have them remain an elusive periphery to your life. 
  • Instead declare Richard Wagner as your emergency contact.
  • Descend stairwells slowly.
  • Express yourself through Greek axioms and lyrical poetry or lingering secretive stares. Consider perfume as a means of communication. 
  • Remember that the only respectable means of transport are the Oriental Express, steamships across the Atlantic or long boats along the Nile. You may also travel by foot if you do so in a languid fashion. As far as tourism goes the primary vehicle of experience ought to be stargazing and kissing. 
  • Consider yourself eternal
  • And eternity meaningless. 

redpikmanred  asked:

Can you explain the 1920s Heathers au?

I’m thinking it’d be something similar to the Great Gatsby, in which Veronica is the Nick Carraway character who moves to NY for work, and the Heathers are the filthy rich long island residents who are basically treated like local goddesses.

Heather Chandler is the queen of high society whose family owns the biggest estate in all of NY, Heather McNamara is her childhood friend whose dad works in stock and has all the best connections, Heather Duke is the new-money addition to the group who makes a point to keep up on all the latest trends.

J.D.’s dad would probably be in the mob, so J.D. would be like the young 2nd gen. mobster-in-training who hates his family and has probably been planning a coup since age 12.

And Martha, dear sweet cinnamon roll Martha, would be the only actual nice person that Veronica meets in the city.

Imagine Heather Chandler getting Veronica into all the speakeasies and the hot mansion parties where Ronny just like hides out in the library away from all the crazy people.



DA Fic: Six Things Varric Left Out of The Tale of the Champion

I was trying to sort out a sense of Jocelyn Hawke and Varric’s relationship over time, so I wrote a series of DA2-era scenes.

Basically Varric’s impressions of Hawke with a lot of buried pining.

Varric POV, one-sided (for now) Varric/Hawke, eventually background Hawke/Anders.

One: First Impressions

“So,” Varric’s new prospective partner says. “That was a pretty good show you put on for us.”

Varric tilts his head and looks up at her, startled but keeping his cool. She’s bracing one elbow against the table, leaning toward him, with a sly grin on her face and a glint in her eye. She’s got a sharp face — pointed chin, angular cheekbones — and her eyes are an unusual blazing blue-green. Not a classic beauty, but a striking face, under the smudges of dirt and the messy dark hair flopping into her eyes. Hawke has an interesting reputation already; the mismatched, well-worn armor attests to that, but her face is even more interesting than Varric would have expected. She looks like she belongs in a story.

“What show?” he asks casually, settling back into his chair.

Hawke scoffs. “Don’t give me that.”

At Hawke’s side, her sister stirs nervously. “Let’s not…” she says before trailing off, teeth worrying at her lower lip. She’s a little shorter than her sister, her face a little softer and rounder; the same dark hair, but in smooth waves, tied back with a bit of bright ribbon. Most would call her prettier than her elder sister, but to Varric’s eye, she’s less vivid. More inclined to fade into the background, he’d wager. Not that he’d blame her, considering what he’s heard about her.

“It’s all right,” he says, with a reassuring smile, and Bethany smiles back, shyly. A dimple breaks the soft line of her cheek, a bit of unexpected sunshine in Corff’s dingy taproom. “I’m just curious what makes you think that was a show.”

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A Choice (Alex Summers X Reader)

Summary: Alex and yourself have been friends for years, but from the start they have acted like a little more. A tease here, a flirt there, a wink everywhere, but it never got to be more than that. Platonic flirting, you liked to call it. Yet after so many years emotions can be hard to ignore. So one day when you were asked out on a date, Alex had a choice: let you do what you please and let him suffer or tell you how he feels.

Word Count: 700

It was just another day at the manor; students were in their classes, happily getting an education suited for them and being surrounded by people of their kind. You used to be one of those kids, along with Alex Summers.

You remembered the day you met him, he was nearly like an angsty teen, but he was too frightened of people to give him that kind of title. He was too frightened of himself. He was scared until he learned of you, what you could do.

Charles and Hank had both admitted you had the most dangerous mutation they had ever seen. The reason why was because your genes were infested with plutonium. All you had to do was release it and those around you would be dead.

“Aren’t you scared,” you asked Alex when he talked to you for the first time.

“No,” he walked closer.

You sighed, “you really should be. I could easily kill you any moment.”

“But you won’t.”

“At least not on purpose,” you added.

And in that single moment where Alex came up to you, sat next to you, and talked to you, a pact of friendship was made. Maybe a pact more than that.

That was all the way in 1962, three years had passed and you lived in the Xavier family estate along with Charles, Hank, Sean, and Alex. All of you were very close friends so there seemed to be nothing wrong with living like that.

You became even closer with Alex through very peculiar circumstances, including walking in on each other changing and possibly another type of thing, just getting to know each other, and never really leaving the other’s side.

Just like usual, the both of you were together but in your room. You were standing in front of the mirror, holding different outfits against you and sighing. Nothing seemed quite right. Nothing read right for a date. That was until you found a dress you hadn’t worn in years. It was a blood red, had capped sleeves and went a little above your knees. That and a pair of heels would make you the star of the night.

