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mysewingadventures · 4 years

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Historical Accuracy of Costumes in Period Films - Enola Holmes

Disclaimer: I will put no spoilers so you can still read if you haven't seen the movie yet! This post is just me assessing the costumes and their historical accuracy.

First of all, since the movie came out I had already heard a lot about it in just those two days that I was very curious to see if it lived up to the hype and it truly did! It's well-made with round characters and a gripping story line. But enough about the movie, let's get on to the costumes.

The movie is set in 1884, and at first I thought she was born in 84 (because of the intro) so I did like a third of the movie thinking the costumes were outdated until I looked at a closeup of a newspaper and realized that it is set in 84, so yay for me. But anyways, here are the facts.

Enola is 16 years old, therefore considered a child/young woman in society and would be wearing children's clothing but we'll get to that later

There aren't many examples of children's clothing from that time so I'll have to refer to the few fashion plates that I can find.

This blue dress from the beginning of the film has basically everything one would expect from the very end of the 19th century, but not necessarily the 1880s. The loose front is a very end-of-the-century, more so even Edwardian thing, and from the fashion plates and magazines I could find it seems that children's clothing was heavily inspired by adult fashion. It has a very low waistline and is overall very straight. Enola's dress looks more 1900 except for the fitted sleeves which are accurate for the period. And the collar looks completely out of place. But, of course there’s always a but, this is just taking mainstream fashion into account. The Aesthetic Dress movement took place in the 1880s and the dresses would have looked somewhat similar to this one, with a loosely fitted front but they also had puffier sleeves, so it’s like they took some details from different movements and also took some inspiration from the Edwardians and put them all together in a dress.

Another thing I would like to add, (hence the advert - I had to make collages to fit 10 pictures in this post) I am not sure as it doesn't fit her character at all but she looks corseted in those pictures (I added the first one specifically because I think you're able to see the outline of a corset? Faintly?). Depending on your age and status and your parents' plans for you (aka if they wanted you to get married at 16), teens of that age would either wear a corset or not. But taking Enola's upbringing into account and it was rather uncommon for a 16 year old to be wearing a corset, not unseen but uncommon, I'd say that if the costume department decided to put Millie in a corset in that particular scene is historically inaccurate. There were corsets for young women/teens, but they didn't give you that extreme hourglass shape, they were straighter and didn't give you a tiny waist, like the bottom right one in this corset advert. Unfortunately, I could not find out when it's from but it should be somewhat close to the 1880s.

Next up, I would like to say that the length of the skirt they chose for Millie to wear is appropriate for a 16 year old! Unlike what we saw on Anne with an E...

At one point we get a look at her undergarments and they're looking fine for the time! The chemise and the drawers, she's obviously not wearing any petticoats as she's being measured but we saw a glimpse of a petticoat when she was riding a bike in an earlier scene so yes, this part is accurate.

Next up, I'd like to talk about this lady and her dress is just amazing, fashion plate worthy and absolutely accurate, I have nothing bad to say about this.

What I noticed overall in the movie was that the bustles weren't as extreme as I would have expected them to be, but it all had to do with personal preference so it's not necessarily historically inaccurate to see more lowkey bustles. But I didn't see one bustle that was just crazy in today's eyes so maybe they could have improved on that but I'm just nitpicking at this point. Or maybe I've just gotten so used to seeing old clothes that nothing shocks me anymore.

Here we can see some crinolines being sold and judging from their width they are somewhat outdated.

They could pass as maybe early 1870s if not even 1860s.

Now Enola wants to become a lady, so she has to wear adult clothes! Here, she goes into a shop and puts on her clothing. We can see here how poorly fitted the corset is; the lacing gap should be parallel but you can see in the mirror how it gets smaller towards the bottom. Maybe it was done unintentionally but maybe it's just supposed to show that ready-to-wear corsets just weren't made for the person buying them. But in that same scene, we finally get a proper bustle! That's historical accuracy right there!

Next up is her iconic red gown.

Now... I had a little bit of trouble with that one. The skirt is a little wide in my eyes, but the overall shape and cut is fine, with that layer draping over her underskirt. However, her neckline is something you wouldn't typically see. You see other characters wear high necklines, so I don't know why they chose to give this dress almost an evening wear look. V-necks did exist in evening wear, but then again they would be paired with frilly short sleeves and not tight fitting day wear sleeves. So all in all, yes, the dress is accurate but the neckline is uncommon.

Next, we have what is probably the most accurate one of her costumes – the mourning gown.

It's slimmer than the red one and there are so many examples of extant garments on google pictures that look so similar to hers that I'm just gonna say, excellent job!

Next is my favorite despite the neckline problem. She just looks so pretty in it!

The neckline isn't as low as on the red one but still quite uncommon. Another detail you can see in the second picture is that she seems to be wearing a bum pad instead of a bustle, which I think is acceptable. It's slim, it has a layer that drapes over the underskirt in the front, and even the sleeves are a little bit gathered at the top which was very common.

And lastly, we have this white dress where she goes back to the style she wore at the beginning of the movie.

And once again, just like I said in the beginning, this is not something you’d really see being worn in that time unless we’re talking about the Aesthetic Dress and now the sleeves aren’t as fitted so it makes sense for the movement, plus it’s kept very simple.

Overall you can say they did a fairly good job at making everything historically accurate but took some artistic liberties here and there, just like you would expect from a movie.

#enola holmes #sherlock holmes #millie bobby brown #victorian fashion #fashion history #historical fashion #period movies #enola #1880 #19th century #1880s fashion #corset #fashion #victorian

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crimsonrae · 4 years

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The Wiles of Men and Women

Chapter Two

Summary: Georgiana Stafford has just become betrothed to a man older than her father. Her last chance to enjoy society on her terms comes the night that court celebrates the birth of Princess Mary. She was prepared for just about anything, but she hadn't been prepared for him. Charles Brandon.

CharlesxOC,

Rated: Mature

A/N: I have had a fair bit of interest in this story continuing so, I am now working on an outline. Here is Chapter Two in the meantime. Thank you to everyone who liked and showed support on that first chapter. I really appreciate it :) Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

@wolvesandhoundshowltogether @cavillhavoc @omgkatinka @promptandpros @multixwolf

Little Lamb's Courtly Introduction

She was nervous.

Georgiana hadn't expected to be. Her introduction to court, to the king, was to be brief. An announcement really, before Worcester and her father made the declaration of marriage to the king. She expected to be largely ignored through the whole ordeal. Perhaps a mild curiosity amongst the other members of court for being the new introduction and intended of another, but rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

She swallowed against her bitter resentment as anticipation of dismissal began to build. Women weren't interesting unless they were spreading their legs for someone. Something she had learned from her mother which had only been reinforced by every male she had ever met. Part of her still puzzled over why Lord Somerset had agreed to the engagement. He had several sons already, so he had no need for an heir. The only thing she could think of was her dowry, that perhaps Worcester was on the brink of financial ruin. Though if that were the case, she doubted her father would have made the arrangement.

No, her nervousness had little to do with her moment in court, though some part of her did feel sick at being treated as a prized mare. Her nervousness was more basic and, in some respect she knew, more foolish. What was worse she had no one to blame for her anxiety, but herself... and Charles Brandon. Not that he was aware of the damaged his carnal desires had wrought on her body, though she suspected he wouldn't much care. She was in a bit of a plight, however.

Upon returning to her chambers in the wee hours of the morning, Georgiana had quickly placed her gown out of sight and did her best to clean herself without access to a tub. In those late hours, she had been too leery of waking a servant or worse garnering the attention of her father or uncle to light a lamp and had simply done what she could without taking stock of her physical being. She had only received a few hours of sleep, intent to rise before her family, and dress without help. She only realized her mistake in succumbing to lustful games when she had gotten out of bed.

Georgiana had gasped and nearly cried out in pain when she had shifted to sit. Not even stand, but sit. Somehow, she had forgotten about the tanning her behind received in her haste to retire for the night. Fire crackled and stung her backside, but that was almost pleasant when compared to the piercing soreness between her legs. It was almost as if Charles was still inside her... or maybe it was that he was not in her. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she forced herself to stand. Every shift and step brought an almost unbearable amount of discomfort.

Her monthly cramps were more tolerable. She tried in vain to relax, hoping mildly that moving would subdue the worse of the hurt. Again, she found herself wondering if sex was always like this. A few hours ago, it had been pleasurable and fun... this? This was not pleasurable or fun. Yet, oddly she had an ache to be filled again. She felt strangely empty now and like her hopes for her pain to subside, she hoped that eventually, this new feeling would too subside if she ignored it long enough.

After a few more tentative steps, Georgiana was before her dressing mirror. The arbitrary thought that she may look different now played at the back of her mind. It was a foolish thought, except it wasn't. Muted horror gleamed in her blue stare as she surveyed the bruises that littered her hips and chest...even her neck was marked. She swore that the heat from her bottom rushed to her cheeks at that moment.

Her gown would cover most of the marks, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember if her dress had a high or low neckline. She prayed it was high because her hair was to be pinned and there was no other way that she could hide the love bites on her neck.

Her father was going to murder her.

She swallowed tightly against the rising panic, turning pale almost as quickly as she had flushed. How could she have let this happen? She knew the importance of today. She knew what type of scrutiny she would be under. Georgiana suddenly cursed herself for giving in to her desires to break the rules last night. She had a month before the wedding, surely another opportunity to rebel would have presented itself before then. Why had she so stupidly chosen last night?

Whining lightly under her breath, she quickly scampered for her trunk and immediately regretted it as hot pain stabbed her core. Oh, she would kill Mr. Brandon if she saw him today, she swore it.

Allowing herself to cringe now while she was alone, her movements became a contrasting juxtaposition of hasty and ginger. She pulled out a new chemise and petticoat before pulling out her gown and nearly sighed in relief as she noted the neckline did have a high collar to it. Her father would want to present her as a modest young virgin – nothing represented that more than clothing that would be suitable in a nunnery. Part of her would enjoy the lie of that image today, even as she tried to figure out how to walk without waddling.

It took her longer than she expected to dress without the help of a servant, but she managed to finish just as the door to her chamber swung open and a young woman and her father entered. She barely spared a glance to the former, her focus firmly on her father.

His eyes were red-rimmed bespoken of a late night drinking, but that would disappear with an indulgent breakfast. Georgianna knew her father's habits well. His gaze glimmered in silent satisfaction at her as he took in her state of dress, "You're awake early. I thought I would need to drag you from the bed with the way you had bemoaned leaving Wiltshire."

Georgiana forced a faint smile to her face, "You know I can't abide being idle."

Henry snorted, "True. I half expected you to sneak into the celebration last night, your uncle had money on it, in fact."

She barely kept from rolling her eyes even as she ignored a wary noxious turn of her stomach, "I'm sure you'd enjoyed gloating over him losing, father."

"I will soon enough." Henry intoned quietly, almost suspiciously as he gestured to the servant, "This is Kitty, she'll see to your needs while we're here. Join your uncle and I for breakfast once you're finished."

"Of course, father." Georgiana murmured.

"My daughter." Her father mused before stepping forward to press a kiss to her forehead. An ominous note lingered in his tone, "You'll do the family proud today."

The silent threat to behave went unacknowledged.

She merely offered another smile as he stepped back and eyed her curiously, "The air must agree with you here. You've a glow about you. Or perhaps you're just excited for your moment to shine."

Another pang of panic made her heart lurch, but she kept her features bland as she shrugged, "Perhaps."

Henry had stopped listening, however, already retreating to the shared common room of their quarters, "Don't tarry, we have much to do today."

Her door was shut before she had a chance to reply. She turned wary eyes onto the servant and was rewarded with a smile reminiscent of the one she had just given her father, "Kitty, was it?"

"Katerina, Milady." Katerina curtsied faintly as she waited for instructions.

Georgiana sighed, "If you'll help me with my hair, I'd be much obliged."

"Of course, milady."

Georgiana slowly made her way to the dressing table, rather too aware of the other woman's eyes on her. A dawning dread burbled in her belly as she realized she would need to sit. The thought almost brought frustrated tears to her eyes as she gazed grudgingly at the stool. The servant must think her mad by the dark glare on her face, but Georgiana bit her tongue and eased herself down. The burn in her backside reignited and she had to swallow her moan.

She wished a long, tormented death on Charles.

Katerina watched her curiously but was of mind enough not to say anything. Instead, she waited until Georgiana was situated and began to gather up her soft tresses to be plaited and pinned. A dark bruise peaked ever so slightly out of the edge of the collar. Katerina pursed her lips at the sight and adjusted her pinning to cover the mark.

"Pardon my frankness, milady, but was it your first time?" Katerina asked in a whisper.

Georgiana lifted her gaze to the looking glass in a scrutinizing glare, "My first -"

Her voice cut off as Katerina subtly moved her hair and another mark was displayed. A deep blush scoured her cheeks and she held her breath and uttered quietly, "Please don't say anything."

"Of course not, milady." Katerina assured. Georgiana wasn't the first noble lady she had served to have affairs and she knew better than to spread rumors. Gossiping servants didn't last long in the palace, "Was it...?"

There was a brief moment of hesitance before Georgiana nodded.

Katerina hummed understandingly, "It can be painful, especially if the man doesn't have a care. I can get you a warm compress. It'll help, but you should soak tonight, milady."

"...I didn't. I didn't tell him that I was..." Georgiana took a shuddering breath, having trouble admitting to her foolishness, "My intended is older than my father, I just wanted a good first experience."

A sympathetic twinkle entered the other woman's gaze, before she whispered cautiously, "Was it?"

Georgiana couldn't keep the pleased grin from her face and Katerina giggled, "I'm glad, milady. Drink the tea that I'll bring to your breakfast it'll stave off any unwanted surprises."

"Surprises?" Georgiana asked bemused until Katerina made a gesture of a swollen stomach. Suddenly, she felt like a dullard... she had forgotten that aspect of copulation, "Oh...oh, thank you, Katerina."

Katerina nodded and continued her work. Every so often Georgiana worked up the nerve to ask a question. Slowly, she gained her first confidant within the King's Palace.

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"Charles!"

The sound of the King's voice rang out through the hall, unusually jovial for so early in the day. Charles turned and smiled with a faint bow as his monarch and friend approached him, "Your Majesty, good morning."

"It is a good morning, isn't it?" Henry questioned with a rakish grin. It was all Charles needed to know that the King had his own bedroom delights satisfied the prior night. He playfully nudged Brandon's shoulder as he gestured for them to continue, "You left the festivities early last night."

There was a faint note of accusation in his tone that Charles was hard-pressed to miss. He grimaced internally, he hadn't meant to insult Henry by his departure, "A celebration of a different kind lured me away, I'm afraid."

The King's brow rose as his eyes began to shine with amusement, "This celebration wouldn't happen to be in the shape of a woman, would it? About chin height? Pouty lips? Lovely blue and grey gown that accentuated some even lovelier assets?"

Charles chuckled, knowing he had already been forgiven. Of course, nothing seemed to get passed Harry, even when he had been knee-deep in the cups, "That would be the one, sire."

"Anthony was quite cross with you." Henry murmured with sage pleasure as he recalled the annoyed expression on their friend's face, "I believe he had been trying to lure her away himself when you beat him to it."

A smug smirk twisted at Charles's mouth as he recalled he hadn't done much luring.

His little lamb had wanted to be ensnared; Anthony had merely missed the signs of a good chase. And it had been a very good chase indeed. Charlotte had played the prey to his predator beautifully. Though he silently wished she had mentioned her virginal state to him, while he liked a bit of roughness in his play, he never wanted to cause his partners' unnecessary pain. He would have been gentler with her on that first go, taken his time. Hell, he wished she had stayed for a second round. It had been too long since he had played with someone that satisfactorily.

He pushed back on those insatiable thoughts and turned a curious eye to his king, "And you, your Majesty? I trust that your night ended on a celebratory note, as well?"

"Quite, it ended in a very satisfying bang." Henry replied all too pleased with his lewd pun and the amused snort it pulled from his friend. His smile dimmed faintly and turned more affectionate as they rounded a corner and entered a side room that contained the queen and their newborn daughter, "Good morning, My Queen."

Charles bowed and murmured a quiet, "Majesty."

"Good morning, My King." Katherine returned with a gentle smile as she approached the duo. She nodded to Charles, "Mr. Brandon."

In her arms, the infant princess squirmed and she smiled wider as she offered the child to the King, "She wants her papa."

Henry reached for her instantly and with more gentleness than Charles had ever witnessed from his friend cradled the child in his arms. Pride and delight shined in his icy eyes as Mary settled and cooed quietly at her father. He ran a soft finger over her cheek, "My little pearl. Isn't she beautiful, Charles?"

Katherine looked on lovingly.

"She is." Charles agreed quietly with a faint smile. He knew that his friend was disappointed not to have a son, but he had born witness to the relief the King exuded when news reached him that both his wife and child were hale and whole. The Queen's last few pregnancies had been rough and there had been a real fear that she wouldn't survive her labor this last round. Despite his disappointment, Henry was still basking in the joy that his family was alive and would take what he could for now.

Suddenly feeling like an interloper to an intimate family moment, Charles bowed his head and began to make his excuses to exit, "I'll take my leave of you -"

Henry pinned him with an unimpressed glance, "Nonsense, stay and break your fast with us."

"Your Majesty, I would not want to intrude." Charles begged off and was almost startled when Katherine ganged up on him in turn.

"You're hardly an intruder, Mr. Brandon." Katherine rebuked gently. While she cared little for her husband's friends, Charles and William Compton were among the more tolerable, caring more to make her husband happy than receive any personal gain, "Besides I would like to hear how you enjoyed the celebrations. I'm afraid I was too weary to attend for long."

A mix of horror and hilarity welled up in Charles at the Queen's words and it was only made worse when he caught the mocking gleam in the King's gaze, "Yes, Charles, you must tell us how you enjoyed last night."

If it wouldn't be considered an act of treason, Charles would have punched the King soundly in the face regardless of the fact that he was still holding his daughter. He bit back a sigh and settled for a mild glare that made the King smirk, "The festivities were brilliant, Your Majesty. Though I'm afraid I was not present for much longer after your exit. I too retired early."

"Ah." The Queen muttered sagely with a sly twinkle in her eye, "Then you had a good evening, indeed."

Charles nearly choked on his tongue while the King burst into unexpected laughter. The noise startled the baby, but he was quick to calm her as he continued to chortle. Depositing the child into the arms of a waiting servant, Henry turned and pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek, "Thank you for that, dearest. I don't think I've ever seen Charles look more humbled."

