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bosbas · 11 days

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Chapter 7: something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

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pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in Spanish, idiots in love-ish moments (maybe idiots in non-hate?)

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

June 1, 1816 – A few whispers have been floating around about Lord Arthur Barlow’s whereabouts following his escapade with Miss Barrington at the Bridgerton ball, but this author must sadly say that she has no credible information on the subject. The Duke has likely paid his staff handsomely to avoid any news reaching the curious ears of the ton, much to our disappointment. While propriety suggests that his wedding plans to Miss Barrington should be in full swing, Lord Barlow is not particularly known for his propriety, and therefore we cannot assume anything.

Among other Montclair-related news, two of the Count’s children arrived in London yesterday: Lord Philippe Montclair IV and Lady Isabelle de la Torre, accompanied by their respective spouses and children. Is this unexpected gathering somehow linked to Lady Y/N's recent entanglement in scandal, or is it merely a coincidental family reunion?

You wrung your hands nervously in your carriage bound for Hyde Park, not quite able to sit still. Beside you sat Leonor, Philippe's wife, while your sisters, sitting opposite from you, observed your anxious demeanor with growing impatience. Isabelle, in particular, seemed annoyed by your restless gestures, her irritation palpable in the air.

“Y/N, for heaven's sake, it’s not like you’ve been compromised in any way!” said Isabelle, exasperated. “You’ll find someone else, and the Duke’s betrayal will be but a distant memory.”

It was easy for her to say; after all, her own search for a husband had been nothing short of a fairy tale. Unlike the rest of your siblings, Isabelle had had a love match from the beginning, and it only made it easier that Carlos, her now-husband, had strong ties to the royal family. Though her love story had been one for the ages, the fact that it had happened so easily was making her quite unsympathetic to your loss of a Duke you weren’t even properly interested in.

“I might as well have been! Lady Whistledown is still mentioning my involvement in the scandal, and your presence isn’t helping.” You thanked the universe that your mother was on another carriage with Louis, Carlos, and Philippe, and hadn’t heard you being rude toward your sister.

"And why should we care about the musings of this Lady Whistledown?" retorted Isabelle with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“These English people treat that gossip column like gospel,” said Charlotte, crinkling her nose in disdain. “Though I dare say, Y/N, your predicament isn't as dire as you're painting it," she added, casting you a knowing glance.

"You two can afford to be cavalier about it, being safely married," you sighed, feeling defeated, and turned your gaze back out the window.

As your carriage rolled into the park, Leonor leaned in, placing her hand over yours. “No te preocupes, cariño,” she whispered reassuringly, so only you could hear (Don’t worry, sweetheart). “En todo caso, te vienes a España con tu hermano y conmigo” (In any case, you can come to Spain with your brother and me).

You smiled at her, resigned, but grateful for her offer. As you surveyed the bustling crowd outside, predominantly comprised of eligible men, the allure of Spain beckoned. It would certainly have better weather than London. And at least there was no Lady Whistledown in Salamanca. Though with the seemingly endless sources the woman had, you wouldn’t doubt her abilities to follow you there, too.

Stepping down from your carriage and walking toward the crowd of people in the park, you made eye contact with one of the gentlemen who had called on you yesterday. Though his poem had nearly put you to sleep, you smiled politely anyway. Perhaps he would be the first to talk to you today and ask for a turn about the park, and you would be able to finally relax in the knowledge that at least one person was still interested in you.

Though you hadn’t seen or heard from Lord Barlow since the Bridgerton ball, he still lingered in your mind. He ended up being just like any other man, you thought, annoyed. You hadn’t necessarily expected him to be the picture of attentiveness and love, especially not when you had only known each other a little over a month, but it was still disappointing to see how it had all turned out.

"Lady Montclair," a voice interjected, drawing your attention to your right. Startled, you turned to see Colin Bridgerton, sporting an uncharacteristically earnest smile.

“Mr. Bridgerton?” you inquired.

You had thought your dance two nights prior had been a one-time event, a small courtesy on his part, for Eloise, so you didn’t look a complete fool upon your re-entry to society. So why was he here now? Had he come here to resume tormenting you? You weren’t quite sure you had the energy for that today, already feeling the familiar flutter of nerves as you thought about how many men you would have to impress and the intense scrutiny you would face from the rest of the ton.

“Would you care for a promenade?” his voice, a gentle invitation, broke through your thoughts.

“A prom- What?” you said lowly, careful that no one would hear you. “You already danced with me once, and it was more than enough,” you assured him.

