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sunshine-luca · 1 year

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arrival

Luca had been struggling to focus on his tasks all day.

It didn’t help that Ryan wasn’t close because the pilot was winging it halfway around the world on a delivery. Luca hated these kinds of days. He felt Ryan’s absence like a hole in his chest. He was irritable and cranky and his dreams always skirted the edges of nightmares.

It couldn’t be normal, could it? This kind of savage obsession. He wondered what Ryan was doing right now, if he had touched down and was busy completing tasks of his own. There had been a cheeky crack Luca had made about him being a task – that Ryan wasn’t allowed to go wheels up until he had fulfilled his boyfriendly duty of dumping a load deep into Luca’s guts. Luca didn’t know when he had become such a fiend for sex – he’d always been willing enough before, he wasn’t a virgin, but with Ryan everything was heightened. Luca craved it. He was desperate for it. His skin flushed hot, his whole body jittery with need, like he couldn’t settle his mind or the tremble of his limbs until he heard his lover’s voice or felt the warm stroke of his touch.

There was a clatter and a shout from somewhere behind him. The other engineers, called in for work on the new jet, began to argue amongst themselves. Luca barely heeded them, his mind far, far away, thinking about Ryan. Yearning for Ryan.

He wondered too, if Ryan was thinking about him. If he was yearning for Luca with the same intensity or if Ryan was finding another small, warm body to satiate himself with.

Just the thought made Luca’s blood run cold. The mere idea of Ryan, of those beautifully inked hands, his warm lips and proud dick pushing into someone else- It made Luca feel savage. Inside him, something dark and possessive stirred. Something hot that craved violence.

He hadn’t realized the pencil he had been holding had snapped until one of the other’s called out from the hangar office doorway.

“Luca! Get in here, there’s a call for you. It’s the boss.”

“Ye weren’t answering,” Ryan was saying down the line when Luca picked up his phone. There were sixteen missed calls, all from the same number. “What were ye doing?”

“I was on the floor,” Luca said, closing the door to the office after kicking everyone out. He locked it and flicked the dial to frost the glass so he could have privacy. The clangs and chatter of the working hangar bay became just a dull, muted symphony in the background as he sank onto the office chair. It was Ryan’s office. Everywhere Luca looked, it was a reminder of him.

Luca’s skin itched again. He didn’t know if it was better or worse when Ryan wasn’t physically here with him.

“I left my phone in the rec room,” he continued.

Ryan made a small growl of discontent on the other end and Luca closed his eyes to savor the sound.

“I was worried, boy.”

“You were?” Luca’s smile echoed the warmth that spread through him. Ryan had been thinking of him. Ryan had been worried.

“Aye. I expect ye to answer when I call.”

The hint of reprimand in his tone should have left Luca feeling chastised, but it only made his dick twitch instead. It reminded him of Ryan's voice when he whispered commands in Luca’s ear. Lie here, move there. Spread your hole for me, boy.

Fuck. Why was he so horny? Why was he so desperate for this man and this man alone?

He tried to bring his thoughts back to safer ground. There was still work to do. He was sure Ryan wasn’t calling him for phone sex.

“Uh, so I guess you’re calling for an update? Don’t worry, we’re getting through the retrofit. Big Bertha’s thrown us a few issues but nothing we can’t handle. We should have the starboard engine swapped by the time you get bac-“

“I dinnae give a shit about the fookin’ engines,” Ryan growled in a burst of heated irritation. Luca blinked, his mouth dropping open.

“What?”

“I’m calling for you, boy,” Ryan almost snarled the words but whatever heat was laced through them, it didn’t seem to be directed at Luca. If anything, the pilot seemed almost… distressed.

“I don’t-“

“I need ye to know I’m coming back early.”

“What? Why? But what about the job? Skye is gonna-“

“Fuck the job,” Ryan enunciated it without a trace of his accent, making Luca chuckle in spite of his confusion. “My boy needs me, doesn’t he?” Ryan’s tone dropped. “And I need him.”

Luca curled into the sofa and clutched the phone tighter to his ear. The first time Ryan had ever made him cum was in this room, sharp jerks of his hand around Luca’s dick while he whispered and coaxed the breathy cries out of Luca’s chest late one night. Then he’d taken Luca upstairs to the small annexed apartment and laid Luca on the bed and fucked him and changed his whole entire life.

He was less surprised than he expected to hear the words. “How did you know?”

Silence for a beat. Luca heard a rustle at the other end. Ryan adjusting his position. Luca hoped that wherever he was, he was settling down somewhere comfortable. He wasn’t anywhere ready to stop talking. Not yet.

He missed him too much.

“This is crazy, right?” Luca blurted, clutching his phone tighter. “I feel physically sick when you’re not here. When we’re not together. And then I started wondering about you. About what you were doing, if you were thinking about me, and if you weren’t – Like, what if you were with someone else and I-“

“Listen to me, Luca-“ Luca couldn’t see the pilot’s face but he could recall the intensity of his gaze when he caught Luca’s chin in his hands and forced it up to look at him. “I came alive for you. You are all I ever want.”

Luca shivered with the warmth of those words.

“Ry, I miss you. I’m going out of my fucking mind without you. I miss your hands and your mouth and your voice, I miss your cock filling me up, throbbing inside me-“

“Luca-“ Ryan groaned, the same kind of groan Luca recognized from their love making. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Not just this insane kind of codependent need and urge to fuck like rabbits, to be constantly joined, constantly marked- It was more. Ryan called Luca because he’d known on some level Luca needed him. And Luca knew, even if they hadn’t said the words yet, that Ryan felt something monumental with him. The way he held Luca’s face, forcing eye contact and not allowing Luca to look away when he pushed into him and spilled into him – that had to mean something.

And everyone else had to understand it too. There was love here.

Tears pricked at the back of Luca’s eyes as the yearning for his lover threatened to overwhelm him again. “Fuck, I miss you so fucking much.”

“I ken, boy,” Ryan whispered back. “I ken.”

They didn’t get to talk as long as Luca wished but the only saving grace was that the sooner Ryan hung up the phone, the sooner he would be back in the air and winging his way home.

The rest of the engineering team stopped work and began filing out just after five, heading up to the main house in a convoy of range rovers driven by golden guardians in dark clothing. Luca stayed behind and Rourke didn’t argue. Rourke had been distracted lately, his mind a lot less on Luca and Ryan’s business and more on the Castle. Luca suspected it was more to do with Kate. She had had a rocky start to her stay in Scotland but now she was safe enough up in the main house and spending a lot of time smiling whenever Rourke’s name was mentioned.

Luca sent her a text letting her know he’d be staying to wait for Ryan to land. Most of the systems were automated. He wasn’t really required but he wanted to anyway.

I understand, Kate texted back.

Luca waited for the following text. Probably another thinly veiled reprimand disguised as advice – there had been plenty of people with plenty of things to say about his developing dalliance with the pilot but Kate had been strangely quiet on the subject.

Do you want me to send you down something to eat? She sent instead.

No, it’s fine. The larder here is well stocked. I’ll find something upstairs.

He killed the time while he waited with cranking the music through the hangar speakers and singing his heart out while he swept and tidied the massive space. An army of modified roombas did most of the work, but he liked keeping busy. And he wasn’t stupid. He knew the way to the pilot’s heart was through his planes.

He was just putting away the last of the tools when the alert bleeped softly, advising him that an aircraft was inbound. He grinned, skating up to the flight control deck so he could watch. The runway sparkled, a row of gems in the black velvet night.

And in the distance, the plane. A tiny blinking dot that steadily grew larger until it morphed into the shape of a jet and touched down in a roar of engines onto the tarmac and taxied it’s way towards the hangar.

Luca grinned happily as he made the way back down. He wanted to be there when the doors opened and the sleek craft made it’s slow rumble into the hangar. He wanted to be there when the doors opened and the steps folded down and the man he was finally ready to admit he loved stepped out.

The still darkened cockpit windows should have been the first hint that something was wrong but it wasn’t until Ryan appeared in the doorway, his body tense and lips pursed, that a cloud of unease settled over Luca’s shoulders.

This wasn’t the greeting he expected and his exuberant bolt to throw himself into Ryan’s arms seemed like a stupid idea now.

His feet slowed. “LT?”

“Why are ye still here?” The ice in Ryan’s tone cut right through his heart. Luca blinked, confused.

“Ry, wha-“

“Shut up!”

Luca’s response was cut short by a dark figure appearing at the pilot’s back. The barrel of the weapon he rested against Ryan’s temple glinted in the overhead hangar lights.

Luca swallowed, his throat going dry, and Ryan’s eyes bore into his – his gaze laden with a mixture of fear and fury and something else Luca couldn’t name.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“You didn’t tell me we would have a welcoming committee,” the man said as he shoved Ryan down the stairs and off the plane in front of him. Luca backed up as two other hulking shapes followed them down. “Who is this?”

“No one,” Ryan spat. “Just one of the maintenance crew. I dinnae even know his name. Now fookin’ let me go!”

The words stung but it was the shadow of silent warning in the glance Ryan threw him that stopped Luca from shattering in place. Fear was battling with hurt and then Mason’s warning came roaring back from the depths of his memory.

You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.

Luca couldn’t help it. His whole body was tense and screaming, desperate to get to Ryan’s side. But Ryan’s feigned ignorance was a warning in itself. He wasn’t trying to harm Luca, he was trying to put distance between them.

But it was a distance Luca didn’t want. Whatever this was, he didn’t want to go through it alone.

The man holding the gun looked between them, something like realization dawning in his eyes.

“Ah. So this is him. The one you were talking to. Your… boy.”

Luca threw his gaze to Ryan only to find him straightening, his eyes blazing.

“Don’t you fookin’ touch him.”

#LOL I IDK what this is im just playing in the sandpit while i can #it doesn't have to be a thing #luc ais just craving VoILiEnCe #self indulgent titwaffle

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geekwritersworld · 3 years

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Where’s my love?

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x OC(Joey)

warnings: angst, mentions of a dead body

summary:(as stated below in the request)

Request: Ok sweet I have a plot for an oc X canon where my oc is paired with one of the peaky Blinders characters Arthur I guess. My oc is a maid so say they've been having an affair for quite some time and it gets angsty realizing he's married she decided to leave or fake her death since I picture angst😅. She's alot older now and realized she made a mistake and goes back to him. And they reunite after some time she realizes that she loves him.

A/n: I think I made Linda out to be bitchier than she is....yikes

Thank you so much for requesting @abitofloveaintweird, so sorry that this kind of short.

As always, feedback is welcome, it really helps us writers. Thank you for reading ❤

"because you have a wife, Arthur" Joey hissed.

"right, and what's your bloody point?" Arthur held her shoulders. His hands felt warm on her bare shoulders. Her dress hung off of her shoulders untied.

"my point is, it's not right for me to sleep with a man who's married" she didn't look at him, she couldn't" and it's not right for you to sleep with another woman when you're married”

"and I'm not sure it's right for Linda to be married, yet here I fookin' am" Arthur snorted.

"you don't bloody get it" she rolled her eyes, standing up to fix her dress and get back to work. But she knew in her heart that she wouldn't be here the next morning.

Arthur didn’t pay any mind, assuming she’d be there the next day as usual. But he didn’t hear her slipping out that night.

She’d known better than to just up and leave. So she made a short detour to the waters before she finally slipped away quietly.

When he awoke the next morning with Linda next to him, Arthur was already irritated and wanted nothing more than to hold his beloved Joey in his arms. But that would have to wait till Linda left.

5 years later and Arthur still thought of her. The feeling of her skin under the soft caress of his calloused fingers. The glimmer in her eyes when she looked at him.

