#historicalfic

[retrobooks]

The Novel DISTORTED PERCEPTIONS

[larryfanfiction]

The Changer and the Changed by homosociallyyours @homosociallyyours

Length: 59k

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians.

Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love.

When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene.

It’s a time of growth for everyone involved.

Ao3, Chaptered, Completed

[doonseries]

Want a FREE *signed* ARC of OLIVIA TWIST? Come see me February 10th at ALA Midwinter in Denver! . 💙 Who's going to be there? 🙋 . #ALA #alamidwinter #ALAmidwinter2018 #ALA2018 #librariansrule #OliviaTwist #bookfest #bookfestival #booksigning #arcgiveaway #arc #historicalfiction #historicalfic #historicalfictionnovel #historicalfictionloversunite

[fullofstoryshapes]

Peccatoribus

He did not spend nearly so much time as Edward would like at home, and often much of his time at Westhorpe was spent with tenants and debtors and all the rest. Was he a neglectful father? Margaret had sometimes said so, when they fought, and he sometimes worried over it while praying, but he did not think so. He loved Edward and Frances - and little Isobel, so new and unknown, her too - more than anyone or anything else, more than he had loved Margaret and more, he thought, than he was capable of loving any woman.

Read chapter seven @ AO3

[fullofstoryshapes-archive]

Peccatoribus

Charles did not wait for Richmond when they reached Westhorpe - Mary's brother was half-dead from the ride to London and back, but Charles had greater concerns than another man's aching muscles, or the sweat shining on his own horse's neck.

Read chapter 5 @ AO3

[infantacatalina-blog]

let your colours bleed                                        (and blend with mine) 

Mary learns that there is life after death. 'She is a wife without a husband, a queen without her king, a woman without the man she loves. She is still Mary, but she is Francis’ Mary no longer.' 

(x) 

[shredsandpatches]

Ten First Lines Meme

@poorshadowspaintedqueens tagged me on this -- first lines of my last ten fics, excluding co-authored works, in reverse chronological order (i.e. most to least recent).

1. Edward of Rutland, formerly Duke of Aumerle, hasn't exchanged more than about two words with his father since The Incident, as he and his mother have come to refer to it. (Love Loving Not Itself, Richard II, Aumerle + his parents)

2. "Oh, bloody fuck," Richard exclaims, lifting his head from between Edward's thighs and sinking back to sit on his heels. (Chain Me To Thee With That Hair, Richard II, Richard/Aumerle silly hairporn)

3. Master Ladislaus of Prague had found great success in England, since he came to London with Princess Anna who had become Queen Anne, God rest her soul. (Jesu dulcis memoria, 14th-c RPF, about the Wilton Diptych)

4. Will Shakespeare gapes at the manuscript pages in front of him, pondering the question of whether he could fit his head into the pot of ale in front of him if he just tried hard enough, and then up at Kit Marlowe, who is grinning smugly down at him like the cat in the adage, and not the one who wouldn't wet its feet. (Sad Stories of the Death of Kings, 16th-c RPF, Shakespeare + Marlowe)

5. Christmas Day falls upon Pomfret Castle in a blinding snowstorm, the kind where the flakes beat an icy tattoo against the casement and the drifts pile up against the battlements and the cold is so bitter that it creeps into the floors and the walls and your bones and the flames in the fireplace and hearth seem to give off too little light and even less heat. (the royal guest you entertain is not of common birth, Richard II, really grim Christmas fic)

6. Flint Castle is empty when the King of England arrives. (Comfort’s In Heaven, Richard II, really grim porn)

7. ”Edward!” Richard says. (...Can Wash the Balm Off From an Anointed King, Richard II, really fluffy porn)

8. By the time King Richard arrives at London, the polite pretense that he is still king in anything but name has long since been cast aside. (The Kindest Use a Knife, Richard II, the Sad Aumerle Fic)

9. It is more than a little uncomfortable, when one has recently been appointed Constable of England, to have to preside over the investigation of the death of one's predecessor. (All the Water in the Rough Rude Sea, Richard II, bathtime sexual tension)

10. Queen Anne – as they call her in English; she is learning to think of herself as Anne and not Anna -- used to sing to herself while sewing. (like brambles to the cedars, Thomas of Woodstock, Anne of Bohemia and awkward cultural misunderstandings)

I’m supposed to tag people in this, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to, so: @fiftysevenacademics, @harkerling, @quietprofanity, @elucubrare

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

30 Days of Fanfiction - Day 2

2 – Name the fandoms you’ve written in, and how much you’ve written in that fandom, and if you still write in it.

