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valphorien · 10 months

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more than love or pleasure, there is Truth

An Elucien Regency AU (one-shot for now?)

Read on AO3!

Rating: Explicit Word count: ~5,000 TWs: None Summary:

She could not trust anything a Vanserra said. And Lucien was, she now realized, far more dangerous than the rest; his words were sweet honey and his gaze was deadly steel. He saw her too clearly, clear enough that he might pierce the veil she’d so carefully arranged over her soul. - Behind closed doors, their families negotiate unsavory business. Elain and Lucien, who've both been deemed too soft for such dealings, find common ground with each other.

Elain was certain she could throw a spectacular dinner party, if only she had more to work with.

A lack of funds, of course, was not the issue, nor did she want for an impressive venue–though if she could have her pick, she would not have chosen to host in her brother-in-law’s ancestral estate. Some dour grandsire of Rhysand’s had designed it centuries ago to be like the venerable cathedrals at Canterbury and Westminster, less as a comfortable home and more as a place folk went to pay homage to a higher power. Newcomers were always charmed by its stained glass in narrow, arched windows, calling it “grand” and “stately” and, if they were bold, “antique.”

Yet dark as it was, the estate Elain now called home was not the reason her parties had all the cheer and charm of a wake. Fresh-picked lilies of complementary reds and oranges arranged in porcelain vases set atop the finest silk cloths all amounted to nothing, because there was only so much one could do with guests such as she’d been given lately.

It provided her some small comfort, as she watched the chandelier’s light glint in the facets of her crystal glass, to consider that this particular gathering had been doomed from the start.

It was, like all the Archeron gatherings these days, more of a business meeting than a dinner party. What sort of business that was, Elain had never been explicitly told; instead, she received nervous platitudes from Feyre and “never-you-minds” from Nesta. But Elain was not blind. She’d been there when Feyre had planned the emerald heist against her ex-fiancé–using the extensive resources of her now-husband. Elain had not been interested then, had not considered that it would actually come to fruition; but she had no delusions about what sort of illicit ventures had finally pulled them from their financial misfortunes.

Tonight’s venture featured the current source of Elain’s disappointment: ruthless crime family and dreary party guests, the Vanserra brothers.

Dinner had all the appearances of a polite affair, so long as one did not linger on the retorts that cut a bit too sharp. No one had any complaints about the food, at least, which meant Elain had achieved the bare minimum of her duty. But coaxing conversation from their guests proved to be an arduous task. Her efforts were met with suspicious frowns and one-word responses, and she gave up almost immediately. Many of their dinners relating to the business started out this way, with people who were accustomed to hiding behind their walls until trust or at least an understanding had been established. Sometimes, Elain was able to break them down. She could tell right away that she’d have no such success with the Vanserra sons.

She settled for observing them in turn with each sip from her gold-rimmed glass. There was a hierarchy among them, with the eldest at the top, though perhaps not solely due to age. For all the barbs they sank into Feyre and Rhys’s company, they turned just as often on each other, like a pack of starving dogs–all save one, who they did not give the dignity of an attack.

His name was Lucien, and he was the youngest brother, according to the briefing Feyre had given her yesterday. He seemed to favor the outdoors more than the rest, judging by his darker skin. The black eyepatch did not fully mask the brown scar that cut a jagged path down through his eye. Elain would’ve expected such a scar to upset her, to agitate her stomach in the way that the darker glimpses of these dealings sometimes did. Yet the scarring did not chill her as a bloodied dagger would, or the screams she might hear if she walked the wrong hallway at the wrong time of night. The scar was neither shield nor warning–it was history.

She’d felt a stab of guilt at first for the challenge she’d forced upon him–someone had to sit next to Nesta–but from her surreptitious glances around the table, their corner had less of that miasma of tension that seemed to hover throughout the dining room. She even saw Nesta crack a smirk or two.

When he caught one of Elain’s glances, she did not jerk her gaze away; what was the point, when she’d already been caught? Instead, she offered him a polite smile. His scarred brow quirked slightly, and he lifted his glass in a silent toast.

Feyre rose from the table first, Rhys immediately following–a unified force, as always. “Gentlemen,” she said, “if you would join us in the study.”

They all stood and quit the dining room. Normally, this is when Elain would retreat to the drawing room for some embroidery until the business in the study had concluded. Tonight, though–something ignited in her chest that made her hold her chin high. With a steadying breath, she fell in line behind the group, towards the study–

Until a broad chest blocked her way.

“Dinner was lovely, Miss Archeron, as always,” came the quiet voice of Azriel, Feyre’s brother-in-law and associate. A frown of concern marred his handsome face, but his voice held no trace of apology. “You must be tired from all the planning. Feyre can bid the guests goodnight, if you wish to retire.”

With that, he joined the others in the study. It was as perfectly respectable as one could be when shutting a door in her face.

She allowed herself a scowl and a sharp exhale. She whirled around, readying to return to the dining room and, quite needlessly, oversee the servants. She was sure she’d be calm by the time she crossed the hallway.

Except she didn’t anticipate having company.

Elain barely managed to stifle a gasp at the sight of Lucien leaning against the dining room doorway, adjusting his cufflinks and watching her. With only a blink, she regained her composure. Clasping her gloved hands in front of her, she took a few steps forward–just close enough to politely engage in conversation. She had been introduced to all of the brothers at the start of the evening, but they were both unmarried and without a chaperone, which gave her pause.