Charles, in fact, had turned a faint red and was avoiding both of his monarch's amused gazes as he endured this teasing humiliation. Henry was lucky that his wife and daughter were present or else he may have made an unsubtle comment about the King's night. However, he actually was rather fond of Queen Katherine and had no desire to cause her such pain. Sighing, he changed the topic, "Light day, today, Your Majesty?"

"Very subtle, Charles." Henry uttered mockingly as he invited his friend to sit and food was dispersed, but he allowed the change, "Unfortunately no. I've been neglecting court matters the last week. I'm told I have a list of issues to address. Border grievances, petty squabbles, a few marriage declarations. Nothing terribly interesting."

Katherine hummed, gaining the attention of both men, "I would like to join you today, My King. If that would be acceptable?"

Henry raised a brow, "I assure you that it will be quite boring. Wouldn't you rather stay with Mary?... I know I would."

That seemed to amuse the Queen as she replied lightly, "You would rather be hunting."

"It's too cold for hunting." Henry rebuked in good humor and he wasn't wrong. A light dusting of snow had covered the ground during the night, "I'd rather play tennis."

Charles chuckled as he watched their byplay, but couldn't help, but ask, "Is there something that interests you in particular about today's agenda, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, actually." The Queen began, noting she had her husband's attention, "The Duchess of Buckingham mentioned that her niece is to be introduced today, Georgiana. Said she's a precocious child. I am curious – I didn't even know the Buckingham's had a niece."

Both Charles and Henry frowned in confusion as they ran over the noble lines in their heads. Henry reached a conclusion first, "The Earl of Wiltshire's daughter?"

"I had forgotten he had a child." Charles murmured as he thought of the arrogant redheaded lord. It was wildly acknowledged that Henry Stafford's marriage to Cecily Bonneville was one of convenience – rumors abounded that his interests were more inclined towards men than women.

"I as well." Henry acknowledged with a bemused frown, "Cecily was a very beautiful woman, I recall. I wonder if the daughter took after her or her father."

"Hopefully, her mother. Lord Stafford's hardly a prize."

Henry sniggered quietly at Charles's words.

"Does this mean you wouldn't mind my intrusion today?" Katherine prodded gently, somewhat proud that she had engaged the men's intrigue.

"Not at all." Henry answered indifferently, his mind already moving on to other things, "I think we're all rather curious about the elusive Lady Stafford."

Charles hummed in agreement but was more interested in spending his day seeking out his elusive Charlotte. He hadn't had his fill of his little lamb yet.

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Of course, Henry had other ideas about what Charles would be doing with his day. The King's tediously boring business also became Charles as he stood behind a long table strewn with maps reviewing the boundary lines of two estates. The squabble laid between Lord Byron and Lord Tyrrion, both greedy, petulant arses in Charles's opinion. Lord Tyrrion more so than Byron.

Even Cardinal Wolsey looked tired of the lords' nonsense and he wasn't even present for this issue.

"You've pulled up the stakes on my land so that your bloody sheep have a larger grazing pasture." Byron stated testily for the hundredth time as he pounded a finger on a boundary line, "This map clearly shows where the stakes should be."

"And it's where they are." Tyrrion replied with droll disinterest. He allowed the farmers in their area to let their cattle roam free on his land. He felt it gave healthier livestock and added more flavor to the meat.

"Then explain why the gardens of my estate have been decimated by your bloody roving bushes." Byron demanded.

"That's a poor thing to call your lady wife, sir."

The resulting exclamation made Charles bite back a sigh and long to bury his head in the ground.

At the other end of the room, King Henry entertained issues from other courtiers, looking about as thrilled as a mourner.

"Lord Malbury, you will either forfeit your estate or pay the taxes you owe." Henry droned threateningly as he ignored Katherine's placating hand, "You're two years overdue in your fealty. But in my kindness, I will give you a month to clear your debt. Is that understood, sir?"

Malbury shifted uncomfortably looking like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it as he quietly muttered, "Yes, Your Majesty."

Henry waved a hand dismissing him.

"Your Majesty, the Duke of Buckingham, Edward Stafford and the Earl of Wiltshire, Henry Stafford."

Katherine sat a little straighter in her seat as the two men approached and bowed. A young woman followed several steps behind, but only the Queen took an interest in her.

Henry raised a brow at the two brothers, "What can I do for you?"

"Your Majesty, thank you for seeing us today and may I say congratulations on the birth of Princess Mary." The Earl simpered before stepping aside and gesturing for his daughter to come forward, "I would like to present to you, my daughter, Lady Georgiana."

Henry tilted his head curiously as Georgiana came to the foot of his dais and curtsied gracefully. A simple hood covered her head, but a few purposeful locks were left to frame her face elegantly. She cut a nice figure in the pale green gown she had chosen. She didn't wear much in the way of adornments. Simple, refined, modest...everything a good Christian girl should be.

The King stood from his throne and gently took her hand, allowing her to rise and be viewed fully, "Lady Georgiana."

"Your Majesty." She murmured and he was greeted by a pair of sparkling blue eyes and a placid smile.

Katherine moved to his side, a curious grimace adorning her features as Henry spoke, "You're as enchanting as your mother. A shame that Lady Cecily isn't here to join us."

"Your Majesty is too kind." Georgiana demurred.

Wiltshire stepped forward as he rejoined the conversation, "If I may, Your Majesty."

He rested a light hand on his daughter's elbow while his brother beckoned another forward. Henry watched in keen interest as the Earl of Worcester came to stand between the two brothers. The older gentlemen bowed.

Already, Henry knew where this was going, "Lord Somerset, and what do you have to do with these proceedings?"

"Your Majesty, Lord Stafford and I have entered into an agreement for Lady Georgiana's hand. I would like to make a formal declaration of engagement." Lord Somerset asserted quietly.

Henry shared a glance with Katherine and wasn't surprised to see a faint gleam of disapproval in her gaze. Lord Somerset must have been about forty years the girl's senior, a bit excessive, but not exactly uncommon. His gaze swept back to the lady in question and nearly blinked as he witnessed a flash of annoyance disappear in a flicker as attention fell back on her.

Well, well... It seemed his lady wife was not the only one to disapprove. Henry pursed his lips, "I see... Lady Georgiana, you are amenable to this match?"

Fingers tightened over her elbow and Georgiana fixed a faint smile on her face as she replied, "I trust that my father has chosen well for me, sire."

A very diplomatic answer, if ever he heard one. If he hadn't seen the distaste in her gaze then he would have dismissed her as another mindless noblewoman. Except for her annoyance and the forethought she had displayed to hide behind a rather impressive mask of indifference, bespoke of a sharp intelligence. She would do well in court. Precocious, indeed. It was a pity she had already been promised to another.

"When is the wedding?" Katherine asked abruptly.

Startling the Duke and Earls. Worcester recovered swiftly, "In a month's time. Should there be no objections, Your Majesty?"

"I have none. Though, I do offer my congratulations." Henry stated before he shared another glance with his wife, "However, the Duchess of Buckingham spoke highly of Lady Georgiana and my lady wife has been looking forward to meeting her. I trust that you all will stay for the week to give Lady Georgiana a chance to experience courtly life before whisking her away to the country."

There was a brief chorus of agreements from the gentlemen and again Henry caught that flicker of unimpressed displeasure in her countenance. He nearly smirked, this was bound to be an interesting visit.

His attention wavered a moment as Charles approached from the back, looking harried and annoyed. Henry tried not to laugh. He had purposefully tasked him that particular boundary dispute as punishment for his early departure from the festivities, but also... he had no desire to deal with Lord Tyrrion's dry wit, "Has a solution been reached, Charles?"

Charles bowed and nodded, "Yes, Your Majesty. We just need your final approval."

Henry hummed in acknowledgement before nodding to the group before him, "Charles, I believe you already know the Duke of Buckingham and Earls of Wiltshire and Worcester, respectively?"

"Your Grace, milords." Charles greeted solemnly and with the bare minimum of decorum. Henry had never been able to figure out what the discourse between Charles and the Stafford house was, but he knew it was mutual. Edward Stafford nearly sneered at his friend.

"And this is Lady Georgiana Stafford, soon to be Somerset." Henry introduced lightly as he watched the way his friend studied the woman. A glint of interest sparked in his eye and the King refrained from snorting in amusement. Charles had no boundaries, "Lady Georgiana, may I present my good friend and courtier, Charles Brandon."

Oddly enough, the Lady seemed to stiffen at the sight of Charles before another placid mask befell her. She graced Charles with a nod, "Mr. Brandon."

"My lady." Charles intoned back, though a curious glimmer creased his gaze.

Henry stepped passed the group, now done with the pleasantries, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Georgiana. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend."

He didn't pause to watch their bows or hear their farewells. Charles followed at his heels after a minute and Henry sent him a questioning look when he finally noticed the faint frown on his friend's face, "Charles?"

Charles's mouth moved silently for a moment before he answered, "She seemed...familiar."

"Hopefully, not too familiar." Henry countered drolly as they approached the back table, "Wouldn't want both of the Staffords after your head."

Charles grunted in agreement, but couldn't help to return his gaze to Georgiana's departing form. He swore he knew her.

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#charles brandon #charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon fic #duke of suffolk #anthony knivert #henry viii #katherine of aragon #tudors fanfic #the tudors #tudors fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #henry cavill #The Wiles of Men and Women

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Monday 6 August 1838

7 25

some minutes with A- till 8 – fine morning but brouillard low on mountains again – F69 ½° at 9 had Charles and Pierre – then chasseurs guides say that the prince de la Moscawa has engaged Cassos the Gèdre Vignemale guide to go to the top of that mountain on Thursday (the prince to sleep at Gavarnie on Wednesday night) be the weather fine or not – my 2 guides have hope that the weather will improve – at last fixed to go this afternoon – to leave here at 3 pm for the cabane – all 3 mounted and take Charles’ brother-in-law to bring back the horses and bring A- and then to meet us at Bouchero at 4pm on Wednesday – Breakfast at 9 ¼ to 11 A- read aloud the paper – strawberries, raspberries, and figs the 2 latter 1st time at breakfast and figs the 1st time of tasting them here – A- wrote copy of letter to Mr. SW. and I wrote on the 1st half of p. 1 of the sheet she is to write on, as follows –

‘Monday 6 August 1838. Pay to Mr. Samuel Washington a order two hundred pounds A. Lister

to the manager of the Yorkshire District Bank at Halifax

St. Sauveur. Hautes Pyrénées. France. Monday 6 August 1838.

Sir,

I send you as above, an order on the Yorkshire District Bank for two hundred pounds – you were right to pay William Mallinson whatever balance might be due to him, as I told him his bill should be paid out of the rent – Do what you think best about paying the small bills due to Messrs. Barber, Firth, and Keighley – as Mr. Greenwoods’ bill for papering at Northgate was not sent in when I left home, I do not know what is due to him on this account; but as he has chosen to begin paying himself out of his rent, I shall determine, on my return home, whether to let him go on doing so, or not – I am tired of laying out money on the Stump-cross Inn – but Mr. Harper may have a shade – I will have nothing to do with the new brewing pan –I was not prepared for being called upon to raise the brew house, which I therefore beg to decline for the present, whatever I may do hereafter – you had best see what the town will do for William Green – when he has done his own money, [?] him have half a crown a week till my return – I am, sir, etc. etc. A. Lister’

then wrote as under to ‘Mr. Mackean, Yorkshire District Bank, Halifax, Yorkshire, Angleterre’

‘St. Sauveur. Hautes Pyrénées. France. Monday 6 August 1838. Sir – I received your letter of the 7th ultimo on the 16th ultimo – you would receive on the 10th ultimo one hundred and sixty pounds on my account – I shall be at home, and will settle my account before Christmas – In the meantime, I shall be obliged to you to honour Mr. S. Washington’s drafts on my account to the amount of two hundred pounds – I am, sir, etc. etc. A. Lister’ – leave these two letters with A- to go by tonights’ post – had just written them, and so far of today besides listening to A-‘s letters (she is writing to her sister) till now 1 5 pm – did up my things – take my tartan cloak my Charles cape and jacket – and in my travelling bag a night chemise and one day ditto 1 pair large grey woollen stockings and 100fr. tied up and put in one of the stockings and 2 pair gloves and 1 pocket handkerchief and tooth brush, soap, comb, needle and thread, and stiletto all on one parcel tied up in a sheet of large whitey brown paper and then in a towel – and also in my bag 1 pair shoes and gaiters – nothing else but what I have on – my merinos gown and 2 white petticoats etc. pair of new strong St. Sauveur shoes, cotton socks and spun silk black stockings legs – a night cap in my pocket and pair of socks and pocket handkerchief and one silk handkerchief in my breast and ½ silk ditto and a sheet of paper in my hat – just written so far at 2 55 when the horses came – off at 3 35 – Charles and Pierre and I all mounted – at the Pont de Sia at 4 ¼ - at the pont de [Douroncate] in 20 minutes more at 4 35 – had passed the bridge and was out of Gèdre at 5 20 – sent the guides on before and alighted for a minute at 5 55 in the chaos and at the Inn at Gavarnie at 6 ½ I did not alight but waited ¼ hour at the door while Charles borrowed 2 pair crampons at 1/. per day each and 2 bâtons ferrés at 1/. each per day, the wife of Cazos [Cassos] having unexpectedly told Charles in passing thro’ Gèdre to provide us with these articles – How is this? Cazos declared on the Piméné and since we had neither glacier nor snow to pass – Charles had luckily bought a light baton ferré for me thinking it might help me and A- had persisted in my having my crampons (these I got for Mt. Perdu in 1830) with me, I nothing loth – off from Gavarnie at 6 ¾ - toujours brouillard, but otherwise fine – at the cabane de Saoussats Dabattes at 8 5 – Cazos and Charles’ brother-in-law had arrived at the cabane just before us, having come direct from Gèdre – we had just got a glimpse of them on the other side the gave as we rode along – our provisions that we had brought were [mine] a lbs. roll put with my little bundle in the sack de nuit bought in Paris for our night things – 2 biscuits in the breast of my dress, 2 hardboiled eggs in Charles’ waistcoat pocket, and my small Swiss Chamouni [Chamonix] guide full of brandy slung over Charles’ shoulder – the guides’ provisions lbs. bread (white like mine) ./70 a leather bottle of white wine ./70 for the bergers to drink of as Charles said and lb, fromàge ./40 and this I had added a bottle 3/. of the best eau-de-vie (the same as that I had for myself) our pharmacien had in his shop – I had in my little bundle 1 chemise and 1 night ditto and 1 pocket handkerchief, and 2 pair gloves, and 1 pair large grey woollen stockings in the foot of one of which a small parcel containing 100/. in five franc pieces, besides which I had about 50/. in my pocket – and I had also 1 pair lightish shoes and gaiters in the sac de nuit which was done up with my Charles jacket in my Charles cape and strapped on my horse behind me – my Maclean tartan cloak tied up and hung on my saddle crutch, or on my back, or carried for and with me everywhere – I was dressed as I have been ever since my arrival here – for riding – and as I was when I ascended the Mt. Perdu – flannel waistcoat and drawers and light small merinos loose sleeves (as for the last 20 years) chemise, stays, short cambric muslin under petticoat – ditto ditto upper ditto over which striped jaconot waist with high collar and long sleeves – broad hammed 3 frilled muslin ficher – and over this double muslin handkerchief and double dark silk ditto and then my black merinos dress lightly ouattée [ouatée] and doublée de persienne, and besides, loose white cambric muslin sleeves sewed into the sleeves of the dress for cleanliness – as usual – and a double lined with persienne pelerine to the dress, and crossed over my chest a light black china crape shawl – I had had (as on going to Mt. P-) tape loops put round the bottom of my dress and string at the top, and just before setting off, had my dress tied up all round me to just about or above the knee – I wore white cotton socks and black spun silk legs with tape straps, and strong leather ¼ boot shoes with nails in (made here for the purpose) and black satin gaiters – I had my white cotton night cap in my pocket and my claps-knive of London 1826 – I had in my breast pockets a pair of cotton socks, a whole black twilled silk handkerchief, and ½ a light coloured foulard (the one I went to the top of Ben nevis in 1828) and Charpentiers’ map of the Pyrenees, and my little note rough book containing my passport – yet I was lighter equipped and my heart was light but for the thought that I had left poor A- dull and perhaps anxious about me for my own and what I was going to attempt – she thought perhaps that I had not been free from biliousness and vertiges for many days, and perhaps she fidgeted about me – but Charles’ brother-in-law is to be back with the horses and see her tomorrow evening and bring her to meet me at Bouchero on Wednesday – the vale d’Ossōnne a fine savage valley – but latterly too dark for me to know much or see much of what I was passing – we had scarcely entered the cabane before the fire was made and pâte set on – it might be about an hour before all huddled in round the pâte-pan – ten of us 5 bergers and our 5 selves including Cazos and Charles’ brother-in-law – I declined assisting at the pâte but ate 1/3 of my roll and drunk a little cold new milk and then lay down about ½ hour before the rest – I lay in my tartan cloak and wrapped in my cape upon a couple of the bergers’ capes and my Charles jacket stuffed between me and the big granite-stone forming the far end of the cabane – my sack de nuit

SH:7/ML/E/21/0161

was my pillow aided by one of the bergers goat-skins bags in which they keep their cloche and provision of bread and meal (bled du turquie meal for pâte) – not comfortable enough to cheat one into sleep – it might be about 10 when all were lain down in 2 rows – head to foot – so crowded no room to stir – cabane hardly 5 yards by 2 – awoke at 11 50 – lighted candle and looked at my watch – I should have been glad to be off – but Cazos said il faisait trop nuit

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il-papa-patata · 4 years

Text

Say your Name Forever

(Cardinal Copia traces the path of his relationship with one Cesarina Gastone de Medici. Cardi C x Female OC. Some domestic stuff, flashbacks & a proposal. Rated T.)

Copia admits. He's a fuck-up.

Upon his rising to Cardinal, he was asked to take holy wine. A drink to ease the meeting of a human and a demon, something which relaxed the body and mind to an extent, encouraged the Unholy.

What a normal person would do is meet with a demon – usually from one's preferred sin, with the strength varying depending on the promise of the individual. A contract would be made. And it provided the new Cardinal with both power and direction. Secondo lives by his master's hand – the righteous wrath of Asmodeus; as does Terzo, who slinks along with the sinuous Lord Baphomet.

Copia had expected perhaps a demon of envy. And he had expected someone not-too-imposing.

Well- no, actually. Copia pretends now that he had expected that, but when he took the holy wine, the only thought on his mind was how bitter the drink was.

