<![CDATA[By Wit & Whitby - All Forums]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/ Fri, 17 Apr 2026 06:31:22 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Grounding]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1080 Thu, 05 Mar 2026 21:26:47 +0000 Ruth Blacke]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1080 <![CDATA[Illicit Affiars]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1079 Fri, 09 Jan 2026 18:08:48 +0000 ]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1079 [Image: f.png]
21+.  Jcink Premium. Non-Canon.  Au Jurassic Park Franchise.


John Hammond dreamed of dinosaurs and other extinct species through the power of engineering. To be returned to our planet so that everyone could see something real. Inspired by a flea circus, the untamed imagination of children, he headhunted Dr. Henry Wu on his college graduation day. Together, they achieved the impossible. First, a pygmy elephant prone to asthma and ear infections, and then the masterpiece, a living, breathing dinosaur. Now, after his dream had crumbled, Simon Masrani made his dream come true.
Today, Jurassic World is a thriving amusement park and zoo. Hammond's dream is a reality. Greed always has a way of battering things. New creatures and new developments in short-term splicing have made Jurassic World exciting. The darkness of the seven sins clouds the judgment of staff and visitors alike.  Interest in the developments of genetics has grown. Are hybrids next?

Site x Visitor's Guide x Requests
]]> [Image: f.png]
21+.  Jcink Premium. Non-Canon.  Au Jurassic Park Franchise.


John Hammond dreamed of dinosaurs and other extinct species through the power of engineering. To be returned to our planet so that everyone could see something real. Inspired by a flea circus, the untamed imagination of children, he headhunted Dr. Henry Wu on his college graduation day. Together, they achieved the impossible. First, a pygmy elephant prone to asthma and ear infections, and then the masterpiece, a living, breathing dinosaur. Now, after his dream had crumbled, Simon Masrani made his dream come true.
Today, Jurassic World is a thriving amusement park and zoo. Hammond's dream is a reality. Greed always has a way of battering things. New creatures and new developments in short-term splicing have made Jurassic World exciting. The darkness of the seven sins clouds the judgment of staff and visitors alike.  Interest in the developments of genetics has grown. Are hybrids next?

Site x Visitor's Guide x Requests
]]> <![CDATA[In the Name of Charity - Christmas Ball]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1078 Wed, 31 Dec 2025 14:01:35 +0000 Catherine Ennington]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1078  
A solemn porte-cochère allowed guests to exit their carriages and make their way inside untroubled by the capricious winter weather. Once inside, guests would find themselves in a stately marble reception hall, where a large double staircase led to a landing and balconies along the walls. There were two large oak doors on either side the hall, and an even grander open doorway between the double stairs. From it spilled a warm harmony of music and chatter. Liveried staff would relief guests of their coats and other burdens. There was a ticket table by the door to the ballroom, where Catherine had put Ellie on duty for the first half hour (though not before she had dressed the girl up ‘properly’ in a new dress and drilled her extensively on what to say and how to say it).
 
The ballroom itself was an even more majestic sight. With its checkered marble floor, high lacunar ceiling, gothic columns and arches, reliefs and statues along the wall, and two levels of tall windows on either side, it gave the impression of a small basilica – or at least it would have, had it not been desecrated with garish Christmas decorations. Velvety green and red banners draped the walls, while silver and golden slings, interspersed with holly and mistletoe, hung crisscross along the ceiling. The light from the two large chandeliers were dimmed and but along the walls over a hundred lamps burned merrily. Towards the back, an orchestra band played cheerful Christmas carols on a raised platform and there was a gigantic decorated Christmas tree in the corner. Well decked tables to the left offered champagne, mulled wine, lemonade, water and a range of Christmas appetizers, while liveried footmen walked around with trays to wait on those who would not help themselves.
 
Catherine had greeted most of the guests who had already arrived and was now looking around the room nervously, inspecting the result of her two months’ labour for any imperfections she had overlooked. This ball too had been a bid to impress - the first event she had organized, patronized by Lady Selby and Lord McPadraic of all people! It had to be perfect.
 
If only her mother could see what she had accomplished. But unfortunately, Isabella had caught the attention of some Belgian baron and so her mother and sister would remain in Brussels over Christmas. It had been a blow when Catherine got the letter, but her disappointment and anxiety had soon made way for resolve. It meant she would have to work even harder. Perhaps if this was a success, Lady Selby would finally start seeing her as the promising young lady she was and start inviting her for the right sort of parties and she would meet a future earl and then she could still outrank Isabella.
 
She stopped a passing footman. “That banner over there, by the third window, do you see it? It’s not right. The others have five folds; that one has six. Please see if you can fix it.”
 
“Yes, Miss.”
 
She turned inspect the room for other faults, mentally reprimanding herself for how she had slacked. How could she have overlooked such a massive mistake before! How embarrassing to have to have it fixed now that guests had already arrived!
 