And, she supposed, he was part of a vicious criminal family. That really ought to give her pause.

She lifted a hand to gesture to the study door behind her. “Shall I knock? I am sure you do not wish to miss the discussions.”

“On the contrary, my lady, I am quite content to miss them.” He did not smile, but the suggestion of it lurked in his russet eye.

“Oh?” Her already foul mood, goaded by his seeming indifference, tugged her towards cynicism. “I suppose when one has attended so many important meetings, they must seem rather dull.”

There was nothing overtly insulting about the glance he gave, down to her feet and back up again–except that it made her feel like some prize animal being scrutinized. Elain wondered what he saw with that quick, keen eye. Would he notice her dress–its perfect fit, the fine material, the twinkling gems on the skirt and sleeve, the violet so dark she could be mistaken for a mourning widow? She’d chosen it to match Nesta’s deep crimson and Feyre’s midnight blue. She wondered if Lucien saw what she’d seen in the mirror: an ill-fitting costume. Only the spite simmering in her throat stopped her from looking away.

Though his gaze pierced as sharply as a knife, his voice was not unkind. “You mistake me, my lady. I remain here at my brother’s insistence.”

Elain could not keep the surprise from her face. Caution remained, tingling at the back of her neck; but curiosity was stronger. Her sisters would have wanted her to demure, make an excuse to leave. She took a few steps closer. “Were you not the liaison between your family and mine? Surely that earns you a seat at the discussions.”

Lucien pushed off from the doorway. Placing his hands behind his straightened back, he said, “Flattered as I am by your estimation of my importance, I must disavow you of the notion. Though my family does admit that I am the most approachable, which makes me a decent liaison.”

“Then why bring you to dinner at all?” She knew the answer: to put the Archerons at ease, to hope that a familiar face might soften their defenses. But she wondered how he might spin his purpose.

“Oh, I am only here to steal the good silver. We are thieves, after all, and I do have an eye for it.”

Elain gave a small tsk. “Then I am afraid you have dallied too long.” She gestured to the dining room behind him, cleared of all but a few bouquets, which were now being carried away. “Our staff is quite efficient, as you can see.”

“Dallied, my lady? At the scene of the crime, perhaps.” As he spoke, he reached into his jacket, and something silver flashed between his long fingers. He held it out to her: a soup spoon, from the very first course. “But I suppose it is a sorry prize, separated from its fellows. I only hope that returning it will grant me mercy from the lady of the house.”

She brought her hand up to muffle her laugh, the silk of her glove pressing into her lips. “I would not rob you of your spoils, sir. I daresay you earned it.” Straightening her shoulders, she lowered her hands to clasp again at her stomach. “As for mercy, you would have to ask my sister. I am not the lady of the house.”

Lucien tilted his head; loose strands of hair fell across his brow. He kept it unfashionably long, tied neatly at the nape of his neck. She did not blame him for wanting to keep so much of it. Its copper shades danced in the candlelight with all the glow of the sun setting behind an autumn forest. “No, but are you not its mistress?” When Elain responded with only furrowed brows, he continued, “Was it not you who orchestrated tonight’s dinner? You who selected the flowers in the exact colors of our family heraldry and brought out your finest silver?”

It was no great observance on his part–Feyre had declared her compliments to Elain at the start of the evening for arranging the dinner–but no one else had mentioned the colors. Her heart fluttered, floated up to her throat and blocked all speech. Lucien’s voice softened. “The flowers are beautiful, by the way.” They matched his hair. The ancient oak tree behind her garden would match his eye, come autumn. “Feyre told me you grow them yourself.”

“Yes,” she said, or tried to–it came out as little more than a croak. She cleared her throat and dipped her chin, the picture of modesty she’d practiced all her life to maintain. “Yes, I keep a small garden.” Whatever had caused her heart to flit up her chest had mingled with the anger lurking there, turned it into something light enough to lift her off the ground. Before the sensation had a chance to flee, she blurted out, “Would you like to see it?”

It was a ridiculous offer; the sun had long since set. Surely he knew that. Surely– “I would be delighted.”

His quick reply hurtled her back down to the earth. What a foolish idea! And dangerous, too–she could not trust anything a Vanserra said. And Lucien was, she now realized, far more dangerous than the rest; his words were sweet honey and his gaze was deadly steel. He saw her too clearly, clear enough that he might pierce the veil she’d so carefully arranged over her soul.

He offered his elbow. It was not too late. She’d feigned a sudden headache for far less than this. She need not even resort to lies, if she wished–they still had no chaperone. It was not proper. Her sisters would be horrified.

Elain took his elbow and led him outside.

—

She was only too glad to show off her garden, normally. But as she led Lucien from the gravel path and onto the grass beneath the iron archway draped in jasmine vines, she felt strangely shy. It was as if she was about to lay down a piece of her soul to be judged at Heaven’s gate.

She’d done very little weeding and pruning this summer, finding herself enchanted by the unruly sprawl that had resulted. The sweet peas were in bloom, dots of delicate pastels creeping up their wooden trellis, and the pale green buds atop the stalks of goldenrod indicated they were not far behind. Her pink roses were still producing, as were the lilies she’d harvested this morning; but it was September now, and those pinks and oranges felt like a sunset. Most of the other plants had finished blooming. Seeds nestled in spent flower heads or clinging to delicate white hairs awaited a windy day to carry them off.