Colin was fighting an internal battle. He was torn between still being absolutely enchanted by you after one dance, and the larger part of him that was annoyed that you apparently didn’t want to speak with him today. Yet, true to form, Colin’s more combative side won out.

“Well, I don’t particularly see gentlemen lining up to speak with you today, so I rather think you might need some more help,” he shot back.

You felt your face flush as you gasped in offense. “That is so patronizing. I’ve barely been here three seconds! I hardly think that amount of time is indicative of whether any suitors would like to speak with me today.”

It was true; Colin had rushed to greet you moments after you had stepped down from your carriage. But aside from the fact that he was embarrassed by his eagerness and trying to cover it up, he was not about to let up, not against you.

“Do you think, for once in your life, you could engage with me without throwing a fit?” he asked you, anger seeping into his words.

You were speechless, your eyes wide as you stared at him. Your instinct would have been to get mad at him, but unfortunately, he was right. You were struggling to let yourself be vulnerable with Colin, never mind how good of a time you had had dancing with him. But you were too stubborn to accept his offer to walk with him. You simply stared at him, your eyes swimming with uncertainty, and silently willed him to keep pushing you to accept his help. It was the only way you would allow yourself to do it, and you were relieved when he held out his arm for you to take.

“Come along,” he said, rolling his eyes. “For both our sakes, we should just walk to avoid a scene.”

“Very well, then,” you relented, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. You were momentarily distracted by the feeling of his arm beneath your touch. It lit a fire inside of you that you weren’t familiar with, and you suddenly found yourself out of breath.

“My sister can chaperone,” he suggested, gently guiding you toward where his family was situated.

You could only nod dumbly in response, the flutters in your lower abdomen only growing stronger when he placed his hand over yours. Vaguely registering Daphne and Simon waving at you, you smiled and greeted them, grateful to have something else to focus on that wasn't Mr. Bridgerton's very well-sculpted arms.

As you began to stroll, the Bassets a few paces behind you, you felt that your voice was stable enough to begin a conversation. “So, Mr. Bridgerton, indulge my curiosity and tell me more about your travels. Have you ever been lost at sea?”

Colin smiled at you, unable to hold back his fondness for you once again, and his breath was stolen from his lips as he made eye contact with you. You looked back eagerly, staring straight into him, and he was momentarily speechless. But you blinked, indicating that you were still awaiting a response, and he realized he had forgotten himself once again in your presence, an alarmingly increasing trend.

After clearing his throat, Colin answered, “A few times, yes. Most unfortunate was the time we became lost in the twilight hours when it was freezing out, but the stars proved an exceptionally useful tool in helping us find our way.”

“The stars?” you asked, curious. Could it be that you and Colin had yet another thing in common? It was hard to parse who he had been with you the past few days with the man you had a rivalry with practically from the moment you arrived in England. Who was the real Colin?

“Yes, indeed,” affirmed Colin, his voice revealing a hint of excitement. “They’re actually quite a useful tool. Regardless of our whereabouts, we look at the same constellations, albeit from differing vantage points. For instance, if you look up at the sky any of these nights, and you see three stars close together arranged in a line, that’s-”

“Orion’s belt,” you finished for him, your voice soft. Then, seeing his amused, and admittedly curious, smile, you explained, “My governess used to take me outside at night, even in the winter, so I could look at the stars. I know a fair few constellations, and I always like to know which ones are visible to me.”

Colin shook his head in wonder. The universe was a cruel thing, to make you so perfectly suited to him and make you hate him more than you hated, apparently, anyone or anything else. But it wasn’t like he liked you any better, he reasoned.

“I’d wager you’d be a wonderful navigator, then,” he said. “I’m certain you’d never get lost in treacherous waters.” He had to physically bite his tongue to keep from suggesting that you go with him on his next trip around the world.

You hummed softly in response. It never quite felt like you had a grip on where you were going. Usually, you just felt like you were groping around in the dark, desperately trying to find the right way to go.

The promenade stretched on longer than anticipated, with both of you engaging in pleasant conversation throughout, and more than a few stolen glances. It was a shock, really, when Daphne cleared her throat politely behind you and Colin. You suddenly realized that you and Colin had been walking together for longer than was typically appropriate.

“It might be time for Lady Montclair to promenade with someone else,” she suggested gently, a sympathetic smile on her face as she looked at Colin's crestfallen face. Turning away from you, she leaned over and whispered something unintelligible to Simon as the pair walked away back toward the rest of the Bridgertons, allowing you and Colin a few moments of privacy.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, finding yourself slightly disappointed that your time together was ending. “I’m not quite sure I would have needed your saving again, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Suddenly, you noticed a piece of lint on the lapel of Colin’s jacket. You reached over, almost instinctively, and picked it off. Your fingers barely grazed his chest, and his words caught in his throat as he saw your hand reach toward his chest in slow motion.