I’m a total magpie when it comes to fandoms so I’m going to list my top five. The rest can be found on my AO3 dash.

Harry Potter - I was especially active from 2005-2010 with a few fics later on, including one cracky ASOIAF crossover and one slightly less cracky Sherlock crossover co-written with bamfinacuddlyjumper (that WILL be finished soon, I swear!). At the height of my fandom involvement, I wrote a novel-length First War prequel called Be All My Secrets Remembered (183,051 words total) and a series of one-shots generally focused on that era. The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was my kryptonite. Although I still read a fair bit of Harry Potter fic, I don’t really write it anymore, at least in part because I can’t keep track of all the Pottermore canon and, more importantly, I haven’t felt compelled by any particular fic ideas in recent years.

A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones - Although I first read the books in 2002, it was eight years before I started writing fanfic, partly because I was trying to respect GRRM’s “no fanfic” policy. As soon as I heard about the HBO series, though, all bets were off (as far as I’m concerned it’s the law of variant texts). I have written...a lot in this fandom--11 stories total, one of which is a novel-length WIP The Death of Kings (currently 102,497 words at Chapter 18/25). I tend to stick to either pre-canon stories (i.e. Robert’s Rebellion) or weird AUs. Definitely still active in this fandom.

Historical (Medieval/Early Modern) RPF - I’ve linked to a list I put together earlier this year of all the historical fiction (not Shakespeare-based) that I’ve archived on AO3. It’s a fandom that I still consider myself very active in, even if I don’t post stories all that often--it tends to be a Yuletide-specific thing for me. My fic is kind of all over the place, ranging from Chaucer being trolled by Richard II’s court to deeply fraught Lucrezia Borgia/Cesare Borgia perhaps a bit too inspired by John Webster’s Duchess of Malfi. I’m still hoping to write a novel/series about the Wars of the Roses because despite approximately 10 years of dedicated study and at least 18 of fannish obsession, I’m still not sick of them.

Shakespeare - First Tetralogy (Henry VI, Parts 1-3 / Richard III) - The histories are my deepest and craziest Shakespeare obsession and my first love is the First Tet. I love its unashamed drama and insanity and the fact that it has these amazing female characters. And of course Richard of Gloucester. It is the first Shakespeare canon for which I wrote fanfic (Circles in the Water in 2008; there are two smaller fics that I posted earlier, but this one I finished earlier), and I still write fanfic at least once a year for Histories Ficathon and sometimes also for Yuletide. This fandom also includes my one and only successfully completed Big Bang thus far (but more about that on another day). My most recent story was an H.P. Lovecraft-inspired horror show where Joan of Arc awakened the Elder Gods. As one does.

Shakespeare - Second Tetralogy (Richard II / Henry IV, Parts 1-2 / Henry V) - See above regarding history plays in general, but I will admit that my favourite out of this tetralogy is Richard II by a long shot and I’ve written the most fanfic about it, including one rather cracky Gossip Girl crossover that might have the distinction of being the only piece of extant RPF featuring RSC actor Jonathan Slinger. That being said, the Humphrey & John Comedy Hour from the Henry IVs is one of those things I can rarely resist and I tend to write a fair bit of it, even in fics where it probably does not belong.

Day 1

Full list of questions can be found here.