It was because she had left too little time for the inspection. It had taken her six hours to get herself ready. Good thing they had started early. The lady’s maid had had to redo her hair eight times. But then, if only she had listened to Catherine’s instructions, she would have gotten the ringlets even the first time. Even then, Sarah was terrible at hair partings! Every time she started, Catherine had to stop her. Getting up close to the mirror, she would inspect the parting and decide that she was a few hairs off. And then they had wasted time arguing about the corset. Sarah had begged her not to tight lace and to remember what the doctor had said. She was thin enough without the additional damage. But Catherine would be flawless tonight. And so she had ordered Sarah to lace ‘properly’. She wore a gold silk dress covered with white Chantilly lace, a dark green waistband and an emerald choker. Sarah had powdered some colour on to her cheeks, for she did look very pale in this costume. But it was the most fashionable dress that shipped to Whitby. How she wished Whitby had a Liberty's or Harrods.
 
She began to walk around the room again with a well-studied gait: upright, elegant, breathless. She used her fan to wave some oxygen towards her face. She was absolutely dying, but Isabella couldn’t win.]]>  
A solemn porte-cochère allowed guests to exit their carriages and make their way inside untroubled by the capricious winter weather. Once inside, guests would find themselves in a stately marble reception hall, where a large double staircase led to a landing and balconies along the walls. There were two large oak doors on either side the hall, and an even grander open doorway between the double stairs. From it spilled a warm harmony of music and chatter. Liveried staff would relief guests of their coats and other burdens. There was a ticket table by the door to the ballroom, where Catherine had put Ellie on duty for the first half hour (though not before she had dressed the girl up ‘properly’ in a new dress and drilled her extensively on what to say and how to say it).
 
The ballroom itself was an even more majestic sight. With its checkered marble floor, high lacunar ceiling, gothic columns and arches, reliefs and statues along the wall, and two levels of tall windows on either side, it gave the impression of a small basilica – or at least it would have, had it not been desecrated with garish Christmas decorations. Velvety green and red banners draped the walls, while silver and golden slings, interspersed with holly and mistletoe, hung crisscross along the ceiling. The light from the two large chandeliers were dimmed and but along the walls over a hundred lamps burned merrily. Towards the back, an orchestra band played cheerful Christmas carols on a raised platform and there was a gigantic decorated Christmas tree in the corner. Well decked tables to the left offered champagne, mulled wine, lemonade, water and a range of Christmas appetizers, while liveried footmen walked around with trays to wait on those who would not help themselves.
 
Catherine had greeted most of the guests who had already arrived and was now looking around the room nervously, inspecting the result of her two months’ labour for any imperfections she had overlooked. This ball too had been a bid to impress - the first event she had organized, patronized by Lady Selby and Lord McPadraic of all people! It had to be perfect.
 
If only her mother could see what she had accomplished. But unfortunately, Isabella had caught the attention of some Belgian baron and so her mother and sister would remain in Brussels over Christmas. It had been a blow when Catherine got the letter, but her disappointment and anxiety had soon made way for resolve. It meant she would have to work even harder. Perhaps if this was a success, Lady Selby would finally start seeing her as the promising young lady she was and start inviting her for the right sort of parties and she would meet a future earl and then she could still outrank Isabella.
 
She stopped a passing footman. “That banner over there, by the third window, do you see it? It’s not right. The others have five folds; that one has six. Please see if you can fix it.”
 
“Yes, Miss.”
 
She turned inspect the room for other faults, mentally reprimanding herself for how she had slacked. How could she have overlooked such a massive mistake before! How embarrassing to have to have it fixed now that guests had already arrived!
 
It was because she had left too little time for the inspection. It had taken her six hours to get herself ready. Good thing they had started early. The lady’s maid had had to redo her hair eight times. But then, if only she had listened to Catherine’s instructions, she would have gotten the ringlets even the first time. Even then, Sarah was terrible at hair partings! Every time she started, Catherine had to stop her. Getting up close to the mirror, she would inspect the parting and decide that she was a few hairs off. And then they had wasted time arguing about the corset. Sarah had begged her not to tight lace and to remember what the doctor had said. She was thin enough without the additional damage. But Catherine would be flawless tonight. And so she had ordered Sarah to lace ‘properly’. She wore a gold silk dress covered with white Chantilly lace, a dark green waistband and an emerald choker. Sarah had powdered some colour on to her cheeks, for she did look very pale in this costume. But it was the most fashionable dress that shipped to Whitby. How she wished Whitby had a Liberty's or Harrods.
 