He wasn't raised in the Church after all. Spent his adolescence as a Catholic. To him, the sanctity and procedures of these rituals were far-removed, hazy to him.

But he didn't meet a demon. He didn't meet even an imp. He met a human.

Cesarina slips out of her clothing, down to her pretty chemise, trimmed with lace and embroidered in whitework. It's a little damp – her dark hair is still beaded with drops of rain that haven't sunk in. It looks pretty. Like pearls.

When he hands her his cardigan, she slips it on gratefully, pulling it around her body and smiling.

“Thank you,” she hums, pushing her curls over her shoulders again. She holds his stare for a few more moments, and then grins. “Am I that pretty?”

He shakes his head a little, and then balks – “Yes. Very pretty. Sorry.”

She laughs, her full lips parting. She steps out of her petticoats and begins to undo his soaked cassock.

This is maybe the twentieth time they've met. If not that many, certainly over a dozen. He tries not to count them.

Today they had been out when it began to rain, and so he had hurried them back to his little apartment, up the stairs behind the greengrocers', a couple rooms and a small kitchen. He flushed at the mess – a swirl of trinkets and old magazines and general clutter that somehow didn't disguise the sparseness of furnishings – but she had pressed by, unflapped by it.

She pulls the skirt of the cassock up, getting the last few buttons.

Cesarina is – hm. She's a nice lady – she's from Florence, although she spends some time in Rome, which is how they end up meeting more often than not. It's not like he can just head over to Florence any time he felt like it. Letters filled in the gaps between meetings, and though she could just summon him the way she did the first night they met, the issue is him getting back to the anti-Vatican, so she doesn't.

She's –

“All done,” She sing-songs, pulling the cassock off his shoulders, “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold, Faustino.”

Copia aches. He aches and shivers, cold and hot, groaning when a stony-faced Secondo smooths a wet cloth over his forehead.

He's burning.

He can feel the disapproval rolling off Secondo in waves, although the man has diligently taken care of him, at times replaced by nurses or Sisters or even occasionally the Mother Superiors. Mother Bonaventura brought flowers, had fed him some soup, had smiled but looked wrong doing it. That was when he was better, anyhow, could still think like a person, not like this.

Mostly it was Secondo. At first, he was his usual self – stern and quiet, but caring and gentle. Though Copia had fallen ill through his own carelessness, it didn't seem particularly worrisome. Just a cough, and a bit of a chill.

But then the fever came on. Slowly at first – he was still trying to work, to fill paperwork. Secondo brought him a lap desk and a small pile of papers until Copia had demanded more, which had set the first notch in Secondo's brow.

The fever worsened. The cough too. Soon he was hunched over the desk, his shoulders covered in blankets, trying still to work. Anything but stopping.

Secondo's brow notched again. And he took the papers and the lap desk away. When Copia had tried to argue – stood, from the sickbed, and took shaky steps towards him – Secondo had picked him up but the scruff of his pajamas and set him back down in the bed, pressing a hand to his breastbone in a silent demand to stay.

Terzo was nowhere to be seen. He'd left for somewhere else – outreach, maybe – after their fight. Copia simmers now in the need to apologize to his friend, his brother – not by blood but by bond. Copia is not sure Terzo even knows he's sick, or worse, if he knows – if he cares at all.

Copia cries. From the pain, from the loss, from the burning haze in his throat and eyes and limbs. Secondo wipes them away with the wet cloth, but it doesn't help.

“You're a fool,” Secondo says.

“I know,” Copia sobs. He just- he had wanted to hope. To hope that the woman he waited for would be – that woman from the dream, the woman he knew in an instant, who smiled at him and pulled him close, calling him by his name – his name that he chose himself – “Faustino.”

“It looks like we're trapped for a little while,” Cesarina says, combing her fingers through her hair. “Do you have any ribbon?”

“Ah, somewhere,” he says, stripping off his trousers and waistcoat. “Um, maybe that pile of Vogue?”

She pads over to it, her feet bare. It's a surprisingly sensual sound – her feet on the wooden floors of his home. He watches her lean over the pile of magazines, gently flipping through the stack. Her legs are very bare, and his cardigan fits well on her. That pale nape is exposed, the way her hair falls over her shoulder, and he has the sudden urge to bite there.

He focuses on finding another shirt.

“Found some,” she says.

He pulls the new, dry shirt over his head. He chafes at being wet, but being in dry clothes makes it a bit better. He lays some of his clothes on the radiator, hoping they'll dry fine.

She braided her hair along her neck in the meantime, and settled onto his bed with a magazine. He joins her, sitting next to her, hip to hip.

“I didn't know you collected old magazines.”

“I don't collect them,” he says, leaning into her, “I was there. I bought them at the newsstand.”

“Old man.”

He nips at her earlobe, to which she gives a little squeak.

“Crotchety old lady,” he grumps, nipping her more, fingers finding her waist and tickling.

She squeaks again and flutters her legs, trying to avoid his biting, wriggling until she's laid out on his sheets and gasping for breath before grabbing his hands to stop him.

“You're older than me!” She gasps, a big smile on her face, “By a hundred years!”

“Still rude to the elderly.” He flexes his fingers again, but her grip is firm.

But still, she doesn't stop him when he bends down to kiss her.

You wouldn't think summer rain could be so cold.

Faustino waits. He waits.

His cassock is soaked. His biretta is losing shape. His makeup is running.

But he waits.

Just for the glimpse of her. That woman.

It had to be her – although his dream had been hazy, he's certain now – the woman from his dream had been her, the small and pious Celestina. It had been her name he'd said, her waist he'd held, her voice that had said his name.

She's married. But he still – he needs to show her that she-

She comes by, out of the church, her woolen hood pulled over her head, the hem of her skirts pulled up from her delicate feet. She still has a rosary in her other hand, and when she looks up at him, she startles.

“Ah-” he says, stepping to her, “Signora de Medici-”

She shivers, but doesn't back away. “Yes?”

“F-Flowers. For you.” He holds them out. He'd bought them. They were a lot of money, but he needed to – to show that she meant everything to him-

She blinks. Her soft face pulls into a small smile, pleased, her cheeks filling with a dainty color. “Oh, why thank you.”

His heart leaps to his throat. The waiting was worth it for that smile, the dampness and the discomfort-

“Did my husband ask you to deliver these?” She says, perfectly, disastrously warm.

The heat rushes out of him. The warmth.

“Oh,” he says, the warmth replaced by a cold dullness, like winter earth, “yes. He sends... his regards.”

“Thank you,” she says, bundling the flowers beneath her cape, clasping it shut, “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening,” he murmurs. Watches her go.

After a few moments, she disappears from the street. He begins to walk home, soaked. Lifts his eyes to there – their home, where in the window he can see Celestina throwing her arms around her husband's neck, the look of confusion on his face that melts into the kind of joy Copia wanted-

Copia sniffles, wiping away the tears that spring to his face, the heel of his hand smeared with black kohl.

He brings in two cups of coffee. He hands one down to her, which she takes gratefully.

She sips, letting out a soft sigh when she's done – it's sweet, and Faustino smiles.

He settles beside her again on the bed, sipping his own cup. She idly flicks through a magazine, reaches out her hand to hold his.

He reads something else. Church documents. Leans over his lap and reads, their hands occasionally unclasping to flip a page but always rejoining.

The coffee is good. The beans were a gift from Primo, who knew about he and Cesarina long before anyone else in the church (she and him were friends, apparently.) They are deep and chocolatey, with a final mellow zing, good with milk.

The rain falls outside. The radiator lets out a soft tink-tink every once and a while, keeping away the chill.

He watches Cesarina, engrossed in the magazine. Her soft fingers find the end of her braid and fiddle with it, looping it around her fingers.

He smiles. Leans over to her and kisses her cheek.

She perks a little, looks at him, and smiles, before returning the kiss with one of her own.

They go back to reading.

He hears the call. And he likes it. Someone asking Baphomet to come fuck them, albeit in nicer terms.

He feels Baphomet reach for the call, but-

Copia gets there first, strolling through his apartment door.

He enters into a study.

It's nice looking – it's still night here, and it's warm, and the room is lit by the candles lit at the points of a rug – oh, that's clever, it's a rug woven to look like a summoning circle, saves some time and effort.

Probably more comfortable to be fucked on too.

There's a woman in the center of the rug. She wears a fancy dinner bodice, and a rich satin skirt, and her dark hair is tied up against her skull. She's arranged fruit, and candles in silver platters, and cakes in the shapes of- wow.

Her offerings are nothing like the usual meat and rope and rods that people put out for Baphomet. They smell sweet. She smells sweet as well.

“Well,” her voice says, and his ears perk, “That didn't work.”

“Not exactly,” he finds himself saying.

She spins, exposing her face, her wide dark eyes, and her-

Open bodice, which exposes a lovely swath of pale flesh, a deep fissure of cleavage.

He tries to suppress the grin. She's quite the lovely thing.

“Hello. You summoned me-?”

Oh.

“I didn't intend on you,” she says, softly, “Where's Baphomet?”

He swallows, staring at her.

Oh. She's-

“They're pretty hard to get a hold of,” he lies. Suddenly nothing else in the world matters.

It's her.

The woman he saw. That many years ago. Her dark hair, her dark eyes, that nose – even the soft line of her chin and yes, that swath of cleavage is familiar to him.

He kneels before her, taking the cup of wine she offers.

“So you came instead? I was really expecting Lord Baphomet. Are you that confident you can do just as well?”

He smiles, sipping the wine. Even that playful little grin. He wants to kiss her.

He shrugs.

He leans down and kisses her neck, his hand fanning over her knee, nibbling gently on the skin behind her ear, her little moan soft in his.

He has prayed ten thousand times, taken Eucharist and Inverse Eucharist, sat in the holy might of altars and in the infernal wisdom of the Leviathan, but nothing compares to this. The wholeness.

Has he really prayed before now?

“Do you have a name, Signorina?” he asks, fluttering delicate little kisses down her artery.

But, he finds-

As she says it, he says it too.

“Cesarina Gastone de Medici.”

She raises her arms above her head, slipping the hem of her chemise up along her milky thighs, releasing the stretch with a satisfied sigh.

“What do you want to eat? What do you have?”

“I still have some of the produce Giacomo gave me. And Swiss made risotto for me the last time he was here.”

“I could make arancini, then.”

“You know how to make arancini?” He gawps, hands stilling on a crate of summer vegetables.

“Yes!” she giggles. “Giacinta used to make them all the time. It was the first thing I ever tried to cook.”

“Well,” he says, heart still saddened at Giacinta's name these many years later, “The eggplant and tomatoes are perfectly in season.”

She giggles, pulling the small covered dish of risotto off his counter, handing it to him before taking the eggplants from him and beginning to cut them fine.

The woman weeps. Inconsolate.

She had been strong during the service, though he had noticed how her hands crushed the black gloves she held. She had not cried, she had simply held her dark-veiled head high.

Giacinta Vitale, after one death and nearly 200 years, had finally died. An impassioned member of the laity, she could often be found, six-foot-something and strong-browed, yelling at Terzo during his papacy. She liked Copia, and he liked her, and she was always telling him he just had to meet her charge.

“You would love her in an instant, Faustino,” she would say, lounging in his office with a glass of provided claret, “I'm sure of it.”

He meets her ward today, after providing the service, after the burial, after saying goodbye to his dear friend. Her charge had held it together this long, just as long as he had, but somehow, as they linger towards the back of the retreating mourners, it breaks for them together.

She sobs, falling heavily to the grass. It is a perversely beautiful spring morning, the grass still wet with dew, the trees flowering into delicate pink blossoms. It doesn't matter. The woman sobs, a bright, rough sound that pulls the tears from Copia's own eyes.

Despite the tears that stream down his face, he helps her up, carefully supporting her until they reach the door of the chapel, the small pew sat in the vestibule.

Loss never gets easier. Not even when you yourself have died. There was always the chance she could revive, but he knows better than to hold out for that.

She wails. He takes her gloved hand carefully, strokes the back of it. It's not much, but he hopes it's some reassurance.

Slowly, the crying ebbs. So does his own, watching the soft profile of the woman under the veil. The Inverse church wears white in mourning – this woman isn't one of theirs.

Eventually she turns to him, gently placing her own hand atop his, a stack of four hands upon her thigh.

“Thank you, Father,” she hiccups, her voice bashful, “I- thank you.”

“It's no trouble,” he murmurs, “I was a friend of Giacinta's.”

She hiccups again, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Are you perhaps the Cardinal?”

“I am. Are you her ward?”

She laughs weakly. “I am. She told me a thousand times I had to meet you, but I was always so busy.”

“She told me the same,” he chuckles, “and I was also always busy.”

“It's a shame she didn't get to see us meet.”

“Yes.”

They sit for a moment, hands together, before she sighs.

“I have to go. The funeral feast doesn't wait, unfortunately.” She stands, seeming to collect herself, “But I- thank you, Cardinal.”

“Of course. My br- ah, one of the former Papas would have been better at consoling you, but-”

She lifts the deep veil from one half of her face – exposing a pair of lips like a blooming rose – and gently kisses his cheek.

“No, you were just what I needed.”

There's cold roast and the arancini and some sauteed zucchini, along with the zucchini flowers, fried in hot lard. They eat it down with a bottle of dry red wine Terzo had gifted him many years ago, and her ankle hooks with his as they eat at his meager, deck-of-cards sized kitchen table.

“The arancini are perfect,” he says, swallowing down some wine to soothe out the warmth of the rice.

“Well, I didn't know you could fry zucchini blossoms like this.”

He giggles. “We used to make them in the summer at the cloister. The Mother Superior would fry them in a pan with olive oil, since deep-frying was overindulgent.”

“And yet here you are,” she giggles, “Stuffing them with anchovy and cheese.”

“Lucifer prevents no such use of lard,” he grins.

“So what now, morningstar?”

Faustino cuts up the pumpkin that Giacomo gave to him as a welcome back gift. Whisks a cup of thin batter. Flicks a droplet of it into the hot lard. It sizzles.

The King of Hell is at his dinner table, in his tiny apartment, but Faustino couldn't care less. Right now, he just wants to fry this pumpkin. Not think about dying or death or the face of Celestina.

Lucifer hums, watching with another borrowed face. This one is lean, slim, with dark hair and a firm brow. It isn't Lucifer's first face, something almost soft and the color of fertile earth, but still, it looks like him.

“Do you keep chasing? She is still alive, still married. You weren't dead long. You could take what you want still.”

“I don't want it anymore,” he says, cursing at the spit of lard that lands on his hand. “I don't want her.”

Lucifer hums. “It doesn't seem so from here, angelino.”

Faustino says nothing, staring into the frying pot and furrowing his brow.

Lucifer stands, comes to his side, plucks a freshly-fried piece of pumpkin much to Faustino's disapproval. Lucifer grins, snakes an arm around his waist, and snarls, “Well, no more loving for my little Faustus, ah?”

Faustino swallows, hands over the ring.

It's- well, almost a joke, between the two of them, something that started the night he spirited her away from that masquerade, had disappeared in a haze of black smoke with her lifted over his shoulder, to her ringing, pealing laughter. The next morning, he had given over the small ring he'd bought – a gimmel ring, two hands clasping over a small onyx, their initials inscribed on each hand. The hollandaise she watched so carefully broke and the eggs overpoached in their haze of kisses, but he ate it all anyway.

It hadn't been a yes then, and it wasn't yeses the last times either but-

It's certainly not no either. It never has been. She might have waved him off- the distance would be troublesome, Cardinals don't get married – but she never said no to him. To them.

This time- is different. She doesn't laugh when he hands over another ring – maybe the sixth or seventh, a fine piece of rose quartz set into a delicately crimped band, meant for her right index finger. She- smiles, sort of, but it sits oddly, falls quickly.

He swallows.

“You know,” he starts, unable to summon the words, “Well...”

She puts it on, stares at it, how it sits on her finger.

Frowns.

Not frowns, but pulls her mouth into a tight line, her brow squeezing low.

“Ah, Faustino,” she says softly, taking it off and setting it on the table. “Hm.”

He doesn't like that look. How her eyes settle somewhere else, how her shoulder slump inwards. The difficult expression.

A stone sits in his stomach.

“What's the matter?” He manages to ask, throat tight.

“Ah.” Her expression shifts, as if trying to come up with words. Finally she slides the ring back towards him, taking the other three off as well and setting them by him. “I enjoy our time, Faustino. Really, I do. And it's nice to play pretend at these proposals, but-”

She falls silent again.

“But?”

“... But I don't think you could actually mean it.”

Ah.

The apartment creaks, in the way it always does when it rains. There is the soft tink-tink of the radiator, the scent of wool drying, arancini on the air, savory tomato. His heart beats, and so does hers, presumably. He doesn't know if he's breathing.

“What?” he manages.

She shrugs. “I think this is... a nice diversion for the both of us. And it's pleasant to be with you,” she smiles, “But I'm not someone to be married to.”

“Why not?” He leans forward in his seat, grasping her wrist.

She laughs, rattling off a list of words that don't seem her own. “I'm getting on in my years, and I'm too hedonistic and too occupied with my businesses to be much of a good wife, and I'm much more suited to taking lovers.”

“But do you want to be married? To marry me?” He insists, leaning into her. None of those reasons were enough. And they were not about them at all. All the shallow things others said about her.

She falls silent, staring at where he grips her wrist.

“I'm not-”

“I'm asking what you want, Cesa,” he urges, “Not what you think you are.”

She stares at his hand.

Her hair is dry now, falling over her shoulder in a thick braid.

A gentle color comes to her cheeks, and she murmurs, voice catching- “I do. I want to but-”

“But?” He urges, softly, leaning in even closer over the corner of the kitchen table, “But what, mia stellina?”

“I'm not- deathless, like you. And I feel like I'm rushing – we haven't known each other that long, but I always feel drawn to you, I feel like you know my thoughts so effortlessly and I'm-”

She reaches. Gently, softly – strokes his cheekbone with her thumb, their fingers lacing.

“I'm scared you might get bored, living as long as you have. That my- my future years won't hold your interest. I don't want it to be something we'd regret.”

He laughs.

He laughs right in her face, a guffaw of laughter. He doesn't mean to but- she can't be serious.

“What, what's so funny?” she pouts, and he laughs more, surging forward to kiss her.

She yelps against his mouth, but he's already moved on to her cheeks and nose and chin and is laughing, laughing, laughing.

“I died to meet you!” he guffaws, “Getting bored of you! Ha!”

She pouts, but it break into a smile, her hands reaching to ruffle his hair furiously.

“You're making fun of me!”