All those details were but memories from the afternoon. Elain’s heart sank as she realized that Lucien could see none of it in the late twilight. The pinks were white, the oranges grey, and the seedpods only shadows in the light of the nearest lamppost.

He did try, though, leaning close to each plant, lifting his hand occasionally, as if he might touch them before thinking better of it. He got enough of a lay of the scene to comment on it, “I would not have expected to find such a garden on the grounds of that house.” He nodded back at the estate, its stone saints armed with tall spears standing atop ornately carved battlements. Most of the windows were dark, and the stained glass viewed from outside at this hour seemed like a cage for shapeless monsters.

“What would you expect instead?” she asked.

Lucien peered at her out of the corner of his eye, and Elain knew he was judging whether to be honest. His small smile set butterflies loose in her stomach. “A haunted cemetery, perhaps.”

The laugh burst from her before she had a chance to stifle it. She lowered her gaze to the well-trodden grass. “The nearest cemetery is far from here, and if any ghosts haunt these grounds, they’ve not made themselves known to me.”

His attention had caught on the potted shrub in one corner of the garden, set far enough from the hedge that it escaped most of the shade. A single flower remained, standing bold amidst the broad, dark leaves: five round petals, a vivid red at the center that bled out into pale pink. Lucien tilted his head. “I’m not familiar with this one. Is it from the Americas?”

“Asia,” she corrected. “It’s a hibiscus. Feyre bought it for me after–” After Elain had overheard a particularly dreadful interrogation session; Feyre had discovered her pale and trembling, and the plant had arrived the next evening. It had come from a steamy greenhouse in London, where Elain had commented on its beauty the previous winter. She drew in a deep, silent breath through her nose before continuing, “It’s a tropical plant.”

She could stop there. She might have, if Lucien did not watch her silently with curiosity simmering in his gaze. “It won’t survive the winter. It cannot withstand the frost.”

“Could it be moved inside?”

“In that house?” Dry and drafty, with its best windows facing east? “I’m afraid it would do little good. It may survive, but it would not thrive. A greenhouse would serve it far better.”

Lucien frowned. “Does your sister know she gifted you a doomed plant?”

“I would not trouble her with something so trivial.”

“Are your plants trivial to you, then?” There was a challenge in his voice. A dare. He wanted to watch her as she lied.

She smiled instead, a placid gesture that did not reach her eyes. “Feyre has sacrificed so much for this family. She would have been well within her right to leave us to rot in the streets. Instead, she allowed us into her husband’s home. I will not ask more of her than I already have. Because I know that she would do it. She would grant me anything, if it lay in her power to do so.”

“Anything except a seat in that study.”

He’d seen, then. Seen how they’d shut the door in her face. Elain lifted her chin. “She knows I find it distasteful.”

“Then why seek to join them?”

Her shoulders tensed, and she felt like a cat with raised hackles backed against a wall. She was well within her rights to walk away, to warn the staff of this guest who was too curious for his own good, to retire to her rooms where she was safe from uncomfortable questions. But he’d drawn too much out of her already, and she would not let him win that insight without a fight. Because she did have reasons. It was not mere petulance; it was being pulled down a path she’d not chosen, a fate that had been decided for her. It was feeling alone in a room full of people. “I am a part of this family. I should be allowed to help.”

“Or be allowed the choice to decline.”

She didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she could, with the weight of his perception upon her. She felt at once small and far, far too visible.

Lucien sighed and looked away. “My family thinks I am soft. That I do not possess the hardened heart that is often required for their line of work. My place is to arrange meetings but not to participate. I am given as little information as possible, lest guilt or sympathy loosen my tongue and put everything at risk.” He met her shocked gaze with a small bow of his head.

He’d broken into a small corner of her soul, and in recompense had offered up a piece of his own.

“And is your family right about you?” she asked.

He drew his finger along the underside of the hibiscus flower. “In a sense, yes. But if I am too soft for their dirty work, I am also too cowardly to break away from it. It makes me the worst of them.”

Elain joined him beside the hibiscus. She wondered if the plant knew its death was so near. If it could, would it crawl on desperate roots like some fairytale tree back to the jungles of its ancestors? Or would it wait in its pot, certain that someone would come along and fix the world around it, keep the frost at bay until spring?

Elain shrugged. “We could always report them to the authorities.”

Lucien heaved a sigh. “Wouldn’t work, I’m afraid. Your brother-in-law has bribed or blackmailed half of Parliament, and my family has the rest.”

“Establish our own rival crime syndicate, then?”

“Now there’s an idea. Why, with you in charge, we’d need not resort to anything either of us find distasteful.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He came no closer, but the slice of his cunning smile sent a spear of heat down her spine. “You’d need only bat your eyelashes at the right people, and you could walk home with the crown jewels and not a drop of blood spilled.”

“You flatter me, sir, but you do exaggerate.” As she spoke, she ran her gloved fingers along the top of her bodice. The stays beneath felt suddenly far too constricting–like that house, like the role she played in it.

“A test, then. Try it on me. Ask me to do something unwise. Something I ought to refuse.”

