st. brides

anonymous asked:

You can't leave Vietnam AU like that, we need to know the resst ;)

Vietnam AU

“This is the day the Lord has made,” Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser intoned from the lectern of St. Bride Church. “Let us rejoice and be glad.”

Jamie sat up a bit straighter at the end of the front pew, twining his fingers through Claire’s, exchanging a small smile with his godfather.

For as long as anyone could remember, every Sunday morning the Fraser-Murray clan had attended eight o’clock Mass at the church their forefathers had built at the turn of the nineteenth century. Just a ten minute drive from the Big House, it had originally served just the family and tenants of the Fraser estate. Jamie, Jenny, and Murtagh were the only Frasers remaining in the area – most of the extended family had moved to Asheville or Raleigh after World War II – but those three stubborn Frasers had held strong.

Jamie and Jenny’s parents had been married at St. Bride’s. The three Fraser children – including the eldest child, Willie, who had died of smallpox when Jamie was small – had been baptized there. Murtagh – who lived in his own cottage on the estate with his wife Suzette, who he had brought home from France after landing on the beaches of Normandy – ran the lector program. Jenny and Ian had been married there, and Young Jamie and Maggie in turn had been baptized there.

And as Claire rose with Jamie, watching Father Kenneth kiss the Word of God, smile out at the congregation, and begin reading from the Gospel of Luke – she saw herself and Jamie standing before the priest at the altar. And standing off to the side below the gorgeous stained glass window of Michael the Archangel, just behind the baptismal font, gently holding a fussy newborn while reciting the baptismal promises. And exchanging proud smiles with Jamie as a beautiful red-haired girl received her First Communion. And holding Jamie’s trembling hand as they watched a handsome red-haired boy be confirmed.

This was her place. He was her place.

“Thanks be to God,” she whispered. Serene.

“I was thinking of taking Claire up the mountain – to the old cabin. I can check on it, and maybe bring back a bottle or two for dinner?”

Murtagh chewed thoughtfully on his pancakes. “I haven’t been up there since the fall – would be good to make sure it’s gone through the winter without any major damage. Take note of what would need a repair, all right?”

Claire nodded her thanks as Suzette poured another cup of steaming coffee. “What’s the old cabin?”

“It’s the house that was built before this one – on the highest part of the Ridge.” Jenny wiped maple syrup off Young Jamie’s face with the corner of her blue-and-white striped napkin. “It’s just a few rooms – we haven’t updated it much over the years, except added a generator for electricity.”

“We stay there overnight sometimes when there’s a lot to do in the whisky caves,” Jamie added, serving Claire another slice of Mrs. Crook’s excellent bacon before nibbling on one himself. “It’s where we let the bottles age. We only take them out once a year, to sell them to the restaurants and bars in town – but I want to find a good one for us to enjoy tonight.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’ve got Jamie smiling again, Claire,” Ian said quietly from across the table. “And Lord knows, Jenny and Murtagh and Suzette and I have been trying to do that since he got back from ‘Nam.”

Claire dropped her eyes to her lap, cheeks flaming. Under the table, Jamie lay a gentle hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

Murtagh coughed.

“Well then. Can you pass the strawberry jam please, my dear nephew-in-law? These bannocks won’t eat themselves.”

Fresh air. Pine. The soft, damp smell of decaying leaves. Flashes of green as the first grasses and flowers shot up from the forest floor.

And Jamie – solid and quiet beside her, never letting go of her hand, silently savoring the stillness.

It had been about two hours since they’d left the house – Jamie toting a backpack full of snacks from Mrs. Crook, Claire wearing Jenny’s pre-pregnancy jeans and hiking boots. They hadn’t spoken very much on their journey – both lost in their thoughts, both afraid to pierce the quiet with the sound of their voices.

“It’s just up over the crest of this hill,” he said softly, after a while.

“How can you even tell where we are? It’s just trees and more trees,” she teased.

He flashed a brilliant smile. “My father started taking Jenny and Willie and I hiking in these woods as soon as I could walk. He’d take me up to the caves and let me play with the spare pieces of wood while he and Murtagh and my grandfather Simon sorted the bottles. Believe it or not, there are plenty of landmarks along the way – trees and rocks that you’ll recognize in time.”

In time.

For Claire would be coming back.


They hadn’t talked about it – hadn’t even broached the topic. But it was Sunday afternoon, and Claire’s plane ticket back to Boston was for tomorrow morning.

Panic surged.

Jamie – ever perceptive – stopped as they crested the hill.

There it was – a small cabin, simply shingled and with just a few windows. It was immediately clear why the first Frasers had chosen to build there – for the ground in front of the cabin gently sloped into a grassy clearing.

“There used to be a barn here as well, but it was gone even before my grandfather was a boy. This place – it’s always been a refuge. A – well. I knew a guy in the Marines whose parents were German, and he told me of something called a ‘fridstool.’ A private place where you can be alone with your thoughts.”

Claire turned to meet Jamie’s eyes. The one-o-clock sun streamed on his face, sparking his hair like fire.