[gehayi]

Historical Fic

Come the Good Peasant to Cheer (14th Century RPF)

AU. Edward the Black Prince--now Edward IV of England--has been king for four years. Now the peasants have rebelled, the Black Prince wants to declare war on them all, and his stubborn, determined queen, Joan of Kent, is desperately trying to prevent utter disaster.

The City of Carcayona.

1600s, 17th Century, POV Minor Character, POV Character of Color, Canon Character of Color, Moriscos, Venezia, Turkey, Ottoman Empire, Non-Sexual Slavery, Pirates, Chromatic Yuletide.

"It's only a story, Xury," said Téo gently.

"I know it is a story, " Xury replied with wounded dignity. "I am fifteen, not five. But do you see why Carcayona is so important to us? She never quit. No matter what was flung at her, she kept on. And eventually she won. There are worse stories, Téo. Like the story that sings loudly, 'You are alone, enslaved, helpless and without hope, and thus it shall be forever.' That is a terrible story to believe in."

The Widening Gyre AU (1910s to 1930s AU about Richard II et al.--ongoing)

Shadows of Desert Birds (Part I)

Henry sees a man who has everything he's ever coveted. Aumerle sees a man who's lost everything that matters. Richard sees an opportunity for revenge.

Blood-Dimmed Tide (Part II)

Everyone expects nine-year-old Richard Kent-Bordeaux to be the hero that his soldier father was. No one expects heroism of his cousin, thirteen-year-old Henry Lancaster. Neither of them particularly wants to live up to those expectations.

[marthajefferson]

title: TINY SCAR pairing: Elizabeth of York x Henry Tudor ao3 LINK summary: the morning-after their first night together. no need to say that pre-marital sex is my headcanon for this one-shot. rating: NC-17 words: 3360 notes: my attempt of fluff + smut, because they deserve better reprensentations of their relationship in fiction that the ones we have, and here my little contribution. it took me way too mcuh time to write this shit :P... sorry in advance for my english, but i hope you will enjoy it anyway xxx inspired by this gifset.

