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#edwardian era
hoopskirtsociety · a year ago
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African American female portraits ca.1909
Historical fashion detail in photography.
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yesterdaysprint · 6 months ago
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The Evening News, Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania, April 25, 1912
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Jewell County Republican, Kansas, July 5, 1912
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The Butte Inter-Mountain, Montana, April 22, 1912
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The Baltimore Sun, Maryland, May 1, 1912
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The Atchison Daily Globe, Kansas, April 20, 1912
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The Holton Signal, Kansas, May 2, 1912
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Chicago Tribune, Illinois, April 22, 1912
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aliciarose-art · a month ago
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“To My Dear Evangeline,” a small comic about Vivian writing a letter to her long time friend, and crush, Evangeline.
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kriskukko · 3 months ago
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rosewater, lily & jasmine
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fdevitart · a year ago
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If this is too risqué I apologize, I understand that this indecent showing of ankles and forearms can be a bit upsetting for you gentlefolks.
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thesparklingreader · 4 months ago
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IG: the.sparkling.reader
A porcelain cup with black tea, milk and cinnamon, old photographs, ink stains, gray and cloudy sky, a knitted cardigan that belonged to my grandmother and my current reading.🕯️☕
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mysteriousartcentury · 5 months ago
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William McGregor Paxton (1869-1941), Tea Leaves, 1909, oil on canvas, 91.6 x 71.9 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art - Mysterious Art Century Instagram - Facebook - Twitter - Pinterest - Shop
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whispering-roses · 25 days ago
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Illustrations for Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese by Margaret Armstrong, 1902.
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slasherrabbitmadness · 2 months ago
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Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader
Series: Don't forget who you belong to.
Chapter 2 - Give me your answer, do
Underthecut - NSFW, Male Masturbation, Oral - Male Receiving.
Brahms sat idly in his living room, leaning back in his large leather recliner. Feet shuffling along the Egyptian carpet, thumbs twiddling as he hums Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre,
"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you." He smiles as he thinks of her. How her hair shines in the sun, like a halo above her head. Her eyes sparkling whenever she laughs, how the corner of her eyes crinkles ever so slightly. How her smile makes his heart skip a beat.
Brahms sucks in a breath, his hum-singing continues, "There are bright lights the dazzling eyes of beautiful Daisy Bell." He sits up straight, eyes on the unlit fireplace, the gold gate held an ornate Chinese dog welded on the front. He looks above the fireplace to the mantel, the rows of photos in their ash wood frames.
His face is stern as he glances at a particular photo. He, a half-smile as his hand rests on his son's shoulder. Lawrence when he was a boy of eight. Lawrence's other shoulder had a delicate white hand upon it. Gerti, her lips dark with her favourite shade of lipstick, her slight freckles littered her face, her silky blonde hair up in a beautiful age-appropriate bun.
His hum-singing fades as he continues to stare, the family photo, the family in the photo appearing as sharp and elegant as their social standing. That day, Gerti had scolded him all morning, her eyes wide and glossy, her alabaster skin held a blue and yellow hue under her eyes. Her fingers were cold and clammy.
"For the love of everything, Brahms, hurry for once." Brahms flinches as he can still hear her screeching, "Lawrence, get the cat's paw out of your mouth and stop pulling its tail!" He chuckles,
"I miss that cat," Brahms laughs to himself. Never one for pets but how that scraggly little beast could make his son laugh in the most jovial way, warmed him greatly.
His amused grin falls as his eyes lock with Gerti's. Grabbing the photo, his thumb ghosts over her image, remembering how once soft her skin was. His stomach churns as a chill seeps into his bones, shaking him in his spot.
He places the family photo back on the mantle, right next to a photo of her. Her hands grasping each other, face tilted slightly, a timid smile upon her face. "Sir, I don't need my photo taken!"
"Y/n, as my employee of a year, you are practically family." Brahms let out a shaky breath as his mind replays the conversation. "And you may call me, Brahms. You address Gerti by her full name."
"Gerti and are intimate in ways that have allowed us to be close."
"Pray tell may I watch these intimate moments?" His cheeky reply had cost him an ear full from his wife when she had found out. Brahms still never understood why women used such charged words to describe a close friendship.
