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blckfyres · 2 years

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Hi hi! Okay so those song prompts are magnificent. How about ‘17. And at once I knew, I was not magnificent - Holocene, Bon Iver’

It would be good to have something where Aemond l sees the reader for the first time at a ball or something and his own little view that he is superior to others comes crashing down because he is in absolute awe of her? Feel free to alter/tweak/change whatever!

thank you so much @littlemisscaptainfandom ! i ran wild with this one. feral. i love the idea of aemond being outplayed because of his smugness, and the ball idea - enjoy!

request a song prompt!

Magnificent

Warnings: Aemond being in deep denial lmao WC: 3333 (nice)

Prompt 17: "And at once I knew, I was not magnificent" - Holocene, Bon Iver

He heard you long before he saw you – the uneven heel clacking of a noble’s daughter who had shirked one too many dance lessons.

“No,” he heard a lilting voice laugh, impatiently. “Like this - right foot second, you dolt.”

Dolt indeed – the instruction was lost on the girl, whoever in the Seven she was. Yet another sacrificial lamb to lure the unwed dragon into marriage, no doubt. Even with one eye and a turned back, Aemond could practically smell her family’s pathetic attempt at temptation – a corset two sizes too small and a family ambition two leagues too large.

The prince didn’t deign to watch the scene. He preferred the game of gleaning, observation – seeing without seeing. Creating the tapestry in his mind and tracing the threads to know which to pull to watch it all unravel. It had long been said by the Maesters that when one loses a sense, the others bolster themselves, and indeed, all he had to do was listen.

Aemond heard the Dolt relinquish a dramatic sigh. “It seems that I simply must retire to the fray then Elyana, lest I bring shame upon our most noble house.”

The younger – Elyana – huffed.

“It would be wise. How father expects to make you a dragon bride, I will never know. You cannot dance, or sing, or embroider –”

“Yes, and lest we forget my stunning lack of maternal instinct,” you lamented. “Remember when Darya’s little one bit me?”

Aemond smiled – smug, slight, vulpine. He was right, of course, as he always was.

The sudden sound of shattered glass upon flagstones jerked Aemond out of his wager. He acted on instinct, as he always did, head whipping towards the drunken laughter and breaking his reverie. Behind him indeed stood two girls, as different as the sun and moon. The younger, dressed in fine lilac gossamer and silver, swiftly began to chase the bard and beg for another song.

And then there was you. Aemond’s eye roamed your figure, appraising the rich, dark olive of your gown and its deep, square neckline – Braavosi velvet, he’d wager, a show of wealth to have such long sleeves of the stuff. A little demure for an attempted seduction, he mused. Perhaps her family thought to appeal to mother’s piousness.

The prince would never admit that this was the longest he had stared at a woman. He simply wanted to improve his skill of gleaning, listening, to compare the observations he made with the reality before him. It was imperative to absorb every detail; the way that your gold pendant heaved with your shallow, shocked breathing, and the sliver of hair resting on your cheek. There was a power in your tensed shoulders - coiled, reactive, ready for the threat of weight. Aemond felt his fingers twitch against his will, a yearning to carry it for you.

He snapped himself back to reality with an internal grimace - the dragon cannot lie with the lamb. The music had begun again, and you finally turned towards him, face blanching at his discovered proximity.

“Prince Aemond,” you started, eyes wide, muscles coiled – caught in the courtly snare.

The lamb is too stunned to curtsey, he mused, watching your quick fingers wringing the golden band on your thumb. You certainly were the most radiant of the sacrifices offered to him so far. Though, he parried, there would be little use in marrying a fool.

Aemond hummed, relishing in your panic for a few seconds longer than any decent gentleman would.

“I’m half-blind, not half-deaf,” he said lowly, taking a step closer. “One would do well to be wary of the court, my lady. You never know who might be listening.”

Your eyes narrowed imperceptibly – a flash of something Aemond didn’t quite recognise, gone as quickly as it appeared. Idiots have trouble accepting their transgressions, he supposed, but her polite smile had something hidden behind it, like the dark side of the moon. Deep within the tides of the fray, Alicent observed the scene with a ghost of a smile. She watched the girl hide fire and intelligence in her muscles like a coiled serpent, and bitterly wished that she had the same instinct as a girl. Perhaps then she could have avoided her fate of staring at ceilings and dancing with dragons.

Her prayer was silent as she observed you, implored with eyes instead of the tongue: Keep buying your time, sweet girl. Her second son was much too perceptive not to see through your mummer’s moronity eventually – she could already see Aemond’s eye probing your mask.

“Aemond,” the Queen beckoned with a regal nod of her head.

Time. She thought, noting the way your minds danced around each other, palpable. Love matches were rare, mind matches even more so – but she could see the way you looked at one another. Time and choice. She would gift you the mercy the gods denied her.

The prince pried his eye away from you with great effort, waiting for you to answer him. You remained silent, gaze unwavering.

Interesting. He conceded as he walked towards his mother. For a dolt.

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Your eyes narrowed through the dim candlelight. The crowd ebbed and heaved like fresh seafoam, and you searched for your sister, your anchor in the waves, like the Oldtown lightower would a lost ship. In truth, you felt uneasy without Ely, your sworn shield against courtly attentions. It had been like this ever since you were children – a symbiotic relationship, the tide to your moon. She would sing and whirl through your father’s halls, a gossamer dervish, drawing the attention to herself and leaving you free to pursue your histories and hidden halls, and hone your sharp tongue.

You finally spotted the girl by a large table of ale, humouring a dark haired young lord who had not yet grown into his long limbs. You weaved your way through the crowd to reach her, forming a courtly, waxen smile to begin your manoeuvre.

“Sister!” You gasped, watching Elyana’s dark eyes twinkle as she recognised your ruse. “Mother requires you at once–” You cocked your head, silently wondering how every little lord fell for it. “Something about Ser Randyll?”