“No, I'm not! But- hahaha, Cesa! Cesa, Cesa, Cesa...” he trails off, settling against the surface of the table and smiling up at her fondly. “Cesa, I've been searching for you before I even died. One hundred years I've been searching for you. I couldn't get tired of you.”

He laces their fingers gently.

“One hundred...?” She ventures, furrowing her brows. She doesn't believe him.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “When we – the clergy – take the rank of Cardinal, we drink spiked wine to meet a demon patron. Usually they match your sin, and usually how important or powerful you are, and they tend to set a life path for the new Cardinal.” He pulls her hand close, kisses the knuckles. “I saw you.”

She blinks. And then another color ebbs into her cheeks, soft and warm. She pouts. “You saw me.”

“Yes. We held each other. I called your name, you called mine. That was all. But I spent from then until now just trying to find you. I died doing it. Thought I would swear off love and loving forever-

“When you summoned me to your study- I knew you. I knew you immediately. I knew I loved you in an instant, and bella, mia stellina, mia sposa, I've only fallen farther. You are a wonderful woman. And I love you.”

She blinks. Looks down at him, at where their fingers are laced.

It's a long moment, but he feels better for it, to have it all in the open – she knew he was old, knew he was dead, but now she knew a bit more, and it felt alright to have her know. He looks at the woman he died to meet, watches her expression change as she thinks about it all, the soft lips and her curving nose and those deep, dark eyes.

And...

She grins.

The expression lights up her whole face, a transformation worthy of some theatrical magic, and he smiles too.

She puts the rings back on, including the gimmel ring on the proper finger, taking his hand again. She is radiant here in his kitchen, his cardigan on her shoulders and her bare feet pressed against his.

“Well,” she says with her usual playful cheer, “Are we going to have a spring wedding, then?”

#cardinal copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #cardi c #ghost oc #will b cross posted to ao3 too #find me at il-papa-patata over there as well #patata fic #more of the ghost-is-ghosts au/headcanon #cardi c is from the mid 1700s and this takes place late 1800s #cesarina is wonderfully belle-epoque and i love her #also yes cardi c's patron is lucifer himself bc despite his low self esteem the boy is massively powerful

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tockamybeloved · 4 years

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Sew..well I -

Yes. A bit. And continually encouraged by @montmartre-parapluie and her own dedication to seemly complete the entire Elizabeth Swann wardrobe I dusted off my sewing machine and last month decided to pick up needle and thread again. (although currently my hands are wearing the marks of battle!) I feel I should mention this is a hobby. It’s 100% done for fun. While I admire the dedication of those who want to be historically accurate maybe someday I will do that with ONE outfit. Not everything.

Below cut line are a few things I’ve been working on.

In two months I’ve made 2 stays and one is waiting for the lining to arrive. The first complete is my “Red”, using the American Duchess pattern. Now. Listen. I’m not a novice seamstress. I’m not a professional either but I’ve made some complex gowns/coats/dresses and my mother IS a seamstress, and so was her mother. I know my way around the shop. And this pattern...I don’t. Sigh. It turned out passable. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong... Now, I did adjust for having a short torso. Standard. And yes, that’s the AD Simplicity chemise under which I am actually proud of - the gussets lined up Perfectly!

Oh! and I hand embroidered the mini pocket. I purchased the design online (etsy shop) which is meant for machine and used it as a template. Added ribbon roses/leaves so I changed the design slightly.

It was not until I made the second stays (I don’t have a picture yet) where I used Simplicity pattern 8162 I realized what the issue was. One of the pieces Should be cut on the bias. I don’t think the pattern said to do that.

What a difference using 1/4″ bias tape vs the 1/2″ S8579 says to use! SO much easier. I had fun sewing all the channels. Really! Discovering if I used the pattern lines as “guidelines” and placed the boning piece by piece, marked that on the interlining and sewed over that oh it made it a breeze!

Today, I finished the 3rd pair. After a mishap with the ordering of the fabric (it’s Spanish btw ;) ) I ended up with 1 yard of GREY floral instead of what I thought was a lovely bright spring bouquet. ANYWAY. What to do?? Enter an inspirational design from MP!

BEHOLD: ‘Stays La Maria’. I had the black and white trim left over from another project and the buttons and pretty much everything else in the fabric stash. A total of 12 hours over 3 days, majority of that hand sewing the bias tape.

You will never convince me it was not Capitán Salazar himself who had a hand in the fabric mix up.

Oh don’t mind me... What do you mean it’s not regulation? Hehe

When the teal stays are done I will post them if you’re interesting in seeing it?

I’m also working on an 18th c dress. I will either use the JP Ryan pattern OR (ugh WHY am I doing this to myself) you guessed it - the AD Simplicity 8578. I’ve already decided I will be changing the stomacher decorations and the ruffles on the petticoat.

#my sewing adventures #18th c stays #patterns #sewing #stays #I hope Capitan approves #I know a certain other Officer does

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emospritelet · 5 years

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Key to the Cell - chapter 4

[1] [2] [3] [AO3 link]

The sound of one of the maids making up the fire woke Belle the next morning, and she turned over in bed with a sigh, bleary-eyed and grouchy. She had stayed up into the small hours reading the book, and felt listless and heavy-limbed. The curtains were pulled open, making her throw an arm across her eyes with a sound of protest. No one slept late at Sir Gaston’s castle.

“A lovely morning, milady,” announced the maid. “I’ll bring your wash water. Breakfast will be ready as soon as you’re dressed.”

Belle grumbled under her breath. Eating breakfast with Sir Gaston was the last thing she wanted, and she was tempted to stay in bed and pretend she was unwell.

“Milady?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “I’ll get up.”

She ran her hands over her face as the maid left, yawning. Pushing up into a sitting position, she glanced to the side. The book sat on her nightstand, and she eyed it warily. It was not the sort of book she wanted to leave lying around: the maids would get word to the chamberlain, who would no doubt tell Gaston, and she had no desire to let him know the book even existed. She would take it back to the library and slip it back in its darkened corner until that night, when she could retrieve it and read more.

The book had turned out to be accounts of those who had called on the Dark One for help, and although she had frowned over what had been asked for and given in some of the tales, all agreed that he kept his word. It made her more certain than ever that she had made the right choice in making the deal with him, though less certain why he had only asked for her name. In all the encounters she had read thus far, the prices he had demanded had been great, and she was no less noble than those she had read of, her house no less wealthy. There were many empty pages at the back of the book, and she wondered if it had its own magic. If her own tale would end up there when their deal was done.

The hot water was brought in a large silver jug, and so she got up, stripping off her nightgown and going to the basin to wash. Chestnut hair fell in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she yawned as she worked soap into a lather. It smelled of rosemary and lemon mint, a pleasant, clean scent, and by the time she splashed water on her face to remove the last of it, she was fully awake.

She went to retrieve clean underthings and put them on: silk stockings with their garters, a fine linen chemise edged with intricate lace, and petticoats tied at the waist. Her own maid had been sick with a fever when they left for Sir Gaston’s castle, and had not yet joined them, so his late mother’s handmaiden Marilee dressed her instead. It was an arrangement meant to honour Belle, and she was grateful for the attention, despite missing a familiar face. The dark-haired woman was efficient, but cold, and had little conversation beyond extolling the virtues of the castle and its owner. Sir Gaston was more than capable of doing that on his own.

She chose a dress in green silk, a lighter hue in the bodice and skirt over a darker petticoat. It suited her pale skin and reddish-brown hair, and she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were a little hollowed from lack of sleep, dark shadows beneath them, and she sighed to herself as she anticipated the comments she would receive. Perhaps she could pass it off as pre-wedding nerves. She had plenty of those, after all. The fact that her anxiety over the approaching nuptials were not currently uppermost in her mind was entirely down to the true reason for her lack of sleep. She was chewing her lip distractedly, and a blush rose in her cheeks as she realised that her thoughts had strayed to a darkened room in a far-off castle, and its intriguing inhabitant.

“A fine day, milady,” observed Marilee, as she put the finishing touches to Belle’s hair, and Belle started a little, her blush deepening.

“Yes. I thought I might walk in the gardens.”

“I’ll have your parasol sent down, in that case.”

“Thank you.” She eyed the book on her nightstand nervously. “Has Sir Gaston said what his plans for today are?”

“I believe he intends to take Sir Maurice hunting.”

“Good.” Belle wanted to sag in relief. That would take at least six hours. Possibly all day, if the deer ran fast enough. “I mean - I mean that will make them both happy, I’m sure.”

“If you tell me which gown you intend to wear to the ball, I’ll ensure it is pressed and ready.”

Belle wanted to groan. The ball. It was in two days’ time, a traditional celebration to mark the start of the hunting season. She couldn’t help feeling as though she was the quarry. It would give Sir Gaston the chance to show off his bride-to-be to the local nobility, and it was rumoured that the King and his son would be attending. She hoped Gaston wouldn’t drink too much; it made his unpleasant side - his true side - come out. Perhaps there would be someone there she could talk to for at least some of the evening. Prince James seemed a decent sort of man, from what she knew of him.

“I’ll wear the gold,” she said.

“Very good, milady.”

A last pin slid into place.

“Thank you, that’s perfect,” said Belle, turning her head this way and that.

“I believe breakfast is being served, milady.”

“I’ll go down.”

She waited until Marilee had swept out, stately and serene in her black dress, and hurried to snatch up the book from beside her bed. Hugging it to her chest, she made her way downstairs, sneaking to the library and sliding it onto the dark space on its shelf. Smoothing her skirts with nervous hands, she made her way to the breakfast room.

“Ah, good morning, my dear!” said Sir Maurice heartily, from his place at Gaston’s side. He was looking a little flushed, no doubt from the brandy he had consumed the night before, coupled with the warmth of early autumn.

Gaston was a tall, powerfully-built man with dark hair and chiselled features that she imagined most women would find attractive. He took her hand to kiss it, blue eyes fixed on hers as he straightened up.

“Did you sleep well, my Lady?” he asked. “You look tired.”

“I slept poorly,” she admitted, taking her seat opposite her father.

“Wedding nerves, I expect,” he said jovially. “Not long to go until we’re man and wife, Belle. No need for nerves - I won’t change my mind at this late stage.”

More’s the pity.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she murmured, and reached for the tea, hoping they would return to their conversation so she could eat in peace.

Sir Maurice was eyeing her with a faint look of concern, but Gaston asked him a question, and they were soon deep in conversation about the rumours of ogres massing to the east, and distant war creeping closer. Belle listened with half an ear as she ate a pastry, sticky with honey and fragrant with cinnamon.

“Well, once Belle and I are married, we can look to maximise the profits from our combined lands,” said Gaston. “I’ve had my steward go through the accounts you provided, and the farms to the east of the marsh show little in the way of taxes. We’d be better turning the peasants off and combining the plots into one for grain. If war’s coming we’ll need to ensure the troops are fed. I can put some of my men in charge.”

“And where do the farmers go?” asked Belle. “Those plots are all they have to feed their families.”

The two men glanced at one another, as though surprised she had spoken. Gaston turned back to face her.

“When war comes, any men and strong boys would be pressed into King George’s army anyway,” he said. “The women and children - well, they wouldn’t be able to run the farms alone, would they? We’d be doing them a favour.”

“By making them destitute?”

“They can go to the citadel,” he said dismissively. “There’s always a need for cheap labour. Particularly if war is coming.”

“If you won’t protect our own people, why should they fight for you?”

“Because that’s the way the world works, my dear,” he said sternly, his brows drawing down. “Social order holds us together. The strong rule over the weak, and we all benefit from it.”

“Tell that to the homeless farmers,” said Belle tartly. “The strong should protect the weak.”

“Belle!” said her father, in a warning tone, and Gaston snorted in amusement.

“A woman’s softness,” he said indulgently. “You’ll soon see how things are, Belle. We’ll have our own family, and they’ll all need their own lands to rule in time. How will we give them that without protecting what we have?”

“My daughter is fond of children, Sir Gaston,” said Maurice, cutting his bacon and missing Belle’s flat look. “She’ll make a fine mother to your sons.”

“Six or seven should be enough,” said Gaston, reaching for the eggs and scraping all of them onto his plate.

“What if we have daughters?” asked Belle quietly, and he burst out laughing.

“Do I look like the sort of man who has daughters?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” she said, and he waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh, I daresay you’ll want one to dress in silks and play princesses with, hmm? I’m sure we could indulge that.”

“You have to consider potential alliances, too,” put in Maurice. “Daughters can be of strategic advantage.”

“As you know, eh?” Gaston slapped his shoulder genially, and Belle suppressed a shudder. “Very well, daughters too.”

“Oh good,” she said thinly. “Lucky me.”

“Belle!” snapped her father. “You’re not at home now, keep a civil tongue in your head!”

“Oh, don’t scold her too hard, Maurice,” said Gaston. “I like a woman with a little spirit. Just as long as she knows when to rein it in. Give them their head and they’ll lead you a merry dance, eh? Like horses.”

He eyed Belle with a grin, but there was no warmth in it, his eyes flat and hard as sapphires. She shrank back in her chair a little, remembering she had seen him beat his horse after he had failed to be the one to bring down a stag. He glanced away, digging a fork into his eggs, and she shuddered delicately. She would not be tamed and broken. Not while she had breath in her body.

#fic: key to the cell #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic #dark castle rumbelle

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flowersfrombefore · 6 years

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Painters Canvas (Walter Hartright X Reader)

A/N: Ah yes the fic that only I and one other person will ever care about cause no one has watched this show. (Its The Women In White btw) Does it sound pretentious? Good it was supposed to its the 1850s. Note that my ass sat down and researched 1850s clothing layers specifically for like a single sentence of this. But seriously I actually really like this one and even if you haven’t watched the show I’d love if you read it.

@ben-taylor I wrote this one for you love, I literally would not have done it if I hadn’t seen your post about wanting a fic for him so I hope you like it.

Word count: 1365

This is pure fluff my dudes. Have fun.

The sheer expanse of the field was enough to make sure your excursion would go unnoticed, let alone the seclusion that it already provided as it was far enough away from any home at the edge of the city that no one would even think to look here for the two of you. Any previous concern for propriety had melted away into the dense stretch of flowers around you. Given the knowledge that you would not be caught you had shed your suffocating layers of petticoats and skirts and remained only in a corset and your thin chemise, letting the splintering rays of sun hit your skin.

There was a small patch that was less populated with the overflow of yellow and white buds than the rest and there you and Walter had settled. Your head rested in his lap as he worked with his paints, arms stretched out to reach the canvas that was placed low and a little farther away than usual to make room for you. As his hands flitted about the canvas his arms would move and obscure the sun from your face, leaving varying patches of warmth or cool across your bright features. Watching him work made your heart fill with something, some feeling that only writers and poets could ever seem to put into words, but it was beautiful. It was warm like the sun dancing on your skin at this very moment, and calming like the feeling of opening a new book in the solitude of your own room. And you knew it was something he felt too. It showed in his paintings, they had changed since you had met, not that you’d mention it to him.

Your eyes fluttered shut letting the soft breeze blow strands of hair into your face and seeing when Walter moved his arms even through your closed lids as light was blocked out or let in. Your arm was sprawled over your head reaching into a concentrated patch of sunlight where tiny white flowers had only begun to grow. Gently you rested your hand on them as to not damage the delicate petals. Ever so slightly you felt the touch of Walter’s finger on the uncovered skin of your shoulder, so slight that it sent shivers down your spine. Lazily he dragged the paint stained tips of his fingers along the inside of your arm, tracing patterns along it until he came to your hand. With his index finger he lightly traced a circle around the palm of your hand then laced your hands together.

Opening your eyes finally you looked up to see the gentle smile that had crept across Walters face where his usual look of intense concentration had been moments before and you suspected had been there up until now. The sun sat behind him illuminating his curls giving him the semblance of a halo. Flecks of paint adorned his face as it always did when he painted, No matter how careful he was it was always there. This time it was all yellows and blues peppering his cheeks like a spars patch of freckles.

“My dear I thought you were meant to be painting today, should I leave so I am not a distraction?” You joked as a smirk drifted across your mouth.

“I’m meant to paint beautiful things am I not? Then how could you be a distraction if you’re the most beautiful thing here” Pushing yourself up with the hand that was not entangled with his you met his lips as he leaned down just far enough to meet yours. You could taste a trace of blood where he had likely been biting his lip as he painted, he always did.

Eventually you were both grinning so wide that it wasn’t possible for your lips to stay together any longer. You both let out a small breathless laugh as Walter helped you up out of your rather awkward position, pulling you up by the hands that were still intertwined, tighter now than before.

“Let go for a moment and let me see your arm”

“Why?” You giggled softly, letting go of his hand and turning your wrist to expose the inner skin. He curled his arm around your back to support you and held your arm steady. Reaching out with his free hand he grabbed for one of the paintbrushes strewn in front of him.

“I just want to paint something.” He looked at you with a smile in his eyes and on his lips as he fumbled with his paints, refusing, it seemed, to take his eyes off of you.

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck you held your arm a bit steadier for him. He didn’t always use your arms as a canvas, for it would bring up questions with your family if the designs were to be seen but if there was any honesty to be had here, neither of you were thinking of it. You adored the feelings of the brushes dragging across your skin, the paint drying and cracking ever so slightly whenever you moved. He viewed it as his way of marking you as his, or an exhibition of his adoration for you. An artist would never paint on an imperfect canvas would they?

You didn’t look away from Walter’s face as he shifted his focus to the work he began on you. The rough bristles of the paintbrushes was coated in a thick layer of paint, letting it glide over your skin in patterns you couldn’t discern quite yet. He bit his lip as he continued, and you saw a small pool of blood form just as you suspected. You would have said something but his concentration was so intent that it was unlikely you could get a word through to him until he finished. There it was again. That feeling in your heart that didn’t make any sense to you. The feeling that you were sure was something not allowed in a family such as yours. But it was there and it was real. It was there every time you were with him. Every time he held you in his arms, every time he looked at you.

“There!” He exclaimed with the excitement of a child in his voice. “How do you like it?” He beamed at you and it was almost impossible to tear your eyes away from the delighted glow in his face. You managed it after a moment and looked to see what he had been so absorbed in.

Oh, how beautiful it was! He had carefully illustrated the very field you were in now, each individual flower looked different, you could practically see them bending subtly in the breeze. It was more lifelike than you thought deserved to be on such a temporary display.

“Walter, you shouldn’t have wasted this on me, it will only be gone soon, it’s far too beautiful to let it fade.”

“Oh please.” He laughed, while managing to flip you on your back, leaving your arm out of the way to let it dry. “It would fade anyway, I’d rather it be there for you to admire for as long as possible.”