Arthur Shelby remembered that wretched morning from 5 years ago like it was yesterday. He’d noticed something was wrong when it was Bertha who placed his breakfast before him and not Joey.

But he hadn’t too much time to think over it since Tommy had called him for some business dealing and that's where Arthur had been the entire day.

When he returned in the dead of night, it was strange that Joey wasn’t there to see him. She always was.

Her absence had started to become more apparent. He’d questioned Linda the following morning, but the self-absorbed woman didn't even know Joey by name.

When the coppers showed up at his door a week later, informing Arthur and Linda that their maid, whom Arthur had asked the cops of Birmingham to keep a lookout for since she’d gone missing, had been found; Arthur didn’t let himself feel joyous because the look on the copper's face was enough to tell him it wasn’t good.

Joey thought she’d figured it out in London. Working in a club that paid exceedingly well, she kept to herself.

Nobody really ever bothered her, except the occasional drunk men.

When she wasn’t at the club working, Joey would be home. She preferred the warmth and safety of the small house she could afford rather than the uncertainty that floated within the streets.

It’d be a lie had she said she didn't occasionally think of Arthur. If occasionally meant all the time.

She thought of him all day. Having worked as a maid prior to her job as a barmaid, she’d learned to skillfully multitask.

She thought of Arthur as she served the drinks, she thought of him whilst wiping down tables and she thought of him when she was home. Everything reminded her of him.

Joey missed his loud laughter and his quips. She missed the feeling of his hands around her shoulders, the warmth of his body against hers. His fingers lingering on her palms.

She often wondered whether Arthur had been affected in the slightest by her alleged death. Had he wept for her? Did he mourn or did he carry on unaffected?

The one person she tried not to think about too much was Linda. Despite the years that passed, there was an ever sense of guilt that lingered in her heart.

Joey didn’t regret Arthur, but that she fell for him and acted on her feelings when he was already married. Why couldn’t it have been before he married Linda?

Often, Joey laid awake imagining herself returning to small heath. To Arthur. She’d imagine Arthurs face, which she imagined was joyous. She pictured being close to him, holding him. she imagined Arthurs fingers soothing her dark brown hair back as the two of them swayed back and forth in his dim-lit room.

She missed him. The way he spoke to her, the smile she’d receive in return when she helped him with something, the laughter that was infectious and never failed to bring a smile to her lips. She missed the calming words he’d whisper to her in the early hours of the morning when Linda had left the house.

Arthur never stopped thinking of her. Linda wasn’t half the woman Joey was.

She wasn’t half as kind nor thoughtful, she didn’t care for anyone besides herself.

Arthur and Linda knew the only thing holding their marriage together was the conversation they were avoiding. They knew that their marriage would be over the moment they spoke of it. But as long Linda stayed out Arthur’s way and Arthur out of Linda’s, neither were getting any closer to sorting out their marriage.

It became increasingly difficult to focus on anything for Arthur. Tommy and the rest of the Shelby’s noticed.

The usually easy-to-read Arthur had now become someone they didn’t quite understand.

But Aunt Pol and Tommy were the first to realize that the change in Arthurs behavior was connected to his maid’s death 5 years ago.

“I know your grieving, but you can’t fucking let it interfere with your handling the fucking business Arthur!" Tommy was an exceptional bookkeeper, he handled numbers well, his memory was exceptional, but even he lost count over the number of times he snapped at Arthur about the same thing in 5 years.

Arthurs temper got more out of hand each day, without Joey. And it started to affect the business, he'd punch without reason, shoot and blind anyone he wanted. He didn't think he had anything to lose.

Sometimes he tried to pretend Linda was Joey. Just to get through the night. He pretended it was Joey’s fingers laced within his. Her breath on his neck, and her head on his heart.

But even he never truly believed those pretenses.

It didn't take long for Linda to realize her husband had feelings for Joey. She wasn't sure if she was hurt or not. She only ever married Arthur for security. For the roof over her head, he had promised.

In January shortly after Tommy wed Grace, Arthur stumbled through the streets of small heath. It was in the early hours of the morning, a time when only the workers would wake.

He had one reason for being awake at that hour. That cold, misty, and foggy morning marked 5 years since Joey’s death. Since the last time, he saw her.

Arthur sat under the bridge, the one at the edge of small heath. The one where they found her clothes. Her belongings; shoes, purse, coat but not her body. They never did find her body.

The police declared the water to be far too cold to send copper's searching for her body, at best they'd have to wait for her body to float to the surface. 5 years later, and it still never did.

And once again, they assumed it was the large overgrown weeds and shrubbery at the very bottom of the river, where her body had been entangled and stuck. Hence never resurfacing.

Arthur remembered screaming at the cops to find her body, but because Joey had no known family nobody ever insisted on her being found or the river being searched. And she remained at the bottom of the river.

As far as anyone cared to know.

So he sat there, his feet hanging over the edge. His face red, as he sat on the banks of the river, the bridge overhead.

The river flowed making noises while crashing against the rocks, the birds chirping in a distance, and the rustling of a few leaves in a distance. He heard leaves breaking, as the wind grew stronger.

He didn’t realize how long he’d sat there staring at the water till he noticed his surroundings darkening.

Rubbing his hand over his face with a sigh, Arthur got up with a grunt, stumbling for a second before walking back towards his now empty home.

Linda surely must have left by then, she’d told him she was leaving and would be gone by sundown.

Arthur didn’t have a reaction to Linda telling him she was leaving him. He didn’t care. He didn’t love her. She meant nothing to him.

By the time Arthur had reached his door, the sky had darkened completely. But time was of no essence to Arthur. Not when he didn't have anything else to lose.

But before Arthur could open his door and walk in, the leaves rustled a little behind him. He heard the swift movement of someone's feet on the ground behind him.

So he did what he knew best.

He pulled out his gun and turned around, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot whoever was behind him.

But the gun clattered to the ground, the noise resonating in Arthurs's ears, like the sound of her voice greeting him.

“Why the fuck are you playing with my head? It’s already fucked up there” He sounded like a madman. He felt like one.

“What?” he expected her to chuckle, the way she did for five years, in his head. The way she taunted him as a figment of his imagination he couldn't get away from.

“I FOOKIN KNOW I DIDN’T BLOODY SAVE YOU” his face red, his eye streaming with tears.

She’d only ever seen him this broken once.

“Arthur I’m here”

“No you're bloody not, you're in me head” he stumbled and sat down on the front stairs. His head hurting from how hard he was crying.

“No, No, Arthur, Arthur I'm truly here” He felt her slide her hand around his shoulders.

Her ocean-blue eyes searched his features. Not sure what she was looking for.

“What the fuck?” Arthur seemed to realize now. That Joey was there. Next to him. Not taunting him in his head from across the divide. She was in front of him. Holding him. She was alive.

“Where the fook have you been? You were fookin dead?”That's when it sunk in completely and Arthur realized that she'd faked her death "Why would you lie about being dead?!"

Arthur was angry. He was angry and heartbroken.

“Because I had to,” she said softly.

She managed to get him inside. She couldn’t help but feel curious as to why Linda wasn’t home. But she needed to focus on Arthur first.

“I left because I thought that I’d made a mistake. I thought getting away from here, I could have started a new life. One where I didn't wreck someone's marriage” She tried explaining, but now that she explained it to the man she’d run from, suddenly she didn't think her reasons made sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“because I knew you wouldn’t let me go”

“You didn’t wreck my marriage, you wrecked me” His hands were shaking now.

The tears she’d tried to hold back were now flowing down her cheeks.

“Five years, Five fookin’ years I thought you was dead” his voice shaking, Arthur slowly looked up at her. She looked just as breathtaking as she did all those years ago.

There was the silence that lingered, eventually, Arthur stood up, his chair scraping the ground. Walking to Joey’s side of the table, he hugged her. He held her tight as though he were afraid that if he didn’t hold her tight enough, she’d turn out to be a figment of his imagination.

And Arthur knew he couldn’t ever take that. It ruined him the first time, losing her. And it would kill him if he ever lost her again.

So he held her, shaking.

"where's Li-"

"She left. Hopefully never coming back" Arthur didn't have a care in the world for anyone else at that point. The woman he truly loved was in his arms, he couldn't find it in himself to be outraged any further, afraid that he might lose her again.

He had a hundred questions for, but they'd have to wait for later. He just wanted to remain in her arms, through the night. Holding her, running his hand through her hair, rubbing soothing circles on her palms, kissing her forehead, watching her fall asleep. It's all he wanted.

“I realized I made a stupid mistake Arthur. I'm sorry. I truly am” She mumbled against his chest.

“Why’d you come back?”

“For you”

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fluff #arthur shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x joey #Arthur shelby x angst #arthur shelby one shot #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfiction

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dragons-bones · 3 years

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FFXIV: A Seed of Calvary

Wolmeric Week #4: Flowers

A/N: That’s “calvary,” not “cavalry.” This can be considered a sequel to my FFXIV Write 2018 fill “Resolution,” and my FebHyurary fill A Riot of Blooms references the events depicted herein.

Get tissues, friends, this is going to hurt.

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7 || Bonus!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 2408 WARNINGS: Depictions of PTSD Cross-posted to AO3!

---

“Whatever you’re doing, drop it, and get to Synnove’s house now.”

Dancing Heron’s voice was harsh over the linkpearl, nearly angry, but stronger than the anger was the worry bordering on fear. Aymeric had never before heard his lady’s sister-by-choice sound like that, and it sent ice down his spine.

He dropped his hand from his ear and turned to Lucia, fighting down the rising panic; he was helping to oversee the installation of artillery—modified dragonkillers and Berthas, primarily—on the walls of the newly-reclaimed Ala Mhigo, and he could not let his troops see his concern, lest it spark unseemly or panicked rumors. “Ser Lucia,” he said, rock steady. “There is a matter that requires my immediate attention; may I leave this in your capable hands?”

His second had known him for years, and all it took was one meeting of their eyes for her to understand; her expression softened for a moment, brow furrowed with concern, before in a blink it had smoothed into cool professionalism. “Of course, ser,” she said with nod. And then, quietly enough for only him to hear: “Go.”

Aymeric turned on his heel and strode away briskly, but not too quick, nodding at saluting Temple Knights as he passed them by, until he turned the corner of the battlements. There were no more knights in immediate view, the nearest Resistance members further away, their attention focused outward as it should be. With no one to interrupt him now, he reached out with a thread of aether to begin casting teleport, shifting through the attunements he knew as well as the back of his own hand before finding the one that sang of waves crashing against cliffs and birdsong among cedars. The thrum of it slightly soothed his panic, letting him breathe, and on the exhale he let the Lifestream carry him away.

When the teleportation spell set him down just outside the gate to Synnove’s beautiful La Noscean home, he was initially met by the grim visage of Heron. She loomed over him, her arms crossed, shoulders rolled in in a defensive posture, and feet side wide as if to brace herself. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her blue eyes were shadowed with uncertainty and fear.

He had last seen that look on her face during her and her sisters’ recovery following the Battle of Rhalgr’s Reach.

“What happened?” Aymeric said, doing his best to keep from snapping.

“Unsure at the moment,” Heron replied, terse. “We hadn’t heard from Synnove in a few days, but she wasn’t at the Gate, so Rereha and I decided to stop by. We found…this.”

She gestured behind herself, and Aymeric looked past her to finally took in the yard. His jaw dropped.

Synnove had never had an interest in maintaining an ornamental lawn, instead preferring to interfere with the local apiaries as little as possible and giving most of her yard over to clover. Except now the yard, from what he could see of it, had been nearly completely torn up, the clover tilled over to soil. There were a number of haphazard rows and lonely little mounds of dirt amongst the carnage; the rose bushes in the corner had a number of new siblings on either of them, small and flimsy in comparison to their thorny elders, and multiple new trellises now leaned up against the side of the house, ready for new vines.