The little lord – Arryn, you’d wager by his gleaming brooch – blanched at the sight of your mother in deep conversation with Lord Reyne and his son. You stifled a laugh watching his chest puff up slightly at the challenge – your work was done. You pried your sister away from the little falcon’s talons, barely managing to stifle your laughing fit until he was out of earshot.

“Seven hells, Y/N, it took you long enough!” she huffed, preening over your shoulder to make sure that the young Lord Lannister hadn’t seen the exchange and think her spoken for. She had always been a romantic, excessively so, even for her six and ten years.

You pinched her dimpled cheek with a grin. “That’s for having far too much mirth in calling me a dolt earlier.”

Elyana rolled her eyes, batting your hand away. “It was your grand strategy, if I recall.”

“Yes, and I accounted for the pinch.” You said wickedly, before surveying the hall.

“A job well done I’d say, The Prince heard our performance. I even refused to curtsey. He’ll no doubt relay my idiocy to the Queen, and we’ll be home in no time at all.”

Elyana regarded you pensively, gently taking hold of your hand. Her gentleness felt like a cage to you, sometimes – perceptive, inescapable. “You know you will have to marry one day.”

Your sister watched your eyes flutter, soaking in your surroundings like a sponge. Your reply was barely audible over the internal hum of your own thoughts. “Not like this.”

You had decided that long ago. You knew you couldn’t escape a married fate – all women were cursed with the knowledge of how their lives would go from the moment they stepped into their first etiquette lesson with the septa. But, if you were to be married, it would be on your terms.

Impossible, father often branded you, but always with a fond smile. If you could not escape your fate, you would fiercely guard the little time you had with your freedom as the kingsguard would protect the king.

Though sometimes, when alone in the vespertine hush of your chambers, you could admit the presence of a longing in yourself, a desire to be seen for who you were by whoever you might be sold off to. Such longing is dangerous, you told yourself. Expect the swing of the sword, never mercy. Especially if you found yourself drawn to the wielder like a moth to flame – you were lucky to have honed your courtly mask so well upon seeing his handsome face. Though you had heard takes of the “one-eyed brute”, there was little account of the beautiful shadow his cheekbones cast, and his knowing, surveying gaze.

Your sister pulled you out of your thoughts, head nodding to a balcony alcove. She knew the price you paid for duty as the eldest. “Go. Take your refuge. I’ll be with mother.”

You offered her a tired, grateful smile before wading through the crowd towards your sanctuary, too close to paradise to be aware of the shark circling.

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It wasn’t as though Aemond had been watching you. Mother had always taught him to be an attentive host - he was merely cultivating good will, bolstering support for the war to come. He watched you grab your third - no, fourth - glass of wine, an irritated huff escaping his nose. He supposed there was little use in lying to himself any longer - he felt pulled to you the same way he felt called to the skies. Perhaps this was the lust that seemed to drive Aegon to the depths of Fleabottom every night - maddening.

The more he watched you, the more his one good eye narrowed in bewilderment. Supposedly too dim to follow a septa’s simple instruction and notice the ears of court, yet cunning enough to weave your way through this nest of dancing vipers and their hungry sons. You could redirect the attention of a young lord with a single word, and charm your father with the raise of an eyebrow. You moulded the scenes that unfolded around you, parrying dance requests with a skill he’d only seen with Ser Cole and his morningstar.

So why the overt blundering before him? He leaned against the pillar, pensive. The only rational explanation he could fathom was that you had heard stories of him and thought to demean yourself as a marriage prospect. The prince scowled. Of course. What woman such as her would want a one-eyed beast as a husband? Aemond felt his insides twist and his fingers twitch, barely containing the ire towards himself.

Despite your repulsion of him, Aemond felt his curiosity turning ravenous in his stomach as he watched you approach your sister. He could not help but want to map you as The Conqueror once did his lands – even if you did not want him, he could watch your mind work from afar. So watch he did, as your sister held your hand in hers like water. He mapped it all to memory – your hushed words, the steely set of your eyes and jaw, your deceptive smile; a sliver of his favourite crescent moon.

The hour was late and the candles burnt low. Nobody would begrudge any of the young ladies for retiring for the night – the young Tyrell girl had already sunk so far into her cups that she had to be carried to her chambers like an overwatered rose. Yet there you slithered to the alcove, alone, alert with empty company and a full cup.

Aemond had begun to follow you long before his mind registered the movement of his legs. He followed your trail through the flurry of bright skirts, drunk on the hunt. His long legs strode with a purpose that was lost to his conscious mind, stopping when he reached the boundary of the lush, red drapery. Aemond stood outside of your sanctuary for a long while before breaching it, in an act that almost reminded him of protection. From what, he did not know. A mangled dragon guarding its hoard, he thought wryly, before stepping onto the balcony with the silence of a predator.

The prince wasn’t sure what he expected. A maiden in tears after being shunned at court, perhaps – he wasn’t sure how far you’d go to keep up the show. But there you were, in the furthest corner of the alcove, with your elbows on the dark stone and your eyes to the stars. He glanced at your now-empty cup before clearing his throat.

You sighed imperceptibly before turning to face him. So you knew I was here, then. The thought made him hide a smile - the idea of you sensing his presence and ignoring him anyway, even if you tried to hide that fact. Insolent. He thought. Magnificent.

You bowed this time, with a tired, chagrin smile - an apology for earlier. “Forgive me, my Prince. It has been a while since my sister and I have been in the capital. The intricacies of court politics appear to be lost on me.”

Aemond hummed, ignoring the way his innards clenched - my prince. He rather liked the sound of that. “Yet not so unhoned that you managed to avoid that Lannister whelp,” he paused, brow raised. It made him feel less shame to know he was not the only one you rebuked. “Not to mention that little Manderly lordling.”

The Prince enjoyed watching you war with yourself - needing to keep your shield up, yet too tired and full of ire to keep up the ruse for much longer.

“Evading them hardly requires a honed mind, my Prince.” You snorted. A clever answer. He thought. Too clever.

“Aemond.” He corrected. You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “If I am to play along with your farce, let the rest of it be real.” He amended, making his way next to you but never prying his eye away.