“Have I not already done that?” She’d meant to say the words with cheek and charm; but they came out hushed. “Unwed and unchaperoned, and yet you followed me into this garden.”

“Followed?” The smile faded from his lips but remained sparking in his eyes. “I rather thought I was led here.”

Blood pounded in her ears as she tried to summon fear or even the barest shreds of caution. But he was not the hunter. He was not the one luring prey. He’d only walked into the trap with eyes wide open.

Lucien advanced on her, and she backed away, their steps in sync as if it were a dance. Elain let a smile tease at her lips to coax him forward even as she retreated slowly, methodically, into the darkest corner of the garden and the bench that waited there.

She stopped beside the bench. “Won’t you sit awhile, sir?”

He lowered his face until it was level with hers. “How could I refuse such hospitality?”

She lifted her hand. Through the glove she felt the warmth of his lips upon her knuckles, lingering far longer than was proper. But it was dark, and this was her garden, and no one would tell her what was proper here.

Lucien did not release her hand as he sat on the bench. He pulled, but she was already falling. She dropped into his lap, and she barely had the chance to gasp before he seized the back of her head and kissed her.

Elain clutched his vest and tugged, as if she could bring him any closer. His tongue pushed at the seam of her lips, and she yielded with a moan. Nails scraped her scalp, sending a shudder down her spine. He clenched his hand in her hair and yanked her head back, tearing their lips apart, and she moaned again at the loss; but he’d moved instead to her neck, wet heat lapping at the tender skin where her pulse raged. She could do no more than grasp at too many layers of fabric separating her from his hard chest, whimpering when his teeth pulled at her earlobe.

When he returned his lips to hers at last, she panted against them. Her hands wandered low enough to feel his cock straining between them, trapped within his tight breeches. Elain sucked his lower lip into her mouth as she loosed the buttons of his breeches to let his cock jump free. She seized his shaft and squeezed.

A sharp breath hissed between Lucien’s teeth. He gathered her skirts up at her back, and he drew his free hand to her bottom so hard and quick that a vulgar slap filled the night air. Elain gasped. Some small part of her, still fretting and pouting in the back of her mind, thought that she should be affronted that he would touch her so roughly. Instead, the sound sent liquid heat pooling between her widespread thighs.

In the moonlight and distant lamps’ glow, she saw Lucien flash a smirk. He squeezed her bottom, murmuring, “Has anyone touched you like this before?”

It was easy to dismiss it as male pride, but through the haughty smile, she also heard the question beneath it. It wasn’t a question she wanted to linger on, but she understood why he’d asked. “Not like this.” Not with her perched atop strong thighs, not with her clothes and her gloves on, not with eyes so open. She leaned forward, his cock still firm in her grip, and she pressed it against her stomach as she whispered into his ear, “Never like this.” She shifted her hips and pushed his cock down, so she could drag her wet slit along the length of him.

A guttural groan rumbled in his throat. He kissed her again as he pulled her bodice down, exposing her breasts to the chill night air, and circled her nipple with his thumb. She arched into the touch, still rolling her clit against his throbbing cock. He was thick, and she was wet, and as exquisite as this felt, she wanted more. She wanted.

Lucien gripped her hip to hold her still as he slipped a finger between them. Elain sucked in a sharp breath as his finger curled inside her. She rose onto her knees to give him better access, rose because she felt untethered from the ground. It had been so long. She’d not even realized it before now, that she’d not even touched herself in weeks for want of any desire.

“How shall I repay your hospitality, my lady?” His words blew hot against her ear as he pushed another finger into her.

Elain whined and thrust against him. Grasping his arm, she felt his bicep flex with each pulse of his hand. Though she throbbed around him, could’ve easily pumped on his fingers until she found her release, she forced herself still, long enough to hold his gaze as she breathed, “Fuck me.”

His response was little more than a growl. He drew his fingers out, and she cried out at the loss–but the cry dissolved into a shuddering sob of relief when he pulled her hips down and thrust his own up, filling her with his cock.

“God,” she gasped, her head rolling back.

Her hands on his shoulders, Elain allowed herself to rise and fall slowly along his length, savoring the feel of him once, twice. Lucien groaned and squeezed her ass. She leaned forward to bite his ear, to run her gloved fingers through his hair. She smiled at the mess she’d made of it. “Is this to your liking, my lord?”

She felt the barest scrape of teeth at her neck before he spoke, “Your work is ruthless, lady.”

“Work? Is this–” Her own cry cut her off–his thumb had found her clit. “Is this work to you, then?”

“No,” he replied with a sonorous chuckle. His free hand took her chin and tilted it so he could whisper in her ear, “It is torture.” She felt his smile as he pressed his lips to her neck. “Did you want me to fuck you? Or did you want to only give me a taste and watch me starve?” His thumb had quickened, worked her mercilessly. “I am not greedy, of course. So long as I can watch you come.”

Elain realized she’d gone still beneath his touch, senseless against him rubbing her clit even as he filled her, making the night spin around her. Even this was too much sensation; she feared how completely she’d come undone if she went further.

She squeezed his shoulders and jerked her hips, moaning as she began to ride him. Her breasts bounced atop her bodice. Lucien slapped her ass again, then kept his hand there, matching the rhythm of her hips as he squeezed and pulled her down forcefully onto him.