She began to walk around the room again with a well-studied gait: upright, elegant, breathless. She used her fan to wave some oxygen towards her face. She was absolutely dying, but Isabella couldn’t win.]]> <![CDATA[The Public Is Respectfully Informed]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1077 Sun, 21 Dec 2025 09:29:48 +0000 Catherine Ennington]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1077 Early December 1895

The following ad is displayed in the local newspapers and magazines as well as on posters at the Whitby Library and Museum, the Railway station, several clubs and in the shopping streets:


Quote:
The public is respectfully informed that a

CHARITABLE CHRISTMAS BALL

will take place at SALTWICK VIEW MANOR

on the evening of FRIDAY THE TWENTIETH OF DECEMBER

at Eight O'Clock,

for the BENEFIT of the

WHITBY SOCIETY FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF LITERACY
 
Under the distinguished patronage of:

The Dowager Countess Selby,

The Right Honourable Lord McPadraic,

and various excellent ladies and gentlemen.
 

The proceeds resulting from this splendid engagement are intended to fund small libraries in the local board schools and the Whitby Workhouse, thus providing Whitby’s young and indigent population with an opportunity for SELF-IMPROVEMENT. Appealing to the TRUE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS, the attendance of every generous and socially minded lady and gentleman is earnestly solicited.
 

The Royal York Orchestra has been engaged for the occasion.

Dancing will commence at Half Past Nine and Cease at Three O’Clock.
 
A scrumptious supper will be provided at Eleven O’Clock.
 

Tickets, one pound each, can be procured beforehand from the Whitby Post Office, or may be purchased upon arrival at the door of the Manor. Refreshments and supper are included in the price.
 
Evening dress is imperative!
]]> Early December 1895

The following ad is displayed in the local newspapers and magazines as well as on posters at the Whitby Library and Museum, the Railway station, several clubs and in the shopping streets:


Quote:
The public is respectfully informed that a

CHARITABLE CHRISTMAS BALL

will take place at SALTWICK VIEW MANOR

on the evening of FRIDAY THE TWENTIETH OF DECEMBER

at Eight O'Clock,

for the BENEFIT of the

WHITBY SOCIETY FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF LITERACY
 
Under the distinguished patronage of:

The Dowager Countess Selby,

The Right Honourable Lord McPadraic,

and various excellent ladies and gentlemen.
 

The proceeds resulting from this splendid engagement are intended to fund small libraries in the local board schools and the Whitby Workhouse, thus providing Whitby’s young and indigent population with an opportunity for SELF-IMPROVEMENT. Appealing to the TRUE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS, the attendance of every generous and socially minded lady and gentleman is earnestly solicited.
 

The Royal York Orchestra has been engaged for the occasion.

Dancing will commence at Half Past Nine and Cease at Three O’Clock.
 
A scrumptious supper will be provided at Eleven O’Clock.
 

Tickets, one pound each, can be procured beforehand from the Whitby Post Office, or may be purchased upon arrival at the door of the Manor. Refreshments and supper are included in the price.
 
Evening dress is imperative!
]]> <![CDATA[of gods and goddess]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1076 Sat, 20 Dec 2025 12:12:49 +0000 ]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1076 [Image: New_Project__9_.png]
little fucking devils
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]]> [Image: New_Project__9_.png]
little fucking devils
Jcink Premium. 21+.  Real Life.  Los Angeles.  Celebrity and Crime.
Index . Guidebook . Wanted . Canons .
WHAT ARE YOU THE GOD OF?
Join our Jcink community, Tell us a story!  
]]> <![CDATA[Motion Sickness - Marauders AU]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1075 Thu, 11 Dec 2025 15:39:05 +0000 ]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1075 [Image: ad4.jpg]
index || guidebook || face claim
]]> [Image: ad4.jpg]
index || guidebook || face claim
]]> <![CDATA[Getting My Sealegs Back]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1074 Tue, 25 Nov 2025 09:58:06 +0000 Claude Longbottom]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1074
And yet.

The small family had arrived just yesterday and had spent the day moving into the small flat above what would soon be open to the public as The Joint Effort. He still didn't know what to think of his fathers-in-law ridiculous name, but since the man was now his main source of income, he wasn't going to complain. Florence had then spent the night up with Matthew, his son not wanting to settle into the new space. Only moments before did she finally relent to handing the babe over and to get some shut eye. Claude opting to leave the house all together to give his wife time to rest in peace. 

He had yet to track down any of his family, too busy the day before, but part of that was also the fear of what he would find. Would he had led them into by putting himself first. He knew seeking out his siblings would need to come in the days ahead, and avoiding his parents if at all possible... 

Lost in thought, he nodded to the person passing him the other way without much thought. "Good morning" he greeted while meaning to continuing to walk on.]]>
And yet.

The small family had arrived just yesterday and had spent the day moving into the small flat above what would soon be open to the public as The Joint Effort. He still didn't know what to think of his fathers-in-law ridiculous name, but since the man was now his main source of income, he wasn't going to complain. Florence had then spent the night up with Matthew, his son not wanting to settle into the new space. Only moments before did she finally relent to handing the babe over and to get some shut eye. Claude opting to leave the house all together to give his wife time to rest in peace. 