You breathed a laugh, toying with your rings again. “You see more with one eye than most do with two, Aemond.”

The prince hummed. “It is of little consequence. They still brand me “one-eye” after all.”

“Little,” you snorted again, a glorious sound. Real, he thought, the soft skin of your hand calling him as your voice did. Real enough to touch. “Perhaps everything seems little to the rider of the largest dragon alive.”

The mention of Vhagar earnt you a small smile - a true one that you couldn’t quite look away from. Somehow you knew that it was Aemond’s version of a face-splitting grin.

You basked in comfortable silence for a while, noting how he had placed you on his right side – away from his eyepatch. The revelation made you frown, but left your vision unobstructed. It gave you a better look at the way his hair fell, an estuary of molten silver. You committed his profile to memory - the sharp edges that were strong, true, until he suddenly met your eyes. For once, you were speechless - the lush darkness of the night and the sweet smell of gardenias were suddenly oppressive.

“I really can’t dance, you know.” You blurted.

Aemond artfully raised an eyebrow in question.

“Earlier,” you clarified. “what you heard.” You tucked your hair behind your ear with what you hoped was a self-effacing smile. “I really am a terrible dancer, it was no lie.”

Aemond nodded grimly in understanding. “There is no need, my Lady, I understand your distaste for the match.” He stood taller, and tapped his eyepatch lightly.

Aemond watched ten emotions cross your face at once, until you settled on the one that most puzzled him; anger. Your eyebrows furrowed deliciously, something he noticed you did before you wielded your barbed tongue, and your lips parted. He did not see how your heart caught in your throat, nor the way your hands almost sprung to hold his shoulders. You slapped your palms onto the cold stone instead.

“Gods no. No, that is,” you breathed, warring with yourself before finally conceding. “It is not you, Aemond. Nor the sapphire eye that likely costs more than my entire dowry,” you jested half-heartedly.

You steeled yourself for honesty, looking into the sky once again and sneering in defiance at the gods who watched. “If I am to be sold off, I at least want to choose my buyer.”

Aemond’s gaze never left you, probing your truth as if he were caught in its net. He finally understood, and you knew he did. There was little that could be said, he thought.

Your eyes were almost crazed with a repressed frustration that was finally breaching the walls of your dutiful facade. A longing to be understood that matched his own. He saw fire – not that of ‘fire and blood’, but the fire of lightning. Beautiful, terrible, calculated in its strikes. Magnificent.

You trembled as if to cull the rage from erupting out of you. Years of playing placater, unable to unleash the true potential of your mind and spirit. Aemond’s eye flitted down to the stone, observing the shaking of your hands.

He did the only thing he knew how to and rested his hand gently over yours, the same way he would calm Vhagar. Real, he thought. Warm. Much too warm. You calmed under his touch. He understood, you know he did – years at court culling your own ambition at the expense of duty. Aemond created the “one-eyed brute”, just as you created the “little dolt of a lamb”.

You placed your hand over his. Horribly improper – it made you smile under the valleys of his scars and callouses. You wondered if you could map them in your mind as the maesters mapped the stars – a sky that was your own. Aemond felt your pulse thrum under his fingers and let it reverberate – his hands, his ears, his heart, his bones, it was all you. He knew you would have to leave soon enough, but for now, he would bask in you, knowing you’ve scorched him for life.

“Aemond,” You said, hushed. “How far can a dragon fly?” You looked up to meet his faraway gaze, relishing in catching him off guard. His lips were slightly parted as he stared at your own. It took every ounce of his steel restraint not to pull you to him and show you the meaning of fire and blood.

Instead, he hummed. “Vhagar has been known to make the trip from here to Dorne in a day, give or take - ”

He stilled at the interrupting shake of your head. If you had met his eyes, you would have noticed the questioning squint of his eye. Instead, your eyes were now trained above him, not wavering from the star-spittled sky.

“No,” you began, the gold of your necklace jingling as you craned your neck - as if the stars would be able to hear you better that way. “How high? Your maesters would not tell me.”

Aemond stared at you for a moment, finally following your gaze upwards with a slight smile. You asked the maesters. Of course you did. The thought of you badgering them in the palace library filled him with a disturbing level of fondness.

“Perhaps we could find out.”

Your head whipped towards him, eyes sparkling in the dark. “We?”

Aemond hummed again, this time in affirmation as he took your hand in silent question. “If I’m steering Vhagar, who will take note of the scientific observations? Maybe you are a dolt after all, my lady.” You squeezed his hand in your own, and your answering grin was like the sun. Magnificent.

#song prompts #my writing #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond fics #hotd #hotd fics #unbowed unbeta'd unbroken #mine #magnificent

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isabelleneville · 2 years

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“We cannot give all of the credit to Anne Boleyn, but Anne gave many of her character traits to Elizabeth, was an adoring mother in the short time she had with Elizabeth and went to her death praising the King in an attempt to keep her daughter safe from harm. Yes, Elizabeth was shaped by her life experiences, people like Catherine Parr, Anne of Cleves and Blanche Parry, and her trusted advisers, but much of her character was inherited from Anne Boleyn”

- Claire Ridgway, The Elizabeth Files

#the tudors #becoming elizabeth #perioddramaedit #thetudorsedit #becomingelizabethedit #ndormeredit #Natalie Dormer #alicia von rittberg #anne boleyn #elizabeth I #my edits #I had to edit these together why i have no idea

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jezabelofthenorth · 8 months

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Some of Elizabeth’s ladies had served her since childhood and were collectively referred to as the ‘old flock of Hatfield’. Principal among them were Blanche Parry and Kat Astley, who had been part of her household for more than twenty years. One of Elizabeth’s first acts after becoming queen was to bring Kat back from her enforced exile and appoint her chief gentlewoman of the privy chamber. This was the most prestigious post in the royal household and gave Kat unrivalled access to her royal mistress.

Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth I, The Mother and Daughter Who Changed British History, Tracy Borman

#quotes #elizabeth I #kat ashley

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ofmymuses · 2 years

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꒰♡꒱ — NAMES BY AESTHETIC.

part two of ?? ; under the cut, you’ll find a bunch of name ideas based on different aesthetics (academia, cottagecore, etc). if you find this post useful, please consider giving it a like / reblog so that i know ♡♡

grandparentcore—

alice

arthur

arlene

blanche

benjiman

billy / billie

betty

bernadette

constance

clara

clifford

clyde

dennis

dolores

dorothy

esther

elaine

edwin

ernest

frances

frederick

florence

gladys

geraldine

glenn

gertrude

henry

howard

helen

hazel

irene

irving

ida

jolene

judith

jude

jack

kenneth

loretta

louise

marjorie

margaret

miriam

marlon

nanette

otto

oswald

otis

phyllis

patsy

peter

ruth

randy

ruby

randall

ralph

roy

sue

susan

samuel

theresa

theodore

ursala

violet

vincent

victor

winifred

wilma

willie

wilbur

cyberpunk—

alexia

avalon

azura

bellatrix

badger

blade

bee

cyno

cressida

clarity

delphine

dixie

denari

delmare

dot

electra

ellio

ember

finnick

fluke

futura

genesis

glory

helvetica

haven

juno

jinx / jinkx

kay

ky / kai

kilo

luna

link

laya

magdelene

merrick

molly

neve

niander

nyla

niko

nymph

octavia

orion

onyx

oriana

pixie

parris

priya

rue

rainn

stitch

zero

kidcore—

aaliyah

alex

ariel

brynn

bobby

blue

connor

cassie

chloe

dodie

daisy

darcy

emmeline / emmilina

ella

freddy

gaten

grace / gracie / gracen

gianna

gabriella / gabby

holly

india

iris

indie

jeanie

joanna

kylie

kaylee

lacey

lia

lucy

macey

max

mika

maddison / maddy / maddie

may

melody

nia

nessa

olivia

oliver / ollie

poppy

rose / rosie

sydney

sadie

sam

teddy

taissa

tyler

vanessa

wybie

#rpc #namelist #names masterlist ♡#mine.#mine.*ml #names by aesthetic #WHEW. this is a long one

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michaelgabrill · 19 days

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#NewYorkTimes #NYT

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oliswamp · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 20

No. 20 IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade Alternative prompts: Ambushed, Stabbed HxH: Killua is a vampire, Gon gets stabbed, rampage ensues.

Killua thought that the worst thing to have ever happened to him was being turned into a vampire and maybe, maybe, that he kept it a secret.

The list was being rapidly updated.

First someone started stalking him and Gon, then he stopped being able to feed, not wanting his secret to be exposed to the stalker, then Gon started asking questions about why he looked so miserable and weakened all the time—

And then someone, probably the stalker, had the gall to attack them.

It was a Nen-user, a vicious beast that parried all their attacks with a nonchalance that spoke of years of training. A fellow assassin, maybe. He didn’t speak, didn’t boast, just slashed and punched, and pulled, and kicked until Killua, in his weakened state, ended up lying flat on his back, dark spots dancing in his vision, and dizziness not letting him immediately get up.

The stranger, of course, used it to his advantage.

Immediately he went for a finishing blow with his knife… but the attack never came.

Killua watched with wide eyes as Gon, like in slow motion, pushed himself on the path of the knife and it sank into his body with a sickening quench.

Now, normally Killua wouldn’t be pleased, to say the least. But logically he knew that Gon had a higher chance of surviving a knife to the stomach as an Enhancer with a stronger body.

But at that moment something in him broke. The slowed-down state he found himself in grew as he rose from the ground and ran into the attacker, knocking him down. He didn’t know where the speed came from, nor the energy, but he wasn’t complaining. No, all he was thinking at that moment was red-blinding rage. How dare he hurt Killua’s Gon, how dare he hurt his best friend, his soulmate, his—

He tore into the attacker with his sharpened nails, tearing through his Nen-enhanced clothing like it was nothing more than a simple cloth. With supernatural strength he tore into the man’s chest, and in one swift motion ripped out his beating heart.

He expected a wave of hunger to overcome him at the smell of blood, since the beginning of the fight, but at that moment the only thing he felt was rage as he stared down at the organ in his fist. The wound wasn’t pretty, not like he was used to removing the heart carefully, but simply a torn out hole with visible cracked ribs.

The hunger did eventually come though, creeping in slowly and whispering to him that he could eat the heart, that it wouldn’t make him nauseous like other solid food. And he was angry, so angry at the attacker— The whispers were effective. He took a messy bite and moaned at the taste, then another, and another, until the heart was gone. Only then he took the body’s arm and brought its wrist to his mouth, he drank the cooling blood greedily, letting it fill his stomach and energise him.

But as he drank his mind became a little clearer, even if not fully. Gon. Gon, he had to check up on Gon.

He released the arm, and turned to his friend, his only, his. A worried purr raised in his chest seeing Gon just standing there with a knife in his stomach. They both learned how to heal wounds like that ages ago, he should be doing that, not just standing there, watching— Oh. Watching him. Watching him… being a beast. Oh. Oh no.

“Killua…? What— What did you just do?” He sounded accusing. He sounded scared. He sounded disgusted.

Killua blanched.

“What did you do?” the question repeated, a new emotion picking through the other ones on Gon’s face—anger.

Killua got up.

And he fled.

#whumptober2022 #no.20 #altprompt #ambushed #stabbed #hunter x hunter #fic #blood #vampires #violence #injury #death #blood drinking #killua zoldyck #gon freccs #killugon #writing #oliswamp writes and struggles

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belladonna-wright · 2 years

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1907-8. Europe’s great houses are terrorised by a string of elaborate art thefts. Herbert Parry reports.

As Time Goes By - Chapter 5

Warnings: Mentions of art theft?

Daring Robbery in Italian Lakes.

—

Italian police are mystified by a daring robbery which took place in Lake Como, Italy, at the weekend.