The only spot as yet left untouched that he could see (the vegetable and herb garden was on the other side of the house next to the kitchen, out of sight from the main gate), was beneath the oak tree. And that was where Synnove knelt, just on the edge of the shadow cast by the great tree’s branches, digging with her bare hands in a furrow and a bag of seeds next to her.

Mouth and throat going dry, Aymeric said, “Where are the carbuncles?”

“I think she deliberately suppressed their manifestation protocols,” Heron murmured, “else they would have at least gone to the Gate to get help. They’re going to be furious with her.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I have no idea,” the Hellsguard said, frustration lacing her words. “Several days, I think; she looks a fucking wreck. She wouldn’t respond to either Rere or myself, either; Rere’s gone to find Aunt Angharad, she wasn’t answering her ‘pearl, and I called you; I’ll be calling Alakhai in a moment. We figured if we couldn’t get a response, either you or her aunt would, or perhaps all of us together.”

The frustration was now on Heron’s face, and Aymeric felt a pang of sympathy for her. She took her duties as the responsible ‘elder’ sister seriously, even more so as a paladin trained to take the brunt of an enemy’s attentions. While Heron did not confide in him personally, he could still well understand her helplessness at being unable to ascertain the cause of her sister’s distress or do anything to alleviate.

“I will try my best,” he said simply.

Heron nodded and shifted out of the way, and Aymeric walked through the gate.

He took care of where he stepped; there was no telling if any stones had been brought to the surface when the soil had been turned over, and twisting an ankle was the absolute last thing he needed to be doing. Too, it seemed many of these mounds and furrows were likely seeds, though what kind he couldn’t say, and until he better understood what had compelled Synnove to do this at all, he was loathe to disturb her work. A research frenzy was nothing new for her, after all; if they were lucky, perhaps this was an extension of that, simply focused somewhere else.

He doubted it, but he could hope.

Finally, Aymeric reached Synnove’s side, and he crouched down next to her. She paid him no mind, her attention on the ground before her as she dug out a hole with her fingers, reached into the seed bag next to her, and dropped one in, before covering it and carefully mounding the soil. A watering pail was on her other side, and she picked that up, dampening the site. And then she did it again, and again, and again. As she repeated the motion, he caught sight of her nails: broken and cracked, a few worn down to the quicks, and absolutely filthy.

He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. “Synnove?” he called softly. “Synnove, sweetheart, will you look at me?”

She ignored him—or, perhaps she couldn’t hear him. The more he took in the sight of her, planting and watering and occasionally shuffling on her knees into a different spot to better reach fallow soil, the more he began to recognize the signs of someone who had survived something terrible and fallen into a loop of memory or compulsion. He saw it most often among his knights and the House soldiers, but it also wasn’t unusual to see among any who had lived through a Dravanian attack, combatants and civilians alike.

Aymeric swallowed, sorrow sitting heavy in his heart, and kept quietly calling to her: her names, endearments, entreaties. It was a struggle to maintain the steadiness of his voice, but his own grief would be no help right now. He could mourn with her once she was back in the present.

Finally, finally, her movements slowed, then stopped all together, staring down at her hands lax in her lap. She pulled in a deep breath, chest expanding as far as it could, and she sighed it back out again shakily. And then she slowly turned her head towards him.

Heron had called her appearance wreck. Heron had understated it; Synnove looked an absolute disaster. Her hair was greasy and unkempt, half the beads she usually wore missing outright. Her lips were dry and cracked from dehydration, her normally golden bronze skin gone grey as if from aether shock and the skin of her cheeks sunken. And her eyes, oh, Fury, her eyes: the green gone dull and listless, the white so bloodshot they were almost entirely red, with huge, dark bags beneath them.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and when she spoke, it came out as a reedy, hoarse croak: “Aymeric?”

“Hello, sweetling,” he said, reaching up to cup her cheeks. He brushed away a stray bit of dirt with his thumb and smiled at her, not entirely able to disguise his heartbreak. “You’ve given your sisters and I a bit of a fright. Will you tell me what happened?”

Synnove swallowed, eyes darting beyond him to where Heron was, and Alakhai, too, based on the sound of a single incoming teleportation he had heard not long ago. She grimaced, slightly—no doubt her sisters were in that mixed state of “we’re not mad, just disappointed” and “worried sick”—then focused back on himself. She licked her lips again and said, “What day is it?”

“Lightningday,” he said.

“Shite,” she said under her breath, glancing away. She breathed deeply for a few moments before she finally continued: “I went to the manor. On Earthsday.”

Confusion spun in his head; he had been home that day, a short rest to address some matters that needed the Lord Speaker’s attention. Hersande or Baptistaux would have alerted him had she stopped by—

—oh.

Oh.

Synnove’s voice was faraway as she kept speaking. “I nearly walked by it, at first. It was—it was just some stone building, the same as all the others in the district. No vines climbing the walls, no oak tree shading the yard. It wasn’t until I saw the wolf’s head carved above the gate that I realized this was my home.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Aymeric shuffled closer, still holding her face in her hands. She sniffed, hard, and looked him dead in the eye. “My grandmother’s gardens were gone,” she said, empty and flat. “All the colors, the smells, that beautiful oak that was older than any of us. Just. Gone. I’d known there wasn’t a chance that it would be unchanged, but I think I’d still hoped, and. And it hurt, to have that hope taken from me.”

Tears welled at her eyes until they spilled over, running down her cheeks and over his thumbs and hands. All the while, Synnove kept talking: “I went inside. I didn’t remember much about the interior, so it didn’t hurt as much. I found the attic, and—and portraits. I saw my grandmother’s face. I saw my grandfather’s.

“I saw my Uncle Tyr.”

A sob shook her frame, and Aymeric let go of her face to gather her into his arms, crooning wordlessly to his beloved. Synnove buried her face in the soft, unarmored collar of his gambeson, sniffling and choking back another hiccupping sob; his soul ached for her, and he desperately wished he could snatch this pain from her and bury it far, far away, but this was a poison she needed to excise herself. All he could do was be a shelter for her as she cut it from her being.

“I brought—I brought the portrait of Uncle Tyr with me, when I left,” she said, muffled and wobbly. He smoothed back her hair and kept petting it, beginning to slowly rock her. “Was one with Auntie, too. I went to Ul’dah, to Auntie and, and I showed it to her and she just broke. I’d seen her cry before but never, ever like that. Eydis was home, too, and she saw it and—and she hugged me. She hasn’t hugged me since before the Fall. I spent the night there and we all just cried ourselves nearly sick.”

She burrowed closer, bringing up her hands to clutch at his surcoat in a viselike grip, and he tightened his own grip on her. “I teleported home the next morning,” his lady sniffed. “And—and I saw my yard. No morning glory vines crawling up the walls of the house, no flowers anywhere save one or two spots. Almost as empty and featureless as the Greywolfe manor is now. I think that’s when I broke. There’s a blank spot in my memory; I ended up at the Botanists’ Guild, somehow. S’probably a miracle I didn’t fuck up the teleportation to Gridania or back home. I. I bought seeds. Lots of seeds. Just, flowers. Spring blooms, summer, autumn. Too late for most of them, but. But this fall, and next spring, there’ll. There’ll just be color.”

Synnove fell silent then, and Aymeric rested his cheek on top of her head and began to rub one hand up and down her spine in firm strokes, the way she liked to be cuddled best. She shuddered and went limp in his hold, a broken croak of a moan rattling out of her throat as she hid her face in his neck more thoroughly.

Instinct told him that this was far from the end of Synnove’s traumas; it was a wonder they hadn’t spilled over sooner, but perhaps it was the catharsis of finally freeing the city of her birth that had been the key to unleashing the flood of emotion. There was no easy method of healing such pain: all she could do was let it out and hope in doing so it lanced the festering wound at long last. All he could do was listen when she needed an ear, and provide the support she would need when her courage faltered and required shoring.

Aymeric sighed quietly, tilting his head to kiss her hair. “I will be more than glad to assist you in your planting, my Synnove,” he said to her, low and soothing. “And I’m sure your sisters will be, too. But before we return to that task, let’s get you a bath, and something to eat, and perhaps a nap. All right?”

“All right,” she hiccupped. “But—could you just hold me for a bit longer? Please?”

“Of course.” He pulled back just enough to sit on the ground, legs crossed, and Synnove crawled into his lap and buried her face in his neck once more, clinging to his arms while he held her. And if after a few slow heartbeats her shoulders shook and she finally, finally let herself cry, well. There was no one here who would judge.

#wolmeric week #wolmeric #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #oc: synnove greywolfe #oc: dancing heron #dt's writing #it's time for pain and suffering! \o/

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drawawyvern · 4 years

Photo

Western Meadow Fritillary 1830s dress. Despite me firmly believing this to be one of the worst decades for upper-class women’s fashion, I had quite a fun time with this, due to the Extraness™, though that also meant it took about three times as long. Please appreciate my shading (and ignore the very historically-inaccurate colour fade and the polka-dot-like pattern at the top. It can be embroidery.)

[I.D.: An orange dress with giant, puffy sleeves and a large round skirt. A black bertha trimmed with white lace and black ruffles and three black bows down the centre goes around the neckline. Down the front of the dress are pleated rows of unpatterned orange fabric ribbed with black ruffles trimmed with white lace on the skirt. On the main skirt are horizontal lines up and down that turn into dots toward the top as the background orange darkens, and black bows are along the edge with white ribbon between them. The sleeves end in black-and-white cuffs with a black bow.]

#idk if i can throw words like bertha around casually in image ids #but that's what it is #i think? not sure if they had a different name before the 40s #drawawyvern #artists on tumblr #butterfly dresses #not fanart

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rosemalin · 4 years

Photo

R O S E M A L I N full biography

G E O M E T R I C S

↬ Full name ↫

Rose Bertha Malin (Adams)

↬ Nickname ↫

Rosie (only by Ben)

↬ Birthday ↫

October 30th

↬ Birthplace ↫

Isle of the Lost

↬ Zodiac ↫

Scorpio

↬ Height ↫

5′2

↬ Orientation ↫

Heteroromantic, bisexual

↬ Social Class ↫

Was lower as everyone is on the Isle but soon will be upper. However i don’t feel like money is too much of an object in Auradon (wishful thinking ya know)

↬ Wealth ↫

Same as above soon girl’s gonna be queeeen (she already is a queen lbr)

A P P E A R A N C E

↬ Tattoos ↫

Wings on her ribcage and she is going to get a little tiny crown on the inside of her ring finger for Benny

↬ Piercing ↫

She’s got a couple ear piercings but nothing crazy

↬ Outfits ↫

She loves some dark colors. When she was younger she dressed much more rough around the edges with ripped clothing, short skirts and leather. Now she’s lightened up a bit and has nicer clothes. Still loves a combat boot though.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

↬ Normal mood ↫

Rose is usually a little cold. She’s guarded and doesn’t like to show her emotions. There’s a lot of RBFs going around. She comes off as scary but typically nowadays she’s just indifferent. (Unless there’s a Benny around)

↬ Temper ↫

Oh...man is there a temper. There sure tf is. She can get mad over small things and she will hold it against them

↬ Discipline ↫

She’s actually more disciplined than people give her credit for. Rose is very in control of when she acts out. She can be patient but it’s her decision when.

↬ Strengths ↫

Her magic is really strong. Physically..yes ish but she’s smol. Emotionally...there’s good days and bad days.

↬ Weaknesses ↫

For a long time she thought her weakness was being in love with Ben but she’s turned the page on that. Now I think her weakness is her past. She thinks it’ll be held against her forever especially for being a future ruler.