Keep reading

–

late december 1485 / coldharbour’s residence / london

–

Elizabeth woke suddenly, an uncomfortable heat in the room. Hours ago she’d fallen asleep in her bed at Coldharbour –not alone. Henry’s presence in it quickly came back to her memory and senses, and Elizabeth, laying on her back, turned her face to look at him. Her King was still sleeping. Perhaps, it had not been how she had pictured their first night, but she had found that it felt right and appropriate. In other words: efficient. Pain had happened at some point but her mother had warned her, and Henry was a considerate betrothed, waiting and going further only with her consent. Yet, no pleasure. But since when did duty and pleasure work together? Every word exchanged between them before or after –they were mainly silent during the act– assured her that Henry would be a pleasant husband. But love or passion were apparently not for her. The King had decided to make his way to her bedroom around eleven in evening and she had let him in. After all, she had been the one suggesting this. They have both remained dressed, until he removed his shirt to look more ‘normal’ in front of her anxious eyes. Elizabeth kept her nightgown on all along. And it happened. Now, lifting her head from her betrothed’s still sleeping form, she pondered at the heat. It took only a moment for her to realize there were hints of timid daylight shining through the bed-curtains, and she could just hear the muffled sounds of the fireplace. The simple combination of the first rays of light, a still healthy fire, and their combined body heat under the blankets answered her brief worry and she was able to relax, turning her attention again to Henry. She braced herself on her elbow to study him as she carefully tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. His features were at peace, so different from the regal mask he seemed to wear daily. The picture was oddly soothing. He breathed heavily as he awoke from his rest, and instinctively she moved away her hand, not yet used to such proximity. He was still bare chested, she was still fully clothed. Opening his blue eyes drew another sound from him and Henry turned to face her, recalling the events of last night apparently more quickly than her. “Good morrow Elizabeth.” “Good morrow,” she answered with a shy smile. Turning, he positioned himself in a mirroring position of hers on his elbow, the two betrothed now facing each other. “How do you feel?” he asked in a still sleepy tone. A rosy hue blossomed on her cheeks as she ducked her head humbly. It was difficult to determine, as she was still a novice to such matters in comparison to her future husband. “I feel… good.” The poor choice of words was evident and she regretted it immediately. Henry nodded, an expression of frustration poorly hidden on his face. They both stayed still in the bed, observing each other before trying to lurk behind the curtain and to guess the hour, or staring at the wall and its moldings or observing their own hands. After a long silence, Henry finally decided to move. He sat up in the bed, looking around for where he had cast away his shirt last night. It was there that, while laying on her side, Elizabeth spotted a scar on him. A scar in the shape of a V just below his ribcage. A scar she hadn’t noticed last night. Since when was it there? It looked old and deep. Probably a few years? And how did– “Curious?” The voice brought her back from her daydream. “I am sorry,” she replied. “No need to. I want frankness between us,” he continued, sitting more comfortably on the mattress as he looked down at her, lying on her back. “If you have any issues or questions, ask. About anything.” She pondered on whether or not she should follow his advice and speak her mind, about anything. Yet, from the few times they talked privately, genuine honesty had been spotted behind his cautious moves. As well as tenderness hidden by his steady attitude. “A swordfight?” A grin formed on his thin lips at her suggestion. Henry’s face always turned into something softer and more expressive when he smiled and Elizabeth decided it was an action he should do more often. “No. No Elizabeth,” he smirked, “Sadly, something much less heroic and much more pathetic.” The frown on her face forced him to go on. “I was 15 -maybe 16, I don’t remember precisely. Francis, the Duke of Britany decided to go on a hunt with some of his courtiers and loyal men. On our horses, my uncle and I joined the group with our bows, ready to catch one of the beautiful deer that populate the Brière’s forest. With my uncle’s skill and my own ability to hide, we quickly found marks on the ground of what looked like an old stag. I was already imagining what could be the best place in my room for the antlers,“ he giggled, running his hand through his messy hair. Henry’s expressive features were contagious and Elizabeth laughed as well. “I was the first to spot the wild animal. In an instant, I raced after it, my horse as fast as the wind, jumping log after log. The game was just in front of me! I drew a silver arrow out and bent my bow, the stag just a few feet away! But–” “But?” “I didn’t see the oak’s branch. And I fell with my bow, tense and ready to let the arrow fly. Which is exactly what happened. Into my side.” Elizabeth’s lips formed a perfect ‘O’ as she pulled her hand on her chest. “My Goodness!” He shrugged. “Not really a story I like to share. Only my uncle, and now you, know about it. So no, not a battle memento I fear,” he concluded, his arms now resting on his knees. A soft giggle escaped her at his disappointed expression, and she happily observed that Henry took no offence of her reaction. “There is nothing to feel ashamed about Henry. We all have acted carelessly in our young years.” “Even you?” Though interested in this sudden complicity and exchange of childhood memories, she still did not feel comfortable enough to confess all of them. Yet, she knew one of the same kind. Hesitant, she moved from the pillow to sit up on the bed, adopting the same position as him. Slowly, she put her hands on the sheets to push them, uncovering her lower body. The white nightgown she was still wearing rested to mid leg, above the knee, exposing her white skin. Not casting a glance at her betrothed, she bent her left leg, the right one flat on the mattress, to reveal just beneath the knee, on her calf, a scar. Tinier and darker than his own. Looking like a spurt of paint or a dying flame. A little pink spiral surrounded by a milky ocean. Henry’s gaze traveled between the thin gush of flesh and her face. “I was 10,” she continued without hesitating. “The weather was terrible and for days, April’s rain didn’t stop. My sister Cecily, who was… seven –I think?