A grand weekend dinner party in the Italian lakes was interrupted last weekend, the 17th June, following the theft of a priceless artwork from a private collection in the upper floors. Italian shipping magnate Lorenzo Zampieri was hosting a celebration for his 50th birthday at his Palazzo at Lake Como, the glamorous and beautiful retreat of many of the Italian elite. His Palazzo, the Palazzo d’Oro, played host to a party of around 30 friends, business associates and their guests for a weekend that was set to be a celebration.

Following a formal dinner and garden soiree on the Friday evening, guests spent the day enjoying their host’s spectacular hospitality and the beautiful scenery while boating on the lake and picnicking in the grounds.

On the Saturday evening, disaster struck. During a party, at which sources report up to twenty bottles of champagne being opened, the host Sr. Zampieri escorted one of his guests upstairs to view his private art collection, rumoured to be valued in excess of ten million pounds. As he took his guests to see the centrepiece of his collection, a recently acquired portrait reported by guests to have been a Velázquez. Sr. Zampieri refused to comment, but several guests told Italian police that he had boasted of recently acquiring the painting and that he was in the process of having it verified.

However, on entering the upper drawing room where the painting was hung, the frame was found empty.

Italian police carried out an intensive inquiry, but seem to be reporting no arrests or early leads, except for a confused eye-witness report. A trusted member of Zampieri’s household staff who had been patrolling the upper floors was found confused in a corridor. After many hours of questioning, he was able to repeat only that the last thing he could remember was seeing ‘la bella donna,’ the beautiful woman.

Investigators were unable to identify any suspects amongst the many women at Zampieri’s party, and all guests were reportedly keen to leave on Monday morning when released by police.

Could this theft have been related to a string of reported other thefts in Europe across this summer? Italian police declined to comment.

[20th June 1907, The Times of London]

Herbert Parry.

—

La Bella Donna strikes again?

—

Police in Monaco have been left baffled by a robbery carried out in the earlier hours of the 1st September 1907. A bronze statuette, believed to be thousands of pounds in value, was stolen from the house of Mr. Jacques Blanches, who was at the time at sea on his yacht. His household staff, who reported the theft, said the act must have been carried out overnight despite the fact no signs have been found of forced entry. The statuette was last seen in its usual position in Mr Blanches’ office on the 31st August, when a maid dusted the room in preparation for Mr Blanches’ return the following day. However, when Mr Blanches’ returned on the evening of 1st September, the statuette had disappeared.

Following a thorough search of the house and the properties of staff and their families, no sign of the statuette has been found. Nobody was seen entering or leaving the property during that time except the staff who appear to have been exonerated.

At the moment, police seem to be at a loss for leads in this case, and this reporter is forced to wonder whether the theft is connected to the string of other high value thefts across Europe this summer, all of which are still unresolved. In each of these cases, no trace of the culprit has been found and the local police are without any further suspects. Only the theft of Sr. Zampieri’s painting in June this year shows any sign of a culprit. ‘La Bella Donna’ described by a household security guard. Belladonna, or deadly nightshade is a plant of great beauty, but also a deadly poison. An apt name for such a cunning and calculated thief.

[8th September 1907, The Times of London]

Herbert Parry

—

Trails Goes Cold in Search for Bella Donna Thief

—

Last summer saw a string of high value art thefts across the Continent, which baffled police and left a seeming complete lack of clues for investigators to follow. Only on one occasion did an eye-witness spot a potential culprit, described by the Italian as the beautiful lady. La Bella Donna, as the colourful moniker has caught on in the Press, has stolen goods that would have totalled hundreds of thousands of pounds in value. It is expected they may surface on the black market in time, but this will be little consolation to their former owners.

Police in Vienna, where the last of these thefts was reported, have now admitted that they have put the case aside and will not be pursuing an active investigation any further, much to the chagrin of Duke Hans Osterfeld, the victim of this theft.

With this, the trail officially runs cold. Will La Bella Donna pursue further targets this winter? Will she return next spring to haunt the next summer season? Or will the elite houses of Europe be safe from further threats?

[13th February, 1908. The Times of London.]

Herbert Parry.

—

#as time goes by #herbert parry reports

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chicot-premier · 5 years

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#links #videos #elizabeth i #tudor #blanche parry #bacton #historical fashion #altar cloths #rainbow portrait #historic royal palaces #16th century #renaissance #english history #elizabethan #conservation

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snapheart1536 · 5 years

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Of Course, the Real Question is...

Is Nursie from Blackadder II Kat Ashley or Blanche Parry?

Let's study the evidence:

• Unmarried and but a mere maid.

Thus: Blanche by name, blanche by nature.

• From that there West Country.

Thus: Kat's got a brand-new combine harvester and she'll give you the key.

Yer lucky devil, yer.

• Keen leanings towards piracy; has taken to wearing their beards once dead (don't ask).

Thus: Yer 'avin' a laff, incha?

Excepting latter-day Somalian scamps, every decent, upstanding fellow of a piratical persuasion will slit yer gizzard if yer eat that scone wrong.

ARRGH!!!

• Real name: Bernard. Sisters: Donald, Eric and Basil.

Thus: Records are silent on the matter.

• Lived long into Queenie's reign, and was so bold to offer 'yer sister Mary' ointment post-beheading.

Thus: Aged P. Blanche.

Nod for Blanchie! Nod for Blanchie now! Yes! Look, she likes that!

• Nursed Queenie, and indeed scarred her for life with talk of 'breasty dumplings'.

Sick, perverted filth.

Would mean o' course Nursie had a secret baby.

The minx.

Thus: Oh no. Oh no-no, no-no-no. That's certainly not how Kat rolls. She's got airs and graces, doncha know.

Blanche, meanwhile, is pure filth.

• Attended Queenie's birth, and declared the child 'a boy without a winkle'.

Lord be praised! It's a miracle!

That is until spoilsport Sir Thomas More said a boy without a winkle was a girl.