He had yet to track down any of his family, too busy the day before, but part of that was also the fear of what he would find. Would he had led them into by putting himself first. He knew seeking out his siblings would need to come in the days ahead, and avoiding his parents if at all possible... 

Lost in thought, he nodded to the person passing him the other way without much thought. "Good morning" he greeted while meaning to continuing to walk on.]]> <![CDATA[A New Arrival]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1073 Fri, 21 Nov 2025 20:52:50 +0000 Aisha Blackwell]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1073 Aisha Blackwell sat on what she considered to be an old, rickety bench that was so uncomfortable as she watched a few porters unload her luggage. She looked every bit the exotic beauty, but she felt drab in the color black. 

Her fanciful hat looked out of place among the workers of the train station, she noted, as she caught glimpses of stares from onlookers as they passed by. Her dress was in different shades of black. She adjusted the hem of her skirt over her leg as she waited for the porters to finish unloading her things. Aisha kept her purse close to her person as she noted the passengers and the employees who passed by. Aisha had been to England before, but as a girl, and it was in London, not this little township or whatever one would call it. 

No matter which way she shifted, she could find no comfortable position to sit in. Whether it was her corset, the bench, or a multitude of other things, she did not know. Tucked safely in her purse was a letter of introduction for a man she’d never met before, and to be honest, Aisha wanted very much to be in control of her own life and be a woman of independent means. That was not to be so as she learned the harsh reality of her position now. Now she was to live here in this tiny community with what seemed to her to be no real source of entertainment, and worse, she was to have to economize her spending. The shock of it perturbed her and she was still very much processing the whole situation at large. The voyage over on the ship wasn’t too uncomfortable if you didn’t think about the nosy passengers aboard who wished to know her business on an English ship. 

The train. Oh, she hated that thing with its noisy whistles and its jostling of the passengers. She abhorred the whole experience, especially when she encountered a Mr. Wilmington with whom she was very much displeased. The gentleman in question, if you could call him that, made conversation with her, and she found him unbearably droll, and she wanted to disappear each time she encountered the horrible little man. She would have stabbed him with her hatpin if she didn’t feel it would be undignified for herself. Thankfully, she lost his company when he disembarked at the previous stop. He hadn’t had a chance to bid her farewell, and as much as she loved conversation, she was glad to see him go. Giddy, almost you could say.

Aisha looked at her father’s pocket watch to take note of the time. She might be here for a while, she decided as she took from one of her bags a small book of poems from some English author she had just discovered. With her luggage settled neatly next to her, she did not feel that she had overpacked in the slightest. Was four trunks too much, she thought to herself as she turned a few pages of her book. ]]> Aisha Blackwell sat on what she considered to be an old, rickety bench that was so uncomfortable as she watched a few porters unload her luggage. She looked every bit the exotic beauty, but she felt drab in the color black. 

Her fanciful hat looked out of place among the workers of the train station, she noted, as she caught glimpses of stares from onlookers as they passed by. Her dress was in different shades of black. She adjusted the hem of her skirt over her leg as she waited for the porters to finish unloading her things. Aisha kept her purse close to her person as she noted the passengers and the employees who passed by. Aisha had been to England before, but as a girl, and it was in London, not this little township or whatever one would call it. 

No matter which way she shifted, she could find no comfortable position to sit in. Whether it was her corset, the bench, or a multitude of other things, she did not know. Tucked safely in her purse was a letter of introduction for a man she’d never met before, and to be honest, Aisha wanted very much to be in control of her own life and be a woman of independent means. That was not to be so as she learned the harsh reality of her position now. Now she was to live here in this tiny community with what seemed to her to be no real source of entertainment, and worse, she was to have to economize her spending. The shock of it perturbed her and she was still very much processing the whole situation at large. The voyage over on the ship wasn’t too uncomfortable if you didn’t think about the nosy passengers aboard who wished to know her business on an English ship. 

The train. Oh, she hated that thing with its noisy whistles and its jostling of the passengers. She abhorred the whole experience, especially when she encountered a Mr. Wilmington with whom she was very much displeased. The gentleman in question, if you could call him that, made conversation with her, and she found him unbearably droll, and she wanted to disappear each time she encountered the horrible little man. She would have stabbed him with her hatpin if she didn’t feel it would be undignified for herself. Thankfully, she lost his company when he disembarked at the previous stop. He hadn’t had a chance to bid her farewell, and as much as she loved conversation, she was glad to see him go. Giddy, almost you could say.

Aisha looked at her father’s pocket watch to take note of the time. She might be here for a while, she decided as she took from one of her bags a small book of poems from some English author she had just discovered. With her luggage settled neatly next to her, she did not feel that she had overpacked in the slightest. Was four trunks too much, she thought to herself as she turned a few pages of her book. ]]> <![CDATA[Dear Zech: Fuck Your Wife]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1072 Sun, 16 Nov 2025 15:40:06 +0000 Zechariah Meijer]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1072 And a father of twins! He could rub it in Willie's face and Willie wouldn't have the nerve to write the sorts of sordid sexy things he had said to Zech behind closed doors!