Brahms left the living room, a stirring in his gut had him heave. He wanted to call upon her for aid, 'Fetch me a water with some ice, and actually bring some black tea and one of our lemons from Italy.' he clears his throat at the thought of dryness being washed back by the cold refreshment.
He had given her a few hours a week for personal time. Free to be spent however she pleased. Ever since the death of his wife and Lawerence attending Rugby School for Boys she had more free time. Much to Brahms immense displeasure.
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Brahms had taken to stalking her on her days off. Wanted to see what she got up to. Where she went and specifically with who. He would linger twenty feet behind, always darting behind stalls and other tall men to hide, he even took to wearing a coat that he kept hidden in hopes she would not recognize him further.
He stared in amazement at how well she helped an old lady onto the trolley all the while juggling her belongings, refusing a 'tip' "It's the nice thing to do." in reference to helping others.
His cheeks flushed whenever she stopped to smell the flowers, literally. A quaint smile as she turned down the offer for a free one from the vendor. She often stopped to sniff the white and yellow flowers. He had noticed Daisys were her favorite.
He seethed when one day you were stopped by a handsome Youngman, his tall lean frame stood confidently as his dark brown eyes held a softness as they looked down at you. He had overheard the name in a distinctly American accent, "Dan, yeah I'm studying medicine with my colleague, I'd introduce you but..." He hated that you always walked near the campus, hated all the young men eager, too eager to chat up a single young lady.
Dan had never gotten farther than chaste conversations and one quick feather-light kiss on her cheek.
Brahms wondered if he should up and move, just to be a little further away from the university, away from the young men, away from one of them stealing her away. She was his, he had just yet to convince her. Ask her, even bring it up in any conceivable way.
One occasion made the blood sear in his veins. He should have been more away, should have been more vigilant of this Dan fellow. He watched from a distance as Dan rounded the corner and collided with her. His tall body fell over hers, his hand had just managed to catch the back of her head, softening to the blow to the ground.
"Oh, God! I am so sorry!" Dan's eyes wide in shock, "Oh, I'm so sorry."
She laughed, "No, no, it's fine," Brahms gritted his teeth.
"No, it's not." Dan pulled himself and her up, his hand holding her in a firm grasp. "I am so sorry." He scratched the back of his head, his expression doleful.
"Accidents happen." She assured, grabbing his hand still wrapped around hers. " It's okay Dan."
"You remember me!" Dan's brown eyes lit up. A Radiant smile over his face as he stepped closer to her.
Brahms seethed as the scene played out before him. She smiled, he smiled. She laughed, he laughed. The words between the two began to fall effortlessly between them both.
He watched despondently. How she could let herself relax so easily in another man's presence. How her demeanor shifted around Dan. Those stiff shoulders eased themselves as Dan placed his hand on her shoulder and winked.
Brahms cursed, the university's chapel bell rang out. Every thunderous clang shot through Brahms. Every clang was a reminder he had another place to be. The dreaded desk in the dreaded little corner of his office.
He turned one last time, eyes watched as she smiled with a warmth he'd never seen, how she leaned into Dan as his smile shined bright.
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Brahms walks up to his maid's room, thanking Gerti for installing a sense of comfort in Y/N as to never locking the door.
He jiggles the door handle, "Hm..." Again, "Weird," his eyes narrow, "Bloody thing is locked." He jostles the handle, "Bloody woman..."
Click
"Ah, there we are." He hums in approval as the door creaks open. Forever grateful for the previous owner teaching him how to easily unlock a door in the house without a key "Rickety ol' tings" Brahms mocked the man's heavy accent.
He inhales as he enters her room. The simple little abode warmed his heart. Her bed and the nightgown left upon it stirred his loins. He walks to the bed, grabs the nightgown, bringing it to his nose, he growls as he inhales, her natural scent lingered on the garment.
Brahms holds the garment in his teeth as he shucks off his pants, freeing his painfully erect cock. The thoughts whirl in his mind as he plops onto her bed, sighing with content as he sinks down into the mattress and a sneer as he grips his cock.
The same bed she slept, where when the night calls for it, he knew she'd sleep naked. "Fuck..." He growls through the nightgown, ripping it from his mouth to place it over his chest. Her bed, her bed where she no doubt has touched herself, even if briefly in a beautiful sinful manner.