The two of you stood still, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, one of your hands still extended toward him. Realizing your actions necessitated an explanation, you hurriedly brought your hand back to your side again and averted your gaze, avoiding eye contact with Colin.

“Lint,” you explained awkwardly. “On your coat.”

Oh, how could you have done something so brash? And in such a public setting, too, you scolded yourself.

“I-Th-Well, I-Thank you, Lady Montclair,” Colin stuttered out, his brain short-circuiting from your intimate gesture. But you were already walking away, fists clenched at your sides as he saw you walking back to your family.

Once more, you were intercepted by what could only be described as a horde of men vying for your favor. But, just like two nights prior, all Colin could feel was a pleasant warmth spreading through him as he watched you walk away, your laughter ringing like music in his ears.

He knew what that was like now. To have you genuinely laugh at something he said. And it was different from how you were with these men. Even different from how you had been with the Duke. His heart warmed when he realized he had something of you that no one else did, and he wanted to bottle up your laugh and keep it in his breast pocket, forever a reminder of you near his heart.

A short distance away, Carlos observed with amusement as Colin stood there, seemingly transfixed by your departure. Standing beside him was Leonor, who had also been privy to the entire spectacle. The two often found themselves together during family outings, enjoying speaking in Spanish for a change.

“La ama,” Carlos said to Leonor, his tone tinged with amusement at Colin's evident infatuation (He loves her).

Suppressing a chuckle, Leonor discreetly cleared her throat. “Y cuanto tiempo crees que será hasta que se de cuenta?” she quipped in response (And how long do you think it'll be until he realizes?).

---

In the late afternoon, you found yourself seated by the pianoforte, the pleasant notes of your scales filling the room. Across from you, your mother quietly engrossed herself in a book, while Isabelle diligently worked on her needlepoint. Suddenly, the tranquil atmosphere of your sitting room was disrupted as your butler made an unexpected entrance.

“Lady Montclair, a visitor,” he said politely, bowing slightly.

Your fingers stopped playing and you looked toward your mother, who had a questioning look on her face.

“I hadn’t been expecting anyone. And at this hour? Is everything alright?” she asked the butler.

His face flushed slightly. “My apologies, I meant Lady Y/N Montclair,” he corrected himself. “It’s the Duke.”

But he barely had time to announce your visitor before Lord Barlow strode into your sitting room, hair disheveled and bags under his eyes. He looked positively ghastly, and you wouldn’t have doubted it if he told you he hadn’t slept in a week.

He was panting and slightly sweaty, clearly having rushed over to your home for some unknown reason, when he took off his hat and crouched next to the pianoforte bench.

“Forgive me,” he addressed the other women in the room. Then, turning back to you, he roughly grasped your hand, placing a wet kiss on the back of it. You slightly cringed in disgust, not particularly wanting this man anywhere near you.

“Y/N, my darling, I am so terribly sorry for what happened at the Bridgerton ball. It was unforgivable. Except that you must forgive me!” he pleaded, voice full of desperation.

You were utterly confused, and more than a little angry. Who did this man think he was, barging into your home at this hour and demanding forgiveness? You shared a look with your mother, who looked equally as scandalized.

“Lord Bar-” you started, but before you could finish, he interrupted you, grasping your hand even tighter.

“No! Not Lord Barlow. Arthur. Your Arthur. It’s me; I’m here. What happened with Miss Barrington was a foolish mistake, and it will never happen again. Marry me, Y/N. Marry me and make me the happiest man in all of Mayfair. In all of England, even. Please,” he begged.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leonor leaving the room quietly, and your stomach churned uncomfortably at the idea of having to face this man on your own. You breathed deeply, calming yourself with the thought that your mother remained in the room before you addressed Lord Barlow.

“I don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “What of Miss Barrington? She will be ruined if you do not marry her.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and shaking his head in annoyance. “What of her? She is not as important to me as you are,” he said lowly. “I do not have with her what I have with you. I need you, Y/N. Please marry me.”

Letting the anger that had been slowly bubbling inside you take over, you snatched your hand out of his grip and stood up, towering over him. “Are you quite finished? You are completely unbelievable. I will not marry you, your Grace, and it is egregious that you would even suggest it. Do you truly have so little respect for Miss Barlow that you would leave her, ruined, as you married someone else? Do you truly think so lowly of me that you thought I would say yes?”

“Barlow, take your leave,” came a commanding voice from the doorway before the Duke could respond to you.