↬ Drive/dreams ↫

Truthfully she’s still not sure but we know it’s actually being with Ben and having a future with him. I think eventually when she accepts that, her drive is really going to be showing Auradon the positives of magic and helping all VKs with their potential.

↬ Fears ↫

Her whole family lmao. Briar, her mom, her dad. But not just them as people, them hurting the people she cares about.

↬ Likes ↫

Art, she loves painting or spray paint mostly. And magic. She enjoys still continuing to learn and practice it. Fruit, lace, motorbikes.

↬ Dislikes ↫

She still hates swimming, she just still doesn’t really feel comfortable. Beer, getting sweaty, bugs, sand. Rose also hates Cora lol

↬ Soft spot ↫

I mean obviously Benny

↬ Depression ↫

The past and when Briar came to Auradon, He became a trigger in regards to her past and made her go down a dark path for a while.

↬ Inspiration ↫

Her initial inspiration growing up was making her mom proud. Now I think her inspiration now has become her friends and Ben. The rest of the core really thriving in Auradon and then seeing how Ben is kind and strong.

↬ Role model ↫

Probably Ben & Evie

↬ Mental disorder ↫

She may have a bit of PTSD from the Isle especially when she first arrived and when Briar got there.

↬ Habits ↫

I feel like she has a habit of staying up really late and she probably taps her fingers or pens a lot when she concentrating.

R A T I N G S

(5 Stars means very high strength, 1 star means very low strength aka weak)

↬ Psychological strength ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ - She’s strong and doesn’t want others to ever think she’s weak.

↬ Physical strength ↫

⭑⭑⭑ - Again she’s small bUT girl has her magic.

↬ Leadership ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑ - She was great at leading the core however now that its come to the point where she does have the option of power with being queen, she is actually very hesitant.

↬ Wisdom ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ - I’d say she’s pretty calculated and doesn’t make a decision typically without thinking it through.

↬ Intelligence ↫

⭑⭑⭑ - She’s smart but not always in a traditional way. School was fine but she really only wanted to focus on the subjects she’s interested in.

↬ Confidence ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ - Even if it’s feigned confidence sometimes, she’s usually on top of it and keeps her confidence up.

↬ Endurance ↫

⭑⭑ - She’s not the best at dealing with things. She tends to push it to the back burner and bottle up hardships.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

↬ Father ↫

Hades is still on the Isle but Rose never had much of a relationship with him. Briar and him were always closer. Her parents despised each other and she was closer to her mom so she barely saw him.

↬ Mother ↫

Maleficent was released as a lizard back to the Isle. Rose couldn’t keep her a lizard anymore when Briar came to Auradon. As far as Rose knows, she’s still there somewhere. Their relationship was tricky because she was cold, mean and tough with her but Rose still looked up to her and wanted to make her proud.

↬ Siblings ↫

Briar is still in Auradon and the sibling rivalry lives on but Rose has started to try and move on. She tries to avoid him and his lackeys at all costs. He thinks he’s stronger than her and always tries to compete. Rose is trying to figure out how they can solve things enough to co-exist in Auradon.

↬ Other relatives ↫

Since coming to Auradon she’s learned of having cousins from her dad’s side of the family like Sloane. But Rose still doesn’t feel the connection to them as family since they had such different upbringings.

↬ Enemies ↫

Briar and anyone who opposes the VKs

↬ Rivals ↫

Briar again lol

↬ Friends ↫

The Core - Evie, Kai and Chase are her closest friends and essentially family. She’s gotten closer to Sloane from Evie and even accepts Nolan as Ben’s best friend.

↬ Best friend ↫

Even though she loves Kai and Chase, her relationship with Evie is different. Rose tormented her for a long time from mostly jealousy. When they finally bonded, the two became sisters.

↬ Love interest ↫

Benny :)

↬ Marital status ↫

She’s currently engaged to Prince Ben.

↬ Children ↫

Eventually - Violetta, Regan, Acacia & Mitchell

↬ Pets ↫

Hm no. Rose never had much experience with animals on the Isle.

P A S T - T I M E

↬ Hobbies ↫

Paint, practice magic, hang out with the core and Ben. She wants to start learning to cook a little bit but she doesn’t expect to excel at it.

↬ Talents ↫

Her magic is one of the most advanced in Auradon and she’s not bad at painting and art.

↬ Sports ↫

She’ll watch tourney but only for Ben.

↬ Classes ↫

Rose definitely preferred art, english, or any creative classes.

↬ Occupation ↫

Well she’s a student and now future Queen. She’d has had a few freelance painting jobs around Auradon to make money and used to help when new VKs would come to Auradon.

H O M E L I F E

↬ Location ↫

Rose and Ben bought a house together to have as their personal home then they also have the castle.

↬ House size ↫

It’s big but not as big as the castle.

↬ House type ↫

It’s a gothic and classical style home.

↬ Level of luxury ↫

Well the castle is very luxurious and their house is definitely really nice and big but they want it to feel more homey.

↬ Outdoor description ↫

Their house is private and secluded with a lush outside area. The actual house has ivy growing on it and feels like a storybook.

↬ Indoor description ↫

It has plenty of room for a future family and some bonus rooms like a theater. The style feels warm and classic with a touch of gothic style for Rose’s taste.

↬ Bedroom description ↫

The best part of their bedroom is the fireplace and balcony. It’s styled very romantic yet simple.

L I F E S T O R Y

↬ Age 0-12 ↫

Growing up on the Isle was tough. She had to grow up fast. During this time she became more and more angry. Part of it was at her situation. She was jealous, angry and constantly trying to get into trouble. She was influenced by her mother and tried her hardest to make her proud by being rotten.

↬ Age 13-18 ↫

Leading up to going to Auradon, she got even worse. She had her friends and with them they had their fun pranking and finding trouble in the Isle. They were making the most of the terrible and disgusting place. At 16 when they got picked to go to Auradon, things changed. Not only did she finally see there could be light and a future, she had decided she didn’t need to be evil.

↬ Age 19-25 ↫

Then Briar finally came to Auradon. This became a catalyst for Rose to resort to her old ways. She always was still a VK. She loved still teasing people and creating some drama but with Briar she completely turned back around. Rose was tormenting people and broke up with Ben...a couple times. She would turn on her friends and just wanted to be alone, thinking that if she was alone, Briar wouldn’t be able to hurt her friends. As the years went by, she realized what she had for her in Auradon prior to her brother was stronger than being alone and mean. She came to this realization and slowly pieced her life back to where it is now.

↬ Darkest secret ↫

Rose doesn’t have many anymore but she feels like her biggest secret is her fear. She keeps so many walls up and tries to be portrayed as tough and cold. In reality, she’s afraid of her brother, her family, or anyone hurting the people she loves and she can’t be strong enough for them.

#bio

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early20thcenturynerd · 5 years

Photo

Ball Dress, from Harper's Bazar; 20th January 1877

“This beautiful ball toilette is of black tulle over black silk, with tilleul (greenish-cream) scarfs, and for flowers red poppies with wheat ears. The graceful train of silk is covered with a finely pleated tulle flounce headed by five tulle puffs, very full and lapped at the top. The low princesse dress is formed of puffs of tulle graduated to fall in with the lines of the figure, and separated by bands of tilleul ribbon.

The neck is V-shaped in front and back, and has a tilleul silk bertha held by poppy and wheat clusters, and finished on the upper edge with black lace. The lower end of the puffed dress is trimmed with scarfs of tilleul gros gain crossing each other and held by flowers. A long spray is down each side. Blonde coiffure, with waves in front, puffs, and short curls behind, ornamented with poppies and a bandeau of tilleul green silk.”

#1877 #1870s #victorian #victorian fashion #ball dress #evening dress #fashion plate #1870s fashion

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suffrageinstitchesnz · 5 years

Photo

Makers’ names: Mary Irvine and Jill Stanley

Petition sheet number: 444

Person honouring: Mary Hamshar

Relationship to makers: Great-great-great-aunt

Mary Barben was baptised in Lancashire, England in May 1834, the youngest daughter of Susannah Field and her husband Thomas Barben. The family sailed to Wellington, New Zealand on the London, arriving in December 1840.

Mary was a dressmaker and always used a crutch, being lame since birth. To be near her sister, Sarah, she moved to The Spit, Napier around 1855. (Sarah and James McKain were one of the first European settler families in Napier.)

Mary married James Hamshar in Napier in 1858. While farming at Wairoaiti, they visited Sarah at Petane (now Eskdale), travelling on a quiet old bullock with a broken horn – called Stumpy. Later at Waihua, they farmed sheep and grew maize, potatoes, and pumpkins. Their only child, Alice Bertha was born in 1858.

In 1868 James became ferryman at the Waihua River; Mary is said to have helped run the ferry. They both spoke te reo Māori. In July 1869 Mary and Bertha hid in the bush for several days to escape from Te Kooti.

Bertha died of pneumonia aged 14 in 1873. Mary had a strong Christian faith and her beloved prayer book and New Testament remain with family today. She was at the Western Spit [Westshore now] when she signed the petition in 1893.

Mary died in October 1901, at Petane, aged 67 years and was buried in Eskdale cemetery.

Panel materials: Background was a remnant. This, plus Māori design fabric, from my own fabric stash. Antique laces, edging (possibly Holland blind edging), and buttons from mother and grandmother's collection. Blue embroidered lady cut from grandmother's handkerchief (she was born around 1893). All embroidery threads from grandmother's collection. Miniature crutch made from skewers. Pot from my collection of miniatures. Owl fabric donated by sister-in-law. White background fabric (for ironing and embroidering on) from mother's old embroidered pillowcase. Wooden scissors and Union Jack button purchased.

Unique ID number: VRS.2019.516

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gogmstuff · 2 years

Photo

#1900s fashion #Belle Époque Fashion #Edwardian fashion #Mrs. Abbott Lawrence Rotch #John singer Sargent #hair ribbons #off-shoulder neckline #scoop neckline #lace-edged bertha #pouter pigeon bodice #wrap #Callot soeurs #bateau neckline #sash #lace-edged skirt.

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chic-a-gigot · 1 year

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La Mode nationale, no. 18, 4 mai 1901, Paris. No. 1. — Groupe de corsages pour dames et jeunes filles. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Explications des gravures:

(1) Corsage habillé pour jeune femme, en panne vieux rose. Boléro court, bordé de dentelle blanche; grand col revers en dentelle blanche sur transparent de taffetas blanc, fermé par un nœud coulant en satin noir dont les pans arrêtent dans la ceinture en même satin. Plastron de guipure et chemisette de liberty blanc ou de batiste de soie blanche ou de taffetas souple. Col drapé en panne; manche mitaine, bordée de dentelle. Jockeys de panne également bordés de dentelle.

Matériaux: 2m,50 de liberty pour la chemisette; 2m,50 de panne rose.

Capote pailletée; devant nœud de panne noire traversé de deux palmes.

(1) Dressy bodice for a young woman, in old rose panne. Short bolero, edged with white lace; large lapel collar in white lace on transparent white taffeta, closed by a slipknot in black satin whose sides stop in the belt in the same satin. Guipure plastron and shirt in white Liberty or white silk cambric or soft taffeta. Draped down collar; mitten sleeve, edged with lace. Panne jockeys also edged with lace.

Materials: 2.5 meters of liberty for the chemisette; 2.5 meters of pink panne.

Sequined capote; in front, black panne bow crossed by two palms.

—

(2) Corsage mi-habillé pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en gaze beige à fleurettes bleues. Forme blouse, plissée sur les épaules; les plis sont maintenus par une large bande de taffetas beige fixée par des pattes et des boutons "art nouveau". Manches froncées au poignet; parements de taffetas. Autour des parements et de la bande deux rangs de "queue de rat" noire. Col et plastron en soie ciel ou mousseline de soie. Au col, devant, un gros chou. Au-dessous de la poitrine, coquillé en mousseline de soie.