Does she shy away as she dipped those delicate little fingers into her dripping pussy? Does she bite her cheek to stifle her pitchy moans when that jolt of pleasure shot through her?
Brahms collects some spit in his large hand, sucking in a breath as his cold spit touches his cock. His hand pumps eagerly around his thick member, a low groan as the image of her crawling up to him floods his mind. He sighs as he pictures it as her hand gripping him, gasping at how large it is,
"Brahms, my fingers can't even wrap around it!"
"That's okay, love, use those pretty little lips and that wet little tongue to help you."
"What if my make-up smears?"
"Oh, love, that's what I want." Brahms throws his head back, thumb circling his swollen head, picturing it as her delicate wet little tongue. He grips himself harder as he swears he can feel her lips wrap around his cock.
His low groans and breathy moans fill her little room, her name falling from his lips, "So beautiful, Y/N. My love, so perfect, mhm, yes, further down your throat, moaning around it."
Brahms breathing hitches as he pictures her, clawing at his chest as tears prick the corner of her eyes, "I'm a little nervous," She says as she rubs her glistening pussy, inches over his leaking cock.
"You got this, my love." Brahms keens,
"Will it fit, Brahms?..." She bites her lip, a hand groping her beautiful chest.
"My love, just relax, I have you." He pictures gripping her hip to ease her down onto him, gripping his cock as he imagines her warm pussy gripping him.
Audible slaps from the fisting of his cock, mixing with his now desperate pleas and moans fill her room. She's on top of him, her chest flushed against his, she's commenting on how she loves the feel of his hairy chest, praised-filled moans as she comments on his pecs flexing under her.
Brahms bucks his hips into his hand, "Hold you close." He moans as he pictures rolling on top of her, her legs wrapping around his lower half, arms pulling him in close, whispering in his ear,
"Brahms cum in me, cum in me, make me yours." He grips squeeze around his cock, imaging it's her pussy clenching around him, "I love you, Brahms."
He hisses as his body shakes, muscles flexing, toes curling as he snarls out his release. The image of her accepting his seed sends heat washing over him. His cock pulses in his grip, his cum spraying over her nightgown, the remaining spilling down his fingers and cock.
His temples pulse, his ears ringing. His toes unfurling as his legs ceased in their shakes. He squeezes his cock a few more times, hearing her breathlessly thanking him, "It's so warm in me. Thank you, Brahms." He swears he can feel her nuzzling into his chest as if she was there.
Brahms coughs as he sits up, shaking his head as he gingerly throws his legs over the side, placing his feet on the door. The nightgown falls over his cock. He snorts, using it to clean himself. He stands up, placing the nightgown where he had found it. A wicked and mischievous grin spreads over his face at the thought of her wearing his spent at night.
He grunts as he retrieves his trousers, pulling them up in haste, tucking his chub back in. A content sigh as he eyes the bed and nightgown. She wouldn't be sleeping alone for much longer.
Brahms snaps his attention to the trill of his front doorbell. He clicks his tongue as he makes haste to the door. He debates on if he has time to properly clean his hand, decides to just wear a fancy white-glove he leaves, conveniently, near the front door instead.
"Coming! My Maid is out currently," He sucks in a breath as he pulls a glove over his right hand, he cocks his head quickly before opening the door. "Sorry, it'd have been answered sooner...who are you?"
Brahms stared down at the short man before him. His brown hair combed expertly to the side, his brows immaculate under his thick glasses. He wore a glowering expression, his lips in a tight line.
The man clears his throat, "Herbert, Herbert West." Brahms makes note of his American accent, "I believe this paper is for the lady of this residence." Herbert whips the paper in front of him, his expression changing to say "Well, hurry and take it!"
"Mr. West."
"Herbert."
"Herbert, If by Lady you mean, Gerti? She passed awa-"
"I don't mean your dead wife."
Brahms's eyes narrow at Herbert. He opens his mouth the speak.
"I mean, Y/n. She is the only lady living here. So Dan tells me."
Brahms's jaw slackens, "Dan." He says more to himself.
"Yes, it's an invitation to a formal at the university. He already invited her. Just wanted to make sure she got all the details, it's all there on the paper." Herbert whips it again in front of Brahms.