Quote:Dearest Wilfred,

I hope London finds you well. Life has taken strange, exciting turns! Much as I try to live my life by the books, love has a way of blindsiding us. I fell deeply, quickly into love with a former Sonia Carrington – so quickly, we had to tie the knot before her twins crowned!

I do not know if or when my family will forgive my indiscretions, but I am forever grateful to know that you, in your solid support, will.

Last we talked, you yourself had just gotten married. How is your family? How many children do you have these days? I cannot believe it has already been years! We should holiday together, with our ample numbers.

Your friend,
Zech

P.S. I have included a photograph of my beloved wife.
]]> And a father of twins! He could rub it in Willie's face and Willie wouldn't have the nerve to write the sorts of sordid sexy things he had said to Zech behind closed doors!


Quote:Dearest Wilfred,

I hope London finds you well. Life has taken strange, exciting turns! Much as I try to live my life by the books, love has a way of blindsiding us. I fell deeply, quickly into love with a former Sonia Carrington – so quickly, we had to tie the knot before her twins crowned!

I do not know if or when my family will forgive my indiscretions, but I am forever grateful to know that you, in your solid support, will.

Last we talked, you yourself had just gotten married. How is your family? How many children do you have these days? I cannot believe it has already been years! We should holiday together, with our ample numbers.

Your friend,
Zech

P.S. I have included a photograph of my beloved wife.
]]> <![CDATA[Plot]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1071 Tue, 11 Nov 2025 20:26:22 +0000 Jack]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1071 [Image: xrKqpRR.jpeg]  
 
Welcome to Whitby – a small Yorkshire coastal town. Throughout its history, Whitby has been (among other things) an important religious centre, one of England’s most prolific shipbuilding ports, and a favoured haven for smugglers. Today, in 1895, its main industries are Whitby jet, fishing, and above all - tourism. Its quaint streets and harbour, jet shops and sandy beach draw hordes of vacationing families every summer, while a great many novelists, painters and photographers find inspiration in the town's beautiful surroundings, the seemingly idyllic lives of the close-knit fishing community, and the ruins of the Gothic abbey towering dramatically above the harbour on the East Cliff.
 
It is December 1895 and winter has truly settled in. There is hardly a tourist to be found now. Days are short and dark; the weather cold and damp. When thick fog rolls in from the North Sea, Whitby is truly a dreary place. Icy rains or snow turn the 199 steps to the Abbey into a slippery hazard for the unsuspecting visitor. North-easterly gales occasionally flood the poorly dredged harbour and may even drift passing colliers onto the shallow seabed to the north-east of town, known as Whitby Rock. A disaster for the owner, but a welcome reprieve for the local poor: free coal!
 
Local school registers keep marking the same pupils as absent on snowy days “for want of boots”. Charities and kindly neighbours do what they can to alleviate the worst suffering, but for Whitby’s very poorest, the cold of winter may prove the last push into the workhouse. The local fishermen have exchanged their nets and pots for long-lines to fish for cod, but rough seas do not always permit them to safely leave the harbour. When they do set out, on calmer days, they know the weather can turn quickly. Many fishing families pick up alternative trades during winter to make ends meet.
 
For those with time and money to spare, the approach of Christmas offers a welcome distraction from the dreariness. Hosts plan dinners and balls. Others shop for Christmas presents. Local shop owners see their profits rise. Lets just hope their business will not be the next target of the rumoured serial arsonist who has already claimed the Whitby Gazette’s printing office and that infamous brothel, the Diamond Pony.
 
As for Whitby’s high society, some have gone to winter in more tolerable climates, such as the French Riviera. Those who remain, busy themselves with the usual social calls, concerts, philanthropy and gossip. All the gossip - the only context in which anyone still mentions the name ‘Carrington’, tut, and that most unladylike Lady MacKenzie. Then there are the newcomers, Mr and Miss Du Pond, who suddenly appear high on every guest list although nobody seems to know who first introduced them into their society.
 
With all the gossip, Christmas festivities, possible arson, frostbite, pointing and laughing at visitors slipping down steps, snowball attacks by street urchins, and shipwrecks, December promises to be another eventful month!


Photograph by: Frank Meadow Sutcliffe (1853-1941)]]> [Image: xrKqpRR.jpeg]  
 
Welcome to Whitby – a small Yorkshire coastal town. Throughout its history, Whitby has been (among other things) an important religious centre, one of England’s most prolific shipbuilding ports, and a favoured haven for smugglers. Today, in 1895, its main industries are Whitby jet, fishing, and above all - tourism. Its quaint streets and harbour, jet shops and sandy beach draw hordes of vacationing families every summer, while a great many novelists, painters and photographers find inspiration in the town's beautiful surroundings, the seemingly idyllic lives of the close-knit fishing community, and the ruins of the Gothic abbey towering dramatically above the harbour on the East Cliff.
 
