#the tailor's kiss

[woolyfaye]

I guess since twitter is dying I ought to remind folks I don’t just shitpost here and reblog fandom stuff. SOMETIMES, I write.  Anyways an unedited bit from The Tailor’s Kiss, since I plan on finishing it once my degree is completed.  For new followers, this follows the life of Betony Redyng, an alderman’s daughter, as she wards off her unsavory suitors in the spring and summer of 1381, when the pressures of the Poll tax lit London aflame and threatened its independent rule. 

“Hmm, yes. May I walk you home?” He nodded, though his eyes did not focus on her face as Edward’s did. He was partially turned away, despite the older man offering his arm to her. Walter’s red face was less flushed than usual, making the lines forming around his eyes and lips stand out slightly. It seemed his time serving the city as an enforcer of the law was wearing on him. Beneath her touch, his forearm was hard with muscle. It was a firm reminder that for all his talking, he was very much a man of action. He was, as a nobleman might say, preux.

  Betony tried to keep her touch as light as possible. He started without a verbal acceptance, the brush of her fingers enough to set him walking. Idly, she wondered if she’d have to get used to that, for with Geoffrey dealt with, Sheriff Walter Doget was the only man actively pursuing her. Betony didn’t want a life of her word being worth nothing, especially in the places it mattered. He at least purposely slowed his step for her, and he finally smiled down at her. He seemed more interested in her throat and brooch, his eyes only rising to land on her lips as he asked, “Have you heard much of the goings-on outside of London?”

  Betony’s brows rose. That was the last subject she’d expected him to ask about. She tilted her head to the side, grasping for the gossip that traveled through the city’s network of women. That word traveled slowly, but there was always some woman whose cousin in the countryside had heard about something from a traveler, or had heard something from a friend. By the end of it, of course, the tale had warped into the exaggerated silhouette of monsters and scandal, but Betony loved that about gossip. Now she almost hated it. “Many are refusing to pay the poll tax. Some I’ve heard have taken up arms.”

  Walter snorted. “Fat chance there is of that happening here—forgive me for my language, Miss Redyng—but I’ve made ensuring the tax is paid a very personal endeavor.” He seemed to puff up with pride, even as they stepped out into the unseasonably cold rain.

  Betony was glad her entire dress was a waterspot, or else this would certainly have ruined her dress. She grimaced slightly at Walter’s words, a shiver traveling up her spine. She’d trust that to be the rain’s fault, but the poll tax might have been another reason. “May I ask how you’ve managed to do that, goodman?”

  “I’m certain the details would bore you.” Walter laughed. Betony’s insides twisted. Her touch grew firmer on his arm only so she might imagine what it might feel like to twist his arm in the same way—but violence was not ideal, especially not towards the enforcer of London’s laws. An act like that would be just as bad as fighting the mayor. “I’ve simply ensured that those who don’t comply with our good king’s tax face certain difficulties, as they haven’t obliged the laws of the city.”

  This time, she was certain, the chill was not from the rain. She expected talk like this from Venetians, who never said what they meant and always tried to impress their audience, but not a good Londoner. Even worse, a Londoner so respected by the civic government that he’d been named Sheriff at the age of thirty. Betony let out a chuckle that half caught in her throat. “I thought the king’s men would do that for you.”

  Doget made a dismissive noise. “Bah, you know the king’s men. Too afraid to interfere with our city’s independence.”

  “London still owes fealty to King Richard.” Betony replied. The young king had yet to impress her, but she was fully aware of that. The city’s writ of self-governance had been threatened—revoked, even—in the past, and she would not see it revoked again by riots. “Perhaps a gentler hand might—“

  Sheriff Walter cut her voice off with a laugh that echoed across the streets. It seemed lent had left few of the ladies hungry for dancing, for the square outside the church was nearly empty. Sound carried further than she’d ever seen it go her whole life. He looked down his sloped nose at her. “Kindness doesn’t pay taxes.”

  Betony bit back a retort. Her face felt hot for all the wrong reasons, most of all her thoughts on the state of the city being outright dismissed. Goodman Doget was certainly well-connected, but as a man who’d been unmarried all his life, he seemed to have no connections to the word spread through the women of the city. That meant he missed the words of the women outside the city as well. Those who were widowed with young children by the ongoing war with France were the most affected by the tax. The crop hadn’t been good enough to pay it. But Betony couldn’t risk a larger blow to her reputation to argue.