Walter brought his head down to try and capture your lips, before he could you placed a hand on his chest stopping him hardly an inch away from you.

“Walter.”

He hummed in response.

“I love you.”

Without letting him respond you closed the small gap between you. It felt different now. Warmth filled your body, you felt as if you were glowing with all the intensity of the sun itself. You tangled your hands into his curls and pulled him closer, until he lost the support from his hand and his weight rested on you instead.

He pulled his lips from yours for only a single breathless moment.

“I love you too.”

That was the last moment for hours that you pulled apart from each other. The drying paint on your arms was forgotten, smearing over Walters shirt and your corset and possibly his hair. Neither of you knew or cared. For a while you could still taste a slight tinge of blood on his lips.

Okay seriously I love this so much and I’ve never said that about my writing. I know no one is gonna read it but to anyone who does I love you. PLEASE VALIDATE ME. Comments are appreciated even if they’re small I need motivation to write.

#the women in white #walter hartright #ben hardy #PBS #the women in white pbs #walter hartright X reader #Arabella writes

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gray-autumn-sky · 5 years

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HCBA Chapter 33 Preview

For OQ Prompt Party 2019:

Prompt #43: Bedsharing | Prompt #197: The meaning of the lion tattoo

______

Rarely do they have the luxury of sleeping in. Robin’s always been a naturally early riser, and motherhood had turned Regina into one; but today, neither are bothered by the fact that it’s coming up on noon when they wake.

The night before had been such a wonderful disaster. A broken wagon wheel left them stranded in a rainstorm and a kind farmer allowed them to sleep the remainder of the night in his hayloft. Of course, by the time they reached the barn, it was well past the earliest hour of the morning and, of course, they didn’t go right to sleep. By the time they dozed off in each others arms, the sun was beginning to peek up over the horizon, and like most farmers, the farmer who’d taken them in for the night, was in the barn milking the cows and collecting eggs from the hen house by dawn. After his morning chores were over, he and their driver went to fix the broken wagon wheel, and no more than an hour later, they were on their way back to Sherwood.

She’d used Robin’s jacket to cover the back of her dress to hide the fact that it was ripped and open and as they walked toward their bedchamber, Belle didn’t try to hide her giggle and John just shook his head. Robin uttered something to them both as they passed, but she didn’t pay attention to it. She was far too tired, and by the time they reached the bedchamber, she shrugged off his jacket, quickly pulling off her dress and petticoats before falling back onto the bed in only her chemise. Robin was a bit more deliberate about where his clothes fell, but was quick to join her, and as he settled himself on his side of the bed, she rolled over and cuddled into his chest… and then finally, she gave in to her exhaustion...

She’s still cuddled into his chest when she wakes, her eyes fluttering open and warm sunlight pours into their room. At some point, Robin must have pulled the blanket up over them… or maybe she did?... she doesn’t remember nor does it matter. What does matter is that she feels warm, rested, and content to waste away the day.

Tipping her head up, she looks at Robin. He’s still sleeping peacefully, his head turned away from her on the pillow. His cheeks are stubblier than they were the night before and she can’t help but reach out and rub the back of two of her fingers over his cheeks, giggling softly at the scratchy coarseness.

She giggles again as one of Robin’s eyes opens and a goofy little grin forms over his lips as he turns his head back to her.

“G’morning,” he murmurs.

“More like good afternoon.”

“Is it already afternoon?”

“Nearly,” she tells him, biting down on her lip as she looks to the clock on the mantle. “Though, I suppose it’s technically still morning for a couple more minutes.”

Robin yawns, stretching out his arms and legs--and then as his limbs relax, he hooks his arm around her and pulls her to him. She laughs and cuddles into him, nuzzling against his shoulder, drawing in a deep breath and slowly releasing it. Robin’s head rests atop hers, and her fingers strum up and down his chest, dragging slowly back and forth--and for awhile, she feels like she’s slipped into a trance. She truly could stay in bed with him all day without even a single regret.

Turning her head, she presses a kiss to his chest, grinning as his fingers sweep through her hair and tuck it behind her ear as she looks back up at him, grinning lazily. She catches his wrist and draws his palm to her lips, pressing a soft warm

“Tell me about your tattoo.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo,” she says again. “I’ve always wondered about it.”

“Ahh, there’s… not much of a story there.”

“But there is a story,” she tells him. “Or at least a reason you got it.”

“Mm, that’s true, I suppose.”

Grinning, she looks up at him. “So, are you going to tell me?”

His eyes shine and it looks like he wants to laugh, like he’s enjoying evading her--but then he shakes his head, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s... just a family crest,” he tells her.

“Your family?” she asks, realizing that’s probably a stupid question, but fully aware that it isn’t the same crest that hangs on an enormous tapestry in the dining room--something that her father-in-law frequently and loudly draws attention to whenever he has guests.

“Sort of,” he murmurs. “It’s from before,” he explains. “Before the money.”

She blinks and tips her head. “My father created the crest that’s associated with the name and estate.”

“Why change it?”

“Who knows?” he murmurs as he shrugs his shoulders. “But I always liked this one. My grandfather had the same tattoo, so when I was sixteen, I decided that I should have one, too.”

Her brows arch. “And how did your father respond?”

Robin laughs and she grins, feeling it rumble in his chest. “Exactly as he does whenever I do something he does approve of,” he tells her. “He threw a fit, did a whole lot of yelling and screaming, threatened to take away the estate, and then… we never discussed it again.”

“He wouldn’t cast you out.”

“I know,” Robin says with seemingly a hint of disappointment behind his words. “If he were serious about that, he’d have done it by now.”

Regina nods, and for a moment, neither of them say anything--and then, she lifts her head. “Did he throw a fit when you told him you were going to marry me?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding, making no attempt to hide it. “Though, he yelled far more about your mother than you.”

Her brow arches. “Even with my many indiscretions? The things he loves throwing in my face whenever he has the chance?”

Robin offers a sad little grin. “He disapproves of you, but he hates your mother.”

“That’s one thing my mother’s usually good for,” Regina murmurs, cuddling back into his chest. “No matter what people think of me, I usually rely on them thinking even less of her.”

Robin sighs. “I wonder why that is.”

Her brows arch and she lifts her head. “You’ve met her--”

“Yes,” he laughs, “But so many people have machiavellian personalities and--”

“Machiavellian?”

Robin grins. “Calling her a bitch seemed rude.”

Regina snickers. “It’s accurate, though.”

“I just… wonder if it’s something else.”

“I don’t know,” Regina murmurs. “I just think she… got on the wrong side of too many people and then lost what she felt she was entitled to, and that just made her bitter at the rest of the world.”

“Perhaps.”

“Can we not talk about her?” Regina asks, resting her chin on his chest as she looks up at him. “This has been a perfectly lovely morning. Can we not let her ruin it?”

“How could she? She’s not here.”

“You underestimate her.”

Robin laughs and presses a kiss to her head. “Okay, that’s fair.”

And then, a smirk edges onto her lips as her and slips slowly down his torso, grazing over his thigh before her fingers curl around his stiff cock causing his brows to arch and his eyes to widen slightly. “There are just… so many other things we could focus on.”

It takes no more suggestion than that. He reaches for her, pulling her up over him and lifting off her chemise. His hands slide up her sides, cupping her breasts as he looks up and her--and just as quickly as the topic came up, its forgotten, cast aside for other things more worthy of their attention.

Prompt: The Adventures of Roland and Toulouse

————

It’s dark as Regina leads Roland into the barn--and her heart aches as she looks to her father, looking quite disheveled as he sits back in a chair with his feet up on a table at the opposite end of the barn. There’s an open bottle next to him and beside that, an empty glass.

She looks to Robin who grabs Henry and lifts him onto his shoulders before nodding and taking Roland’s hand.

It seems odd that he’d have sent for them, not just at this hour, but while he’s in this state.

“Daddy?” she calls as she takes a few steps forward. “We got your message and--”

“I’m so glad you came!” he calls, turning to her and smiling brightly--and that’s when she sees the tiny orange kitten laying against his chest. “We… have a serious situation.” She laughs a little. Her father’s always been a happy drunk, but she’s not sure that’s what’s happening now--and if it is, there’s something else going on, too. “He’s the runt,” her father explains, slowly getting up. “And I’m afraid his siblings aren’t letting him get enough to eat.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, looking back over her shoulder at Robin and nodding for him to come forward with the boys. “How awful.”

“So, I’ve been feeding him,” he explains. “With an eyedropper.”

“That… sounds complicated.”

“It is,” he tells her in a serious voice. “It has to be done every hour or so.”

“That’s… worse than a newborn,” Robin says.

“Well, he is a newborn,” Roland says just before tugging on Regina’s skirt. “That’s the kitty I was telling you about.”

“He’s gaining weight though,” her father explains, motioning to a grain scale behind him. “I’ve been weighing him daily and tonight, he got up on all four paws and took a few steps on his own.” Her father beams as he looks to her and Robin before settling his eyes on Roland. “That means he’s getting stronger.”

“That’s good news,” Roland says.

“Very good news,” her father agrees, nodding seriously before looking back to her. “And I am positively exhausted.”

“I can imagine--”

“And then I remembered Mal’s mother used to do this sort of thing on the regular.”

Regina nods, remembering how she used to visit their little cottage as a girl to play with Daniel. There were always injured or abandoned animals inside--from kittens like this one to baby chicks to little goats, and even once a brown and white calf Daniel named Petunia--and his grandmother was able to nurse them all back to health.

“She was the one who suggested the eyedropper to me,” he adds.

“Mal did?”

“Yes.”

“Ah--”

“So I was hoping--”

“Daddy, we can’t take that kitten back--”

“Sure we can,” Robin says, cutting in with a grin. “My father will hate it.”

“But Mal has other things to--”

“She can teach the boys.”

Roland’s face lights up and a knowing grin edges over her father’s lips--and she can’t help think that all of this was somehow planned, that she was the only one who didn’t know the true reason for this late-night visit to Dragon Head’s barn.

“After all,” her father says, winking at Roland, “I think this one is meant to come and live at Sherwood.”

Regina’s eyes widen a bit as her father holds the tiny kitten out to Roland--and then she watches as Roland carefully takes him, cuddling him in his cloak. Roland leans in and nuzzles him, and in turn, the kitten nuzzles him right back. And when Roland smiles up at her--beaming--she sighs in resignation and nods.

“It’s going to be a lot of work, you know.”

“I do!” Roland exclaims, nodding vigorously. “I promise I’ll take the best care of him, Grandpapa!”

“I know you will,” he replies, grinning. “So, what will you call him? I’ve been calling him The Little Orange One, but that hardly seems like a proper name.”

Roland considers it for a moment. “Toulouse!”

At that, Henry finally lifts his head from where it rests atop Robin’s. “Like... the city in France?”

Rolands nods. “It's fun to say.”

Henry’s eyes roll. “We just learned about that today.”

“It’s called the Pink City,” Roland explains. “‘Cuz of the bricks on the building.”

“It’s actually the Rose City,” Henry says.

“But Rose is a girl’s name and Rose is a shade of pink.”

Henry’s eyes roll again and he sighs, resting his head back against Robin’s--and once more, Roland smiles proudly as though he’s won an argument with his older, and therefore usually quicker witted, brother. “Will you show me how to feed him, Grandpapa?”

“Of course I will,” he replies, holding out his hand and waiting for Roland to accept it--and then, as she watches her father lead Roland to the little room at the back of the barn where he’d been sitting when they came in, she hears Roland lean in and whisper to the kitten a soft, “We’re going to have the best adventures together. I promise.”

It tugs at her heartstrings, and she feels a smile pull across her lips--and as she turns back to Robin, she shakes her head, laughing softly as she accepts her fate as a cat owner.

#hcba verse #oq prompt party 2019

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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

The Rose In The Crown - Chapter 3

Summerday is always a day of joy, a day of marriages made and love affirmed. And for Ferelden, this Summerday is one to be remembered. King Alistair, ten years a king with no heir in sight, will finally marry his chosen bride.

Sequel to A Rose By Any Name.

Featuring the winners of my giveaway! Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of @puddle--wonderful; Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of @savvylittleminx; Kira Mahariel belongs to @agentkatie; Kallak Brosca appears courtesy of @ironbullsmissingeye; Eirlys Amell appears courtesy of @ladymdc; Maeve Aeducan appears courtesy of @solverne-02; and Solona Amell appears courtesy of @skyholdherbalist! Also, huge thank you to @inquisition-dragonborn, @ladymimz, @inquisitorsmabari, and @fade-touched-obsidian for helping me with the selections from the Chant of Light!

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 3

Princess Felicita Amalia Braulia Salome Campana of Antiva looked at her reflection, and barely knew herself.

Her raven-black hair had been left long for the most part, with only a simple braid crown encircling her head and woven with seed pearls to hold the curled mane out of her face. A simple string of pearls encircled her throat, a teardrop of ruby hanging from that string to grace her skin just above the swell of her breasts. Matching pearls adorned her ears with the glimmer of matching rubies. And the gown itself ...

The elves of Denerim had outdone themselves.

Despite the disgust of human tailors and seamstresses, the princess had insisted that her wedding garments be designed and made by the elves of Ferelden. After all, she was a human; the crown was being crafted by the surfacer dwarves of Ferelden;it was only right that the elves should have a hand in the making of their queen. The call had gone out across the land - skilled seamstresses from many alienages made the often treacherous journey to the capital to join their labor to those already hard at work on the gown the Antivan princess would wear to become a wife and queen. Everything they requested was provided, from Antivan satin to Nevarran silk thread, to soft white hide from Orlais, and fine ruby and salt crystal beads from Rivain. Alistair had been so fascinated by these requests that he had belatedly asked the elves to make his wedding garments as well, enthralled by the variety and intricacy of the work being done well below the generous budget he had insisted be set aside to pay for both the materials and the labor. Indeed, the excess would still be paid out - a generous, unexpected bonus for the elves who had put so much into the beauty they had created.

What Fabs now wore was a true masterpiece, the result of six weeks and forty elves' hard work. The chemise was sheer white silk; the stays constructed from layers of white silk brocade to create a stiffness that would support without overheating her in the latter hours of the celebration. Delicate silk stockings in crimson encased her legs to above the knee, fixed in place with embroidered ribbon garters; on her feet, fine-stitched slippers in soft white hide. But these were all details that were only for the princess and the seamstresses to know, intimate secrets of the wedding trousseau that others would never guess at - beautiful, but hidden by the glorious gown that covered them all.

A gown that bore echoes of Antiva in the full shoulders and fitted bands of the sleeves that flared at her wrists; a gown that embraced Ferelden in the snugly fitted bodice and the natural fall of a full skirt allowed to sway without the artificial plumping of petticoats so favored in Imperial circles. Ivory satin hugged the ample curve of her bosom and slender waist, flaring at her hips, embroidered in gold and silver silk with the royal mabari of Ferelden, the rose of Antiva, and the griffon of the Grey Wardens. Beads of ruby and salt-crystal accentuated the fitted bands of her sleeves and cuffs, and trimmed the long train that was yet to be affixed. The train itself was in matching ivory satin, long enough to skim the floor for several feet behind her, trimmed with those same sparkling precious beads, emblazoned with a single large golden mabari nestled in the petals of a ruby-red rose.

"Now then, highness, aren't you a picture?" Andra beamed at her mistress over her shoulder, fluffing the dark curls one last time before turning away to help Golda with the last piece.

A small hand inserted itself into Fab's palm, drawing her gaze down to Maria, who was to be her only bridesmaid. Indeed, the attendants for the bride were very small in number for a royal wedding - just Ciara and Maria. Anora had been asked, but had laughingly declined and, of course, the princess had not had the first idea that Marguerite would be there at all. Maria had been garbed in dusky rose pink, all silks and satins trimmed with gold, a basket of white rose petals waiting for her to carry down the aisle of the great hall.

"You look very pretty, princess," the little girl told her solemnly.

She squealed as Fabs suddenly knelt to wrap her up in a warm embrace, woman and child giggling together for a long moment.

"You look very pretty too, Maria," Fabs promised her in return. "Alistair will be so happy to see you."

"And I got to sit next to Ceri and Ciara, because there’s no room for me next to the big chairs," Maria said in a confident tone, nodding to herself. She had been drilled on the details of the ceremony many times over, just as Fabs and Alistair had themselves.

"Yes, little one. And the ceremony may be very boring, but there will be a party afterward," the princess assured her. "And Alistair and I have a present for our very special guest who is also family."

Maria beamed happily, hugging her arms about Fabs' neck once again. "And you're going away after?"

"Tomorrow morning, yes. But only for a week." She raised one long finger to tweak the little girl's nose affectionately. "So you only have a week to throw wild parties and build a zoo in our absence."

The giggle that erupted from Maria was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the little bridal party - Ciara and Fulgeno, the princess' father. Marguerite had shown amazing forbearance in sacrificing her own peace of mind to remove the mother of the bride before anyone started crying. The unexpected, but most welcome, Orlesian guest had been instrumental in keeping the bride from flying into a panic around breakfast-time, too. Indeed, Marguerite had spent the morning treating everyone in the princess' rooms like skittish, wayward animals that needed a firm hand to be calm, and surprisingly, it had worked. Thanks to her, there had been no tantrums, no tears, and - most importantly - no last-minute declarations that the bride could not go through with this. Fabs knew she was going to have to do something spectacular for her friend to thank her for this morning's work.

"Shall we go and find our flowers, Maria?" Ciara suggested, holding out a hand to the excited little girl.

Her answer was a cheery nod as her hand was seized. Maria was likely more excited about the wedding today than anyone else was, but no one minded that so much. It was a joy to see her smiling and happy, unafraid of the future ahead of her because it would not contain judgment and cruelty from those who were supposed to care for her any longer. Fabs rose as the two of them swept away in their own wedding finery, catching the nod from the steward at the door. It was time.

Her father, King Fulgeno of Antiva, stepped forward, laying his hands on her shoulders as he smiled at his daughter.

"You look every inch the rose, pequeña," he told her, the pride in his gaze warming her heart as she beamed in response. "Your Alistair is a very lucky man."

"Thank you, Papa."

She surged forward to embrace him once more, kissing his cheek as he chuckled. And for a moment, Fabs faltered. This was her last embrace with her father as his little girl, the last time she would be just his daughter. In just a few hours, she would be a wife, her first loyalty no longer to her father but to her husband. The thought carried more pain than she had thought it might. But Fulgeno seemed to know the moment that pain struck, drawing back to tap the end of her nose, as he had done so many times in her childhood.