It is December 1895 and winter has truly settled in. There is hardly a tourist to be found now. Days are short and dark; the weather cold and damp. When thick fog rolls in from the North Sea, Whitby is truly a dreary place. Icy rains or snow turn the 199 steps to the Abbey into a slippery hazard for the unsuspecting visitor. North-easterly gales occasionally flood the poorly dredged harbour and may even drift passing colliers onto the shallow seabed to the north-east of town, known as Whitby Rock. A disaster for the owner, but a welcome reprieve for the local poor: free coal!
 
Local school registers keep marking the same pupils as absent on snowy days “for want of boots”. Charities and kindly neighbours do what they can to alleviate the worst suffering, but for Whitby’s very poorest, the cold of winter may prove the last push into the workhouse. The local fishermen have exchanged their nets and pots for long-lines to fish for cod, but rough seas do not always permit them to safely leave the harbour. When they do set out, on calmer days, they know the weather can turn quickly. Many fishing families pick up alternative trades during winter to make ends meet.
 
For those with time and money to spare, the approach of Christmas offers a welcome distraction from the dreariness. Hosts plan dinners and balls. Others shop for Christmas presents. Local shop owners see their profits rise. Lets just hope their business will not be the next target of the rumoured serial arsonist who has already claimed the Whitby Gazette’s printing office and that infamous brothel, the Diamond Pony.
 
As for Whitby’s high society, some have gone to winter in more tolerable climates, such as the French Riviera. Those who remain, busy themselves with the usual social calls, concerts, philanthropy and gossip. All the gossip - the only context in which anyone still mentions the name ‘Carrington’, tut, and that most unladylike Lady MacKenzie. Then there are the newcomers, Mr and Miss Du Pond, who suddenly appear high on every guest list although nobody seems to know who first introduced them into their society.
 
With all the gossip, Christmas festivities, possible arson, frostbite, pointing and laughing at visitors slipping down steps, snowball attacks by street urchins, and shipwrecks, December promises to be another eventful month!


Photograph by: Frank Meadow Sutcliffe (1853-1941)]]> <![CDATA[This is not my beautiful wife!]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1070 Sun, 09 Nov 2025 11:12:55 +0000 Zechariah Meijer]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1070 sentencing declaring Sonia his wife had dried (and not a second after). Invested much of the fluid assets, and made certain all the insurance was up to date. He still remembered how surreal it felt to be working with that many digits.

For the sake of their marriage, Zechariah had decided to spend the High Holy Days with his family in Bohemia (much to their bafflement – why did he get married and not bring the new family!). After that, he had taken his sweet time returning back to Whitby and York (but especially Whitby). Absence made the heart grow fonder, and Zechariah was truly aiming for unimaginable fondness!

It still felt bizarre to visit his sons at a brothel of all places, but he had just purchased a real home for them (a home where Simon had never been …) on their shore. Considering the insane amounts of money that den of sin raked in – it would pay itself off before they knew it!

His brow crinkled when he smelled … something burnt, as he turned the corner. His head lifted, eyes landing where the Diamond Pony stood – or should have stood. Was. Zechariah's pace had quickened before he realized it, and suddenly he was running to the building that had changed his entire life.

“Esau! Jacob!”

Damn it! He knew he should have chosen better names!

“Sonia?!”

It was not at the Diamond Pony that the story would unfold, but the constable's …]]> sentencing declaring Sonia his wife had dried (and not a second after). Invested much of the fluid assets, and made certain all the insurance was up to date. He still remembered how surreal it felt to be working with that many digits.

For the sake of their marriage, Zechariah had decided to spend the High Holy Days with his family in Bohemia (much to their bafflement – why did he get married and not bring the new family!). After that, he had taken his sweet time returning back to Whitby and York (but especially Whitby). Absence made the heart grow fonder, and Zechariah was truly aiming for unimaginable fondness!

It still felt bizarre to visit his sons at a brothel of all places, but he had just purchased a real home for them (a home where Simon had never been …) on their shore. Considering the insane amounts of money that den of sin raked in – it would pay itself off before they knew it!

His brow crinkled when he smelled … something burnt, as he turned the corner. His head lifted, eyes landing where the Diamond Pony stood – or should have stood. Was. Zechariah's pace had quickened before he realized it, and suddenly he was running to the building that had changed his entire life.

“Esau! Jacob!”

Damn it! He knew he should have chosen better names!

“Sonia?!”