Matériaux: 4 mètres de batiste; 1m,50 de taffetas beige; 2 mètres de mousseline de soie ou 1 mètre de soie bleue.

(2) Half-dressy bodice for a young woman or girl, in beige gauze with blue flowers. Blouse style, pleated on the shoulders; the pleats are held together by a wide band of beige taffeta fixed by "art nouveau" tabs and buttons. Sleeves gathered at the wrist; taffeta facings. Around the facings and the band two rows of black "rat's tail". Collar and plastron in sky blue silk or silk muslin. At the collar, in front, a big cabbage. Below the chest, shelled in chiffon.

Materials: 4 meters of cambric; 1.5 meters of beige taffeta; 2 meters of chiffon or 1 meter of blue silk.

—

(3) Corsage pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen en voile bleu ardoise, à gros plis couchés, fixés par un entre-deux de dentelle en travers. Petite berthe de dentelle en forme. Manches plissées jusqu'au-dessous du coude et rayées d'entre-deux. Au-dessous deux bouillonnés, poignets de dentelle. Col de soie blanche; cravate nouée lâche en soie blanche; les pans forment plastron.

Matériaux: 3m,50 de voile bleu; 1 mètre de soie blanche.

(3) Bodice for a young woman or middle-aged lady in slate blue voile, with large lying pleats, fixed by a crosswise lace insertion. Small shaped lace bertha. Pleated sleeves below the elbow and striped in between. Below two bubbles, lace cuffs. White silk collar; loosely knotted tie in white silk; the sides form a plastron.

Materials: 3.5 meters of blue voile; 1 meter of white silk.

—

(4) Corsage de toilette habillée pour jeune femme ou jeune fille en foulard soufre. Un peu blousé devant; des plis, rapprochés au col, s'élargissent au bas, en éventail; des biais dessinent un boléro. Entre les plis, motifs fleuris rouges, découpés dans de la cretonne et rebrodés. Boléro arrondi et hauts de manches en dentelle; le bas de la manche est rayé de plis en long et monté dans un poignet de velours noir. Col droit en foulard bordé de comètes de velours noir. Nœud de velours noir au col.

Matériaux: 4 mètres de foulard; dentelle en laize.

Chapeau de paille noire; fond chiffonné en mousseline de soie noire, enguirlandé de roses rouges sans feuillage.

(4) Dressy bodice for a young woman or girl in a sulfur foulard. A little bloused in front; pleats, close together at the collar, widen at the bottom, like a fan; biases draw a bolero. Between the folds, red floral motifs, cut out of cretonne and re-embroidered. Rounded bolero and lace sleeve tops; the bottom of the sleeve is striped with pleats lengthways and mounted in a black velvet wrist. Straight foulard collar lined with black velvet comets. Black velvet bow at the collar.

Materials: 4 meters of scarf; wide lace.

Black straw hat; crumpled background in black silk muslin, garlanded with leafless red roses.

#La Mode nationale #20th century #1900s #1901 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #cover #description #Bibliothèque nationale de France #dress #bodice #collar

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stregacorvina · 4 years

Text

Another Disney Princess!

Welcome back on my journal! <3 Sorry for the lack of updates recently but I took some days off finally! I get out of this quarantine way too tired and overwhelmed than throughout the actual quarantine, so I really needed some rest! Luckly, I started working at full speed again by the middle of June (thanks to all the people that scheduled photoshooting in the Summer!) so I had a lot of order to fullfill but also I worked kinda in a rush to ship everything out before August so I was very tired, phisically and mentally at the end of July... And actually this post was started in the end of July but never got the time to finish it so...

After some rest, today I wanna show you how I made the Princess Aurora Cosplay last year for the most famous italian convention Lucca Comics & Games (that is still taking place this year but with a lot of changes in the organizations and in the “events” due this well known virus that is still with us all.....)

This entry was kind of “requested” on my Etsy shop as an explanations to go with my Aurora pattern I sold recently so I hope that can also help everyone that is trying to make this costume!

Let’s start with the basic...

- Materials

For this costume I used very high quality materials, because she is a princess after all! I made the bodice with a light fucsia silk satin, interfaced with heavy canvas and lined with heavy satin to keep it sturdy; the collar is also in white heavy satin and the sleeves in sheer shiny organdy. For the skirt and the belt I used the same light satin of the bodice but in lighter colors and I also made a petticoat in satin lining and white lace.

As this convention takes place in Autumn the client also requested a cape to go with the dress and I made it with a fucsia/pink alcantara (fake suede) and white fake fur, along with a small purse to carry her belongings.

So, after discussing materials let go a bit dip in the

- Pattern

As I said, I have this pattern for sale in my Etsy shop (in a lot of different sizes and I also can make it for your custom measures) so I will not dig very deep into it but let’s talk about its parts. Bodice: according to the pictures is a 4 panels corset in the front as well in the back, with a V neckline on the front and several V shapes at the hem, at the front, at the back and on the sides. The sleeves are simple tubolar sleeves with a straight edge on the wrist and in the official pictures they do not seems made with sheer fabric but with the same fabric as the belt. The collar reminds me a lot of the Belle Ballgown collar, it is called Bertha collar and it is a flat and rounded collar that goes aroun the shoulders (If you want to know more about it you can check the definition on this page). Skirt: I considered the belt as a part of the skirt so I did not make a separated piece, but if you prefer you can also make two pieces. I did the belt based on the waist measurement and drew the pointed ends in the same places of the corset, but longer this time. As I attached this part to the skirt it closes with the same zipper of the skirt. For the skirt I did a very full circle skirt as it has very deep pleats in the front, sides and back. I did a little train in the back nothing too long because the conventions are always very crowded and it is not safe to have a long train (the total lenght of the skirt is about 110 cm and the center back is 140 cm) Jewels: Aurora has a neckpiece and a very cute tiara so I follow the original design and adjust the shapes to my client measures. As usually I used my favourite technique here: golden spandex and foam. Accessories: as I already mentioned for this cosplay I did a cape and a little purse and I will show them in the second part of this entry.

And now let’s start with the construction of

- The Bodice

I do not have pictures of the early stages of the construction but is very simple to build: I cut all the pattern pieces one time on the fashion fabric (the fucsia satin), one time in the interfacing fabric (the heavy canvas), one time on the heavy satin and one last time on the satin lining, for a total of 4 layers to put togheter! Well it is a corset after all...

In this picture above you can see the fucsia lining and the heavy satin (the pale pink one) that together are the lining layer of the corset. I marked the boning placement on the heavy satin with very long machine seams and then I sewn together the sturdy interfacing and this heavy satin to make the boning channels. The position of the boning was decided during the fitting with the client but you can place wherever you like accordin to your support needs.

This is the rough shape of the corset after the first fitting: you can see the alteration marked on the neckline and the final boning placement.

For the back we decided to avoid metal eyelets (as they are not so princessesque) and to go with ribbon lacing, so I marked the position of the loops and I used a soutache ribbon (heavier and stronger than normal cord) to make loops and the lacing.

Then I covered the loops ends with a matching satin ribbon and on the inside I put two different bones to strenghten this part.

This is the final result of the back closure! All the corset ends (except for the top edge) were finished with bias binding as you can see in this picture. This is a picture of the corset fully closed (my dress form is a little bit bigger than the girl so it seems very stretched XD)

To finish the corset I closed the sleeves and sewn them in the armholes. The sleeves are very simple sleeves sewn with a french seam and a simple rolled hem.

The last thing to do was attaching the white collar on the top egde, it is really simple as well: it is made with two layers of heavy white satin and one layer of sturdy interfacing inbetween. I inserted also two plastic boning in the side seams to help keep the point up. I incased the seam between the fashion layer of the corset and the lining, the edge along the sleeves was snipped to change the direction and finished with white bias binding then sewn with tiny handstiches turning upwards (to be hidden by the collar) Maybe it is a bit complicated to read but I am sure it will be very clear when you will do it yourself! I decide then to add a big snap button on the center back of the white collar to help also the client to put on the corset.

Finally, I sewn bias binding along the center back and the bottom edge to finish the corset.

I totally forgot to tell you about the modesty panel but it is really a short passage XD I made it with the same layers of the corset, it has 5 boning channels made sewing together the interfacing and the heavy satin layers and this time I decided to attach it with handstiches on the right side on the lining instead of leaving it stand alone as I usually do.

And this is the finished corset! (it looks a bit weird wthout actual arms inside XD)

And the corset ends part 1 of this entry, in the next one I will show you how I made the skirt and the accessories. Keep following my social media to be updated with my works and next entries! I post mainly on my Facebook page and my Instagram!

Have a nice day and thanks for stick around! See you next time!

Chiara (StregaCorvina)

Bentornati nel mio blog! <3 Eccoci di nuyovo con un aggiornamento dopo tanto tempo ma mi ero presa qualche giorno di vacanza finalmente! Sono uscita da questa quarantena molto più stanca e stressata che durante l’effettivo tempo di quarantena in casa, perciò avevo decisamente bisogno di riposare! Fortunatamente, ho ricominciato a cucire assiduamente già verso metà Giugno (grazie a tutte le persone che si sono organizzate per set fotografici in estate!) e ho avuto un sacco di ordini da terminare e spedire prima di Agosto perciò sono arrivata a fine Luglio esausta, fisicamente e mentalmente... In effetti ho iniziato a scrivere questo post a metà Luglio ma non ho mai trovato il tempo di terminarlo...

Dopo un po di riposo, oggi voglio farvi vedere come ho realizzato il cosplay della Principessa Aurora, fatto l’anno scorso per una delle convention italiane più famose, il Lucca Comics & Games (che si terrà anche quest anno nonostante numerosi cambiamenti all’organizziazione e agli eventi, per via di questo caro virus che ormai ci accompagna da un pò...)

Questo post è stato più o meno “richiesto” sul mio negozio Etsy per accompagnare il cartamodello del cosplay che ho venduto recentemente, perciò spero che possa aiutare anche chi prova a fare questo abito!

Iniziamo dalle basi...

- I Materiali

Per questo abito ho usato materiali di qualità molto alta, del resto è pur sempre una principessa! Ho fatto il corpino con un raso di seta fucsia abbastanza leggero, irrigidito con una tela all’interno, uno strato di raso più pesante come interfodera e infine una fodera di raso; anche la scollatura è fatta in raso pesante bianco e le maniche in organza rosa brillante. Per la gonna e la cintura ho usato lo stesso tipo di raso del corpino ma in tonalità di fucsia/rosa diverse. Infine ho realizzato una sottogonna in fodera di raso bianco con bordo in pizzo.

Siccome il Lucca Comics si tiene in Autunno la ragazza mi ha richiesto anche un mantello da abbinare all’abito che ho realizzato in alcantara (finto scamosciato) fucsia e eco-pelliccia bianca, inoltre ho aggiunto anche una borsetta a secchiello per aiutarla a portare i suoi effetti personali in giro per la fiera.