"Ah, ah, pequeña," he told her warningly. "No tears. You have love - the love of your father, and the love of your husband. I can see no circumstance where we will ever ask you to choose between us. Now, stand straight for the last piece to be put in place."

Fabs laughed a little, glancing over her shoulder as Andra and Golda approached, their arms full of embroidered satin - the train that needed to be attached before she was permitted to show herself publicly. It was just a blessed relief that she would be able to take it off soon after the wedding; it was heavy.

"You always know what I am thinking, Papa," she accused him, straightening her back to allow better ease for her assistants to work.

Golda's hands gathered her hair carefully, and Andra settled the train at her shoulders, neatly pinning it in place with a pair of silver brooches - griffons, for her beloved Alistair's Grey Wardens. Both women stepped back, spreading the train over the floor, their smiles bright and proud not only of the woman who would soon be their queen, but of their honored role in preparing her for these moments.

"Espléndido," Fulgeno declared, his gesture taking in not only his daughter, arrayed in ivory, gold, and silver, but also the blushing ladies who had taken such pains to prepare her this morning.

"Thank you," Fab added, twisting to look at Andra and Golda. "Truly. I do not know how to begin to thank you."

"Just you have a happy day," Andra told her, Golda still being a little in awe of the princess who had brought so much sunshine into Denerim palace in just a few short months. "And next time I see you, I shall be so proud to call you your majesty."

"I hope I shall always make you proud," the princess answered softly, laughing as the two maids, elf and human, scoffed at the thought that she could ever disappoint them.

She turned back to her father, smiling at the vague incredulity in his eyes - servants in Antiva were certainly not as plain-spoken or forthright as they were in Ferelden. But he said nothing to embarrass the two women, glancing up as the steward opened the door. Fab straightened her shoulders, taking her father's arm as they moved toward the doorway and the wide staircase beyond. The train spread across the floor behind her for several feet, drifting down the stairs in her wake with only the barest of tugs against the brooches that held it secure to her shoulders. It truly was a masterpiece of tailoring.

The hum of voices within the Great Hall rose as they reached the ground floor antechamber, where Ciara and Maria were waiting. By tradition, the little bridesmaid was carrying a basket of rose petals, clearly looking forward to covering the aisle to the dais in them as she lead the procession. They had already anticipated the natural fear Maria might feel in walking through the Great Hall first, hence the fact that Anora and Callista were going to be clearly visible along the aisle. Having a couple of familiar friendly faces to focus on as she passed by would keep Maria from feeling overwhelmed before she reached the dais and Alistair, and could find her seat next to Ceri in the front row.

The steward bowed to the King of Antiva and his daughter. "With your permission, your majesty?"

Fulgeno smiled. "Let us begin."

Beyond the doors, heralds blew their fanfare trumpets, announcing the arrival of the bride. Fabs could hear the rustle as men and women rose from their seats to look back at the doors swinging open to reveal little Maria, ward of the crown of Ferelden, all but skipping forward, tossing handfuls of her rose petals ahead of herself as the gentle tone of the mixed minstrel band played a familiar Andrastian hymn. Moments later, Ciara followed, but all eyes remained turned toward the open doors, and the princess who was soon to become a queen.

Nerves settled over the bride in a gentle rush, bright color flushing her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on her father's arm, softening only when he covered her clenching grip with his other hand. Her murmured apology was gently deflected with a squeeze of his hand and another gentle smile, a last nod before they began to walk forward, traversing the first few steps to the central aisle before turning to face the grand dais and the worthies awaiting them there.

The sunlight poured in through the high set windows, lancing down in sharp rays of soft gold over the rich blue of the carpet that adorned the aisle itself, illuminating the king and his daughter as he escorted her toward her new life. A wide circle of that same golden sunlight shone down on the honor guard that stood at the foot of the steps to the dais - Grey Wardens, there to honor their brother on this rare day for one of their order. She had met them all the day before - Kira Mahariel, a Dalish elf whose red hair blazed in the sunlight; Kallak Brosca, a fierce-looking dwarf with a surprisingly gentle manner; Eirlys Amell, a quiet human mage who seemed to radiate calm; Maeve Aeducan, a former princess among dwarves, her well-earned confidence shining through; Solona Amell, another human mage, a little more warily withdrawn than her comrades; and Demelza Tabris, bright grin shining, murmuring her orders to her fellow Wardens. In a single motion, weapons were drawn and raised high, an arch of blades for the bride to pass beneath in order to reach her groom, their brother in arms.

And there he was, her Alistair, resplendent in crimson velvet trimmed with gold, his eyes fixed to hers as she made her way toward him. Her nerves faded away, soothed by the smile that made his handsome face stunning and urged an answering smile from her, bright and warm and loving, heedless of anyone who saw how much she adored this man who was about to make her his wife. She barely even noticed the crown on his head, barely heard the murmur of the nobility behind her as she and her father reached the honor guard of Wardens.

How had it come to this? What had she done to be so blessed as to gain the love of a good man who needed her love almost more than he desired it? To be invited to share his life in a role he had not been born to, to be welcomed into his heart almost without thought? Yet no matter how unworthy she might feel, Fabs knew Alistair loved her. She could see it in the glimmer of his earthen eyes, in the tilt of his smile; feel it in the gentle tremor of his touch as he took her hand to lead her up onto the dais, in the warmth of the kiss he pressed to her knuckles as she released a little of her faded nerves in a soft giggle.

"You are so handsome, mi amor," she whispered to him, gratified to see him blush to the tips of his ears as he grinned in delight at the compliment.

"You beat me to it," was his whispered complaint. "I was supposed to tell you how handsome you are." He blinked, realizing what he had said. "Beautiful. You're beautiful, not ... Maker's breath, why did I have to becoming a raving idiot now?"

Swallowing down her laughter behind her smile, Fab leaned into him, squeezing his hand. "You are yourself, my darling," she murmured, as the hymn came to a close. "There is no one else I would rather stand here with."

His answering grin was all she needed to whisk away the last of those nerves, to know that this was where she was meant to be. Her whole world was in that smile, that beaming expression of incredulous, loving delight that she was standing with him and about to make vows that would bind them together for life, oblivious to the faces watching them, the indulgent smiles on the faces of friends and family, the quiet respect from allies, the unspoken resentment from those who had originally had other plans for their king.

"Are we ready?" a soft voice asked from nearby.

Fabs blushed a warm shade of rose as she tore her eyes from the king of her heart, embarrassed to belatedly realize she was keeping the Divine waiting. Surprised, too, to find the First of Clan Lavellan standing with Divine Victoria, but pleased at this inclusion. Leliana's smile was forgiving as the couple before her straightened their expressions, turning a little more to face the woman who would join them in the Maker's eyes.

Chuckling, Alistair squeezed his bride's hands, nodding to the old friend before him. "Ready and waiting."

Leliana beamed a benevolent smile, raising her hands. Fabs felt the full attention of the entire hall turn to them, and the woman who held the Chantry in the palm of her hand.

"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here to witness the joining in marriage of two good hearts, an alliance of like minds in the formal bonds of love. Love is the gift of the Maker, a force that binds us despite our differences. You have come together today so that Andraste may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Maker. Andraste, who is herself the Bride of the Maker, shall strengthen you both, that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity."

Namari Lavellan then spoke from the Divine's shoulder, the lilt of her voice carrying with ease to drown out the few grumbles from the mostly human gathering.

"A good marriage must be created," she told them, speaking only to Fabs and Alistair, despite the hall full of people. "It is standing together and facing the world. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is not only marrying the right person - it is being the right partner. Love is a good beginning. The gods will smile upon it."

Fabs felt Alistair's pleasure at including a Dalish blessing in their wedding, and her own heart swelled with pride for the king who had simply asked a Dalish elf to bless his marriage, rather than asked for permission to do so from the many humans in his court who would have argued against it. Integration, racial and religious tolerance, an end to superficial division between peoples; these were all so close to his heart, a lesson learned in his few years as a Warden and brought over to his tenure as the King of Ferelden. No one within his borders need fear that their king did not care for them, no matter their race. It was simply one more reason to love the man beaming down at her in these moments, as the Divine's voice floated over their heads once again.

“In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I offer the blessing of Andraste to this promised pair. As Andraste knew the love and duty of marriage to a mortal man, may you share in her faith and fidelity; and as she knew bliss as the Maker’s chosen Bride, may you, too, find joy in your union."

Before the eyes of the Fereldan nobility, as well as the unique guests invited from all walks of life, Divine Victoria took the hands of King Alistair Theirin and Princess Felicita Campana into her own grasp.

"Alistair, you have chosen to wed this woman in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor her as your lawful wife, as long as you both shall live?”

Fabs let her gaze return to Alistair without even a moment of hesitation, unable to disguise her smile as he turned her hand in his grasp, pressing her palm over his heart. She could feel the steady beat within his chest, the way it thudded just a little faster as he drew in his breath to speak.

"I swear," he declared, "unto the Maker and Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

Somewhere behind him, Fabs heard Maria let out a cheer, tilting her head to let the child see her laughing smile as she shushed herself in acute embarrassment at having broken the reverential silence. Ceri was chuckling as the little girl hid her face against the Kirkwaller's shoulder, the ripple of amusement sweeping through the hall quietly before Leliana raised her hands for silence.

"Felicita, you have chosen to wed this man in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor him as your lawful husband, as long as you both shall live?”

What could she say? Fabs' heart was throbbing in her chest as she looked into Alistair's eyes, never more certain of anything in her life than she was of the decision she had made that had brought her to this moment in time. The official words felt strange and unwieldy in her mouth, but they were the only ones she could use in this time and space. There would be time enough for softer words ... a lifetime, in fact.

"I swear unto the Maker and Holy Andraste," she said, feeling her voice tremble in the ringing stillness around them, "to love this man for the rest of my days."

There was a pause as they held one another's gaze, knowing that there was a recitation looming that could easily become utterly unintelligible to anyone listening if they didn't concentrate. Fabs could feel herself trying not to giggle, though whether it was nerves or the sheer release of knowing that they were almost there urging that laughter to rise, she couldn't say. But she could see Alistair's eyes dancing, his lips twitching, and she knew he was having just as much trouble as she was staying composed. It was all so serious and solemn, a far cry from the couple they made away from the eyes of the masses.

Thank goodness for the Divine. Leliana squeezed their hands sharply, pulling Fabs, at least, back from the brink of embarrassing giggles, giving the couple their cue to complete their vows together.This, at least, had been rehearsed - these words spoken in tandem, clear and calm, in matching cadence.

"For You are the fire at the heart of the world; And comfort is only Yours to give."

At Alistair's back, Fergus stepped forward, offering a band of gold engraved with roses into his king's free hand as Leliana released her grip on the couple. Fabs swallowed, her smile flickering brightly in response to his as the cool metal found a home at her knuckle to the accompaniment of his own chosen words, taken from the Chant of Light itself.

"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours." And though they may have been the sacred words of the Chant, on Alistair's lips, in this moment, they belonged to him alone.

As his hands encompassed hers, pulling her closer, Fabs couldn't help the surge of soft delight, eager for what now would come. From the corner of her eye, she saw Divine Victoria raise her hands in benediction.

“I bear witness, in the name of the Maker, and Blessed Andraste, whom He loves, that these vows are binding and lawful,” Leliana declared, and in her tone was a challenge to everyone here present. If anyone dared to raise an objection to the marriage completed before them, they would have to go through the Divine to do it. "May no one seek to tear them down, for they are made in faith and love.”

She lowered her hands, and for a moment, all was still. Only the small group on the dais could hear the soft benediction spoken in indecipherable elvhen, calling down a blessing on a royal pair who truly wanted to take the danger out of the lives of their subjects. As Namari's voice died away, Leliana's smile brightened.

"Your majesty ... you may kiss your wife."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do that for me?" Alistair asked with a playful glimmer, beaming as Divine Victoria spluttered out a very inappropriate laugh and had to turn away for a moment.

Fabs poked him with a low laugh, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. She felt his hands slide to her back beneath the hang of the train, her own curling her fingers to the soft velvet of his sleeves as he bent his head to hers. Smiling lips touched smiling lips, and she felt, more than heard, the sudden eruption of polite applause and dignified cheering in the hall. And beyond that, an echo from outside the palace itself, as the crowds in the square took up the sound of celebration with greater enthusiasm. The King was finally a married man. Very soon, they would meet their new Queen.

Alistair's lips moved as he gently drew back from their first married kiss, his breath warm against her mouth as he whispered, "I love you, Fabs."

She beamed up at him, certain she must be glowing with happiness. "Te amo, mi amor. My lord and king."

He groaned at that teasing addition to her own declaration, kissing the tip of her nose as she giggled. "Just you wait," he warned. "A whole day of wearing the crown is going to give you a headache as bad as mine used to be. You have to train your head not to feel it."

"Oh, I am very glad I shall have you to train me," she countered in amusement, watching as he realized he was preaching to the choir, somewhat. His expression of slow, sheepish comprehension was adorable.

"Princess," he said, nodding. "Right. You know about that."

"Only a little, my darling."

She leaned close to kiss his cheek, drawing in a slow breath. They were married. She was Alistair Theirin's wife; he was her husband. And in just a few moments ...

She glanced up at a scraping sound to her left. The coronation throne was being set down by a pair of guardsmen on the dais, in front of the traditional thrones themselves. Others were coming forward with velvet cushions on which were set the queen's ring and the newly crafted crown, and quite suddenly Fabs knew that this was real. In a matter of minutes, she would be Queen of Ferelden, crowned by her husband and raised to his rank, a ruler in her own right.

Alistair seemed to sense her moment of realization, squeezing her hand gently as he turned to lead her to the coronation throne. The Divine had stepped away, no longer an active part of this ceremony but simply a witness. Namari, too, had stepped down from the dais. The Grey Wardens stood at the foot of the dais, not subjects but willing witnesses to the crowning of a queen.

As she sat slowly on the uncomfortable throne, Fabs' gaze found Marguerite and Josephine in the crowd for the briefest of moments, biting down a laugh at the encouraging nods and smiles her friends threw toward her. She flicked a glance toward Maria, finding the little girl holding tight to Ceri and Ciara's hands, her expression intense as she watched Alistair pick up the ring from the purple cushion presented to him. Across the hall, the silence fell once more, all eyes turning to the crowning of a queen.

"Felicita," he intoned, and she knew in an instant that Anora had been rehearsing him for this. "Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden, regardless of race or creed, in accordance with the laws and statutes of this land? Will you, in your power, give justice and mercy to the supplicant in all judgments? And will you serve this land at my side, as wife and queen, and guiding hand?"

She raised her chin, looking out over the hall, still able to hear the jubilant cheers of the people gathered outside celebrating the marriage only just sealed with a kiss. The oath was solemn and binding, yet it was not a difficult oath to swear. She believed in Alistair's vision for his country, in the equality of all the races if they could possibly encourage it. It would be an honor to help guide Ferelden to a new era of prosperity and tolerance.

"I solemnly swear so to do."

She raised her right hand as he reached down, feeling the significantly heavier weight of the queen's royal signet ring find its resting place against the knuckle of her second finger - a weight she would have to grow accustomed to over the months and years to come. Alistair's callused fingers gripped hers for a moment, drawing her eyes to his in time to catch the reassuring flicker of his wink before he turned away once more to lift the crown above her head. A more delicate version of the king's crown, the surface dwarves of Ferelden had done themselves proud with the sparkling gold and exquisitely polished rubies that Alistair now held aloft.

"Felicita Theirin, in the name of the Maker and Andraste, before the Divine and the eyes of the court, I crown you Queen of Ferelden," the king declared, gently setting the crown onto the braid that looped her head and had been settled there just for that purpose.

He took her hand once more, raising her to her feet, bending to brush a tender kiss to her lips once more, wreathed in smiles. They had made it through the ceremonies. Now all that remained was the celebrations. With a last kiss to her forehead, Alistair turned to present Fabs to her new court. The herald's staff thumped on the flagstones, calling for a last moment of silence.

"All rise, and honor King Alistair and Queen Felicita of Ferelden. Long may they reign!"

#the rose in the crown #alistair theirin #princess fabs #that tag is going to change with the next chapter #alistair x female oc #alistair x fabs #THE WEDDING #FINALLY #ceremony #fluff

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nelsonxduval · 6 years

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Who: Nelson and @lennonelyse When: Fall Scene Week, Sat Oct 20th Where: Nelson’s suite What: Doll play (dress up), Victorian-era roleplay with promenade in courtyard Classes Covered: Nelson: non-sexual scenes

Lennon was actually really looking forward to her scene with Nelson. The pictures and his explanation were incredible. Plus, she got to dress in traditional Victorian garb and literally become another person for an hour with him in the courtyard. Her acting skills getting to take the front seat again. Lennon made her way to Nelson's room, kneeling in front of his door before she knocked. She was smiling, an actual genuine smile, as she awaited their scene. Sure, there was a hint of her that was nervous that she would somehow fail at this considering her presentation grade, but she was trying hard to push past that as this was new.

Nelson was really looking forward to the scene with Lennon. Low-key, non-sexual, dressing up in Victorian era costumes... he couldn't think of a downside, really. He was already dressed in his outfit, sans his waistcoat, jacket, and ascot and he had the suspenders hanging down when the knock came and he opened the door, smiling when he saw Lennon kneeling for him. The smile dropped into something filled with awe when he saw her hair, "Oh my god, Lennon!" he immediately reached out and pulled her up, turning her so he could see what she'd done. He'd completely forgotten about hair and had a hat all ready to go with some elastics that he assumed would be enough to make some sort of bun or something but this? This was above and beyond and he was absolutely beaming, "It's perfect! God, how long did that take you to do??" Gently, he moved into the room where the dress was laid out on the couch, "It's going to look so amazing with the dress, don't you think?"

Lennon bit her lip and smiled at just how excited Nelson was about her hair. It was elaborate, yes, but it was something she'd done a few times before in past shows and in her make up and costuming classes. "Thank you, sir. It really didn't take me all that long, about an hour?" She smiled, taking his hand and letting him escort her to the couch. "It absolutely will! Oh, this dress is completely period, sir! Where did you get it? I can't believe you've found one so beautiful." She added, touching the fabric gently.

Nelson chuckled quietly and shrugged, "It was in the costume room here on campus, we really lucked out... these are mine," he said, gesturing to his own clothing, "But I don't normally carry around ladies dresses." he added with a wink, still completely enamoured with Lennon's hair. It was the perfect touch and it was going to make it all the more believable. "Uh, oh! Okay, so here's what you can change into," he said, grabbing the underthings and handing them over, "Bedroom's just there and when you come out the scene will start, okay? Can you remind me your safewords and if you have any questions about this?"