Brahms yanks the paper from Herbert, eyes scanning it wildly.
University of London
Residents of Handel Mansions we formally invite you to bring along the most beautiful dame for the start of our fall formal.
September 28th, 1900
Entrance fee 1 pound, with a beautiful dame on your arm the fee is waved.
Brahms stares back at Herbert who pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Well," Herbert begins, "I figured be best to drop it off for Dan. He's been awfully busy." He flashes a smile to Brahms as he turns, "Dan also says to let Y/n know he wishes her luck at her new job on Robitaille's farm." He turns back around to Brahms, "Oh, it was nice meeting you, Mr.?"
Brahms pauses, clearing his throat, "Brahms Heelshire."
Herbert clicks his tongue, "I knew that." He walks down the stairs, a pep in his step, "Was nice meeting you Mr. Heelshire."
Brahms stares at the short man walking away, nodding to a man walking past. He turns back around, slamming the door behind in, the frame shook.
He stares down at the paper, eyes reading it over and over again. "A formal." He starts, "That Dan..." His breath catches in his chest, "A job?" he questions aloud.
He collapses against his door, slumping over as he crunches the paper in his hands. His thoughts raced to her, cursing himself for not intervening that day she ran into Dan. Wishing he just took the reprimand from his employer and raced in to shove Dan away from you. Creating some fantastical lie as to why he was suddenly there.
Brahms's thoughts slip to his son. Lawrence, his green eyes shine whenever he and Y/n play. He hugs her like he did his mother. How y/n always promises to play with him, tuck him at night. How were you going to tuck him in if you were to be away? How were you going to be there to kiss his little cheek as he falls asleep?
"How are you going to be there for me?"
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fawnvelveteen · 5 months ago
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Oxford c. 1914
Janet Laing aged around 16 by Etheldreda Laing
IMAGE: NATIONAL MEDIA MUSEUM / SCIENCE AND SOCIETY PICTURE LIBRARY / GETTY IMAGES
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greypetrel · 4 months ago
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New episode on Webtoon! (Click here!)
Darcy needs his beauty sleep!
Till Queendom Come is a project about an Indian Rakshasi who's trying to find her lost heart after the East India Company stole it, a Jotunn who didn't feel like going back to Norway after the Vikings invasions, and the young nephew of the last druid of St. Ives who's now trying to keep on the family tradition on her own in spite of being the wrong gender to do so.
Started as a project set in Edwardian England, born in a urge of sudden irritation about seeing Victoria being romanticised everywhere by a cynical comic artist who majored in English. You can read it on Instagram under the hashtag #oscarpoppins (which was its unofficial title until now and in my mind will always be), or on Webtoon.
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yesterdaysprint · a month ago
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Chicago Tribune, Illinois, October 31, 1909
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kriskukko · 4 months ago
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seaside flights, circa 1910
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princebp1 · a month ago
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This one arrived all the way from France!
Evening gown from ca. 1911-1912.
It is made of beautiful blue silk with an overlay of pin tucked black silk chiffon! It’s trimmed with metallic lace, black velvet, and black fringe.
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thesparklingreader · 3 months ago
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IG: the.sparkling.reader
Today is a rainy day and with a cup of iced tea in my hands I'm thinking about childhood memories. I’m a melancholy person, so I often find myself browsing through old family albums, and seeing the faces of all the people I have loved in my life makes me feel happy. I believe that letters and photos are the best way to make a person exist forever, to always feel them close to you.☕🕯️
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history-crushes · 6 months ago
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Maude Fealy (1883-1971)
American stage and silent film actress.
She was successful as a playwright-performer and co-wrote various plays in the 1920's.
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slasherrabbitmadness · 2 months ago
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Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader
Slasher Victorian AU series Featuring Brahms Heelshire.
Divider by https://firefly-graphics.tumblr.com/
Series: Don't forget who you belong to.
Chapter 1
Prompt: 79
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Brahms taps his foot under his large, dark oak desk. He taps his pencil on a stack of papers, legal documents for his clients, ranging from the mundane like Mr. Krueger complaining about his neighbor Mr. Voorhees, ranging from 'standing there, menacingly' to ' He breathed in my direction.' To the extreme as an abuse case against a young vulnerable girl named Carrie.