–, and I were playing inside the Palace. Me running after her, and she trying to hide. The corridors were our Kingdom and our laughs, the only sound filling them. We were playing everywhere! Even in our Mother’s household which was beautifully decorated. And in our enthusiasm, at some point, Cecily ran into a wall,” Elizabeth laughed at the memory, glaring at the little scar. “But, I was just behind her. She ran into the wall and the mirror that rested upon it didn’t handle the impact well. It fell to the ground, and shattered glass all over the room. I stopped, yet not quickly enough. A piece entered in my leg just there.” Her two palms pressed in the mattress, she stared at the little imperfection. What a panic it had been when her mother saw the blood and the glass in her calf! “Did your sister Cecily get reprimanded?” “Not even a little! A scandal,” her voice answered with amusement and laughter. A chuckle escaped Henry’s lips. The atmosphere in the room changed during the last minutes, suddenly the respectful but still-distant feeling that had been in the air was now tainted with complicity and ease. As if the events that happened last night were finally taking root into them. They were bonded, not only by ink on parchments and oaths pronounced, but by something else… Seated by her side, her future husband was still staring at her uncovered leg. “It is said that Kings had the power to heal diseases and disorders by their touch.” “Thaumaturgic power? I know.” “Do I hear skepticism in your tone Elizabeth?” “Oh no”, she replied lightly as her curved knee swung lazily from left to right. “I follow precisely the words of Saint Thomas the Apostle: I refuse to believe until I am able to see.” The confidence made him smirk. “Fine.” In a blink, he placed his right hand on the little imperfection to cover it entirely. The tips of his fingers were cold against her skin, although his warm palms balanced the contact. Immobile, Elizabeth stared at her King and at his piercing blue eyes on his own hand. Did he truly believe in these so-called thaumaturgic powers? God seemed to have chosen Henry to rule England, but did He bless him with miraculous abilities? A perplexed smile curled up her lips. After a few seconds, Henry removed his palm. Their two impatient stares inspected the result. The scar hadn’t vanished. “It needs more time,” the monarch stated with composure. Again, his hand rested on her skin. It took Elizabeth all her strength to not giggle but her betrothed’s stubbornness made her realize the real nature of the man beneath the crown, the real reasons why he was now the one wearing it. When he had an aim, he would never give up on it, no matter the difficulties. And at this exact moment, he only wanted to make disappear this scar. “Would it be that bad if I keep bearing this mark? Would it lower my value?” He turned his face to look at her, as if he hadn’t hear –or refused to notice– her words. “Does it still hurt?” The question confused her. Such a remark made no sense. The scar was so old. Unless he was talking about another pain. “No. Not anymore.” A smile on his thin lips was his answer. Hidden by auburn strands, Henry’s eyes were back on his attempt of miracle. Elizabeth wished she was able to push his long dark hair from his face to observe his eyes. Were they shut like during redemptive prayers? Or wide open as a desperate pilgrim begging for God? “Perhaps with your two hands it would work more efficiently?” she suggested in an amused tone. Quickly, his hand moved from her calf but resumed its previous position in the same second, allowing only Henry’s sight to catch the product of his ‘powers’. “My Lord?” “You saw nothing,” he replied, and his left hand decided to join the right one on her skin, “It needs more contact. And please: Henry.” She couldn’t help but laugh as she sat back, leaning on her two arms. The situation was childish and she realized Henry’s attention on this tiny detail revealed completely her future husband’s character. At last, one of Elizabeth’s hands left the mattress and reached out to push his hair from his face. Eyes shut. Disconcerting and charming at once, she thought. The attempt lasted an entire minute this time and when his warm palms finally moved away, no need for Elizabeth to look at the result –Henry’s frown was enough. “Sorry Henry.” Their eyes met. Amusement in hers ; concern in his, yet with something more. “It needs more fervour then…” he whispered. But what could be more fervent than prayers and hands from a King? His fingers again touched her skin, but this time not even close to the place where she bore the scar. One palm on her knee, the other around her delicate ankle. And carefully, leaning over her other leg resting on the mattress, he pressed his lips against the little imperfection. The connection lasted and both her hands clutched the blanket instinctively, knuckles turning white. The betrotheds had been intimate last night, acting like husband and wife, doing their duty, and maybe now, Elizabeth was even carrying the heir of the crown. But this only touch, of a King lowering himself to kiss her there, on this vile mark, was thrilling. His mouth retired from her skin. “It’s still there.” His breath caressed the now slightly moistened spot. Again a failure, but this time, no disappointment in his voice. “More fervour.” “Henry…” But he didn’t lift his head at her plea and his lips met again the startling paleness of her skin. Henry moved in a position allowing him to enjoy more easily her softness. Elizabeth followed, leaning back on her elbows, her nails dug into the sheets. His mouth opened to let his tongue trace the pattern of her scar. Is it something husbands do? She thought. Is it something Kings do to their Queens? Her reason wanted to ponder and to