Lennon looked Nelson over, turning a light shade of pink when she realized he was also dressed up and she'd been so focused on the dress she'd be wearing that she'd hardly noticed. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, sir! You look absolutely stunning. Honestly, I feel like we're in Victorian Era England...or on the set of Downton Abbey" She added the last bit with a chuckle. "Oh, yes! I use the stoplight system and honestly, no, I don't think so. I'm just really excited to get into character. And a tad nervous, but I feel like that's to be expected, don't you agree?" She asked, picking up the dress with delicate fingers before turning to the bedroom.

Nelson laughed fully at that and nodded towards the waistcoat and rest of the outfit, "Thanks, I ain't even fully dressed yet... okay, stoplight system, check. Nervous, check, completely natural to be nervous, I think, but I've heard nothing but good things about your acting Lennon, and if you're not sure about anything, don't feel bad about breaking character with a 'yellow' and asking, okay?" He was confused for a moment when she picked up the dress before he realized she might think he meant to get fully dressed herself, "Ah, leave the dress, sorry. I didn't explain that well," He picked up the knee-length drawers and chemise and held them out, "This is what you change into, once you're done, you'll come out and I'll get you into the corset, crinoline cage, petticoat, and then the dress. We'll go over etiquette while we're getting you ready to go. Does that make sense?"

Lennon nodded, feeling a little more at ease. "Thank you, sir. That makes me feel better. Yellow means I need an explanation. I like that." She nodded, turning before she froze, looking back over at the boy with wide eyes as she bit her lip. "You know...you'd think I'd never worn anything like this before...I know I need the corset and petticoat. I know I need the hoop. But instead...my mind goes completely toward the dress. I'm so sorry, sir." She shook her head, tensing a little, feeling embarrassed.

Nelson could see her embarrassment and he smiled, waving it off easily, "Let's be fair, it's a gorgeous dress, who wants to talk wood skirt hoops when there's something as beautiful as this here?" The dress really was stunning and it was going to look killer on Lennon, he just knew it, "Go on," he teased, placing his hand on her elbow to gently guide her towards the room, "Sooner you get the boring stuff on, sooner we can get the fun stuff on... oh.... uh, fuck." Nelson stopped and let out a breath, frustrated he kept forgetting things knowing it would make it harder on Lennon, "Okay, you know what?" he turned and did a scan of the room, looking for his notebook. Grabbing it from the table, he flipped to the page and came back over to Lennon, "Let's go over it once more because I forgot about the doll thing... so... you get changed, yes? You come out and scene starts but you're gonna be just.. a doll, so no talking unless I ask you a direct question like about comfort or you need to safeword, no real movements on your own. I'll get you dressed so you'll have to hold certain positions and stuff, right? Like if I put your arm like this," he gently took her arm and raised it up, "Hold it there so I can get the jacket on, okay? Once you're dressed and we're ready to go, then the Victorian Lady character can come out and we'll go for our walk outside. Then we come back after about an hour or so and we'll debrief which will also act as aftercare. Is that..." a quick once over again and he nodded, "Makes sense to me, good for you? I should have gone through this again sooner, Lennon, I'm sorry." God, he was a shit dom.

Lennon nodded, chuckling lightly. She was relieved Nelson was so understanding about her shortcomings and willing to help her as she got back on her feet. She was about to move to the bedroom when she was stopped again, brown eyes wide as he began to talk and reiterate what they'd talked about prior to today. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. It sort of slipped my mind as well. Um, yes, yes! That all sounds good to me." She nodded as he demonstrated what he was going to do, holding he arm up as she was instructed to do so. "Alright, I'm going to get changed and I'll be back and in character." She nodded, smiling at him, a little bit of a bounce to her step as she made her way to the bedroom.

Nelson: "Okay, great, thanks Lennon!" Nelson watched her go and then turned his back and let out a huff of a breath as he looked up at the ceiling. He needed to get his shit together but he wasn't sure why it wasn't together in the first place. This wasn't a difficult scene, Lennon was amazing and cooperative and keen, what else could you want in a submissive? Maybe it was just the fact that he was domming in the first place but if it was /that/ then he needed to get over it right quick. He moved to distract himself, readying the clothing as he waited for Lennon to come out.

Lennon hurried herself as much as she could, stripping the clothes off that she'd worn over and donning the peddicoat and corset first, pulling it as tight as she could. She'd have to have him tighten it more once she was ready. Once she was certain everything was on properly she walked out to the living room, stoic expression on her face as she began to get into character. She stood in front of him, looking directly through him as the scene started.

Nelson: Turning when she came out, Nelson smiled, she already looked the part, it was perfect and the way that she kept her gaze unfocused? Brilliant. "Well done, Lennon," he said as he walked around her, checking to make everything was done up correctly. The corset was too loose so that's where he started and he made sure to narrate everything he did so she would know, "I'm going to move your hair out of the way," he said, gently laying it over her shoulder so he could get at the laces easily, "And I'm going to tighten this..." he started to undo it, speaking as he went, "When we go out for our walk today, Lennon, we're going to be using proper Victorian manners for everyone we may encounter. The level of society we move in has impeccable manners, a lady would never raise her voice, nor even laugh loudly, she would be.. demure," he pulled the corset tight on the word 'demure', wiggling it and making sure it was tight, "You're permitted a yes or no answer, is that too tight?"

Lennon melted into the praise, breathing steadily in and out as she kept up her end, being the doll she was supposed to be. Unmoving, quiet. She listened to Nelson tell her exactly what he was doing, when he was doing that. She was thankful for that internally, as she was so focused on her part that she needed to know when he would pull and prod at her to avoid toppling over or breaking her character already. Once he was finished and he instructed her for a yes or no answer on whether or not the corset was too tight she simple stated, in a monotone, almost whisper. "No". Her mind was quickly becoming that of proper Victorian woman, her subspace taking precedence now over everything else.

Nelson worked methodically, getting Lennon geared up for battle. She was perfect, moving how he moved her, holding herself just right, using him for balance when instructed to. Before long, she was fully dressed, the dress fitting her form perfectly and all that was left to do was set her hair back the way it had been cascading down her back. Standing in front of her, Nelson smiled, "You look gorgeous the last piece of the puzzle, Lennon, is your name. Lennon's not Victorian," he winked as he pulled up his suspenders, "However your middle name, Elyse, now that?" He grabbed his waistcoat and pulled it on, "That's a wonderfully Victorian name so today, whilst we're out on our promenade, I'll be addressing you as and introducing you as Miss Elyse and you will address me as Mr. Duval or 'sir' whichever feels more appropriate to you." a quick tie of his ascot and all that was left were his jacket and gloves and he quickly donned those before coming back to stand in front of his living doll, "Now, Miss Elyse, will you do me the great honour of accompanying me on a stroll this fine after noon?" he paired his request with a little bow to his head and a charming smile.

Lennon listened to everything Nelson was saying, keeping it close to her as he readied himself and adjusted everything. Once he was finished and she knew he was addressing her, the scene was starting and she was no longer his living doll but Miss Elyse, a very affluent member of Victorian England, her eyes met his gauze, a small smile playing at her lips. "Oh, Mr. Duval, how kind of you. I would be ever so honored." She spoke softly, her eyes lidding as she curtseyed, standing up straight and waiting, as a lady should, for Mr. Duval to lend her his arm.

Nelson smiled wide when Lennon looked at him and he didn't hesitate offering her his arm, "Perhaps we shall say the honour will rest with those privileged enough to meet with us, hm?" he teased with a little glint of mischief in his eyes, "Come, Miss Elyse, we will endure the newfangled el-eh-vay-toire and then out into the wilds." He wished there was a doorman but, thankfully, another student was coming in the building at the same time they were exiting and Nelson took full advantage, "I thank you kind sir," he said with a bow to his head, grinning at the confusion on the other's face as he made sure Lennon's dress didn't get caught up in the door, "Miss Elyse, I must ask you, I fancy a stroll that way, towards the out buildings, if it pleases you, the air is quite warm today, thankfully."

Lennon smiled with her eyes, keeping her gaze just a tad below Nelson's eyes. A lady never looks fully into a man's eyes after all, he might get the wrong idea. She chuckled at his comment, a hand coming up to lightly touch her lips, eyes falling to the floor. Lennon gratefully took his hand, walking alongside him as they made their way down toward the doors, taking a deep breath in as she caught sight of a confused face holding the door for them. She would not break character, no, this was something she was born to do. "Oh, Mr. Duval, I would like that very much." She smiled, her eyes turning toward the trees, taking in the changing colors. "Autumn is such a lovely time of year, don't you think, Mr. Duval. If I ever did have to choose, I must say, I would choose Autumn as my most favorite of the seasons." Her voice sweet like a bird but quiet, only loud enough for Nelson to hear as they walked together down the path of the school.

Nelson: Lennon was playing the part perfectly, all manners and grace and it made Nelson's heart sing. He was so glad he'd asked her, he had initially thought to ask another male but decided he didn't want to deal with that, he knew he'd get hard and it would cause him to break character and he didn't want that, he wanted an extended roll play and with Lennon, acting so beautifully, he was getting exactly that, "Autumn, hm?" he surveyed the trees a moment and then looked to her as they slowly strolled along at a leisurely pace, "The colours do suit you very well, Miss Elyse, but I dare say I had thought that Spring would have been your particular favourite. What is it about Autumn that strikes you so?"

Lennon felt herself glide along the pavement along with Nelson, loving this part she got to play and feeling like maybe she was playing it well. She felt as though she was anyway. "Mm, why thank you, Mr. Duval. You're too kind." She breathed, smiling down at her feet, then at the trees, anywhere to not make eye contact with the boy beside her. "Oh, it's most certainly the colors. And, have you ever curled up in front of a hearth on a cool Autumn eve with a wonderful book? It's practically heaven." She beamed, looking around at the changing leaves.

Nelson: "I dare say I have indeed done such a thing," Nelson smiled, "Tell me, Miss Elyse, what sort of book are young ladies reading these days? These novels that have started to become the fashion, do you find those appealing?" He had just finished his question when a fellow switch who was in his 101 class came up, looking between the two of them, not quite sure what to make of their get ups. "Uh, hey Nelson, d'you remember what chapter we were supposed to read? 10 or 11?" Nelson smiled, "Robert, my dear friend, I don't believe you've had the pleasure of Miss Elyse's acquaintance. Miss Elyse, this is Mr Robert Smith, a fellow student in the same switch 101 class, Mr. Smith, this is Miss Elyse Corcoran, a submissive here at our lovely Lima Heights campus, she's being ever so generous with her time and allowing me the pleasure of her company on a walk." "Uh.... okay, hi Miss.. Elyse?" the boy stammered, really just wanting to know which chapter so he could leave them to it.

Lennon rubbed her lips together, a pale pink blush flushing at her cheeks. “Oh, Mr. Duval. Would you think me too foreword thinking if I said I do enjoy the works of Charlotte Bronte?�� Her honey brown eyes not meeting his fully as she made a point to look directly at a button on his coat. Lennon kept her gaze on the button as she heard a voice talk to Nelson, someone outside of the scene they were in. She would keep character, she would remain silent until spoken to. “Mm, good afternoon, sir.” She started, taking hold of her dress and curtsying ever so slightly, her eyes taken from the button to the soles of the other boys shoes. She wouldn’t say anymore, a demure lady didn’t Drabble on.

Nelson laughed and shook his head, "No, Miss Elyse, I would not think you /too/ forward thinking at all. Young ladies these days are so accomplished, singing, art, languages, its a wonder you have time for me at all, my dear!" Nelson kept a loose hold on Lennon's arm and smiled at Robert, "I do believe we need to be on our way, sir, but with regards to your question, I believe you'll find chapter 10 is the answer you were seeking." "Right... bye..." Robert turned and walked away, shaking his head, and Nelson chuckled as he started out again, "Dear Robert seemed a bit out of sorts, I do hope everything is okay with him." he mused quietly with a hint of humour in his tone.

Lennon smiled, her head turning away from Nelson for only a moment. “Well, thank you. Mr Duval. I do enjoy singing and art as well, but I dare say, not as much as diving into the beautiful worlds of a good book.” She continued, her gaze turning back Robert now, but only the soles of his shoes, listening to the conversation Nelson and him were having. She bit the inside of her lip as not to laugh and break character at his demeanor as his attention was brought back to her. “I’m sure he’s quite all right.” She looked up at the boy, honey brown eyes glinting with humor before her gaze changed again to the trees.

Nelson: The briefest flash of eye contact and Nelson could tell that Lennon was enjoying things so far. He was relieved because he was having an absolute ball of a time with her. The walk continued uninterrupted, conversation between them flowing nicely with appropriate topics and before long, they were coming back around to the switch building, "The air has taken a bit of a cooler turn, Miss Elyse, I believe we should retire for the afternoon for your comfort."

Lennon continued on with their charade, finding herself having a blast with Nelson and the scene he’d dreamt up. This was something she could do, something she was good at. “I do believe you’re right in your thinking, Mr. Duval. Although, if I may say, I have enjoyed myself thoroughly.” Her hand steady on Nelson’s arm as they walked back to his room, a smile on her face the entire time.

Nelson: "Everso glad to hear that, Miss Elyse, I enjoyed our time together immensely and would be honoured to repeat our walk at a later date, if it pleases you." Nelson exited the elevator first and opened the door for Lennon, giving a little bow as she passed him into his suite. It felt almost anticlimactic but when he shut the door, Nelson turned and smiled wide at the submissive. "Aaaaand /scene/!" he laughed as he pushed off the door and held out his hands towards her, "Lennon, that was amazing!" he couldn't have stopped smiling if he'd wanted to.

Lennon walked with the boy toward the elevator, a small smile on her lips as she listened to him speak. “I do believe that could be arranged, Mr. Duval.” Her head turning to the side only slightly as she caught his eye for a brief moment. They exited the elevator and she bowed her head in thanks as he opened the door to his sweet. Once he’d said those magic words she let out a breath, laughing and closing the gap between them. “Oh my goodness! That’s was so much fun, Sir!” She beamed

Nelson laughed and couldn't help himself he was so overcome with Lennon's excitement he grabbed her around the waist and twirled her. The dress swung out beautifully and he set her down gently, "So much fun, oh man! You did so well, Lennon! You didn't break character, your manners were... fuck, they were amazing, you were just perfect! Okay, okay, before I forget though, that corset's gotta be uncomfortable? Let's get you out of this and into something more comfortable, okay?"

Lennon giggled and squeaked as she was pulled into a hug and twirled around, the fabric of the dress dancing around them. “I’ve almost never broken character in my entire career, sir. I wasn’t about to do it now!” She giggled, allowing herself to take stock in how the clothes actually felt on her body, noticing right away the poking of the wire in the corset. “Op..yep, there it is. It is rather uncomfortable now that I’m thinking about it.” She agreed, turning around so that Nelson could help her out of the dress and underclothes.

Nelson didn't waste any time helping Lennon out of the dress, making sure to take care of the hoop and petticoat and quickly undoing the corset for her. "There we go.... okay, go and get changed into your stuff and then come back out and we'll talk and, Lennon?" he waited until she looked at him before smiling, "Really well done."

Lennon let Nelson help her out of all the underclothes, breathing deeply as the corset was loosened. She started out toward his room before she stopped, honey brown eyes connecting with Nelson’s. “Oh” her face turning a little red. “Thank you, sir.” She bit her lip, turning back around and exiting his presence to change. She changed quickly, thankful for her clothes even though she loved the costume and then walked back into the living room.

Nelson busied himself making sure the dress was taken care of before getting out of his jacket and waistcoat. Letting his suspenders hang, he left the ascot on though he did undo it and was just grabbing his book when Lennon came back out. He smiled and stood and gestured to the couch, "Have a seat... how you feeling? Ribs okay? I had to wear a corset once helping a classmate out with a photoshoot... I wanted to die." he stated with an overwrought expression.

Lennon rubbed at her ribs a little as she walked into the room, giving him a little wince. “They’re a little sore, sir, but they’ll be fine. It’s all for the character, right?” She smiled, sitting down beside the boy. “You wore one? I do enjoy them, I just don’t think I couldn’t wear them all day like those Victorian woman.” She shook her head with a chuckle.

Nelson walked over and hit the Start button on the microwave that was set for one minute. Inside he had a bean bag that you could heat up or cool down as needed for soothing comfort. As he waited for it to finish, he laughed, "Yeah, I wore one, remind me and I'll show you the pictures if I ever find 'em." He hummed quietly at her assessment and nodded, "True but it was something they were used to, right? They didn't just start wearing them, they worked up to it, like most women do with bras these days. You go to a Masai woman and ask her to wear a bra for a day and she'll say the same thing you did, I wager..." the microwave beeped and Nelson brought over the bag, holding it out to her, "Here you go, trust me, I had the bean bag on steady for like three days..."

Lennon smiled, biting at her lower lip. “Oh, goodness. You’ll have to get them out sometime, sir. I’d love to see them!” She watched him walk over to the microwave as he spoke, cocking her head to the side. “Oh, believe me. I’d go without a bra all the time if I could, sir. I mean, I guess I could but...I don’t know...I guess I’m not that adventurous.” She giggled, taking the bean bag and placing it on her ribs, the warmth feeling nice.

Nelson chuckled, he had no idea but he could imagine with his little experience. "I'll see what I can do, I'll email him if I can't find them, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to email me copies so I can embarrass myself!" he settled on the couch with Lennon and sighed, "So how are you feeling other than the ribs, I think that went really well... not a normal sort of scene I know but, I really enjoyed it.."

Lennon giggled, picturing Nelson in a corset. She really couldn’t wait to see the actual pictures. “Oh, I feel good, sir. That was...seriously, that was so much fun.” She nodded in his direction, honey brown eyes finding his. And honestly, sometimes not so normal is exactly right, sir! It’s a different kind of role play, it’s nice.” She added.

-Fin-

#lennon: para #l:scene week #gleedsmscene5 #gleedsmfall2018

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marzipanandminutiae · 7 years

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Proper Ball Gown Write-Up time! with bodice detail pictures as requested yesterday. someday I’ll get better about taking progress photos of my work. someday.