Brahms pinches the bridge of his nose, the paper in front of him the most important and he was to not be paid for solving the problem. He picks up the paper to re-read the sections that stuck out the most.
We are advising you on your son, Lawrence, we regret to inform you of his wild, ruckus-filled behavior. We understand that young boys have a degree of tomfoolery to them but he, Lawrence, is turning out to be one who fancies himself an urchin.
Brahms grunts, eyes scanning the page,
He recently had put candy, that was similar in appearance to the headmistresses medication.
Brahms chuckles,
He also has set up a boxing club. He charges the boys a pence a piece for admittance and takes bets against the two boys fighting.
Brahms bit his lip, his cheeks turning pink. He clears his throat as a co-worker glances his way.
His face fell as he re-read the final line.
If these behaviors fail to be corrected over the upcoming break, we recommend a crammer school for young Lawrence.
Brahms slams the paper down on the desk, he leans back in his chair, gripping the arm of the chair, "Crammer school" he seethes. Brahms made a vow to Gerti, to never let their son end up at such a place, he was to be a gentleman and a gentleman comes from a gentlemanly background. Not a Crammer school for the slow and sluggish, a Gentleman's brute offspring to be fed into the army for slaughter.
"Any plans for the night?"
Brahms snaps his head towards his co-worker, Mr. Bates.
"Any plans for the night, Brahms? Taking the maid out for another moving picture?" Mr. Bates grins and nudges Brahms's shoulder with his elbow.
"Ah, no, she's been," Brahms twirls the pencil in his fingers, "Busy."
Brahms glances at his desk, the picture of his late wife and son.
Mr. Bates's eyes follow Brahms's, "You know, I'm sure Gerti doesn't mind. Lawrence adored her, yes, I'm sure that boy is dying for a new one," He rests his clammy hand on Brahms's shoulder, "After all, a boy's best friend is his mother."
Brahms recoils, "By God, Norman, listen to yourself," Brahms brushes off Norman's hand as he stands, "A Boy needs friends his own age," He grabs his important papers, stacking them loosely, he yanks his briefcase from under the desk to slam it on his desk, "Not a mother as a friend."
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You gleefully prepare the ginger beer, the old beige and brown bottles embedded with the Heelshire name. You scan the current bottle in your hands, "1771" you read aloud, "My goodness."
You delicately place the plates on the table, humming as you admired the beautiful set. "This costs more than one week's wage." Another tentative glance, "Which is why..." You twirl in the drawing-room, "I'm getting another job!"
Your mind raced back to last week...
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The carriage ride was bumpy, every bump from a pothole to a large rock made your already uneasy stomach flip.
"Almost there, miss!" The coach called out to you, "Sorry for the ride, Daniel has made a donation to get the road fix, beautiful ain't it?"
"Yes, that's very kind of him." You opened the flyer in your hand, you read the bold letters over the top,
Apple Pickers wanted weekend work. Only at Daniel Candy's Farm
"Tis nice of him to hire those with no work history or those already with a job, ain't it?"
"Yes, that's very kind of him." You repeated. You brought your attention to the upcoming estate, the large white manor stood out among the hues of greens, from the grass to the pine and oak trees in a neat line leading to the entrance of the manor.
The coachman helped you out of the carriage, "Now, miss, memba' to curtsey and all that."
"Thank you, and thank you for being so kind."
"I only hire the best."
Your breath caught in your throat, eye bugged out to the tall man who appeared to appear as if from nowhere. You looked up, the source of the voice, the deep baritone still carried itself within you.
"My coachman, I only hire the best, shall you prove me right?" His voice was like thick honey, his onyx eyes were warm, his hand was large with not a hint of labor upon it.
You froze, swallowed a hesitant hello, hand reached for his, "It's is very nice to meet you," His hand melded in yours, his thumb rubbed the back of your hand in small delicate circles, "Mr. Robitaille"
"Daniel works just fine." He flashed a bright smile, his eyes twinkled as they stared into yours.
"Daniel," you bite your lip, "It's nice to meet you, Daniel." and curtseyed.
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He led you along a light dirt path adjacent to the abundant apple trees. The birds in the trees sang a beautiful melody, they danced between the trees, the songs becoming more jovial as you and Daniel walked.
