hey so with the Fourth of July coming up and all, I know a lot of people will be vacationing to my town (Branson, mo) soon. so i just wanted to say that:

1. there are places downtown that sell stuff with the confederate flag. b safe
2. almost everyone is homophobic
4. pls watch Prince Ivan bc my uncle is in the band
6. if u see a smol meme with partially green hair it is me and i would love to say hello
7. the absolute best place to get chinese food is Hibachi Grill

this has been a psa from the yee-hawiest town in the entire general yee-haw area

latifraise  asked:

5 Knocking please and thank you in advance.

Thank you dear for the request and I am so sorry it has been this long since you requested it! I struggled with this one a little, wanting go one way and not necessarily getting where I wanted to be. But I hope you enjoy it all the same!

Mama’s door rested against the frame, the last person to enter or leave having neglected to shut it completely. Sybil placed her palms against the grooves in the carved wood, listening. While no sounds escaped from within, the slurring murmur of voices from downstairs floated into the upper gallery, faint and hushed so as not to disturb the somber pall that had descended on the house. Knocking lightly, Sybil waited for Mama’s answering call. In the waiting she let her gaze travel down the length of the hall, following the patterns in the carpeting until her eyes paused at the second to last door. Lavinia’s room, or at least, the room she had taken her last breath in. Sybil had never thought it before, but the notion came quick to her now, how many last breath’s had these rooms seen? Women, men, distant ancestors who had lived and died within the walls surrounding her. Sybil shivered and when there still was no reply, she pushed in quickly, her eagerness to see Mama suddenly urgent.

The room seemed empty at first as Sybil looked around. The vanity, the chaise all vacant of Mama’s familiar form. A tiny twinkling of light caught Sybil’s eye as it danced across the room and Sybil followed it to the delicate beading it reflected off of, the tiny onyx gems that decorated the bodice of Mama’s black dress from the morning. It had been hung on the brass hook arching out from the amour, airing out before it was put back into storage. Turning to the bed, Sybil held her breath. Mama seemed already asleep, though she couldn’t have come up more than twenty minutes prior. Apparently O’Brien had made quick work of divesting her of her mourning attire and tucking her back under the covers.

Sybil frowned, then crept closer and lowered herself into the chair that still remained by Mama’s bedside. The crisp air that had pinked Mama’s cheeks in the churchyard had long worn off, leaving her sallow faced once again. The exhalations that came after each of Mama’s inhales carried a tiny wheeze at the end, a reminder that she was still recovering and Sybil shook her head, wondering how she had talked them all into allowing her to attend the services.

Sitting in the quiet of Mama’s room, after the feverish chaos of the last week, Sybil finally had a moment for contemplation. It seemed so very long ago that she and Tom had stood in the drawing room and professed their intentions to the family. Their reactions, their horrified and angry faces were scorched onto Sybil’s heart. She had been angry, defiant and ready to take her case, and Tom’s hand, and saunter from the house as soon as possible.

It all seemed far in the past after the last week, after Death had hovered over the house and clasped them to it’s breast.

And now, sitting by her mother, thinking how pale she still was, how her lovely cheekbones seemed to painfully stretch her skin thinner, all of Sybil’s previous excitement over Tom vanished, replaced by…fear. Fear of loss…fear of change. For all of her big talk of how different things were now for women and for the world, for all of her pride at being useful during the war, Sybil was afraid.

Perhaps it had been there the whole time, percolating, while she was too absorbed with being in love, too focused on the fight ahead of she and Tom. As she filled her head with dreams of adventure and throwing off the binds of life at Downton, the fear gestated. Now that Papa had given his consent and there was nothing left to do but pack her bags and say goodbye, Sybil couldn’t breathe around the fear.

“What is it?”

Mama’s voice, still raw and slight from illness cut through Sybil’s thoughts and she jolted in her chair. She glanced briefly at the searching blue eyes of her mother before ducking her head shyly and shaking it.

“It’s nothing,” Sybil mumbled, concentrating on a small thread that had broken loose from the lace cuffing her dress sleeve.

Mama sighed, the kind she usually released when indulging one of their irrational impulses. “I think it may be something.” From the corner of her sight, Sybil saw Mama’s hand come to the edge of the mattress. Sybil grasped it in her own. “Is it Papa? Because he-.”

“No,” Sybil interrupted. “He gave us his blessing.”

She looked up then to see the wan smile that broke out on Mama’s face, her eyebrows arching up in happiness. Sybil glanced back down quickly, blinking hard, a panic squeezing her chest.