(also please pardon my anachronistic loose hair; the top picture was taken during the final fit check last night, so I wasn’t all done up like I will be when wearing this to events

so this is my 1867 ball gown. it’s the most complicated outfit I’ve done so far, but my sewing technique in general is diving headfirst into the deep end and learning as I go. and boy, did I learn a lot on this one.

the gown itself probably took me about two weeks of on-and-off work to finish, but that was only half of the project. because I also had to make a hoop skirt, a petticoat to go over said hoop skirt, and ultimately a new chemise because the 1905 nightgown I usually use showed under the slightly off-shoulder neckline of the bodice. so I started working on the whole thing in August with the elliptical hoops and, bar some slight tweaking on the chemise yoke and petticoat hem which I hope to have finished today, I completed it yesterday on October 19th

the patterns used were Truly Victorian 103 (elliptical cage crinoline), 247 (1865 elliptical skirt), and 442 (1860s ball gown bodice). I also used Simplicity 9769/1139- appears to be the same pattern? -for the chemise, which I do not recommend for anyone’s use ever. the sizing was way off; I wound up using a size 12 yoke and swimming in a size 6 body and sleeves. I keep having to take tucks in the sleeves even now so they fit under my dress. the TV patterns, on the other hand, are amazing

the fabric is a red/black shot silk taffeta that I found at a discount fabric store, with a drape of antique black Chantilly lace at the neckline and black beaded appliques over that (all from Etsy). it’s lined with muslin because I was focusing on sweat-wicking capabilities over appearance- I’m going to be dancing in this sucker come December and I’d like to not stink if at all possible. no synthetic fabrics were used; again, this was mostly for breathability. the hoop steel and casings came from the Truly Victorian website. I used leftover hoop steel to bone the bodice since I made the cage one hoop shorter than the pattern suggested to fit my height better, except the side back seams which are boned with pieces of spiral steel from Etsy

it’s not perfect. as you can see, the shoulders don’t quite fit right, although I’ve moved the top hook over since last night and that should help. there are other little flaws throughout, but I’m still really proud of it. in fact, it’s hard to believe I made it; that part feels kind of surreal, like I had a fever dream of jammed sewing machines and aching fingers and all of a sudden there’s this ball gown. it’s weird, but good weird

I’ve noticed a lot of historical costumers name their ensembles. anybody got naming suggestions?

#sewing #historical costume #historical sewing #historical costuming #history #historical fashion #1860s #late 1860s #sewing project #ball gown #long post

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tarajones4 · 5 years

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Cay awoke early. Far earlier than she would have liked. In keeping with tradition, at least a little bit, she had slept on the other side of the manor from Niklas. Now she was awake and nearly vibrating with nerves. She looked across the guest room she used and smiled at the lace wedding gown displayed on her sewing mannequin. Today was the day. She and Nik were finally getting married after a year long engagement. They'd been through so much together, it felt like they had already been married an eternity. Yet that eternity wouldn't be long enough to express everything Cay felt for the man she had fallen in love with. The father of her children. Her soulmate.

A maid knocked at the door and came in when bid to do so. "My Lady, I've brought you breakfast. Some fresh fruit, toast, eggs, and a pot of your favorite tea." The young woman smiled brightly at her Lady and sat the tray down, taking a moment to prepare a cup of tea just how Cay liked it. "You look nervous as I did the day my Will asked me to marry him."

Cay smiled at the maid and took the offered cup gratefully. "Thank you, Marian. And aye, I've got butterflies just looking at my dress. But the good kind, you know? The kind you only get when you're on top of the world from joy." She kept smiling as Marian directed two other maids to start filling a large tub with warm water and sweet smelling oils. "How is Will, anyway? I know he took a job at the school teaching recently."

Marian grinned while she helped prepare the bath. "He's doing wonderfully, Lady Cay! The children adore him, and the few adults he teaches in the evenings all respect him. He was so happy to see that school built, since he'd been out of work for a time." She was bubbling over with happiness today, it seemed. She even hummed gently as she helped Cay into the water and began washing her hair. "We're... well... I was going to wait, but I can't hold it in anymore. We just found out we're expecting!" The effervescent woman giggled girlishly.

The bride to be gasped and grinned up at her maid. "That's wonderful news! Congratulations, luv! If you need anything at all, don't be afraid to ask. If the morning sickness starts to get to you, please feel free to appoint someone to attend your duties so you can take care of yourself." She sat back in the tub, letting the maids wash her long red curls, one of them using a small household charm she knew to dry the locks and start styling them while Cay washed. "I'm very happy for you, Marian. I really am.”

"Thank you, My Lady. You and Lord Niklas are far too kind to me." Once Cay had washed and rinsed, she helped towel her dry and brought over her garments to help her dress behind the screen. There was a knock at the door, and two footmen entered just as Cay had slipped behind the partition. They bowed to the other maids in the room and deposited a trunk at the foot of the bed. Marian clucked her tongue lightly while lacing the corset. "Really... coming in without leave, the rapscallions."

Cay chuckled as she helped pin her stays to her chemise so she could hide the straps under her wedding gown. "Good thing I was behind here, isn't it? Otherwise, they would have gotten an eyeful." Two layers of petticoats were pulled carefully over her head and tied in place, secured to the stays with looped closures. "Let's save the gown for just before we leave. Don't want to accidentally drop makeup on it."

"Of course, My Lady." Marian smiled and helped her into a dressing gown. "Shall we stay in here with you, Lady Cay? Or would you prefer to be left alone for a bit? We can easily take some time to fetch your coronet from the master suite and make certain it's polished."

"Hmm... aye, I think so. Just a little while to reflect before I finish getting ready." She stepped out from behind the screen and eyed the weathered trunk that had been brought in. "A bit of time to pray would be nice." Caoghlan walked over to the trunk and flipped it open, just staring at the two framed portraits that lay atop the other items.

The maids bowed and left the room, knowing their Lady likely wished to take time to mourn her parents' absence from such a special day.

The redhead sighed and picked up each picture, kissing the glass softly before setting them aside. Underneath the portraits was a reverently folded gown of perfectly preserved white fabric. She pulled it out and laid it across the bed, soft fingers tracing the embroidery on one of the sleeves. It was her mother's own wedding gown. She had considered wearing it, but couldn't bear the thought of having to alter it to fit her. With a sad smile, she turned back to the trunk, next pulling out a bouquet of preserved lilies and roses in soft pinks and whites. She gently sat it down next to the dress and reached in for the veil she knew her mother had kept in the chest. When she pulled the length of lace and chiffon out, an envelope fluttered to the ground.

Cay blinked and wiped away a stray tear as she reached down to pick up the envelope. On the back, it read: "To our darling daughter on her wedding day." She almost fell back at the shock of seeing her mother's neat writing nearly a year after her death. With trembling fingers, she broke the wax seal and sat next to the dress on the bed. The parchment inside was slightly brittle, having been sealed away a year ago according to the date in the upper corner. She pulled the two sheets out with a degree of trepidation and began to read.

The first page was done in her mother's elegant script, the same as the envelope.

"My dearest girl,

Today is the most glorious day of your life. I know that you've had a child before getting married and have experienced the joys of motherhood already, so I won't go on about how thrilling that is. Today is different. You'll be filled with so many emotions throughout the day, with many being similar to the day your daughter was born. But the others... oh the other feelings! You'll feel as though you're walking on air as your father leads you to Niklas. Like your heart is going to burst when he lifts the veil to give you away. Then you'll look at Nik and suddenly you'll be anchored back to Azeroth by his love for you. Because it's plain to anyone who sees that he loves you more than life itself. That he would do anything for you and your family.

I was unsure at first when you talked to me about the dashing and debonair man you pledged yourself to. But seeing you two together has assured me that you made the right choice, just as your father and I made our own so long ago. Light... it seems like forever has passed yet no time at all has at the same time. It was only yesterday I held you in my arms to nurse you after you were born. I was so scared that day, my angel. I thought for certain the Light would take you from us as it did your twin sister. You were so small and fragile and sickly. But you held on. Because even then, you were strong.

I look back at all the time we had as a family, and it cheers me to know that you've grown into a strong, independent woman. You've done your best to keep your values through every trial that you've had to endure. And Nik has been with you for each of them since you met. I'm starting to bawl as I write this, knowing that you'll be only hours from becoming a wife to your soulmate when you read it. It will be my greatest joy to see you and Nik be bonded in such a way, and I will treasure it always.

Love,

Your happily crying Mum"

Cay had tears streaming down her cheeks as she read the letter, gently caressing the parchment before bringing it up to clutch over her heart. The faint scent of jasmine floated up, reminding her of the perfume her mother favored. After a moment, she sat the parchment aside before it got too crumpled and looked at the second sheet. This looked like a letter from her father, his looping script giving him away.

"My sweet little rose,

Words can't begin to describe how I feel as I write this. I have had the distinct honor of watching you grow from a small and curious child into a beautiful and strong woman. I watched you work and study and face challenges nobody should have had to, let alone a child. Yet you overcame each trial that life threw at you. The day you took up the mantle of priestess was one of the proudest moments of my life. And I grew even more proud when you stood up for your beliefs and left your corrupted order to pursue the noble path of medicine.

I have stood by you in every decision, because that is what a loving father is supposed to do. Though I was admittedly very tested when you introduced Niklas to us. I couldn't help but feel that he had seduced you, thinking you naive or foolish. But those fears were quickly put to rest when I saw how much he truly cared for you. Though your relationship is far from conventional, I can't disparage it. After all, your mother and I didn't get married until you were old enough to stand in the wedding with us! I wanted to pledge myself to the both of you when you were able to understand it. Otherwise, the vows would have felt empty.

Now I'm sitting here thinking of your upcoming wedding day and trying not to cry in front of your mother. I'm a manly man, dammit! I'm kidding, of course, but I bet I made you laugh! I'm blubbering just as much as Sarah is, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Because all I can see in my mind is me walking you down the aisle, looking as radiant as your mother did, and then giving you away to the man you've given your heart and soul to. Then your mother and I will sit and hold our granddaughter and (hopefully) newborn grandsons as we watch you be sealed together in the Light.

Never forget, my beautiful child, I love you to the stars and back.

Your loving Papa"

Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Time seemed to have stilled as Cay read the words. Then she picked up her mother's letter and read them both again. Tears poured from the stormy eyes she had inherited from her mother and splashed onto her dressing gown. She sat like that for ages, until the tears dried and she was able to stand.

A knock came at the door, and her maid entered again, not speaking much as she helped Cay into her bridal gown. Hair was fixed, light makeup was applied, nails were manicured, her shining coronet placed. Then Marian gently lifted the veil and carefully placed the comb securely into her Lady's curls. With a last look in the mirror, Cay smiled. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw her parents smiling back at her as the front of the veil was brought down over her eyes. Then they were gone. It was time.

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Monday 6 August 1838

7 25

‘Monday 6 August 1838. Pay to Mr. Samuel Washington a order two hundred pounds A. Lister

to the manager of the Yorkshire District Bank at Halifax

St. Sauveur. Hautes Pyrénées. France. Monday 6 August 1838.

Sir,

then wrote as under to ‘Mr. Mackean, Yorkshire District Bank, Halifax, Yorkshire, Angleterre’

SH:7/ML/E/21/0161

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wrotetheaboveoftoday · 4 years

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1828 Thurs. 11 September

6 5/60 10 10/60 The salts of last night operated in one good loose motion washed my petticoat that was a little stained - from 7 20/60 to 9 20/60 copying out fair list of freehold, copyhold, and tithe rents and looking over 1 paper or other - breakfast at 9 25/60 to 10 5/60 - then in 10 minutes went out with my father along the road and new footpath to look at that bit cut off James Smith’s brow by the new Northowram road - met Mr. Wilkinson by chance there - spoke to him about straightening the fence along the top and making a good wall - he is for it, and will speak to his nephew Joseph W- [Wilkinson] about it - Joseph all agog sometime ago to sell Upper brea - Mr. James Norris (William) all for buying it, and would have given a good price - Joseph thought the money would make a better income - but now he is not so much for selling - neither he nor Mr W- [Wilkinson] can make a tithe to it, and the latter has made up his mind for it not to be sold as long as he lives - said I was glad of it, and hoped he would live long - But I always liked the place (my twice great grandfather sold it) and should not like it to be sold unknown to us - if I could not buy the whole might buy that part on this side the road, and they would make more by selling the rest of the separately - Mr. W- [Wilkinson] promised it should never be sold in his time without our having the refusal - used to be called 72 days work but the last town’s measurement did not make it quite so much and they have taken 2 days work for the new Northowram road - price £10000 - about 40 days work on this side the new road and about 30 on the other

Then walked with my father along the new Godley road to the top of the bank - said a little about a new road to Benjamin’s to come out at Stump and ditto at ditto to Shibden - my father Benjamin must have teagles to get him up and down - on afterwards pointing out the Shibden road, he said that was a different thing, and said nothing against it - but on saying something about removing the present road - he said it would be the better - but this was nothing - it is not to be denied that we can make a good road that way to the house - He said without my having said much about it, that the Pump farms etc could get very well into the new road at Mitholm

Left my father at the top of the bank to go to H-x [Halifax] and I returned home to meet William Keighly at 1 and came in at 1 - our clock 1/4 too soon he came in 1/2 hour - just waited to finish reading my letters - 1 from Mrs. B- [Barlow] (Lyndhurst) - 3 pp. [pages] the ends and under the seal - thinks that as we are both so uncertain, we had better give up the thought of traveling together, or of meeting before we meet in Paris - She may have to go to Guernsey, to settle ‘family disagreeables’ that she would not like me to go with her this time - uncertain whether to return to Paris by Saint Malô, or by London and Dover - more invitations than she can accept - asked to go a Mrs. Rooke (sister of Sir H. Burrard or Sir C. Neale) near Portman Square - an old friend of Colonel Barlow’s and his sisters - Mrs. R- [Rooke]

‘knows the Cunliffes intimately Mrs. Cunliffe is the daughter of a 2nd son of a very old baronet - she had lost all her children but the one we saw just born at Paris - they still live at Bordeaux, but she generally goes to be confined in Wales’

To leave Lyndhurst as next month for Sydney house, Ryde, Isle of Wight, on a visit to Miss Howley the archbishop’s sister for about a week - then for a few days at her aunt Barlow’s Southampton No. 8 above Bar - will be at Lemm’s hotel in London if at any hotel -

‘they gave us a joint of meat and two vegetables for 3 shillings a head or ‘3/6 at the utmost served in my own sitting room very neatly - the waiter only expects 1/. per day and the housemaid 5/. a week - mutton chops or beefsteaks with vegetables 5/. or 6/. for our dinner - we found ourselves most comfortable, so respectably waited upon - should you be tempted to try it, ask for my bedroom and sitting room you will have them for 8/. per day - I paid the same at Webb’s Piccadilly which is very inferior in appearance and comfort - Perhaps you may now be acquainted with the loss I have made by the sudden death of my excellent friend Sir H. Henry Torrens’

…… He was to have given letters to Lord Stuart - near the Douseleys near the archbishop of Canterbury know the Stuarts, that she will have more difficulty in getting letters - scarce knows how to proceed about getting part of her pension settled on Jane now she has lost Sir H. T [Henry Torrens] - this makes her uncertain, and unable to make any appointment with Miss McL- [MacLean] with when she would otherwise have been glad to travel - paying a high price for an apartment and Jane anxious for [masters?] makes her anxious to be back as early as possible in next month - Sir Herbert Taylor adjutant general - glad for her father’s sake - La comtesse de Mollandé when duchesse de Luxemburg may be too fine to visit Mrs. B- [Barlow]

Letter too from Miss McL- [MacLean] 3 pp. [pages] crossed the ends and under the seal (Coll house) Borrera’s sister would not go there while so formidable a person as I was there but her brother was delighted with me, and now she was sorry not to have seen me - I traveled from Carlisle to Dunfries with a friend of Miss McL- [MacLean]’s, and the most particular friend Mr. Hunter has -

‘How did you contrive to shew yourself in your night cap …… I wish with all my heart I had been at your elbow - do not think I heard any evil of you - the only thing that has vexed me is being seen in your night cap which I cannot account for’

She will leave home tomorrow week the 19th in the Highlander and take up her abode at the Thackerays’ - 8 persons lost in the Lady of the Lake steamer’s small boat off Tarbet - too many got into the boat and it upset - the day so calm, and the water so clear the poor sufferers were seen at the bottom and soon hauled up - all means tried, but none could be recovered - no blame attached to the captain and crew - very good accounts of herself - wishes I could see Vere at Richmond Park - she needs not to take a servant for dignity’s sake - Lady S- [Stuart de Rothesay] promises to be very civil to Vere’s aunt and her grand

Miss McL- [MacLean] smiles at the idea of traveling with Mrs. B- [Barlow] and me - Mrs. B [Barlow] she says must be the first object of my attention I am glad enough all this will be avoided we shall do better by ourselves - Miss McL- [MacLean] says she can get to Boulogne quite well without me, and I can take my own time to meet her there

Letter also from M- (Lawton) 2 2/3 pp. [pages] widely written - after all, C- [Charles] takes fright at having only 16 inches allowed for seat room in the minister at the festival, sends M- [Mariana] and pays all expense and begs me to take his 1/2 the bed in the minster yard - M- [Mariana] delighted at the thought - will take me up any day I fix, and after the festival leave me at Langton for 2 or 3 days while she is at Scarbro’ and then bring me home - The letter she wrote to me in Edinburgh returned to her from the Edinburgh dead letter office - will take Martha and Rutledge and Watson will both do the best they can for her - I think I shall go with M- [Mariana] surely I can manage it 1 way or other -

Went out with W- [William] K- [Keighley] at 1 3/4 - to the plantation - cut down 16 or 18 firs that incommoded more or less some young beeches or oaks - it soon began to rain and rained almost the whole time, latterly very heavily so did no more than finish in the plantation and sent William home and came in myself at 4 20/60 - had been a thunder shower just after 1, so the grass quite wet and I changed all my things to my chemise and stays - stood a minute or 2 in the hall - had just done digging the wall-race and afterwards laid the first foundation course - wrote the first 43 lines of today - dinner at 6 1/4 - afterwards till 8 wrote the last 25 lines of today - wrote nearly 1 page to Mrs. H.S. B- [Henry Stephen Belcombe] to ask for C- [Charles]’s 1/2 of M- [Mariana]’s bed - and wrote 1 2/3 page to M- [Mariana] to say I would go, and be ready to meet her at H-x [Halifax] next Saturday week at any hour she might fix - 1/2 lost in dust and rubbish here - finish morning - heavy thunder shower about 1 - and heavyish rain from about 3 to 4 1/4 - afterwards 1 or 2 heavy showers - came upstairs at 10 5/60 - took 2 very little teaspoons of magnesia in about 1/2 the juice of a large lemon - this is the last of this bottle of Henry’s Magnesia - In- [Isabella] brought it me to Paris last year -

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #1828 #shibden hall #mariana lawton #maria barlow #sibella maclean

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