think about it but lost track when Henry went further up, kissing her knee, her other leg flat between the mattress and his body. Not a word, not a noise in the room. Only her breath echoing in the silence. He continued to kiss reverently the inside of her knee, slowly making his way up her inner thigh. Everything was different from last night. The light, the warmth in the room, even them. A few hours ago, Elizabeth was a maid and Henry’s body, a strange thing to touch, fear petrifying her limbs. But now, comfort and ease appeared, and pleasure under his touch seemed suddenly a plausible –and desired– concept. Her arms shaking, she let herself lay completely flat on her back. A cloud of red golden hair spread on the pillow. Goosebumps she couldn’t control started taking over her body, and Elizabeth felt a shiver down her spine when her eyes locked with his. All she could hear was the heavy thumping of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her whole body shivered as waves of heat pooled in her veins when she felt his mouth moving further on her thigh. A low and surprising moan escaped from her throat and that look he continued to give her sent tingles straight between her legs. Blushing all over her face, Elizabeth felt the hem of her nightgown pushed higher and higher to her waist, exposing herself entirely to his view. Now on his knees, Henry leaned in pulling her thighs apart, lighting her skin aflame as he licked his way up to this place only he knew. “Henry,” she gasped as her hands played spontaneously over the muscles of his back. “Henry what are y–” Her eyes screwed shut and her back arched as a simple movement brought his lips to the center of her thighs and she nearly screamed with surprise. Yet, given the danger still present in her mind –after all, they were at his mother’s residence– she bit her cry back as much as she could. One arm across her hips suddenly held her still then, allowing him to do as he pleased with her ; the other one hand, caressing her soft breast through the cloth. How did he know of such things? Was it a welsh tradition? Or a secret between only them? Her fingers run through his dark hair, pulling him closer to her in a complete greedy need. Her mouth fell open, the no-longer-a-maid-Elizabeth delighted by even the slightest movement of his lips and tongue upon her. Pants and moans and sighs and a soft litany of his name in strangled gasps filled the room. “God!” was the only word she seemed able to express correctly, her breath erratic and raw in her throat. Her body beginning to glisten with sweat, pleasure sinking into her as her hips bucked forward. She didn’t know such bliss was possible. In that moment, Elizabeth thought about begging, his touch enough to nearly push her towards completion. Looking down with blurred vision, her glare met Henry’s piercing eyes, always on her. The same intensity in them he had showed during the attempt of disappearance of her scar. Now, his intentions were entirely different but so evident. To please her as she had pleased him last night. To let her forget any pain. Unable to handle more ‘attacks’, her head fell back onto the pillow in a loud cry of triumph. His hand on her breast, his tongue and mouth upon her most secretive place -she was lost. Elizabeth’s legs tensed around his head, her body trembling as she approached something she didn’t know… a precipice, a peak, a fire? Her hands were making fists, her knuckles were turning pale. “Oh Jesu!” she gasped out, the world turning white around her as her every muscle clenched tight in pure joy. Upon feeling her come apart beneath him, Henry pulled away. Elizabeth’s body shuddered, numb, and she placed her hand against her brow as she tried to catch her breath. Eyes shut, she could sense him crawling on her and while doing so, he carefully positioned her nightgown back in a more decent posture. He is considerate, she thought. And a skilled lover. When she reopened her eyes after long seconds, Elizabeth found him by her side, his arms supporting his weight as he looked down at her. She reached out and placed her hand on his cheek to draw him closer. Willingly, he leaned over to press his lips against hers. “Thank you…” she whispered. Thank you? Maybe for the chance to have such an accommodating betrothed? It was rather dizzying the way Henry offered her affection and pleasure when nothing really obliged him to. And such attentions made her only eager to practice and learn more. Usually so pious and devout, maybe it was natural for a (future)wife to become more wanton? Her thumb caressed his bottom lip – “Welsh custom?” – which he kissed – “French custom.” – and she giggled shyly before he took her lips again for a deep kiss promising more. Though, still curious about his previous paramours and knowledge, time’s injustice couldn’t be ignored forever. Already, the church bells could be heard from afar for the first mass service, and the servants would soon fill the corridors. Henry had to leave her. Their lips parted. “I should go back to my room.” Elizabeth nodded. The bed creaked when he left it, and it reminded Elizabeth that she had forgotten to ask him for a new one. While her bare-chested-betrothed walked throughout the room, she didn’t take her eyes of him. Tall, slender but well built, he couldn’t be described as handsome or beautiful like both her parents, but Henry had a real charm he seemed to save only for her. She felt displeasure when he put his shirt back on. “I will see you at the first liturgy with your lady Mother,” she said from her bed, a soft smile on her still swollen lips, “my Lord.” “I hope so,” and he bowed, “my Lady.” With his loose shirt and simple breeches, the scene was anything but regal. After having checked that the way was clear, Henry disappeared behind the door in silence. His sudden absence turned the atmosphere of the room into something dull and colder ; against all logic since the sun was getting higher in the sky. Elizabeth sighed as she looked at the ceiling, her arms spread on the mattress. Henry will be a good husband. And I will be a good Consort, she promised to herself. A devoted Queen, a devoted wife, a devoted mother, a devoted Christian. Her lips softly curled up at the last part. She would have to confess today.