E ora, dopo aver parlato di materiali, iniziamo ad approfondire

- Il Cartamodello

Come ho gia detto, potete acquistare questo cartamodello nel mio negozio Etsy (è disponibile in tante taglie diverse ma posso realizzarlo anche sulle vostre misure) perciò non approfondirò più di tanto la costuzione, ma andiamo comunque a vedere i vari componenti. Corpino: guardando le immagini ufficiali, si tratta di un corsetto a 4 telini per il davanti e altrettanti per il dietro, con uno scollo a V davanti e numerose forme a V sull’orlo, davanti, dietro e sui fianchi. Le maniche sono delle semplici maniche tubolari con un orlo dritto sul posto e nelle immagini non sembrano realizzate in materiali trasparenti quanto piuttosto nello stesso materiale della cinutura. La scollatura mi ricorda molto quella dell’abito oro di Belle, si chiama “Bertha collar“ e per sempliicare è un colletto piatto e tondo che copre anche le spalle (se volete approfondire vi consiglio questo link). Gonna: ho considerato la cintura come parte della gonna perciò le ho unite sul punto vita, ma se preferite potete anche fare due pezzi. Ho costruito la cintura basandomi sulla circonferenza vita e ho disegnato le punte a V negli stessi punti del bustino ma più lunghe questa volta (circa 18 cm se non ricordo male). Siccome io ho realizzato un pezzo unico con la gonna, si chiude con la cerniera nel centro dietro. Per la gonna invece ho fatto una gonna a ruota intera molto ampia, circa 2 volte e mezza la circonferenza della vita visto che ha delle pieghe molto profonde davanti, dietro e sui fianchi. Ho fatto un piccolo strascico dietro ma non troppo lungo perchè nelle fiere affollate potrebbe essere pericoloso avere uno strascico lungo (la lunghezza totale della gonna è circa 110 cm e nel centro dietro di circa 140 cm) Gioielli: Aurora ha una collana e una tiara molto carina perciò ho semplicemente seguito il design originale adattandolo alle misure della ragazza. Come al solito li ho realizzati nella mia tecnica preferita: lycra oro e anima in foam! Accessori: come ho già detto ho completato il cosplay con un mantello e una borsetta, che sicuramente vi farò vedere nella seconda parte di questo post.

E ora inziamo con la costruzione del

- Il corpino

Non ho fatto molte foto nelle fasi iniziali di costruzione ma è motlo semplice da assemblare: ho tagliato tutti i pezzi del cartamodello una volta sullo strato esterno (il raso di seta fucsia), una volta sulla tela di sostegno (un cotone pesante), una volta sull’interfodera di raso pesante e per ultima una volta sulla fodera di raso vera e propria. Un totale di 4 strati da assemblare insieme! Del resto è sempre un corsetto...

Nella foto qui sopra vedete la fodera di raso (fucsia) e l’interfodera in raso pesante (rosa cipria) che insieme formano lo strato di fodera del corpetto. Ho segnato con delle lunghe cuciture a macchina sullo strato di interfodera la posizione dei canali per le stecche di sostegno, e ho creato questi canali cucendo insieme la tela di sostegno e l’interfodera. La posizione delle stecche ha seguito più o meno la posizione iniziale che avevo segnato il cartamodello, con qualche piccola modifica nell’area seno dopo il fitting con la ragazza, in realtà potete posizionarle dove volete in base alle vostre esigente di supporto e sostegno.

Ed ecco la prima forma del corsetto dopo il primo fitting, come potete vedere in alto si notano le modifiche da fare sulla scollatura ed essendo girato dal lato della fodera si vedono anche le posizioni finali delle stecche.

Per il dietro abbiamo deciso di non usare degli occhielli metallici (che non sono proprio così “principeschi”) ma di usare un’allacciautura con nastri ed asole; ho segnato la posizione di ogni asola e poi le ho realizzate con una fettuccia da soutache (molto più dura e resistente di un normale cordoncino).

Per chiudere e nascondere bene la fine degli occhielli ho applicato sopra un nastro di raso in tinta e nella parte interna ho sfruttato le cuciture del nastro per creare altri canali per le stecche.

Ed ecco il risultato finale della corsettatura! Tutti i bordi, tranne quello in alto, sono stati riginiti con uno sbiego di raso in tinta che potete vedere nelle immagini qui sotto (il manichino è leggermente più grande della ragazza perciò la corsettatura tira un pò più del dovuto)

Per terminare il corsetto sono passata alle maniche! Le ho assemblate con una cucitura francese (o all’inglese, come siete più familiari) e un semplice orlo arrotolato in fondo, poi le ho inserite nel giromanica.

L’ultimo passaggio riguarda la scollatura in alto. Anche questo è molto semplice, realizzato con due strati di raso bianco pesante e una tela di sostegno all’interno, ho inserito anche due stecche di plastica nelle cuciture laterali per aiutare la parte a punta a restare in alto. Ho nascosto la cucitura della scollatura fra la stoffa del corpetto e la fodera in modo che restasse nascosta, invece per le maniche ho tagliato il margine in corrispondenza della parte trasparente, l’ho bordato con dello sbiego bianco e l’ho cucito verso l’alto con dei punti a mano per nasconderlo sulla parte bianca. A parole forse è un pò complicato ma vi assicuro che se lo farete capirete subito di cosa sto parlando Infine ho deciso di applicare sul collare un grande automatico (anche se non era necessario ai fini del collare stesso) per aiutare la ragazza ad indossare il bustino da sola.

In ultimo ,ho bordato tutti i margini ancora da rifinire (i centri dietro e l’orlo in basso) con dello sbiego di raso, attaccato a macchina dritto contro dritto e poi cucito a mano all’interno.

Mi sono resa conto di non aver minimamente menzionato il modesty panel ma in realtà non c’è molto da dire XD L’ho realizzato con gli stessi passaggi del resto del corsetto, all’interno ha 5 stecche inserite in canali realizzati cucendo insieme i vari strati del corsetto e poi ho preferito fermarlo con dei punti a mano sul lato destro del corsetto invece di lasciarlo separato come di solito si usa fare.

Ed ecco il corsetto finito! (Purtroppo le maniche sono un pò cadenti senza delle vere braccia dentro XD)

Con il corsetto chiudiamo qui la parte 1 di questo post, nella prossima vi farò vedere la gonna e gli accessori.

Continuate a seguirmi sui Social per maggiori aggiornamenti sui miei lavori e le novità su cui lavorerò possimamente, soprattutto sulla mia pagina Facebook e su Instagram!

Buona giornata a tutti e grazie a chi continua a seguirmi assiduamente! Alla prosima!

Chiara (StregaCorvina)

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katrinesthimble · 4 years

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And here's the final result! The finished, half Victorian bodice. Entirely handsewn and decorations made by myself from scraps and stuff from my hoarded stash. I braided some sewing thread to make the braided chain that's sewn in the middle along the black frill, and I did the same with black crochet thread to make the chain for the sleeve. Both things needed just a little bit of something extra to tie it all together, and those did the job. A black cotton lace trim is gathered and sewn along the sleeve edge to soften it up. On the flowers I used a mix of new beads I have in my jewellery stash as well as some old ones from an old necklace I dissembled at some point. This is the second project that necklace is getting new life on ☺. I am so very pleased with how this turned out, and I might embark on making the other half at some point.... in steam punk style 👀 As I don't have anything but scraps left of the fabric I used for this 😝. #YouMayIsolateMeButYouCantStopMeFromMaking #handsewing #handsewn #handmade #victorianbodice #victorianfashion #victorian #historicalfashion #historical #costuming #costume #costumemaking #costumestudent #artstudent #student #ual #wimbledoncollegeofarts #workfromhome #workingfromhome #SocialDistancing #bertha #decoration #decorations #lace #frill #lacefrill #details #flowers #fabricflowers #beading https://www.instagram.com/p/CAdN5bIH4dW/?igshid=1i4c0oob8ao0w

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lavenderskeletonn · 4 years

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Bertha Palmer's evening dress, 1911. Silk satin, floss, crystal beads, rhinestones, metallic lace. Weeks, Paris.

Dress, evening-style, of off white silk satin. V-shaped neckline in front and back; Brussels lace yoke also visible. Bodice is completely covered in floral silk floss embroidery, trimmed with metallic lace, studded with rhinestones, and beaded. Bodice has a high waist, and short sleeves of Brussels lace. The skirt is embroidered at the center front in similar way as the bodice. Attached train extends from bottom back edge of the skirt; train has squared hem. Self-fabric petticoat with pleated ruffle at hem.

Worn by Mrs. Bertha Honoré Palmer. Mrs. Palmer commissioned this dress from the House of Weeks (Paris) in 1911 to wear to the coronation of King George V in London. The embroidery down the center front is very similar to the embroidery on the dress that Queen Mary wore to the same event.

#20 #1910

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philipronans · 7 years

Text

something tangerines (4/7)

two updates in one day?? watch me disappear for three months

i think it’s time to accept we’re fully on the sirius/james/lily train here and i’d be sorry except i’m not even remotely

part one | part three

2013

“How many of these fucking things do we even have to go to?” Sirius grumbles, tugging at the bottom of his shirt and scowling when none of the creases magically vanish. “No fewer than ‘too many’.” Remus says, grinning when Sirius and James groan at him. “Shut up, Lupin. That was bad, and you should feel ashamed. It’s just this one. One more sodding school ball and then we’re home free.” James says, so earnest Sirius wants to believe him. “And then we’re on to the dazzling heights of university summer dos.” James gives him a flat look. “As if we’re going to actually go to those.”

“Well, you might not. I, however, will be living it large in Southbank. My horizons will be broadened and soon I’ll forget all about you bellends.” Sirius sniggers, which ruins whatever effect he might have been able to muster. He plays with his fringe, trying to be subtle as he watches James through his fingers, but fails miserably. James snorts. “As if. You’re not getting rid of me, no matter how hard you try.” “So not very, then.” Peter pipes up from where he’s lounging across the bottom of James’ bed. There’s a magazine in his hands, and how he manages to read upside down will never not boggle James’ mind. “Shut it, Pettigrew.” Sirius says, flustered. “Flustered” for Sirius means his cheeks are very faintly stained pink and he refuses to meet anyone’s eye. “S’not my fault he’s so… James.” “Should I be offended?” James asks, frowning at his reflection when his hair won’t cooperate with him. “Trust me, it’s a compliment.” Sirius mutters. He glances at his phone and sighs at the time. “We’d best get a move on, if we’re going.” “I spent thirty quid on these shoes; I don’t care how miserable we are, we’re going.” Remus says. There’s no room for argument in the way he says it, and the look on his face dares them to try and find one.