“That's it,” he rasped, his eye locked onto her face with a predator’s focus, “let me see you come.”

Elain leaned back, bracing herself on his muscled thighs, giving him better access to her clit. She couldn’t speak, could only let out an unbroken moan that changed in pitch each time she dropped onto him. She was a wanton fool, out here with her breasts thrust up to the open sky, bouncing on a stranger's cock. A reckless fool. She’d never felt such ecstasy.

Lucien said her name, murmured it like it was a sacred thing, and she screamed to the stars as she came.

She hardly noticed herself falling, maybe because his hand at her back kept her from striking the ground too hard, maybe because his cock was still inside her. He was above her now, all composure on his face chased away by feral hunger. He seized her hips and pounded into her throbbing cunt, and she didn’t know if the pulses of lightning pleasure were all the same orgasm or if he was coaxing them out, one after the other.

With a low groan, he pulled out of her to spill his seed onto the soil. Elain went limp, as if she, too, could sink into the earth.

Lucien tilted his head back, breathing deeply of the cool night air, and his thumb idly traced circles on her bare thigh. Fear shot through her like an icy blade. She was a scant minute removed from fucking him on a garden bench, but that simple movement of his fingers running gently over her skin felt too intimate, exposed them both in a way she’d not prepared for when she’d drawn him into this quiet corner.

As if sensing her thoughts, or perhaps the sudden tension in her limbs, Lucien pulled his hand away. He stood and averted his eyes as she pulled the fabric back over her breasts–both of them pretending that he'd not been the one to yank them free in the first place.

He offered a hand to help her up; perfectly acceptable, as if he was helping her exit a carriage. She did not take his arm as they walked in silence back inside.

Not a moment too soon, either–they entered the main hall just as the study door clicked open.

They were near enough to a staircase that Elain could slip away. No one would look for her anyway.

“I thank you for the company, Lady Archeron,” Lucien murmured.

“This cannot happen again,” was Elain’s whispered reply. The words came out in a rush before she had time to consider them; she had to be quick, else the fluttering in her chest might have reached her lips and been made tangible. It was better this way, she told herself. Let this night become ephemera, mere sensation drifting through her dreams only to vanish with the sunrise, never to trouble her with what might be.

Glancing sidelong, she could not quite gauge his reaction; the half of his face she could see had his scarred eye, which revealed nothing beneath its patch. There was tension in his lips, in the flex of his jaw.

But his voice was even, polite. Emotionless. “Good night, my lady.”

Elain scurried into the shadows but did not run upstairs, as she’d intended. She peered around the corner as Lucien stepped forward to meet his brothers and bid farewell to the others. Before any of them noticed his approach, he paused beside a table that held austere marble busts of Rhysand’s ancestors, and without a sound placed the silver spoon there.

The eldest, Eris, met Lucien's gaze and jerked his head to indicate their departure. Lucien followed and did not look back.

“Did you swipe their cutlery?” Eris asked, loud enough for all to hear.

Lucien shrugged. “I decided the quality was not worth the effort. It seems they keep their greatest treasures locked away.”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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mobscene-london · 3 months

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VALENTINE'S DAY CHARITY DATE AUCTION:

Location: The Barbican Centre Conservatory, City of London. Hosts: The Westminster Insider. Date: Friday, February 23rd, 2024. Dress Code: Black tie. Red or black only.

EVENT SUMMARY:

Please read here for general information before proceeding. The Westminster Insider cordially invites all those who are in any way desirable to participate in their Valentine's Day-themed charity auction! Don't be selfish. Risk your happy relationship for the kids. The lucky ladies chosen to be involved will craft the date of their dreams (within reason) before said date is auctioned off, anonymously, to the highest bidder at the event's silent auction. Once the auction is complete, the guests will gather in the Conservatory and find their way to their assigned table to start the opulent five course meal. Whilst the guests dine, the winners of each date will be announced, before it is revealed who the lucky lady joining them will be. (Details regarding how to bid, times to do so, etc., will be released tomorrow night when the event is underway.)

AFTER PARTY:

An unofficial after party will be hosted post-event by Olivia Coppola and Isla Hunt at The Venue. Most people will make their way to the club after the auction wraps up to blow off some steam...particularly if they didn't walk away with the partner they were so sure they were bidding on. Expect things to get messy. Though maybe not too messy. Remember that most of you have travel plans, and will be headed off on your fancy dates the morning after...

#event

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vintage-london-images · 1 year

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Who would have thought that on the present site of the Central Methodist Hall opposite Westminster Abbey, there was once a huge 'pleasure palace' hosting a music hall and variety acts and could accommodate a 400 piece orchestra

Designed by Alfred Bedborough at the height of empire, the building was complete and open to the public in 1876. Named The Royal Aquarium and Winter Garden, the building had within it an aquarium and an attached theatre which had a main hall 340 feet long by 160 feet wide, it was covered with a glass and iron roof and was decorated with palm trees, fountains and sculptures. There was thirteen large aquarium water tanks which were meant originally to be filled with fish and sea creatures and 'wonders of the depths', but that never happened and the tanks remained empty. The only 'sea creature' that was eventually ever displayed was a dead whale, but for obvious reasons it was quickly removed.

The building and venue which became known as 'The Tank' became a bit of a lemon, and lost its popularity and was quietly closed down. The building and land was sold to the Wesleyan Methodist Church in 1903. The the site was cleared and the Methodist Central Hall was built on the site in 1911.