With a surge of relief, you caught sight of Louis and Philippe standing firm with Leonor at their side, their expressions firm and determined, while she was looking anxiously between you and Lord Barlow.

But the Duke was relentless, his desperation palpable as he pleaded his case, his words brimming with urgency. He stood up from where he had been kneeling and turned to face your brothers. "You don’t understand. I must marry your sister. I must!"

“I believe my brother asked you to take your leave, your Grace,” said Philippe, voice cold and cutting. “Louis, if you could be so kind as to escort Lord Barlow out.”

Louis wasted no time, roughly grabbing Barlow’s arm and dragging him away from you as the man protested profusely. But your brother wasn’t going to let him hurt you again. It was bad enough that he had already done it once, but Louis would rather come to blows right now in your home than let the Duke stand in your presence for another second.

As Louis ushered Lord Barlow out of your sitting room, Philippe placed a protective hand in front of Leonor and pulled her behind him. Ensuring his wife’s safety, he turned to you, a concerned expression on his face.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

But you didn’t have time to answer, your father storming into the room with fury in his eyes.

“Was that Barlow I saw in the hall? Can someone give me an explanation?" he demanded, his gaze fixed on your stricken expression.

Your voice trembled as you confessed, still reeling from the shock of the encounter. "He asked me to marry him," you admitted, the words hanging heavily in the air.

“She said no, of course. And put him in his place,” your mother added, eyes wide and fixed on the doorway still. It seemed that Lord Barlow’s unexpected appearance had been an unwelcome shock for her, too.

Your father placed his hands on his hips, staring at the two of you in disbelief. “Well done,” he finally conceded after a few moments of silence.

You nodded meekly in response, not quite feeling anything right at this minute.

“He is not worthy of you, Y/N. A title and fortune are important, of course, but so is honor. And he clearly has none,” said your father, disgust clear in his voice.

You’d heard this speech a million times, but this time the words rang loudly in your ears. A title and fortune are important, his words echoed in your mind. It was what your father always said, but this time you couldn’t help thinking: Colin Bridgerton, whom you had developed an inexplicable fondness for, possessed neither title nor fortune.

But as quickly as the doubt arose, you cast it aside. You reminded yourself firmly that Colin was not the sort of man a Montclair could marry. The reality was stark, and you refused to entertain the notion that such a match could ever be possible. You weren’t even sure that you liked the man, why were you thinking of marrying him?

—

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charlotte-of-wales · 1 year

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Three generations portraits of former, current and future European monarchs:

♔ Belgium: former King Albert II, King Philippe and Princess Elisabeth, the Duchess of Brabant

♔ Denmark: Queen Margrethe II, Crown Prince Frederik and Prince Christian

♔ Luxembourg: Grand Duke Henri, Hereditary Grand Duke Guillaume and Prince Charles

♔ The Netherlands: former Queen Beatrix, King Willem-Alexander and Princess Catharina-Amalia, the Princess of Orange

♔ Norway: King Harald V, Crown Prince Haakon and Princess Ingrid-Alexandra

♔ Spain: former King Juan Carlos II, King Felipe XI and Leonor, the Princess of Asturias

♔ Sweden: King Carl XI Gustaf, Crown Princess Victoria and Princess Estelle

♔ England: King Charles III, William, the Prince of Wales and Prince George of Wales

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canirove · 1 year

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The Princess & the Football Player | Chapter 1

Summary: "They say they want to make the monarchy more modern, to be closer to the people, but then your parents would prefer it if you married a guy whose Godfather is the freaking Prince of Monaco, instead of a guy from Kingston." Or the love story between Princess Eleanor, heir to the British throne, and Declan Rice, English football player.

Author’s note: This story has been sitting on my drafts for maybe two months because I never was completely happy with it, and tbh, I still feel the same. Though sometimes those are the ones people like the most 😂 I got inspired to write it during the World Cup when people here in Spain went crazy about the idea of Princess Leonor and Gavi dating and him becoming the future King because she, apparently, is her fan and has a crush on him 😅 That's why on this story, the British Royal family has the name of the Spanish one 😁 Hope you like it, and thank you for reading! 💜

Next chapter

Masterlist

"Ok, ask me one more."

"Dad..."

"Just one more, please."

"Fine" I say, rolling my eyes. "Who is that one?" I ask, pointing at the papers he has on his hands.

"That's easy. Aaron Ramsdale, goalkeeper, plays for Arsenal."

"See? You know them all. Relax."

"I just want to do this right. You are the one into sports, not me."

"You'll be fine, you already know them all from the Euros."