  Instead, she looked about the streets for a way out. Betony knew none of the people they passed well enough to excusably break away. With a thin smile, she instead prayed to Jesus, Mary and Joseph that another might approach her or the sheriff, and the excuse of conversation could give her an exit. Betony would find her prayers unanswered. As her hazel eyes searched every dampened face and the depths of each doorway, she was met only with the frowns of others. “Are you taking me another route? This isn’t the way my kin take to Knightrider.” Betony asked. By now, her veil was entirely plastered to her head. Moving her head one way or the other was an effort, with the drenched linen heavier than any of her sins.

  “I thought I’d show you a new way.” Goodman Walter said.

  The chill was certainly from the cold.

  Betony found it much harder to keep up her smile now. She loosened her grip on the sheriff’s arm just enough so she could break away easily. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I’d like to be returned home quickly, goodman.” Her voice shook as she spoke, “I’ve a dress to finish for Easter. You are aware that the Guildhall has agreed we’re all to wear purple during Easter mass.”  

[cozylittleartblog]

i now understand how certain people felt when harpy eda was revealed 😳

prints here

[cosmicdreamgrl]

𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘬 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴: (66/?)

[ximuori]

Portrait of a loving family 🩸🖤

[jeremysknoxes]

imagine how much this meant to wylan

[lenreli]

FERDINAND KINGSLEY as IRVING THALBERG

Mank (2020)

[taya-ki]

When he holds ur face real nice :)

[jpg-of-dorian-slay]

and what happens when jesper finds out wylan’s been hiding this big part of his identity even though jesper has been making an effort to be more open about who he is and not hiding his grisha powers and all that? what then? 

[howlsmovinglibrary]

Look, I’m a slut for fictional men and fey princes, but it is now just frankly embarrassing to admit that I am in love with a figment of someone else’s imagination called ‘Wendel Bambleby’, of all things. Like that is crossing some kind of line.

[mycherrycola]

me: who would spend upwards of $350 on a scratchy color-block sweater just cuz some damp little man wore it in a silly vampire movie?

also me: I'm gonna spend upwards of $800 on high quality suiting wool to make a 3 piece replica of a ratty suit that the exact same damp little man wore in a silly vampire movie

[woolyfaye]

The more i write Betony the more I think she's demi

[cursemewithyourkiss]

Was anyone going to tell me that while Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy may start as a spy thriller, it ends as a gay tragedy?

[tailorvizsla]

The Diplomatic Incident

My brand new Orville fic! It is waiting for editing and then that's it :D Here is a snippet:

Cataloging was generally regarded as the worst possible duty a crew could be assigned.

Ed was in full agreement. Patrol duty was generally boring, but at least there was a chance of something interesting happening. Unfortunately, while cataloging, their orders were to catalog, and to call in anything that looked interesting so another ship could investigate. So they would not neglect their duties. Sometimes, these cataloging duties took a few weeks, and sometimes they took several months. They were stuck with the latter, which made him wonder if someone back at HQ had a vendetta against him.

Ed reclined in his seat, crossing one ankle over the other knee. He took a moment to observe his crew. Everyone was busy at their station, and no one looked like they needed his help, so he went back to his boredom. For the past three weeks, the Orville had been cataloging nebulas in this particular region of space. His crew were all professionals at work, but he could sense that even the nerds in cartography were getting bored, too.

For the past twenty-one days, there had not been a single blip. No errant artifacts causing time travel. No distress signals that originated from beyond the edge of known space. Not even the tiniest hiccup of an anomaly. Hell, he would settle for second contact if it meant doing something else.

He exhaled quietly and tried to remain positive. At least they had not been assigned to cataloging asteroids like the poor bastards on the Kilauea.

[curioushabitforarivergod]

literally every spy thriller Ive watched Ive liked. is this like... how you discover you like things??

[if-mirrormine]

hiiiiiiii alli 💕💕💕 i read mm a few days ago and i caaaaan't stop thinking about it!!!! grayson especially is so babygirl 🥺 thank you for writing this!!!!! only wanted to share that i stumbled across a poem (leila chatti's night lament in hergla) that made me think of grayson and hurt me so bad haha so thanks for giving me such bad brainworms 💕

bestie this poem -🥺😭

[ruslangazizov]

mapleleafs: Saturday Stylin’