“Come on, then.” James says, watching Sirius pull Peter to his feet. The magazine drops onto his duvet, pages creasing as it lands. His parents aren’t home, so they don’t have to worry about being fussed over by his mother. He’s uncharacteristically grateful for that. Not because he wouldn’t secretly enjoy it, but because the look on Sirius’ face as she combed his hair through her fingers would be too much for him to handle. Instead they shove their feet into their shoes and reluctantly bend down to tie their laces. Remus is the only one who doesn’t, his shoes are just slip-on and he smiles smugly at them. James is only… incredibly jealous when his knees crack as he bends down. The walk to the bus stop is quiet. It’s strange, in a way. They’re usually so boisterous and full of life, bouncing off of each other so effortlessly it’s like they’re part of the same person. No matter how it might appear to other people, they can’t actually read each other’s minds, so James can’t speak for the others, but he knows why he’s quiet. And, to a lesser extent, why Sirius is as well. However much they might joke about this being the ‘end’, there is a legitimate fear underlying everything. Year Eleven hadn’t affected them too much because they all knew they were going on to the same Sixth Form. But they’re nearing the end of Year Thirteen now, and this… this is different. Exams are approaching, looming just on the edges of the horizon, and with them the promise of the future. The big, scary, uncertain future where they’re all going to be in different places with different people and different experiences. It’s terrifying. It’s exciting. It’s terrifying. James can’t wait, but at the same time he wants time to stand still forever in this moment where the four of them are happy. Together. He’d been a lonely little boy desperate for a friend, once. Now he has a group of people he loves so fiercely he’s not sure how to handle it. To love so wholly, so completely, is overwhelming. And the fact that in a few short months it’s going to be over is so out of the realm of comprehension James doesn’t know how to begin processing it. This ball, this one final evening where their entire year is together for the last time ever is scary. Once it’s over and the morning brings a new day, school will still go on as usual. They’ll still have classes. Exams. But it won’t be the same. Can’t be. They’ll have waved goodbye to childhood, whether they realise it or not, and James isn’t ready to face that. Neither is Sirius, although he’d never admit it. He’s too stubborn. Too proud. He likes to pretend he doesn’t like the majority of their year group, but he can’t lie to James. James, who sees the way he softens when Bertha and Dorcas sit with him in Psychology, hands clasped under the table as Trelawney rambles on about Zimbardo and the prison experiment. Whatever that means. James’ mind can’t wrap itself around the intricacies of the brain. Which, he realises, is hilariously ironic. He’s seen Sirius deconstruct every wall he’s ever locked himself behind. The thing that scares him more than anything is the fear that when they go their “separate” ways he’ll put them back up again. Sirius perks up slightly when the bus eventually turns up, change jangling in his hand as he pays the driver for his ticket. “I wonder if there’ll be a bar.” He says, as he leads the way up to the second deck. “‘Course there will.” Peter answers, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead when he reaches the top of the stairs. It’s muggy outside, and the warm June air is affecting all of them. Peter just happens to be unfortunate enough to show it. “The teachers wanna get drunk just as much as we do.” “You make a compelling point.” James says. He lifts his glasses so he can rub at his eyes and huffs out a breath. “Excellent.” Sirius says, clapping his hands together. He’s halfway to the back seat, shoulders hunched so his head isn’t scraping against the ceiling. A painful lesson learnt by all of them over the past few years. Growth spurts are, to put it bluntly, a bitch. “There’s a vodka and coke with my name on it.” “That’s true of every bar in Oxford.” Remus mutters, shooting James a grin when he snorts. “Now, now.” Sirius says, neatly spinning so he can sprawl across the back seat. Peter takes his usual place in the seat in front, back leant against the window with his feet up on the seat cushion. Remus takes the seat opposite, arm wrapped around the back of his chair, left foot tucked under his right thigh. “No need to get snarky with me, old man.” Remus scowls at the nickname. At least, James thinks that’s what he’s scowling at. It’s hard to tell with Remus, sometimes. He’s a scowl-y sort of person. Learning to tell the subtle nuances apart is a skill unto its own, and it’s taken James close to six years to feel anywhere close to having mastered it. James knocks their knees together as he passes. He slips into the space left for him as if it’s where he’s meant to be, as if it’s been waiting for him. His back hits Sirius’ shoulder and he watches Sirius’ hand drop in front of his collar bone. He studies it; the slender wrist tapering into a long palm and longer fingers, one of which is crooked from the time he punched Lucius Malfoy’s face so hard he broke it. Sirius claims it’s worth it, because he also broke Malfoy’s nose. There’s something fascinating about Sirius’ hands, James thinks, reaching so he can play with it. Not that Sirius as a whole isn’t fascinating, because he is, but there’s something about his hands that capture James’ attention. Sirius is anger and bitterness and hard edges. It’s the way he’s always been, and James doesn’t see that changing any time soon, and he doesn’t want it to. But his hands. They’re soft and gentle, quick to take away the hurts of the world, and so eager to help it’s painful to watch Sirius stop himself. “Having fun?” Sirius asks, and there’s a laugh in his throat, painting his words with sunshine. “Not really.” James says, refusing to look at either Remus or Peter. He’s well aware of how pathetic he is, he doesn’t need their knowing smiles as a reminder. “Your finger’s rank, mate.” “Fuck off, I got that defending your honour.” Sirius says without any heat. “Hard to defend what you don’t have.” Peter mutters, smile only growing wider when James glares at him. “I have plenty of honour, thank you very much.” He grumbles. He feels Sirius’ snort against the back of his head, and swats at his leg. “You didn’t have to break Malfoy’s nose, you know.” “Yes I did.” Sirius says. James doesn’t see his decisive nod, but he doesn’t need to. “He’s an arsehole, and what he said to you was disgusting.” “I’m sure he’s learnt his lesson.” James says dryly, mostly because he can’t be bothered to have this argument again. “Even if he didn’t, I did.” Sirius says and James can hear the smile in the way his words gentle around the edges. “Protect your thumbs when you punch people.” “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Remus says as he shifts his weight around. “You know, for all those fights I get in.” “Please do.” Sirius snorts. “I’ve only got your best interests at heart.” “My arse.” Peter mutters. Sirius is going to answer back, because he’s Sirius and he can’t resist having the last word. But before he can, the bus lurches to a stop and sends them all scrambling to keep their balance. “Shit, this is our stop, lads.” Peter says, barely dodging the swipe Sirius aims at him. “Nice going, lookout.” He grumbles. There isn’t any heat behind it, although he does manage to kick Peter in the shin as they get up. “You’ve lived here your entire life.” Remus points out, placing himself between the two of them when they stand up and start making their way towards the stairs. “If you don’t know which bus stop is the right one maybe you’re not that smart after all.” “I didn’t see you pointing it out either, Mr English-Degree-At-Cambridge.” Sirius complains. It’s such a childish response from someone usually three steps ahead of everyone else that it makes James snort. “Treacherous wanker.” He says. Remus grins at him. “Their course is better than ours.” “Yeah, yeah. You’re off the Christmas card list.” James shoves at his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him pay attention to where he’s putting his feet. The stairs are steep, and the last thing any of them need is Remus breaking something. The street is thankfully clear when they step onto it; tourist season is at least three weeks away, so the only people they have to worry about are obnoxious students, and exhausted workers having finished their shifts. They say thanks to the surly bus driver, and fall into step as James starts walking. Town is always a mad rush of taxis, buses operating on at least fifteen different routes, and secondary school kids with too much time and not enough to do. By the time they get to Carfax Tower, James is ready and willing to just forget the whole thing and find the nearest pub instead. He doesn’t. They cross the street, Peter narrowly avoiding getting hit by an angry looking taxi driver as he steps up onto the pavement. Remus’ laugh is dangerously close to giggling as he reaches out to pull Peter further into him and away from the road. “Clumsy.” He admonishes, but the way he says it also includes James and the fact he’s now walking backwards so he can watch them. Sirius spins him before he can walk into one of the concrete bollards lining the pavement, and rolls his eyes at the grin he’s given in return. “I was being careful.” James says, voice verging on a whine, just to hear the annoyed huff Sirius lets out. He uses the grip Sirius still has on his shoulder to pull Sirius closer, wrapping both arms around him and resting his head on a bony shoulder. “My hero.” Sirius shoves him, detangling himself so he can walk on ahead, but James catches the smile, can see his shoulders shaking. “Isn’t he a hero, Peter?” He says, loud enough for Sirius to hear, grin still firmly in place. “Undoubtedly.” Peter mutters, voice dry as he straightens the sleeves of his jacket. “Fuck ooooooooooff.” Sirius groans, slowing down so they can catch up with him. He digs his elbow into James’ ribs. “You’re a pain in the arse, you know that?” “So I’m told.” James says cheerfully. In apology, he presses a kiss to Sirius’ temple, fingers brushing against a curled fist in invitation. “It’s a good thing I like you.” Sirius grumbles, taking the hand offered to him without comment. He strokes his fingers over the top of it and James knows he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. “If you were truly angry you’d have buggered off already.” Remus says, digging his phone out of his pocket so he can check the time. “We’d best get a move on; doors open in ten minutes.” “Come on then, boys.” James says, as if they aren’t already on their way there. Peter makes an inelegant noise and shrugs when Remus looks at him. They share a quick smile and raised eyebrows before traipsing after him. The hotel, when they reach it fifteen minutes later, is a fancy looking building three stories high. There’s a thick, plush looking carpet lining the front steps that James is almost afraid to stand on lest he ruin it somehow. There are a few of their classmates loitering around the front door, chatting amongst themselves. “Doors not open yet?” Peter asks as they approach, sharing a friendly smile with Bertha. “Everyone’s already gone in.” She says with a shake of her head. “We’re waiting on Lily and Benjy.” “Want us to wait with you?” Sirius asks, free hand reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket. “You just want a fag.” Dorcas says, mouth curling into a smirk as she steps up behind her girlfriend, arm wrapping around her waist. Sirius shrugs, unrepentant as he pulls a cigarette out and lifts it to his lips. It takes him a few attempts to get his lighter to work, but the inhale he takes is satisfied when he eventually manages. James leans against the wall, eyes scanning the corner opposite them. Remus shifts restlessly beside him and he slides his gaze over to him. “You wanna go in?” He asks. Remus nods, scuffs his foot against the concrete slab of the pavement. “I need a piss.” Peter’s already half way up the stairs by the time Remus even makes the first signals of moving. He shrugs at the look he’s given. “I need a drink.” “We’ll find you.” James promises, as if there’s no question of him staying out here with Sirius. Sirius doesn’t say anything about it, sways further into James’ personal space, giving a pleased grunt when their hips knock together. He takes another drag of his cigarette, careful to blow the smoke away from James. “I’m not going near you smelling like that.” James says, contradicting himself as he lets go of Sirius’ hand so he can wrap his arm around his shoulders instead. “I know.” Sirius murmurs, quirking an eyebrow at him. Dorcas is watching them with the barest traces of an amused smile, her lips curling ever so slightly at the corners. James can see the moment her attention shifts, sees the way her eyes glaze as she looks over his shoulder. “Fucking finally!” She calls as James twists his head to look where she is. Lily’s on the other side of road, dress billowing in the breeze of a passing taxi. It’s a pretty colour, James notes; a deep burgundy that bleeds into purple in the dying sunlight. “Got stuck in traffic!” Lily answers, holding up the hem of her dress as she jogs across the street. Benjy trails behind her, not in any hurry as he waits for a car to drive past before stepping off the curb. “Bus driver was a wanker.” Is the first thing that Benjy says, edging past James so he can greet Dorcas with a wet kiss to the cheek. The thing James has learnt about Benjy over the past eleven or so years is that it’s honestly best not to ask. So he doesn’t. Instead he turns to Lily, gives her a smile, and says “You clean up alright, Evans.” “Oh, shut up.” She laughs, stepping into him so she can give him a hug. “You alright?” Sirius straightens up, drops the butt of his cigarette on the ground and steps forward. “He’s a pain.” “Isn’t he always?” Lily asks, grinning as Sirius tugs her into a hug of his own. “I’m standing right here.” James complains, staunchly ignoring the fact that Bertha, Dorcas, and Benjy are all laughing at him. “That’s what makes it fun.” Lily promises, eyes amused. She frees herself from Sirius’ arms, but sticks close, and tilts her head at them. “Are we going in, or did you want to stand out here all night?” James pulls a face at her. It morphs into a gentle smile when he feels Sirius’ hand slip into his again, and not even the unamused look Sirius is giving him is enough to diminish it. He offers Lily his other arm, and together the three of them make their way towards the front door.

#jily #prongsfoot #jilypad #fyjamesandlily #gxldentrio #something tangerines #ot3: we were inevitable #hp fanfic #vic writes

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dragons-bones · 4 years

Text

FFXIV Write Entry #25: Worst Case Scenario

Prompt: wish | Master Post | On AO3

Smut the other day, then fluff yesterday, then angst today. Part of a balanced fic diet!

Contains references to my version of the events of the Battle of Rhalgr’s Reach, covered in “Fatigue” from last year’s FFXIV Write plus the ask fics “Haze” and “Bowed, Bent, but Unbroken.”

Lucia did not bother to knock before entering the Seat of the Lord Commander. Ser Aymeric did not have any meetings scheduled for the day, anyway, more concerned with the logistical nightmare that would be transporting dragonkillers and bertha cannons from Coerthas to the Gyr Abanian border as part of the Ishgardian contribution to—hopefully—Ala Mhigo’s eventual liberation. And he would not be pleased if the news that had just arrived was delayed being in relayed to him.