–

fin

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ao3 LINK

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[fullofstoryshapes]

Where is the spring and the harvest?

Progress passes in a rush, a blur - he tires more easily than he would like, the travelling wearing on him as it never used, and so he staggers from meeting to feast and feast to hearing without questioning any of it. John de la Pole has command of his household, Francis Lovell of his itinerary, Hal Percy of… Something else. Anne will know what it all is, if he thinks to ask.

Read chapters five and six @ AO3

[fullofstoryshapes]

Peccatoribus

Charles had never imagined that telling Henry about a new daughter would be an official duty, but they had come a very long way from the days when Henry was Harry of York, no matter how difficult that might sometimes have been to accept.

Read chapter six @ AO3

[fullofstoryshapes]

Where is the spring and the harvest? for @poorshadowspaintedqueens, @ofhouseadama, @essayofthoughts, @tobermoriansass, and @theeladydisdain, for enabling me.

On the eve of battle at Bosworth Field, a rider comes, bearing the Queen's standard. The King presumes the worst, but is proven wrong.

She is alive.

And so, he must win. There are no other choices.

Read @ AO3

Breaking from my usually more-or-less professional tone on this blog to introduce the Monster: an ever-growing study of what Anne and Richard’s relationship might have been, in a post-Bosworth world.

[fullofstoryshapes]

What, do you tremble? for @poorshadowspaintedqueens

Her hands are trembling, and she decides to ignore it.

She has been here before - not in this chamber, not in this nightgown, not with this man. But she has done this before. She is a widow. She knows what this bed is for.

Read @ AO3

[fullofstoryshapes]

No beast so fierce: Annie

Edmund dies, and Henry doesn’t come to the funeral.

Father’s furious, of course, but Father’s been furious for months now.Ever since they were told that it didn’t matter how much money theythrew at Ed’s sickness, Father’s been constantly on the verge of boilingover.

This is a different kind of fury, though. This one has a purpose behind it.

(Or, modern wars are sometimes fought in boardrooms, not onbattlefields, but are no less bloody for it.)

Read @ AO3

[fullofstoryshapes]

Tint tomorrow with prophetic ray

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. - Lord Byron

Bosworth falls differently, and a King crowned a King remains.

Read @ AO3