With the dress hanging in front of your figure, you turned to Alex. “How do you think this would look?”

He smirked. “I think it’d look great but what’s the fancy outfit for?”

You cocked your head, “I forgot to tell you? Well, I’m going on a date tonight.”

“What?” Alex’s smile faltered as he heard the words. You couldn’t be going on a date, you just couldn’t.

“Yeah, I’m going on a date. It’s my first one in a while so I’m hoping it goes well.”

Alex actually bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say anything rash before he quipped, “yeah, it looks great.”

“Then it’s settled, that’s what I’m wearing. Thanks Alex.” You gave him a peck on the cheek before kicking him out so you could get ready.

While you were doing so, Alex was pacing around the manor, unsure of what to do. One part of him was saying to let you be happy and go on the date while the other part of him said that he needed to tell you; to tell you that he cared for you, more than a friend would.

He only thought you had felt the same, you had flirted with him relentlessly over the years and he had returned the favor. Did that mean nothing to you? Apparently not, he thought.

Charles had sensed Alex’s dilemma and told him that he needed to go for it, that he needed to tell you. So when Alex saw you about to walk out of the front door, be raced to grab your wrist.

You turned around, surprised, and spoke to him. “What do you need?”

“I needed to do this.” Suddenly you were facing him, his hands were on your face, and his lips were on yours. You lightly moaned, giving him the chance to slide into your mouth and both of you pulled back with red faces. Then Alex blurted, “I love you!”

You shut the door behind you and looked into the eyes of this flustered, love struck boy.

“I love you too.”

Cool love story guys
  • Damian: You're just garbage, Drake! Rubbish, nothing more
  • Tim: I'm sorry I can't understand a speech of celled with underdeveloped brains
  • Damian: Motherfucker!
  • Tim: Brainless
  • Damian: Piece of shit
  • Tim: I will turn your guts around chandeliers in the family estate of Wayne
  • Damian: You're not worthy to be in our family, asshole!
  • Tim: Fuck you!
  • Damian: I love you!
  • Tim: I can't imagine my life without you!
  • Dick: I knew it...always knew...
Love and Manuscripts (10)

Sorry for how late this is! Got caught up this weekend. Previous chapters are listed here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9