Oh-ho! He had it coming.

Thus: They do things different in Ponty.

• Uncle Nursie had a good idea and lost a foot for it.

Be that a lesson to ye.

Dunno what the world's coming to if a man can't even cut his toenails with a scythe in peace.

We've all been there.

Thus: I know wacky antics down Champernowne Way when I hear 'em.

• Nursie, being a 'sad, insane old woman with an udder fixation', will get 'em out for the lads at any given opportunity.

Thus: Kat's sporting some big, sad cow eyes like a Miltank.

'Nuff said.

Verdict: It's a draw!

#Craic #Blackadder II #Nursie #Kat Ashley #Blanche Parry

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queensgxverness · 4 years

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Tag drop -- Part I -- General tags

#;;A face glossed over by history ( fc )#;;She raised a queen but took no pains to be remembered ( history )#;;A woman with a sharp mind and warm heart ( musings )#;;A woman with women's desires and wishes ( desires )#;;She remembered the girl who clung to her hand // Relationship: Elizabeth I #;;Her sister in all but blood // Relationship: Blanche Parry #;;Verse: The girl from Devonshire come to court ( Pre - 1536 )#;;Verse: Sneaking a princess sweets and offering her a friend ( 1536 - 1537 )#;;Verse: A mother figure to the forgotten daughter ( 1537 - 1558 )#;;Verse: The queen's unspoken mother and go between ( 1558 - forward )

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skygifs · 3 years

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under the cut you will find 40+ names from the TUDOR ERA (1485-1603 England) including examples of their usage in history & a few common historical nicknames. please like/reblog if you found this useful!

feminine names

anne/ann/anna (anne boleyn, anne of cleves) common nickname nan

katherine/katheryn/kathryn/kateryn/catherine (katherine of aragon, katheryn howard, kateryn parr, kat ashley, katherine willougby) most often spelt with a “k” during the period, kate/kat was around as a nickname during this period

elizabeth (elizabeth i, elizabeth of york, bessie blount, elizabeth howard)- nicknames include bess/bessie

jane (jane seymour, jane boleyn, jane grey, jane dormer)

joan (joan bulmer)

frances (frances grey)

mary (mary i, mary queen of france, mary howard, mary shelton, mary boleyn)

margaret (margaret queen of scots, margaret shelton, margaret pole, margaret douglas) common nickname madge

jocasta (jocasta culpepper)

agnes (agnes tilney)

isabel (isabel leigh)

joyce (joyce leigh)

bridget (bridget of york, bridget wingfield)

cecily (cecily of york, cecily arundell)

alice (alice more)

ursula (ursula pole)

lettice (lettice knolleys)

dorothy (dorothy stafford, dorothy howard)

susan (susan stafford)

margery (margery horsman)

amy (amy dudley)

elinor/eleanor (eleanor browne)

magdalen (magdalen dacre)

sybil (sybil hampden)

barbara (barbara hawke)

cordelia (cordelia annesley)

blanche (blanche parry)

masculine names

henry (henry vii, henry viii, henry howard, henry duke of cornwall, henry carey, henry fitzroy, henry norris)

thomas (thomas more, thomas wolsey, thomas boleyn, thomas culpepper (x2, brothers) thomas howard, thomas cranmer)

george (george boleyn)

arthur (arthur prince of wales)

edmund (edmund howard, prince edmund)

jasper (jasper tudor)

edward (edward vi, edward seymour)

john (john howard, john dudley, john blanke)

charles (charles brandon, charles somerset)

robert (robert dudley, robert devereux)

guilford (guilford dudley)

william (william courtenay, william brereton, william paulet, william howard)

philip (philip howard, philip tilney)

francis (francis russell, francis dereham)

walter (walter devereux)

piers (piers butler, piers dutton)

ambrose (ambrose dudley)

reginald (reginald pole)

richard (richard pole, richard howard)

mark (mark smeaton)

#name masterlist #period resource #rph #name help #name ideas #mine: masterlist #mine: names

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queenmarytudor · 3 years

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Got an email about Tracy Borman doing a talk tonight exploring “the various roles that women fulfilled [in the Tudor court[ and how they were able to exploit these for political, as well as financial gain” and now I’m in the mood for a little rant.

In between Jane Boleyn and Lettice Knollys the description mentions Mary’s “cherished attendant, Jane Fool” and I find it so interesting how out of all Mary’s friendships with women most historians tend to focus on Jane, a most likely disabled jester.

Henry VIII had his jester Will Sommers included alongside Jane in a royal painting, but we don’t ever hear about his relationship over Charles Brandon!

The description also mentions Elizabeth’s childhood nurse Blanche Parry, so then why not also namedrop Susan Clarencius, who was trusted to have private meetings with ambassadors on Mary’s behalf to arrange her marriage with Philip?

Or Jane Dormer, educated by Mary and considered a threat abroad to Elizabeth I?

Or her ‘good gossip’ Anne Seymour, who she liberated from prison and loved despite being protestant, destroying the Bloody Mary stereotype?

It just feels so... dismissive to focus on the caricature jester servant, a literal ‘fool’ over the ladies in waiting. Like it’s a trend of emphasising Mary’s reign was bad, and so woman weren’t as powerful as they were during her father’s and sister’s rule.

But maybe I’m overreacting.

Maybe Borman will talk about how the Venetian ambassador got pissed off with Mary and Susan for taking his fancy coach for their own use... but probably not.

#if someone watches this let me know!

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elizabethan-memes · 4 years

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So there’s a Starz drama announced recently, Becoming Elizabeth, and I’m Nervous.

1) They already aged up Henry VIII in TSP from a child to make him Old Enough to Sex

2) I don’t want them to pull an Evil Older Woman is Jealous of the Hot Younger Rival (Margaret Beaufort, Elizabeth of York) they could so easily do that to Catherine Parr and remove all of her intelligence, ambition, eloquence, refinement and leadership skills to obsess over a man please god no

3) In an interview a showrunner spoke of Elizabeth making “terrible hormone-fuelled decisions” and I’m Very Very Worried that they will handle the Thomas Seymour business with the sensitivity of a pneumatic drill and victim blame Elizabeth, even unintentionally.