“And you’re OK taking me here? To your private place?”

He sighed and settled his hands on her hips, turning her to face him. Licked his lips, and burned his eyes into hers.

“I want to share *everything* with you, Claire. Here – in my most private place. Where we can pretend we are the only man and woman in the world.”

Another surge – but this time of love. And want.

And need.

“Yes,” she replied to his unspoken question. “Of course. Yes.”

He swallowed, and smiled, and gently led her down the hill.

The White Witch’s Gift

Since the first chapter was verra short ;)

Part 1

The wind whipped against Jamie’s flesh, the harsh seaside air churning his insides like butter. The air was salty and heavy with water. Jamie smelled the sea close by. He knew he wouldn’t have too much time before the patrols started looking, before Lord John started looking for him amongst the heather and the sea.

He looked hard at the small stones in the tiny pool of water that were guarded by the ancient, weathered cross. The shrine of St. Bride hadn’t been too hard for him to find with the words of the dying Duncan Kerr directing him to the white lady’s direction.

But of no use it was to him. Jamie knew it was a false hope to believe that mutterings of a dying man could tell him anything about his lost wife.

Still, tears ran down his cheeks in pure and utter desolation. He fell onto his knees in the heather and crushed his fingers into the earth underneath him. While he escaped the prison, he had dared to have hope, hope smaller than the tiny stones in front of him, but hope it was. Deadly in its dose to some.

Hope had been the only thing that had kept Jamie alive these years past without his wife, family and child. Hope that they were safe, hope that they lived well.

Perhaps it was prison that had made him so dead inside. He had his men, but they were just that, men. He wished for his wife’s soft hair, the smooth lines of her body against his, the spicy, herby sent of her. He wished to simply lie his head in her lap and have those dexterous, nimble fingers comb through his hair, comforting him to sleep.

“Ye should be grateful ye fool that she’s no here,” he whispered to the empty wind.

Though before him was a vista of the stormy blue ocean and the faded green of the land with rocks and dirt and life before him, all he saw was his wife’s face. As clear as day, he saw the glimmer of her whiskey eyes and her sweet mouth curved in a smile she used to save just for him.

The thought of seeing that face again in the flesh was how he put each foot in front of the other on the cold, wet track out to this shrine. The thought of hope.

But she lived only in his memories, perfectly encapsulated forever in his mind, young and beautiful. And his child lived only in his dreams. He pressed his dirty, dry palms hard against his eyes as if to seal the sight of her face forever before him.

There was no notion of time as he sat against the cool ground, picturing Claire holding their babe, singing in hushed tones to him as he closed his blue eyes in peace on her shoulder. His own eyes.

So, the feel of a rough hand against his shoulder almost made him shite himself. His eyes flew open, but not to the Adsmuir guards come to fletch him, but to an old, haggard woman dressed in ratty clothing, looking down at him.

She looked like something from one of the tales his mother used to read him when he was a bairn. The skin on her was wrinkled like no elderly woman he had ever seen before, her fingers like claws, bent and knob like. A shock of white hair peeked out of the faded blue wrapping around her head. Something from a fairytale, he thought. Or a nightmare.

Jamie feared one more minute and she’d expire right in front of him. He wondered with some dark humor how he would explain that to the guards.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder as she took a few steps until she was right across from him. She opened her mouth to speak and he noticed she had no teeth, just reddened gums. How old she must be, he thought to himself.

 “Why did ye come here, boy?”

Her voice raspy and cracked as if she hadn’t spoken in years. And perhaps she hadn’t if she lived out here on these moors. His body broke out in gooseflesh from the eerie sound of it.

“I,” Jamie had to clear his own throat before continuing, “I came here in search of something…of someone, but she’s no here.” 

He felt as if he had a slippery tongue, that he must speak the truth and nothing else. The woman’s pale, almost translucent blue eyes appraised him for a moment. She quirked her wrinkled mouth to the side and nodded for him to continue while sitting down in the grass across the small pool of stones, searching for something.

Jamie didn’t like talking about Claire to anyone, mostly because he could never explain her to anyone, but the old woman compelled him to as if he had no choice.

“Claire…my wife. She was the one I was looking for,” he swallowed hard and glanced back up at the woman, but she was busy gazing at the stones. It was the first time he had spoken her name in years.

“I heard of a white witch from a dying man and that’s what they used to call her. She was a wise woman, but I lost her…years ago now…”

Jamie told the tiny woman everything. From the day he met Claire to the day he lost her. His heart felt like a weight had been taken off him, as if the burden of keeping her to himself all these years was finally a little lighter.

He had been so engrossed in his memories, the story of their love, that he failed to notice the woman mumbling over a stone she had chosen, a rough looking bit of amethyst, still wet from the small pool.

A strong blush spread across Jamie’s face as he watched the woman rub the stone between her fingers. Had he blathered on without her even sparing an ear? Perhaps, she couldn’t hear well. 

Of course, she canna hear well, ye daftie, he shook his head. She has to be nearly 100. 