#london history #london life #social history #architecture #lost buildings #theatres #1800s

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 1 year

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If they wanted a private, smaller wedding, their first choice would not have been Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's. It would've been Scotland like Anne.

The first venue rumor was Craithie Kirk because he was such a “man of the people.” In the book Harry says he wanted Westminster before backtracking and claiming they wanted to elope.

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ilovecupcakesandtea · 2 months

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Chapter one Chapter nine My master list

Title: Chapter eight

Word Count: 1027

Archive Warnings: Smut in future chapters. Slight angst. Alcohol misuse.

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham

Character(s): Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Benny, Uncle Wayne & The Party

Tags: Smut. Angst. Steddie. Buckingham. Steve Harrington. Eddie Munson. Robin Buckley. Chrissy Cunningham. Band AU. TW Alcohol use.

Summary (optional): Two different styles of music, two boys that really don't like each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Beta Reader: Thank you so much to my beautiful beta readers @slippy-slip @ladydarklord & @dontwasteyourchances

Art link and credit: Art is by the wonderfully talented @pink-luna-moth (as is the banner)

Fic link and credit: Ao3 Link

AN: First off thank you to Alex for the art and being just amazing to work alongside. Thank you to Slip for dragging me back from the edge so many times over this. I really am so excited to have this out here!!

I wrote this for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang event and had a lot of fun doing so!!

Divider links: reblog and music notes

July 2006 saw The Spitfires doing a 7-date tour in the UK. Chrisy’s mom had taken even more of a role as their manager now with them getting bigger and had made all of their travel arrangements, making sure that they had somewhere to stay in each city. The party had also decided they were going to join as it was the summer holidays. Dustin, Max, El, Lucas, Will, and Mike all joined the band as they flew into London Heathrow ready for their first gig at the O2 Academy in Brixton 3 days later.

They spent time seeing as many sights as they could whilst they were in London and had free time. The first full afternoon they were all in there, they headed to the London Eye. The sun was high in the sky and they were all full of energy. They went around the London Dungeons where Eddie spent the whole time trying to scare the others, successfully making both El and Max scream, earning him a punch in the stomach from Max. Worth it, he’d grunted at the time.

After the Dungeons, the group went onto the London Eye. Looking out over the city from the top of the Eye as the sun was setting was beautiful. Everyone was excited to look out and point at different things such as the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, St Paul's Cathedral, The Tate Museum, Tower Bridge, and The Shard.

The show that night afterward in Brixton was amazing. The crowd was loud and the band was on fire. The party loved being backstage and then mixing with the crowd.

“Thank you Brixton, you’ve been amazing tonight! And you know what, I reckon we have too!” Eddie shouted into the mic at the end of their set, laughing. “Thank you and good night!”

“Good night, we love you” Chrissy shouted as the band walked off stage.

As the band left the stage, the party ran at them, shouting about how amazing their performance had been and how awesome it had been to see them on stage doing ‘their thing’. To say it had been a great start to the tour was an understatement. The venue cleared out and the band packed their things up before loading it all into the large car they had hired.

The best part of the night came totally unexpectedly as they were finishing putting their instruments into the car. As they were closing the trunk up, Steve noticed a group walking towards them, clearly excited.

“Hi! We’ve just been to your gig and we all absolutely loved it! Can we grab a few pictures and autographs before you head off?” One of the girls in the group asked.

“Sure! That’s fine by me if it’s fine by everyone else.” Steve answered, turning to the rest of the band who all nodded.

Lots of pictures were taken on various different digital cameras and autographs were signed by the whole band.

“Do you want to grab a drink at the pub around the corner?” one of the girls asked Steve.

“Sorry to butt in but we really need to hit the road if we want to make check-in at the next hotel” Eddie interrupted before Steve could answer.

“Sorry, guess that’s my cueto go.” Steve laughed.

The band waved to everyone and said their goodbyes to the group before getting into the car to join the party, Eddie and Steve up front, with Robin and Chrissy in the back.

“You’re so hot when you’re jealous, baby,” Steve whispered into his boyfriend’s ear as they were setting off before settling back and resting his hand on the inside of his thigh.

“ ‘m not jealous” Eddie responded, hands tightening further on the steering wheel.

“Sure, whatever you say” Steve chuckled. He couldn’t push Eddie's buttons like he was itching to do whilst they were in the car with the party.

“Stop trying to fuck the driver whilst he’s driving please, I’d like to get to the hotel in one pieceplease, we have a while to go still” Robin interrupted Steve’s thoughts of how far he could push things whilst he could. It had been a few days since they hadn’t shared a room with someone and Steve was determined to make the most of it.

The rest of the drive went smoothly. Music turned down low and everyone else asleep gave Steve and Eddie a moment together. Robin and Chrissy were as curled up together as they could safely be and the rest of the party was curled up under blankets.

The following day, after a late breakfast, the group went and had a look around Oxford, sightseeing on the river and exploring Oxford castle and prison at Eddie’s request. He walked around with his campaign notebook and wrote many details of the castle and prison down, much to the excitement of a lot of the party.