4) My issue isn’t Elizabeth having a crush on Thomas Seymour, that would be realistic. My issue is Thomas Seymour’s reciprocating that crush being framed as love and not lust/ambition.

5) “bUt iT wAs a dIfFEreNt TiMe”

actually no. Seymour’s behaviour was unacceptable by the standards of the time. Yes, Elizabeth was judged harshly, but Seymour was seen as grasping, ambitious and predatory.

6) Even David You Damn Kids Get Off My Lawn Starkey called out Thomas Seymour as “in a position of trust which he abused shockingly”. If Cancelled Granddad says you fucked up, you better not get romanticised.

7) I’m worried they’re going to make Elizabeth’s character growth all about the men- Henry VIII, Robert Dudley, Thomas Seymour. At the end of the show Elizabeth will have Learned Her Lesson That Sexy Men Are Bad and she will Manipulate Them Now With Her Feminine Wiles because she must be a Strong Woman Now and Love No Men and Trust No Men Because They Are All Horny And Now She Will Never Marry.

8) I’m also worried the women will just fight over guys? Every woman will be her romantic rival- Mary over Philip, Catherine over Thomas, Amy over Robert Dudley. Except maybe Kat Ashley. Kat Ashley who made some pretty bad decisions over the Seymour business.

I WANT BLANCHE PARRY IN IT

BLANCHE PARRY SERVED ELIZABETH FROM ELIZABETH’S BIRTH UNTIL HER OWN DEATH

IN 1590

THAT’S THE UNDYING LOVE MY BABY GIRL DESERVED

(please can Elizabeth be like crying or something and Blanche is like “I’m here for you, not because you’re a princess but because you’re you and I love you and I’ll always be here to help you” TOO MANY FEELINGS)

also Ascham we need Ascham. Give me young Elizabeth pushing herself to become a better scholar, getting excited to learn, feeling frustrated when she doesn’t understand things straight away, sharing her knowledge excitedly with Lady Jane Grey, showing off by flipping between languages with ease.

9) I’m worried they’re going to make Elizabeth less nerdy and more bratty. Yes she was young and inexperienced, but her contemporaries described her as wise beyond her years: “grave as a woman of forty” aged six.

YES ELIZABETH LIKED HANDSOME GUYS

BUT SHE ALSO LOVED LITERATURE AND SPORT AND DANCE AND MUSIC AND JESUS

10) I’m also terrified they’re going to Sansa Stark & Ramsay Bolton things and be all Sexual Assault Is A Rite Of Passage, Rape Is What Makes You Strong.

11) “we’ve never seen Elizabeth as a young woman we’ve always jumped from child to white-faced Gloriana”

really? Elizabeth 1998? Elizabeth R? The Tudors? Young Bess? The Virgin Queen? Were all those just indie arthouse productions nobody heard about?

r e a l l y?

#this could be amazing #it could also be terrible #uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #becoming elizabeth #i Do Not Need This Stress In My Life #Elizabeth I of england #elizabeth i #tudor history #period drama #historical fiction

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hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong · 3 years

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The Century War of Wyverns, Part 2: Chase the French Soldier

[Previous] [Contents] [Next]

Kat: Our first encounters in a strange new land! It... doesn't go well tbh, but I'm sure the next one will!

Cris: Turns out Spartacus doesn't understand "the back of your blade" very well.

Jeanne: {CWs for violence against humans, death, first-person panic attack}

------

God dammit, how the hell can that mountain of muscle move so fast? We barely got a word in edgewise and he’s already left us in the dust! If we don’t get there in time those soldiers are gonna be a big red smear on the ground. One more hill, and… he’s just… standing there, having a conversation with them? He gestured towards the one in the gaudiest uniform before walking over.

Spartacus: Placet expectare.

Spartacus: Ah master, there you are! I have glorious news! These soldiers are themselves fighting against the oppression of a false king! Of course, a true king is also oppressive in its own way, but still! Their leader even speaks latin! Roughly.

French General: C'est ton géant ?

Kat: <Ooh, ooh! I got this! Time for all that duolingo to do its thing!>

April (Kat): Bonjour, garcon!

I internally rolled my eyes as the soldier blanched.

Cris: <Kat. Garcon means boy. Let’s try something else.>

April (Cris): (Hey, Mash, do you know French? Mine’s a little rusty.)

Mash: (Sorry master, I barely know enough to say hello.)

April (Jeanne): (Well, English is a common lingua franca, might as well try that, right?)

Cris: <Good idea!>

Mash: Wait, that’s-

April (Cris): Sorry about that, tried to be polite, don’t actually know that much French. The big guy’s with us, and we were hoping you… could… Ah, fuck.

The soldiers had already surrounded us. Cries of “L’Anglais!” erupted around us as they pointed their spears in our direction.

Mash: The French are at war with England in this time period!

April (Cris): I gathered, yeah.

Spartacus: So now they seek to oppress us as well?

Mash: What are your orders, master?

April (Cris): Take them down but try not to kill the idiots. Uh… hit them with the back of your blade, or something.

Mash lifted her shield up quizzically.

Mash: And what part of this, exactly, is the blade?

April (Cris): Dammit, just try not to kill them!

Even holding back, it was clear the soldiers were no match for Mash Kyrielight. She ran circles around them, their every attack parried as their weapons shattered against their shield. Even three on one, the soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Meanwhile, Spartacus ha- oh God.

I faltered, stumbled off the road and retched. If Mash had a spotless technique, Spartacus’ was nothing but spots. He simply walked from soldier to soldier and shattered their bodies with his fists. He hadn’t even bothered to draw his sword. The few soldiers Mash pacified were bruised, but relatively unharmed. The ones unlucky enough to face Spartacus weren’t going to get back up.