“Were you frightened?” The words burst from her mouth before Sybil had really thought them over. Mama pulled her hand out from beneath her’s and she pushed herself up on her elbow, bowing her head to meet Sybil’s eyes. Sybil turned away, further hiding her face. She felt like a child, as she had when she had been five years old and had begged Papa for a pony of her own, only to scream for Mama the moment they had placed her upon the Shetland’s back.

“Darling,” Mama breathed. “Sybil.”

Sybil’s lungs contracted, her breath hitching, but she refused to cry. She did not want Mama to see it, though Mama would only let her do so and wipe away the tears. No, she wouldn’t cry, because she was happy. She was! Only terrified as well, and it had her feeling all jumbled and exhausted by the war between those emotions.

“It’s natural, my darling girl.” Mama said, leaning to reach her, stroking her cheek. Sybil closed her eyes at the touch. “I was so frightened I couldn’t sleep the entire time on the ship over. Finally, on the last night, Grandmama slipped whiskey into my coffee. It was the best night’s sleep I’d had in months!”

Sybil laughed despite herself and opened her eyes. Mama placed a kiss to the tip of her own finger before touching it to Sybil’s lips, as she had so many times before and Sybil took a deep and shaky breath.

“How did you get past it?” Sybil wondered.

Mama’s eyes rose up, as though she searched the ceiling for the memory. She pursed her lips together in contemplation and Sybil wondered if she shouldn’t have begun to talk of such things. They always seemed to dredge up just a little twinge of hurt for Mama.

“You don’t have-”.

“Papa.” Mama answered before Sybil could finish.

Sybil’s brows dipped together and Mama smiled.

“From the very beginning he tried so hard to make me feel at home. I felt I had a real friend in your Papa.” Mama’s voice wavered and her smile quivered as her blue eyes filled.

Sybil grasped her hand tightly. Wasn’t it the very thing that drew her to Tom? The way he spoke to her? The way he looked at her? And though she hadn’t known the Papa that Mama spoke of, she had known the man who lit up when Mama entered a room, she had known the man whose cheeks pinked and whose lips turned up happily whenever Mama was near. Sybil had watched Papa and the way he was with Mama her whole life.

“It’s natural,” Mama spoke softly, leaning back into her pillows. “Even if you aren’t leaving your country, you’re bound to be leaving something, whether it be your parents’ home, your childhood. There’s a pain in the leaving.”

It was true. There was a pain in her heart, as much as there was joy, there was pain.

“You overdid it today.” Sybil scolded, though her cracking voice took all of the severity from her words.

Mama huffed gently and shook her head, closing her eyes, giving credit to Sybil’s concern. “Poor Matthew,” she sighed.

Sybil patted her mother’s chilled hand and stood, feeling more settled.

“You were very brave, you know,” Sybil whispered and Mama’s eyes popped open.

“Oh my darling, YOU are brave. I only did as I was told.” Mama chuckled, a small smile curving into her face.

Sybil opened her mouth to answer, but a timid knock on the door cut off her words. Papa’s shadow entered the room before he did and he looked about, startling once he saw the both of them.

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would be resting.” Papa said, wrinkles of concern lining his forehead. “You’re missing the luncheon.”

“I know, but-”.

Sybil had begun walking to her father. She placed her hand on his arm. “She’s done in.”

Papa nodded, not taking his eyes from where Mama laid. “I know. I only meant that I could call for a tray.”

“No,” Mama’s voice grew fainter. “I only wish to sleep.”

“I’ll make excuses.” Sybil assured. “You should sit with her.”

Papa squeezed her hand. “I shall.” He leaned closer to her. “Have O’Brien bring a tray in a little bit anyway.”

Sybil nodded as Papa stepped away, walking quickly to the bed. She quietly went to the door, grasping it in her hand and passing over the threshold. As she closed it behind her, Sybil paused, glancing back into the room. Papa sat in the chair she had just occupied. He had scooted it closer and Sybil imagined his knees bumping up uncomfortably against the mattress just so that he could be nearer. Mama’s eyes remained opened and she nodded her head to whatever soft words Papa said to her. Mama smiled as Papa lifted her hand up to his lips. He closed his eyes as he placed a gentle kiss into the palm. Sybil could see Mama’s fingers curl against Papa’s cheek, caressing his face.

Yes, there would be pain in leaving, but there was no longer fear. She had found what she had been searching for. She had found exactly what she had wanted all along.