The rest of the tour followed a very similar pattern, typically driving to the next city in the morning before having some time to sightsee before the gig. Each gig was just as electric as the last; it seemed as though each night there were fans waiting for them as they packed up and sometimes even before the gig as they arrived at the venue a couple of hours before doors opened.

They played the O2 Institute in Birmingham, the O2 Academy in Liverpool, the O2 Apollo in Manchester, the O2 Academy in Leeds, and finally the O2 Academy in Edinburgh. Taking in as much of each city as they could in the packed schedule they had.

A couple of days after the final show they returned the car and flew back home. They had a couple of weeks free from shows and didn’t plan on having any band practice or writing sessions during most of that time either. Some real time to relax, which naturally meant that, according to Steve, this was the perfect time to house hunt. He and Eddie had decided to buy a place together as they both still lived at home and they wanted more privacy than that allowed.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #robin buckley #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #chrissy cunningham #buckingham #smut #tw smut #tw alcohol

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butterfly-pavilion · 5 months

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Butterfly Pavilion's Captivating Wedding Venues in Denver

Embark on a journey of love surrounded by the natural beauty of Butterfly Pavilion's wedding venues Denver. Our enchanting spaces provide a unique and picturesque backdrop for your special day. From intimate ceremonies to grand celebrations, our venues seamlessly blend the romance of weddings with the delicate charm of fluttering wings. Let your love take flight in the heart of Denver, creating timeless memories at Butterfly Pavilion's captivating wedding venues.

#Wedding Venues Denver #Banquet Halls westminster co #Venues Westminster #Event space Westminster #Event Center Westminster #Outdoor Event Venues Near Westminster #Rental Event Space Westminster #Party Venues Westminster #Westminster Event Venues

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the-empress-7 · 1 year

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#The Prince and Princess of Wales #TRHs

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theblueorchidhotels · 2 years

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Favourable Hotels in Rochester for business travellers

A lot of folks travel to London for business because the city is a financial hub. Many big names in business have their headquarters in London such as HSBC, Royal Dutch Shell, BP, Barclays, Llyod TSB Group, GlaxoSmithKline, Aviva, and Unilever.

When you are travelling for business, you will have specific requirements during your stay. Some of these, you would be willing to overlook if you were a tourist. However, if you are very particular about the amenities, you need not worry.

Popular amongst tourists and business travellers, there are hundreds of hotels and conference venues in London.

Here are some tips on how to look for a better hotel for business in London.

1. Cleanliness

While Covid-19 is an epidemic and the numbers have gone down significantly, London still sees almost 3000 daily active cases. Before you book your hotel, definitely check out the reviews and what people are saying about the hygiene standards of the accommodation. You do not want to fall sick during an important business meeting, nor do you want to infect someone else. Conference venues in London by Blue Orchid still follow social distancing protocols and ensure that the guests are safely placed at a distance from one another. Prevention is better than cure!

2. Noise

London is a loud city. While it is endearing during the day, the constant noise coming from traffic is not appreciated. Especially if you are jet lagged after a long trip.

The Rochester Hotel London is a quiet haven located in the tranquil St. Vincent Square. 76 intimate rooms surrounded by private gardens, you will be able to unwind after a long day of business meetings in your room. To make your stay more comfortable, the rooms are equipped with private balconies (subject to availability), 24/7 room service, LCD TV with international channels, a complimentary tea /coffee making station, and a marble ensuite with high-end bath products.

3. Restaurants

While London does have a variety of cuisines being cooked up in its streets, travelling for business does not provide you with a lot of time to go exploring these eateries.

Westminster abbey hotels like the Wellington has its own restaurant, the Wellington restaurant, that serves traditional English breakfast as well as cuisines from around the world. An onsite bar career for your alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverage needs. More than that, the Wellington restaurant also offers Al Fresco dining.

4. Location

Location is an important factor whether you are travelling for leisure or business. Being connected to the city is important as it allows a lot of places to be easily accessible at a budget-friendly rate. Cabs, buses and tubes can take you anywhere you want.

One of the best-located hotels in the city is Tower Suites. A 5-star hotel which is minutes away from the Shard, Tower of London, Tower Bridge and the River Thames. One cannot argue with its unique positioning and the luxurious stay it offers.

Favourable Hotels in Rochester for business travellers

If you are strictly looking for accommodation in Rochester, Blue Orchid hotels have two properties that can cater to your every need.

The Rochester

The Rochester Hotel London has 76 elegant rooms that exude traditional English charm and is surrounded by greenery that can refresh you from inside and out. The hotel also provides a venue for conferences and outdoor events.

And if you get the opportunity to explore a few things in London, you can walk to two of the most iconic locations in the city, Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey.

The Wellington

84 beautifully appointed rooms with traditional English decor, the Wellington by Blue Orchid is one of the best Westminster abbey hotels. With its unique location in St. Vincent Square, the hotel has a bar, a restaurant with al fresco dining and a gymnasium. The hotel also has private gardens and balconies in rooms (subject to availability).

The rooms at the hotel come with a tea/ coffee making station, a marble ensuite, a high-speed internet connection, a washer and dryer, an iron and ironing board, a kitchenette, and 24/7 room service.

#Westminster abbey hotels #conference venues in London #the Rochester Hotel London

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kellyvela · 7 days

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Do you think Perry is invited to the Duke of Westminster's wedding? I'd love to see Sophie as his plus one.