…Not that he would be pleased with this news anyway.

Handeloup, Halone bless him, was already clearing the halls.

Ser Aymeric looked up from one of the reports in front of him, brow furrowed. “Lucia,” he said in surprise, “what news?”

She came to a halt in front of his desk, automatically falling into the comfort of standing at ease. The temptation to simply hand over the written report was extraordinary; she did not want to speak these words. But that would be cowardice and, more importantly, she was a better friend than that.

“Ser,” she said, grim and unable to entirely hide her worry, “we’ve received word of an Imperial ambush on the Ala Mhigan Resistance cell at Rhalgr’s Reach, which occurred roughly two bells ago.”

It was a curious sensation to have the full weight of Aymeric de Borel’s attention upon oneself. The pale blue of his eyes seemed to sharpen to ice, lending him the heavy, almost eerie air that was similar to those that blanketed the oldest statues of Halonic saints. With him, it was never judgmental; most of the time, that weight felt anticipatory, even encouraging.

Today, she couldn’t tell what that weight was, and it set her nerves on edge.

Lucia drew on years of Frumentarium training to keep her voice level as she said, “General Aldynn and a deployment from the Immortal Flames have already arrived at the Reach from Castrum Oriens to reinforce the defenses, supplemented by conjurers from the Order of the Twin Adder under the direct command of Kan-E-Senna.”

The stillness that settled on the Lord Commander at that detail made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“The Imperial forces were apparently being led by Viceroy Zenos yae Galvus himself,” she continued, “though he and his forces quit the field despite the being assured of victory.”

“Being assured of—” Aymeric cut himself off before he could finish, incredulity lacing those few words regardless. “What are the casualties?”

“Unknown, but high,” she said. Despite her best efforts, she could stop the slight waver to her voice as she finished: “As of the report delivered ten minutes ago, however, members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn were still in surgery, including Y’shtola Rhul, Rereha Reha…and Synnove Greywolfe.”

Aymeric’s face went slack with shock, and somehow that was worse than the expressionless politician’s mask. He stared at her for long, terrible heartbeats, dread rising in his eyes. And then he was out of his chair, rounding his desk, voice frantic as he said, “If there’s anything scheduled, cancel it, cancel it now, I’m leaving you in charge—”

Lucia caught him by the arm before he could escape, and she had to dig in her heels to keep from being pulled off her feet. Aymeric swung around to stare at her, wild-eyed, halfway to feral.

“Ser, I cannot allow you to leave,” Lucia said, firming her tone despite her own fears about her friends. She spoke slowly and clearly, because right now Aymeric was neither the cool under pressure Lord Commander of the Temple Knights nor the silver-tongued Lord Speaker of the House of Lords of the Ishgardian Parliament, but a man about to lose his mind to terror. “General Aldynn is at the Reach. The Elder Seedseer is at the Reach. If you went, that puts three Eorzean Alliance leaders, two of them heads of state, in one location in enemy territory. There is zero chance the imperials don’t have spies on the location now and there is no telling that Galvus may suddenly decide to finish the job he began in sacking the Reach.

“You cannot go.”

There was a familiar, though rarely seen, emotion that bled into Aymeric’s eyes as she spoke. She hadn’t even seen it when the truth of the Dragonsong War had become known to them.

Rage.

Later, she wouldn’t remember leaving the office. She would vaguely recall the empty halls and stairwell, and Handeloup joining her to flank Aymeric on his other side. She would recall opening the doors to one of the training salles—blessedly empty—and essentially shoving the Lord Commander inside before slamming the doors shut behind him, locking them, and settling into a guard position in front of them.

First and Second Commander exchanged worried, weary looks at the sound of splintering wood echoed from the salle.

“I’ll send a runner as soon as we receive better news,” Handeloup said. “I’ll tell the kitchens to prep something simple for him. And tea. Lots of tea.”

“Pray, too, that the healers will agree to move the Warriors of Light to Castrum Oriens within the next few days,” Lucia sighed. “I’m not sure how long we can use logic against him before instinct wins out.”

A crash rang out.

Handeloup grimaced and, with a half-hearted salute, returned to his duties.

A bell later, the sounds of destruction from inside the salle had tapered away, and Lucia was considering checking on her friend when one of the squires ran up, a folded parchment in his hand. She was holding out her hand before the lass was even halfway down the hall, and the squire handed it over with a wheeze, bending over to brace herself on her knees and catch her breath as Lucia unfolded the note.

Her own breath left her in a heavy exhale, relief washing through her like a soothing wave. “Thank you,” she said to the squire. “Please tell Ser Handeloup to have a tea service sent up to the Lord Commander’s private quarters.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the squire said, pushing herself upright and saluting. Then she was off down at the hall again, though not sprinting at full tilt as she was earlier.

Lucia unlocked the salle and gingerly pushed the right door open. She peered in cautiously; the room looked worse for wear, every training dummy little more than kindling, the archery targets (and parts of the wall) bristling with arrows.

In the center of the room, Aymeric sat cross-legged, head in his hands, Naegling next to him on the floor on his left and his favorite monstrous yew longbow, the string snapped, on his right. He had taken off the heavy pauldrons and surcoat of the Lord Commander’s attire, leaving him in his gambeson, and his breathing was even. The worst, it had seemed, had passed. For now.

Lucia walked up to him slowly, deliberately treading heavily, and crouched next to him. “Update from the Flames,” she said quietly, though in the utter silence of the salle, her voice seemed to echo. “Y’shtola and Rereha are still in surgery but expected to make it, though not without serious recovery. Synnove is out, however. Healer’s prediction is she’ll make a full recovery, but she suffered both heavy blood loss and aethershock.”

Aymeric sighed, low and almost groaning. “Thank you, Lucia,” he said. His voice was hoarse, though she hadn’t heard any sound at him from all as he spent his rage and frustration. “And I apologize for…this.” The last word was said with a gesture encompassing both himself and the room.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and her friend slumped against her with another sigh. “No apologies are necessary,” she said, “though I can’t speak for the quartermaster.”

Despite himself, Aymeric managed a half-hearted laugh.

Four days later, Lucia accompanied Aymeric to Castrum Oriens. They both wore nondescript clothing, in the style of the many adventurers offering their services to the Alliance and spreading out into Gyr Abania to the villages and Resistance cells, and she walked at his side rather behind and to his left as was the usual for the First Commander. They were met by one of the Temple Knights keeping a lookout for them, and were quickly ushered to the infirmary where the injured Scions had been moved to from Rhalgr’s Reach.

Lucia checked in on Dancing Heron and Alakhai first. Both were conscious, and Heron even allowed to walk around, though both had rib injuries that necessitated she be exceedingly careful with her hugs for them (and the ones from Hilda). Poor Alakhai looked especially miserable with most of her left side covered in plaster casts, but she had a comfortable blanket in the form of Tyr, purring so aggressively that Alakhai and the cot vibrated.

Rereha was asleep when Lucia poked her head into her room. The lalafell’s dark brown skin had a pallid cast and her pink hair was dull and limp, but she would keep her bow arm. Galette was curled around Rereha’s head, purring softer but no less aggressively than her brother, and chirped a quiet hello at seeing her.

Finally, Lucia came to Synnove’s room. Unsurprisingly, Aymeric had gone there straightaway, and when she arrived, the man was sitting as close as possible to Synnove’s bedside, holding her hand so that he could press his lips against her knuckles as his lover slept. Ivar was curled up on Synnove’s feet, but he raised his head as Lucia came into the room and, like his sister, chirped hello.

Lucia gave his ears a scratch before going to stand beside Aymeric, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He sighed deeply and murmured, “We put so much on them and expect even more, and then to see them laid low…”

“They well knew the risks of the adventurers’ path,” she said softly, “and it speaks of their courage and conviction that they have never faltered, even when the path forward is difficult. They will get through this, with the help of each other, and us, and all the rest of their friends.”

Aymeric sighed again, nodding, and brought Synnove’s hand down to hold over his heart, lacing his fingers through hers. “Still,” he said, “I look forward to the day when they can simply…rest, and be.”

Lucia hummed in agreement.

#ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv #lucia junius #aymeric de borel #handeloup de daimbaux #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #dt's writing #a note on the kan-e-senna mention:#basically my headcanon is the troops at oriens got word that things were going south and fast at the reach #and mobilized every conjurer they could spare with word sent to gridania #especially when a frantic report came in that scions were badly injured #and called in /the big guns/

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flitwick · 7 years

Text

for @potterprideweek‘s LGBT+ youth: narcissa malfoy black ; bisexual

narcissa black realises she likes girls a lot—like, a lot—roughly 8 days, 4 hours, and 28 minutes after her 13th birthday.

she’s sitting with the sweet summer sun dousing her face, and narcissa takes another look at imogen bole’s sandy curls and the way imogen sort of squints and smiles and imogen’s tiny crescent dimple on the edge of her right cheek and—

and narcissa likes girls.

a lot.

of course, she’d always known.

known something or the other.

but looking at imogen in the sun is like looking at something for the first time with glasses on—and the sight is clear and bright and palpable.

she feels something like shame unfurl in her toes, bubbling into her heart and her soul and every tangible part of her as a big, fat, heavy weight.

don’t get her wrong—

narcissa likes boys, too. a lot.

she likes people with long, tan limbs and light arm freckles and eyes so clear that she can see their pin-drop pupils.

so, on the eve of narcissa’s 16th birthday, it’s dark and humid, and andromeda’s laying next to her on a blush satin bed.

she gulps, twice, and the words sort of stumble out in a quick, raspy, “i think i like girls.”

a laugh bubbles out of andromeda’s throat. “i like girls, too.”

“no, i like girls, andy. i mean, i like boys, too. i think i like both. and—and i can’t stop feeling nauseous and—”

andromeda doesn’t even hesitate before cutting her off, “i know what you meant. and?”

“you’re not—mad?”

“there’s nothing to get mad about. you can’t choose who you love.”

that night, narcissa cries into andromeda’s thick midnight curls and when morning comes and dawn peeks through, narcissa feels the weight on her chest dissipate.

andromeda leaves with ted tonks two weeks later. narcissa never sees her again.

narcissa leaves for hogwarts in september, and with trepidation in her bones, she spends days and nights with her hands yearning to run through bertha jorkins’ brand new bob cut.

in a stroke of luck, she finds bertha lingering by the greenhouses and narcissa licks her lips, once, before leaning forward in a surge of confidence and pressing her mouth against bertha’s soft, soft lips.

her mouth is damp and hot, and when narcissa laces her fingers in bertha’s stock-straight hair, she realises that this is what love is—

it’s gentle and warm and soft.

it’s hidden kisses under the quidditch stands and the sun streaks on bertha’s peach cream frock.

it’s not boys or girls, full stop.

it’s both.

it’s love, anywhere and everywhere.

and when narcissa meets lucius malfoy at the cusp of her 6th and 7th year, she finds love there, too.

he’s dashing. and arrogant. and a real catch.

he spends most of his time playing quidditch with his best mate evan rosier, and she’s sure for a second that he does a little flip during a match against hufflepuff just to show off—for her.

after the match, she hops from the stands and kind of sort of smooths down her hair before even attempting to go up to the group of slytherin players, standing side by side.

the sun is gleaming through his windswept hair. and he turns.

he turns. he sees her. he smiles. it’s wicked, and visceral, and—and sweet. and he adjusts the broomstick under his armpit with a movement that was so peculiarly lucius.

so.

narcissa smiles back.

and it’s okay.

she’s okay.

#narcissa malfoy #headcanons #potterprideweek #bisexual #the black sisters #narcissa m #:') hello yes #hope u liked it at least a lil #my writing

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