"You'll be working for the next three weeks, Thursdays," He waved to one of the workers picking apples, "Fridays," He nodded at a male with a wheelbarrow full of apples, "and Saturdays." He placed his large hand on your upper back, "If that is alright with Mr. Heelshire?"
You squeaked at the mention of Brahms, "Ah, yes,"
"Hesitation my dear, would he not be so accepting of a free woman working where she pleases?"
You shook your head, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "It's not that, he just..."
"He doesn't know." Daniel finished for you with a knowing laugh.
You shied away from his words, eyes took in the mass of workers, happily picking apples, chatting with one other, the made it look easy being up twenty feet high on the ladder to pick the apples.
"Pray tell," Daniel removed his hand from your upper back, "Why do you need this job?"
"Well, money." You said earnestly. "I could use the extra money is all."
"For family?" He asked, accepting an apple from one of his workers. He admired the deep red color, "A gift for Mr. Heelshire?"
You wrung your hands together. You chocked in a breath, "It's private."
Daniel stopped, a low chuckle as you had noticed he stopped. He grinned as you fiddled with your fingers, face turned to the ground, a coy smile over your delicate features.
"What's his name?" Daniel stepped to you, his baritone sent a shiver down your spine. "I'd like to hear it be spoken from such shy lips." Daniel rolled the apple in his hand, nudged it towards you, gesturing for you to take it.
You hesitated, your hands shook as you tentatively grabbed the apple. You stared at the red fruit, the color deep and rich, "His name is Daniel Cain, well, Dan, he goes by Dan."
A startled laugh erupted from Daniel. You jumped, eyes darted to the workers around you, their eyes fell upon Daniel. "Do tell, does this Dan Cain happen to be studying at University of London?"
You stammered out, "Yes,"
"How admirable. So tell me, a gift for the young man?"
"No, it's." You roll the apple in your hand, you looked up at Daniel, "A new dress, I wish to look beautiful, well," You grimaced, "At least while with him."
Daniel frowned, his hand reached for yours, you gasped as he held firm, "Pardon for being cliche, but you are already beautiful, How your hair shines in the sun, to how the sun lights up your eyes, your timid nature is quite endearing." He winked at you.
"Come," Daniel gestured, "I shall introduce you to Carrie, she'll be your site boss for the next three weeks."
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You jump from the front door slams open, Brahms shouting as he entered, "Please come to the foyer, my love."
You cringe, the nickname spills so easily from him, saying it like it was second nature, "Yes, Sir, be there soon."
"This instant, my love. I need you here."
Your eyes linger on the half-set table, too busy with your dancing and reminiscing to fully finish your job. "Coming, Sir!"
You walk out of the drawing-room, feet picking up pace as you make your way down the narrow hall, the green carpet embroidered with gold string, bought in Egypt, fairly recently. The walls a dark wood, matching the soil in the garden. The small lamps light up the hallway in a yellow hue. The walls lined with portraits of Heelshires past, their eyes unnerved you with every quick walkthrough you made through the hallway.
Brahms sighs and lets his shoulders relax as you step into view. He removes his jacket, tossing it on the coat rack, "Are the Victorian sandwiches done? Is the Ginger Beer ready?" He asks while loosening his tie, his adam's apple bobbed, "Hm?"
You wince "I was a little distracted, I'm terribly sorry, Sir."
"Brahms, we've been over this, my love, you may call me Brahms."
"Sorry, Brahms." You choke out his name, "Is there anything you need of me at this moment?" You place a warm smile over your face, eyes looking at him as he took off his custom-made shoes.
"Is it so bad for a man to want a woman to greet him when he's come after a hard day's work?" His bright smile made rock in place, heart thumping rapidly in your chest. "You know how good it feels to see your warm face as I get home?"
"I can't say I do." You answer earnestly.
"Do you not feel a sense of joy as I come home?"
You squint your eyes, gaze adverting his, you cough "Yes, I do." You look back at him, "I am simply your maid, Si-Brahms." You gesture to him to follow you down the hall, "I feel great joy when I see you come home to your...home."
"Our home. This place is just as much mine as it is yours." Brahms steps in front of you, gesturing for you to follow him. "You sleep here, eat here, are here every weekend..." He glances at the paintings in the dimly lit hall, "I mean, you must like it if you are here in your free time."