The forest span <Jeanne?> around me. I know someone was calling our name, but I couldn't <Jeanne!> hear anything beyond the blood rushing to my head. My chest hurt, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't- <JEANNE!>

A sharp sting as my hand slapped my cheek. Cris stopped me from spiraling again. I took a moment to breathe properly.

April (Jeanne): Okay… Okay, I’m good. I think.

I slowly stood up and made it back to the others. The surviving French soldiers had already made their escape. Mash’s spirit origin was shaking. I put my hand on her shoulder as I got closer.

April (Jeanne): Mash, are you alright?

Mash: I should be asking you that, Master. I’m… I can’t believe it, but I’m still not used to this.

April (Jeanne): It’s only been a day or two Mash, you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with this.

Mash: A day? Oh, right.

Spartacus: Mmh. It might be better for you two if you don’t become comfortable in these sorts of things. The two of you are unoppressed by the experience of warfare. Hold that close to you.

Mash: Right. Thank you, Spartacus. So, what’s our next move?

April (Cris): Right, I hate to do this, but… we need to follow the soldiers that ran off.

Spartacus: Ahah, we must finish the fight then?

April (Cris): NO! Nonono. I mean, they’re going to run to the nearest place with people. They’re our only lead right now. Did you see which way they went, Spartacus?

Spartacus: Of course! Follow me!

----

On our way, we got in contact with Dr. Roman again. Turns out our plugsuit comes equipped with a translator- would have come in handy earlier, but fuck it, at least we won’t have to fight literally everyone we come across.

The sky was turning red when we finally saw the smoke clouds over the horizon. We rushed over a hill and finally got a look at the fort. It was in bad shape. Walls crumbled in, with smoke and fire billowing out from several windows. Dark shapes moved through the smoke, obscured in a haze.

Another wall fell over as we descen-

Kat: <Hey, look! Isn’t that one of the soldiers?>

Sure enough, one of the survivors of Spartacus’ rampage was kneeling at the top of the hill.

April (Cris): Hey! Hey you! Don’t fucking run, I’m talking to you!

The soldier had started, but before he made it to his feet we were already surrounding him. He was speaking too fast to translate at first, so I just pressed on.

April (Cris): Look, I get it if you don’t believe us, but we’re not gonna kill you.

April (Jeanne): We have traveled a long way because we heard something very, very bad was happening here. Please, can you tell us what is going on?

French Soldier: Oh, and what are the English going to do about it?! Insult her and run away?

Cris: <Apparently we can do a lot fucking more than your soldiers can.>

April (Jeanne): We have fought worse. Now, who is this “her”?

French Soldier: You’ve fought worse than Jeanne d’Arc? Hah! Unlikely!

Mash: Jeanne d’Arc? She should be dead by this point!

French Soldier: That is the worst part, she is! She was dead for three days, when the Saint of Orleans appeared out of nowhere and started razing all of France to the ground. She’s been tearing around with an Army of monsters for days now! Even King Charles couldn’t stand up to her!

April (Jeanne): Thank you. We will figure out a way to stop this, I promise.

By the time we got closer to the ruined fort, whatever had caused so much damage had long since disappeared. However, I could still make out faint traces of enchantment on some of the bodies scattered around the field.

April (Jeanne): Roman, I'm noticing something off about this corpse. What do you make of it?

Mash: Senpai, we really should get out of the open while there’s still daylight.

April (Jeanne): Give Roman a second, Mash. I'm sure there's something off about it.

Roman: Huh. Good catch, April. This body had been treated for necromancy. Large-scale necromancy is certainly rare, but it’s still possible with or without a holy grail. Either way, it’s good to have an idea of what we’re up against.

We entered the keep. Walking around was a nightmare, it was as if every square inch of space was taken up by the injured. Their groans echoed through the fort. Suddenly, I felt something on the edge of my scanning area. It was faint, but unmistakable. A spirit origin.

April (Jeanne): Mash, do you feel that?

Mash: Barely. There must be a servant outside the castle.

April (Jeanne): No, about thirty feet in that direction. Does anyone catch your eye?

Mash: There’s no one there who could be a servant, Master.

Cris: <This is pointless, let me look.>

Kat: <No way! You got to yell at the guy, lemme look, lemme look!>

Yay, I won! I turned where Jeanne was pointing. The whole place was just beat up soldiers & less beat up soldiers taking care of them. Oh, there’s one! A little girl is going around comforting people as they fall asleep!

April (Kat): What about that little girl? The one dressed in all white? Can she be a servant?

Roman: That’s not likely. Servants are invariably summoned at the “peak” of their myth. It’s possible for child prodigies to be summoned young, but the vast majority will either be young adults when they are most powerful, or at old age when they are most skilled. You guys should get some rest while you can. I’ve detected a leyline a day’s travel from here, you should set out in the morning.

We found a spot near a wall and curled up to sleep. I don’t remember much of my dreams, but when I woke up it was still dark. That girl was still tiptoeing around the soldiers, and every now and then I caught her singing, at barely above a whisper.

That was weird enough, but then something amazing happened! The soldier she was standing next to, his wounds suddenly shrank, until it was like he never got hurt at all! He shifted in his sleep, and she moved on to the next one.

April (Kat): (I knew it!)

I pulled myself out of our pile as slow as possible, and inched closer to her.

April (Kat): Excuse me?

Little Girl: Hello miss. (Please keep your voice down, people are sleeping!)

April (Kat): (Oh, sorry! This might sound weird, but… are you a servant?)

Little Girl: (I am a faithful servant of God, yes. Is something wrong?)

April (Kat): (That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean are you human?)

A strange look crossed the girls face.

Little Girl: (I was. Let’s talk outside.)

She led me by the hand out of the castle. She had such a strong grip, it was kinda awkward! Once we were a bit away, she turned to face me. Suddenly, a spear covered in flags appeared out of nowhere and landed in her hands!

Little Girl: As you have guessed, I am indeed a Servant, Lancer class. My true name is Jeanne d’Arc.

#fgo #fanfic #mastersona #singularity 1 #spartacus

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