Simon sat down on his couch and sighed. It was only eight o’clock but by the middle of the workweek Simon was always exhausted. Wearily he pulled out his edits and leafed through them to make sure they were all there. He would need to have all his work prepared in order to present at the meeting tomorrow. It wasn’t a real meeting of course (though he’d sat in on one before). Penelope wanted to do a demo meeting in which Simon and Baz would haggle with her for print amounts and sale promotions. The manuscript was actually just a novella one of the office assistants had handed over to help Penelope train the newbies.
He frowned as he realized he had a few of Baz’s notes mixed into his own. It wasn’t a big deal; they’d already discussed their strategy for tomorrow. But a part of him nagged that he should return it to Baz, that it was somehow vital for his night-before preparation. He knew why he felt this way; he just wanted an excuse to go see Baz. It was ridiculous of him and he knew he should give up on his crush. But still…the idea intrigued him.
Quickly he ran to his car before he could change his mind about the whole thing. He used his cloudy memory from the day after the office party to find Baz’s house. When he arrived he did a double take.
In his drunkenness and subsequent hangover Simon had forgotten just how big Baz’s place was. He wondered if he lived by himself in there. Simon contemplated texting Baz but thought better of it. Baz would probably just tell him to leave and give him the notes in the morning, stupid prat that he was.
Simon grimaced as he used the heavy brass knocker. There was the sound of footsteps and then a woman dressed in a formal looking uniform answered the door.
“Can I help you?”
Simon worked to hide his surprise.
“Um, I’m here to see Baz.”
“Ah yes, come in. What is your name?”
He walked into the house and couldn’t help but feel he had just stepped into a spider’s den.
“Simon Snow.”
She nodded, “Please wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Simon turned to look at the ornate paintings on the wall as he tried to ignore a muffled conversation coming from down the hall. He watched as the woman came back with a man. The man was tall with sleek white hair and a harsh face.
He stepped forward and offered Simon his hand, which Simon accepted nervously.
“Welcome to my home Simon Snow. My name is Malcolm Grimm. Please come join me in the library.”
Simon frowned but did as he was asked. When they entered the library he did a double take. The room was huge and filled wall to wall with ancient looking books. He had a feeling he wouldn’t find his favorite modern sci-fi novel in this setting. Baz sat with his back to them, playing the violin.
The song was a very sad one; it reminded Simon of being lonely. But Baz played impressively, so impressively that Simon couldn’t speak for fear of interrupting him. Eventually the song ended and Baz sagged forward, revealing the effort that had gone into the song.
“Bravo Basilton,” Malcolm cheered.
Baz jumped and turned to look at them both. Based off of Baz’s dumbfounded expression Simon realized that he had not been informed of Simon’s arrival. Quickly Baz’s face went blank and he smiled politely.
“Father, I see you’ve met my co-worker, Mr. Snow.”
Father? Simon wondered. He glanced once again at Malcolm and took in the stiff posture and overall coldness of the man; yes he could see the resemblance between them in the attitude.
“I have. Not a very talkative fellow.”
“Not, not a loquacious one indeed,” Baz replied crisply.
“Um,” Simon broke in, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I just wanted to bring by your notes for the meeting tomorrow. They got mixed up with mine for some reason.”
Baz glanced at him, his eyes hiding anger in their depth.
“Thank you for the consideration.”
This was a mistake Simon realized.
“Father, why wasn’t I fetched sooner?”
His father strode forward and clapped his shoulder harshly.
“You were busy playing. I felt it best to let you finish.”
Malcolm and Baz exchanged a strange glance and then Malcolm nodded.
“Well I’ll leave you boys to it. Let me know if you need anything Simon.”
“Thank you,” Simon mumbled.
After Malcolm left, Simon stood silently, waiting to face whatever Baz would hurl at him. Baz simply stared at him.
After a minute Simon cleared his throat.
“Ah, here you go then. I guess I should leave.”
He placed the notes on the grand piano in the corner of the room.
“What are you doing here?” Baz asked quietly.
Simon paused on his way out of the room and swallowed nervously.
“Dropping off your notes, like I said.”
“Like you said,” Baz repeated.
Simon glanced away.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt a visit from your father.”
“You didn’t. He lives here.”
Simon’s gaze swung back to meet Baz’s.
Baz shrugged, “Sure. Him and his wife. And my siblings. This is my family estate.”
Simon let this new information sink in. He had never imagined someone as clever and cold as Baz living at home with his folks. It seemed to go against his nature.
“Oh. Okay then,” Simon felt awkward.
“Please call the next time you decide to stop by,” Baz said sharply, “I don’t need to further anger my father.”
“Anger?” Simon had thought Malcolm seemed cheery; well, as cheery as someone as cold as him could be.
“He doesn’t much appreciate attractive young men coming by in the odd hours of the night.”
“Why not?” Simon asked.
“Because he doesn’t much appreciate my being gay,” Baz replied, point blank.
Simon felt blood rush to his face. He hadn’t realized his visit might be so transparent, even to someone like Baz’s father.
“I-I wasn’t…I don’t think he knows that I…” Simon trailed off uselessly.
“That you like me?”
Simon swallowed loudly. When he didn’t respond Baz strode forward and kissed him abruptly. Simon made a small noise of surprise but didn’t fight Baz. He had come here to be closer to Baz after all, and now he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted.
Baz was kissing Simon desperately, clacking Simon’s teeth in an effort to push his tongue deeper into his mouth. Eventually Simon had to break away to gasp for breath.
“Baz…I thought…what about last time?”
“Shut up,” Baz growled and bit Simon’s neck harshly.
Simon let his breath out in a hiss.
“You came here for me, well now you have me.”
With that Simon stopped asking questions and started focusing on Baz’s mouth.


Westport House

Westport House the ancestral home of the Marquesses of Sligo has been sold. The house and 415 acres of land where purchased by the well-known local Hughes family of Portwest and The Hughes Group, while Mayo County Council also acquired 40 acres of land from the sale. Ganly Waters oversaw the sale of the 10-bedroom property by Nama, which was on the market for €10m, making it Ireland’s second most expensive country home for sale this year. The new owners of the house and estate will invest €50m in the project and will create 200 jobs for the local area.

Lady Sheelyn Browne daughter of the 11th Marquess of Sligo said in a statement “This is an emotional day for our family, on the one hand, we are handing over custody of our ancestral family home after hundreds of years but we are doing so in the knowledge that the new owners are committed to bringing to fruition the ambitions and dreams of our late and much loved father Jeremy Browne”

Jeremy Browne, 11th Marquess of Sligo introduced a private members’ Bill in Dáil Éireann in 1990 to allow the dissolution of a family trust which would have prevented his five daughters from inheriting Westport House. On his death in 2014 his daughters inherited the family estate of Westport while his cousin Sebastian succeeded him as the 12th Marquess of Sligo.

The original house was built in the 1650s by Colonel John Browne on the foundation of Grace O'Malley’s Castle. He married O'Malley’s great great granddaughter, Maude Burke. The current house dates largely from the 18th century and stands as a two storey block with nine bay front and two bay wings on either side.

After they got married, Harry and Ginny decided to fix up the old Potter family estate and make it their home. It was a little big, and in need of quite a bit of work, but the location in the country was far from prying eyes and afforded them the privacy they wanted so badly. They added a quidditch pitch for Ginny to practice on, which became a family favorite. When Teddy came to live with them for good, they adopted a cocker spaniel, which their new son named Altheda, after a character from The Tales of Beedle the Bard. A few years down the road, they ended up with three more children, another dog, and of course, Lily’s cat. What was once a desolate old manor was transformed into a warm, lively home. In fact, when massive family gatherings became too much for Molly, they were held at the Potters’.

A photo of the manor in Winter.

Taken by fifth year Lily while she was home for Christmas break.