I don't know if he was invited and Sophie is filming Haven right now, but fingers crossed 🤞

But maybe, just maybe, there will be another wedding soon that they will attend together, since they were seen hanging out with an engaged couple recently, at a certain place that it's also a wedding venue, and where the brother of the bride married as well, back in 2020 . . . . 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀

#anon asks

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 4 months

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Nine Things You Should Know About the Westminster Confession

by John R. Bower

After nearly 400 years of service, the Westminster Confession of Faith continues to provide Reformed and Presbyterian churches worldwide a vibrant summary of Scripture’s principal teachings. But how has this document, drawn from a strikingly different age, remained equally relevant to today’s church?

In exploring this question, we consider nine essential elements of the Confession whereby the 17th-century Reformed church can be seen as standing arm in arm with the 21st-century church and beyond.

I. The Westminster Confession was designed as a doctrinal compass to keep the scriptural bearings of the church true, even when tossed by error and division. Civil war had thrown the Church of England into political, social, and ecclesiastical upheaval, and as its first step toward rebuilding the church, Parliament convened a national assembly of clergy to advise on the most scriptural guides for doctrine, worship, and government. Between 1643 and 1648, the Westminster Assembly of Divines created six separate documents for equipping the church anew, but of these the Confession of Faith was key. It alone expressed the mind of the church concerning the truths of Scripture and meshed the documents of worship and government into a unified working system.

II. From its inception, the Confession stood subordinate to the Word of God. In writing the Confession of Faith, the assembly remained passionately committed to the Reformation dictum of sola Scriptura, that Scripture alone speaks with final authority in all areas of faith and life. Indeed, the Confession’s statement “On the Scripture” is the document’s first and longest chapter. Here, Scripture is declared the inspired, infallible, sufficient, understandable, and the supreme judge of all disputes. Throughout the assembly’s work, members were oath-bound to affirm only those propositions supported by Scripture. Reflecting this commitment to the Word, the Confession’s 33 chapters bristle with more than 4,000 verses.

The Confession’s 33 chapters bristle with more than 4,000 verses.

III. In presenting the core truths of Scripture, the Confession followed a comprehensive and unified system of faith, reaching as far back as the Apostle’s Creed. Indeed, among the major Protestant confessions of the Reformation (Augsburg, Belgic, French, Second Helvetic), not only were the principle truths of Scripture held in common, but these doctrines were sorted into the same broad system of faith in God and duty to God. Following its creedal predecessors, the Westminster Assembly carefully preserved this doctrinal division of faith and service—a distinction the Shorter Catechism more expressively rendered as “what we are to believe concerning God” and “what duty God requires of man.”

IV. In its opening chapters, the Confession represents the heart of Reformed orthodoxy and historic Christianity. Here, the doctrines of faith emerge in three parts: God’s creative work and man’s fall (chs. 1–6), Christ’s work as Redeemer (chs. 7–8) and the Holy Spirit’s work in applying redemption (chs. 9–19).

V. The remaining part of the Confession (chs. 20–33) describes the believer’s responsibility to serve God, a service that embraces our neighbor, the state, and the church. The church, however, provides the principle venue wherein we serve God. Moving through chapters 25–31, the Confession elaborates on the doctrine of the church, the communion of the saints, the sacraments, and the far-reaching scope of church discipline. And culminating the saint’s life of service to God is entrance into the church glorious, described by the resurrection of the dead and the last judgment (chs. 32–33).

VI. “Of Christian Liberty and Liberty of Conscience” affirms how the individual believer’s conscience is free to serve Christ alone. But this freedom of conscience is further subject to those lawful civil and ecclesiastical authorities instituted by Christ. Balancing the several God-ordained authorities over conscience proved one of the assembly’s greatest challenges in framing the Confession, especially when faced with increasingly autonomous parishioners and competing civil and ecclesiastical claims of authority.

VII. The Confession offers a superlative platform for expressing consensus on the doctrines of Scripture and building unity within the church at large. When the Westminster Assembly labored to rebuild the church in the 17th century, England—like Scotland and many regions on the continent—recognized only a single church, making unity a societal as well as an ecclesiastical imperative. Today, although multiple denominations have replaced the single church model of the Reformation, the Confession retains its place in fostering unity within, and between, Reformed and Presbyterian churches worldwide.

VIII. Found within each of these nine essentials of the Confession is the centrality of Christ’s church. Guided by Scripture alone, the Confession affords a doctrinal anchor expressing the breadth of faith within the framework of the historic church. Saints are carefully guided in rendering their fullest service to God, especially within the visible church, where they are built toward unity in the one faith. In fact, while the Confession can be seen as enveloping all the great solas of the Reformation, it excelled in advancing the “forgotten sola” of sola ecclessia, the church alone.

While the Confession can be seen as enveloping all the great solas of the Reformation, it excelled in advancing the ‘forgotten sola’ of sola ecclessia, the church alone.

IX. The Confession was not intended to serve as a doctrinal storehouse, but to be communicated to every member of every church. The Larger and Shorter Catechisms were composed for this purpose. Thus, in writing its catechisms, the assembly kept an “eye to the Confession.” But this focus meant more than replicating content; the catechisms effectively conveyed the purposes of the confession, for as the principles of faith, life, and the church were taught and memorized, they built unity in the one faith from the ground up.

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