He cleared his throat lowly and went to stand up, but a cold, oily hand grabbed his forearm like a snake striking its prey. He was shocked by the strength of the grip; it was almost painful as she squeezed his wrist.

Then, her head snapped up and those strange eyes pierced right through him as the wind howled around them, making the grass almost flat with its power. A chill went up his spine as he looked at her, wondering for the first time if she was blind as well. The eyes weren’t seeing him, that was certain. But they were seeing something very far away from here.

“Would ye like to her her again, yer wife?” 

The eyes focused back to the present and to him as the wind began to pick up in earnest with the first drops of rain starting to fall on his flushed face. It almost sounded like screaming.

His mouth gapped open like a fish as he searched for an answer. But the old woman was impatient and she dug her nails into his forearm, so hard he winced.

“Aye,” he croaked from his parched throat, dry from all the talking. 

She shook her head from left to right and brought the nails, which he was shocked to see bright with his blood, to the stone in her other hand.

She continued to mumble and chant in Latin, Jamie thought, but not the kind he learned as a child.

The sea churned under the harsh wind that only seemed to get more powerful as the woman’s voice got louder, he heard the waves crashing like thunder against the rocks. The force of it was so great, he had to get a firm hold on the ground. It made his eyes water and hurt his face to stare into it. But the old woman never moved an inch.

Suddenly, she grabbed his hand again and place the bloodied rock into his palm, wrapping his fingers tight against it.

“Don’t lose it. Ye have two days.”

And then as he held on tight to the small stone, he heard one last rough phrase spoken from her mouth, but it sounded like it came from far away. And then the earth disappeared underneath him and he fell towards oblivion.

Continued here

Current wedding film being edited. So amazing to spend the night in St.Augustine with the Mayotte’s at the Lightener Museum and Casa Monica, which are DREAM locations for vendors. I should have the edit up by the end of the week, but until - here’s a sneak preview of the most grand dip and exit ever.


i made two playlists inspired by the boy with the cuckoo clock heart (the book jack and the cuckoo clock heart is based on) and the progression of jack and miss acacia’s relationship

side a: the sensation of flying

all i see are stars- jatcch st // enchanted (live)- taylor swift // paperman- christophe beck // moon dance- corpse bride st // ♥- baths // tonight- west side story revival cast // light and colour- summertime’s end // elephant love medley- moulin rouge st // let’s get lost- mandopony feat. eilemonty // catch me- demi lovato // hooked on a feeling- blue swede // up all night- owl city // tango brilliante- ouran high school host club st // kiss of fire- hugh laurie // it is you (i have loved)- dana glover // chelsea- summertime’s end // serenade- ouran high school host club st // you are in love- taylor swift // romantic flight- john powell // mademoiselle clé- dionysos feat. olivia ruiz

side b: the agony of injustice

tais-toi mon coeur- dionysos feat. olivia ruiz // this love- taylor swift // rejection in the rain- megamind st // lonely lullaby- owl city // el tango de roxanne- moulin rouge st // iniuria palace- baths // stay with me mr brightside- sam smith and the killers // love is in my soul- sean lennon // never let this go- paramore // all alone- fun. // broken open- adam lambert // lovesick synthetic- baths // when she loved me- sarah mclachlan // speechless- lady gaga // unchain my heart- hugh laurie // elegia- ouran high school host club st // plane crash dreams- josh farro and hayley williams // distant years (piano version)- clannad st // clean- taylor swift // hamac of clouds- dionysos feat. olivia ruiz


“In God’s House” by Bat for Lashes // The Bride (Out 7.1.16 via EMI)

Natasha Khan can really do no wrong in my book. Her new concept album, The Bride is inspired by a short film that she’s made (and will soon premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival) involving a young woman who’s fiance is killed en route to the wedding, so she rushes out to take the honeymoon that was planned for the couple - all while dealing with the loss, fear, and grief of her current state. She’s also shared the stunning second single from the album, in the form of the gorgeously dramatic “In God’s House”. Let’s just say, I’m fucking amped. 


St. Brides Printing Library: Letterpress and Typesetting

I spent this evening getting my hands dirty and running through the basics of typesetting at the St. Brides Typographic Library, London. I’d seen the process before and know the theory but I’ve never used a composing stick myself.

There’s lots of little details & techniques to physically setting type well. Some unexpected observations after being hands-on are:

  • Navigating a case of type and knowing in which compartment each letter is stored takes a little while. (see top right image of a ‘job’ or 'jobbing’ case). 
  • Being left-handed can make it a little more awkward to hold the compositing stick (unless you find a left-handed one)
  • Knowing the sizes of your Ems and Ens suddenly becomes very important to composing each line: spacers (or blanks) of various sizes and combinations are required to told each line of type tightly bound in the stick.
  • At small sizes composing the type is very fiddly. The time it takes while learning to set a full pages of dense type should not be underestimated.
  • Your fingers become coved in metal dust after a while. You won’t get this from you keyboard.