It was not at the Diamond Pony that the story would unfold, but the constable's …]]> <![CDATA[Decadence]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1069 Tue, 04 Nov 2025 00:44:33 +0000 ]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1069 [Image: Mid-banner.jpg]
 
 Information | Races | Wanteds |
Spotlights | Discord
 
New Orleans is a vibrant city known for its rich cultural heritage, unique architecture, and lively atmosphere. New Orleans is not just a city; it's a living, breathing entity that invites you to explore its depths. San Francisco, California. The Paris of the United States. Rich western heritage with modern touches. The jewel beside the Bay. Cambridge, Ohio. Hidden in the depths of the Appalachian Mountains. Explore the capital of the paranoia and supernatural world. So, create your characters, and let the magic inspire you to live life with Decadence.
 
Halloween Updates:
Congratulations to the September Spotlights. Give them a look over.
In New Orleans: Clean up continues through the city and the bayou. Some have left for safety in the north.
In San Francisco: Word has spread about the happenings in New Orleans. Many have known that pain and are sending aid or using it for their advantage.
In Cambridge: The new residents are opening their own places and finding their feet. “Dogman” sightings are on the rise.
Halloween stories are encouraged for those that just want to have a little fun.
 
A relaxed modern fantasy rp based in New Orleans, San Francisco, and Cambridge with diverse characters and members. Decadence is character driven plots; this means everyone is able to drive their own story or find themselves in another. There are wanted ads and limited-edition races that pop up to enjoy. Any member is welcome to create their own group/pack/nest.
We’d like to welcome you to sit a while in our parlor. Come have some tea and live a life of Decadence.
 
What We Offer:
•••21+ setting
•••Monthly Character, Post, and Thread spotlights
•••Three different cities to enjoy tales and stories.
•••Friendly and helpful staff and members
•••Freedom of interaction. Participate via the forum (PM, OOC section) or through Discord.
•••Freedom in creativity
•••Relaxed rules and atmosphere
•••Active Discord Server]]> [Image: Mid-banner.jpg]
 
 Information | Races | Wanteds |
Spotlights | Discord
 
New Orleans is a vibrant city known for its rich cultural heritage, unique architecture, and lively atmosphere. New Orleans is not just a city; it's a living, breathing entity that invites you to explore its depths. San Francisco, California. The Paris of the United States. Rich western heritage with modern touches. The jewel beside the Bay. Cambridge, Ohio. Hidden in the depths of the Appalachian Mountains. Explore the capital of the paranoia and supernatural world. So, create your characters, and let the magic inspire you to live life with Decadence.
 
Halloween Updates:
Congratulations to the September Spotlights. Give them a look over.
In New Orleans: Clean up continues through the city and the bayou. Some have left for safety in the north.
In San Francisco: Word has spread about the happenings in New Orleans. Many have known that pain and are sending aid or using it for their advantage.
In Cambridge: The new residents are opening their own places and finding their feet. “Dogman” sightings are on the rise.
Halloween stories are encouraged for those that just want to have a little fun.
 
A relaxed modern fantasy rp based in New Orleans, San Francisco, and Cambridge with diverse characters and members. Decadence is character driven plots; this means everyone is able to drive their own story or find themselves in another. There are wanted ads and limited-edition races that pop up to enjoy. Any member is welcome to create their own group/pack/nest.
We’d like to welcome you to sit a while in our parlor. Come have some tea and live a life of Decadence.
 
What We Offer:
•••21+ setting
•••Monthly Character, Post, and Thread spotlights
•••Three different cities to enjoy tales and stories.
•••Friendly and helpful staff and members
•••Freedom of interaction. Participate via the forum (PM, OOC section) or through Discord.
•••Freedom in creativity
•••Relaxed rules and atmosphere
•••Active Discord Server]]> <![CDATA[fossils]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1068 Sat, 18 Oct 2025 14:52:07 +0000 Christana Porter]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1068
She was good at finding unique specimens; she was a woman, and her findings were not taken seriously. 

She wanted to change that. 

She had found a woman called Frances to discuss her current situation and maybe form a business.]]>
She was good at finding unique specimens; she was a woman, and her findings were not taken seriously. 

She wanted to change that. 

She had found a woman called Frances to discuss her current situation and maybe form a business.]]> <![CDATA[Black black heart]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1067 Sun, 05 Oct 2025 12:57:54 +0000 Winnifred Dawson]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1067 like her mother-in-law, but she liked to keep the peace. The old Mrs. Dawson did have it rough, with her husband gone and three of her four children living far away. Could she be blamed for being overinvolved in Hugo's life?

Yes. Yes, she absolutely could.

But Hugo didn't see it that way. So here his wife was, keeping the peace. 

The old widow's birthday was coming up, and Winnie was determined to make a good impression and get the old witch off her case. (The drawing room wasn't dusted often enough. The front step looked unpolished. The meat was overcooked. What brand of tea did she buy? Fortnum? Oh no, Fortnum was no good. She should buy Jacksons. How much did she pay the maids? Oh, no reason, just a question. What? She was overpaying the maids. That dress was rather out of date. Hugo should be more attentive to her and give her a bigger allowance. Never worry, mother would talk to him!)