You flinch, nails scratching in the back of your hand, "Uhm, Yes."
Brahms reaches the table as he stares back at you, his eyes narrow, "Sit." He pulls out the ornate chair, his hand padding down the expensive leather, "Enjoy lunch with me."
You smooth your dress from behind as you sit, scooting up as he pushed you closer to the table. Brahms rounded the table, a jovial smile as he sat himself across from you, delicately placing a napkin on his lap.
"Now, how has your day been?" He starts, shoving a victoria sandwich in his mouth, rolling his eyes in ecstasy, "Mhm, my love this is delicious, you outdid yourself."
You giggle, shaking your head, "No, Brahms it's nothing. Just same old same old."
"You sell yourself too short." Brahms clears his throat, "This weekend," He wiped his hands of crumbs, "My son is coming home, he hasn't been excelling at school like he should be," He took a sip of the ginger beer, an approving smile after he gulped, "So I shall be sending him to a nearby crammer school."
You nod, "I'm sure in the end it'll work out for the best." He sips the beer, letting the taste linger on your tongue, "After all, probably be for the best he comes back home. I can imagine boarding school can be isolating after a death," You froze, eyes wide in panic as you glance at Brahms, "I'm so sorry." You place down the glass of beer.
Brahms laughs, the corner of his lips pulling up, "No no, don't be sorry, it's very true." He sips again, "Very true. Ever since Gerti crossed onto the other side, little Lawrence has been lost." He coughs, "He'll be more than thrilled to be home, hid loving father, his second favourite lady ready to greet him with open arms."
"This weekend?" you ask, "This Saturday?"
Brahms stills, his eyes squint, "Yes, I already said this weekend."
Your throat constricts, a burning sensation spreads throughout you. You look away, eyes catching on the ornate couch.
Brahms reaches his hand out to you, his thumb running on the back of your hand, "My love, what?" He raises his brow, leaning in, "What's the problem with Saturday?"
"I have something private to attended to." You state, eyes falling back to his, "I won't be here to greet Lawrence." You swallow, the burning searing through you, "I'm terribly sorry."
Brahms stood up, one stride and he was at your side, "Tell, why won't you be there? It mustn't be family matters, they live awfully far away, days by train." He leans in, "Something in town perhaps?"
You nod with a smile, "I shall be away this coming Friday and days thereafter, a flower picking job just a town over, the lady of the manor is allowing me room and board, very sweet of her." You sip more ginger beer, hands shaking as you brought the glass to your chapped lips.
Brahms places his large hand on your upper back, "Flower picking job?"
"Yes."
"What flower?"
"Excuse me?"
"What flower are you picking?" Brahms leans in closer to you, his other hand resting on the table, "I'm sure you know."
You grin at him, "Narcissus, beautiful flowers." You gulp back more ginger beer.
"That's a nice flower. Beautiful." He leans in closer, his eyes holding a critical glint. "Pray tell, how will you be picking a flower out of season?" He smiles down at you, licking his teeth, his hand clenches around yours. Your mouth agape, breath held. You choke as he leans closer to you, "I know apples are in season."
The air felt thick, the air from your lungs fell from your mouth in rapid breaths, the grandfather clock ticked, each one was felt in your spine. You jump as the grandfather clock thunders out his five pm chime.
You breathe in, "It's only for three weekends," You start, "No more than that."
Brahms chuckles, his fingers pressing into your back, "No more than that...why?" He rests his elbow on the table, chin in his palm, "Why the work when I could easily up your pay."
Your lips in a tight line, eyes dry, bugging out as you stare into his, "Savings." You lie.
Brahms slides his arm around your shoulder, his bicep flexing on the back of your neck, his hand running up and down your arm. He leans into your ear, "If by savings, do you mean Dan?"
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tobiasdaydream · 2 months ago
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Get to know about space with the book “Astronomy for Amateurs”!!
By Camille Flammarion
Circa. 1900s
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divineandmajesticinone · 2 months ago
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Illustration by Charles Dana Gibson for The Streets of Ascalon (written by Robert W. Chambers) / Cosmopolitan Magazine, May 1912, Nº 6
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