Jet jewelry would do. Old Mrs. Dawson had never come out of mourning, and it matched the colour of her heart. 

Winnie mentally corrected herself as she stepped into one of Whitby's many jet shops. Kind thoughts now. For Hugo's sake.]]> like her mother-in-law, but she liked to keep the peace. The old Mrs. Dawson did have it rough, with her husband gone and three of her four children living far away. Could she be blamed for being overinvolved in Hugo's life?

Yes. Yes, she absolutely could.

But Hugo didn't see it that way. So here his wife was, keeping the peace. 

The old widow's birthday was coming up, and Winnie was determined to make a good impression and get the old witch off her case. (The drawing room wasn't dusted often enough. The front step looked unpolished. The meat was overcooked. What brand of tea did she buy? Fortnum? Oh no, Fortnum was no good. She should buy Jacksons. How much did she pay the maids? Oh, no reason, just a question. What? She was overpaying the maids. That dress was rather out of date. Hugo should be more attentive to her and give her a bigger allowance. Never worry, mother would talk to him!)

Jet jewelry would do. Old Mrs. Dawson had never come out of mourning, and it matched the colour of her heart. 

Winnie mentally corrected herself as she stepped into one of Whitby's many jet shops. Kind thoughts now. For Hugo's sake.]]> <![CDATA[The Dinner Party at Briggswath Hall]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1066 Wed, 24 Sep 2025 19:22:40 +0000 Georgiana Selby]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1066  
That was not to say that the room was modest. Rather, it’s timeless elegance resulted from the excellent state of the thick carpet; from the intricate details – lions, sphinxes, roses, letters – hidden here and there in corners of the oak panelling around the walls;  from centuries of ancestry shown in a few portraits on the walls – bonnets and wigs and armour and all; from the high, neoclassical ceiling with its ornamental relief and painted pantheon.
 
Lady Selby moved around the room with matching grace, greeting and pairing her guests. Her attire was rather muted for a formal dinner, her dress slightly old fashioned, though made by one of the best dressmakers in Paris, and her jewels modest. But then again, the guests were nothing special: locals with little to recommend themselves in terms of title, rank or connection, but whose company she enjoyed – and also a few whose company she did not enjoy, but whom she could not overlook without giving offense. Whitby wasn’t Mayfair.
 
She approached her latest arrival with a reserved smile. Mr. Du Pond was a very recent addition to her social circle. She could not decide whether she liked him. But she found that she liked his existence in Whitby’s highest echelons. He was an outsider as an American, as a black man, and as someone who had taken Whitby’s polite society by storm. It seemed to her that only a few weeks ago, no one had ever heard of ‘Frank Du Pont’, and then overnight she had heard his name on every set of lips and he was at every social gathering. His manners were certainly pleasing, but something about them made her suspect that he was hiding something. She couldn’t quite pin it down. She mistrusted him. But she enjoyed his company all the more for that. He was a puzzle and she was up for the challenge. She delighted in the way he had shaken up Whitby’s sleepy society and she surmised that there were interesting developments ahead. “Ah, Mr. Du Pont,” she greeted. “How do you do?”]]>  
That was not to say that the room was modest. Rather, it’s timeless elegance resulted from the excellent state of the thick carpet; from the intricate details – lions, sphinxes, roses, letters – hidden here and there in corners of the oak panelling around the walls;  from centuries of ancestry shown in a few portraits on the walls – bonnets and wigs and armour and all; from the high, neoclassical ceiling with its ornamental relief and painted pantheon.
 
Lady Selby moved around the room with matching grace, greeting and pairing her guests. Her attire was rather muted for a formal dinner, her dress slightly old fashioned, though made by one of the best dressmakers in Paris, and her jewels modest. But then again, the guests were nothing special: locals with little to recommend themselves in terms of title, rank or connection, but whose company she enjoyed – and also a few whose company she did not enjoy, but whom she could not overlook without giving offense. Whitby wasn’t Mayfair.
 
She approached her latest arrival with a reserved smile. Mr. Du Pond was a very recent addition to her social circle. She could not decide whether she liked him. But she found that she liked his existence in Whitby’s highest echelons. He was an outsider as an American, as a black man, and as someone who had taken Whitby’s polite society by storm. It seemed to her that only a few weeks ago, no one had ever heard of ‘Frank Du Pont’, and then overnight she had heard his name on every set of lips and he was at every social gathering. His manners were certainly pleasing, but something about them made her suspect that he was hiding something. She couldn’t quite pin it down. She mistrusted him. But she enjoyed his company all the more for that. He was a puzzle and she was up for the challenge. She delighted in the way he had shaken up Whitby’s sleepy society and she surmised that there were interesting developments ahead. “Ah, Mr. Du Pont,” she greeted. “How do you do?”]]>