"Yeah" he says, letting out a big sigh. "What about you? Are you nervous?"

"Why would I be?"

"You may be meeting one of your crushers."

"I don't have a crush on anyone on the national team."

"Oh, c'mon Eleanor. You watch all their games, you must fancy at least one of them."

"I don't" I shrug.

"Not even Mason Mount? I've heard girls think he is fit."

"That he is what?" I laugh.

"Fit. That's what Sophie says about boys who are handsome and attractive."

"Yes, Sophie. But not you."

"Why? Because I'm old?"

"No, because you are the King of England."

"Whatever" he says. "You don't like anyone, then?"

"No one. So you better not try anything or do what you did when we met One Direction years ago."

"What did I do?"

"Tell Niall Horan that I had a crush on him? That I had photos of him in my room?"

"Oh, yes" he chuckles. "But don't worry, I won't do it again. I learnt my lesson."

"You better. Just imagine that someone hears something and runs to the press with it. I can already see the headlines: Princess Eleanor in love with a football player. And they'll probably pick the worst option."

"Like Grealish."

"You said it, I didn't" I laugh.

"We've arrived, sir" our driver says.

"Good, good. Are you ready?"

"Ready" I say, taking a deep breath before we step out of the car.

As part of all the media events the national football team is doing before they travel to Canada for the World Cup, we are meeting with them to say our farewells and also give them a little something to remember the occasion. And when I say we, I mean my dad, King Philip of England, and I, Princess Eleanor, heir to the throne.

"Welcome to St. George's Park, your Royal Highness" Gareth Southgate says when we walk in. "The boys are waiting over here."

"Wonderful" my dad says. "How are they feeling?"

"Ready. They can't wait to get on that plane."

After a few words from my dad and the gaffer, it's time to give the players that little something we had for them: a shirt with their number and the name of all the players who have previously worn it.

"We'll do one each, ok?" my dad tells me.

"Ok."

We start calling each player, congratulating them and posing for a photo, everything going smoothly... until it doesn't. Until I froze in place when I find myself looking at the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen.

"Your Royal Highness" he says with a smile as breathtaking as his eyes.

"Hi" I reply, my voice sounding all squeaky.

"I was looking forward to meeting you."

"Me? Really?"

"Yes, ma'am. My mum is a big fan of yours, she says you are the best royal."

"Oh, she's too kind" I giggle. I giggled. Why did I do that? What am I, 12?

"Should we pose for the photo?"

"Uh?" I ask, still looking at him. How is he real? How is it possible that I had never noticed that Declan Rice was this handsome?

"The photo, Eleanor" my dad says behind me.

"Oh, yes, sorry. The photo" I repeat, trying to compose myself a bit.

"Big smiles... Perfect" the photographer says.

"Thank you" Declan smiles, taking the box where the shirt is, our fingers touching slightly but making me feel electricity through my whole body. And call me crazy, but judging by the way he looked at me when it happened, he felt the same.

Once we are done giving all the shirts, Southgate gives my dad and I a tour of St. George's Park, but I can't stop thinking about Declan. About his eyes, his smile, about the way that small touch made me feel. I still don't know how I managed to keep going, to be honest.

When we walk outside, some players are practicing free kicks on the training pitch, Declan among them.

"Eleanor, why don't you show these boys how it is done?" my dad says.

"What?"

"We all saw you training with the lionesses, ma'am. That right foot of yours can do things" Mount chuckles.

"But I'm not wearing the right shoes."

"C'mon, ma'am" Southgate insists.

"Ok, then. But if I end up breaking a window, or worse, my ankle... it is your fault" I say, making them all laugh.

"Ready, Rambo?" Rashford asks before shooting.

"Give me your best!" Ramsdale shouts.

"That was so good" my dad says when Rashford scores. "Your turn now, darling."

"Ma'am" Declan says, giving me a ball.

"Thank you" I reply, trying to avoid looking at him, my cheeks already getting hot. "Don't go soft on me, Ramsdale."

"I won't, ma'am" he says with that big smile of his.

"See?" I sigh after shooting and sending the ball far far away. "Wrong shoes."

"Try again" Declan says, putting another ball in front of me. "I know you can do it."

"Will you pay for the window I'm going to break?"

"And I'll carry you to the infirmary myself if you break your ankle" he smirks, making me feel funny things on my stomach, and my father clear his throat behind us.

"Ok" I whisper, trying to forget the thought of his arms around me and taking a deep breath, focusing only on the ball.

"I knew it!" Declan says next to me when the ball goes in, Ramsdale not being able to stop it.

"You believed in me more than I did."

"I've seen you play before, I know what you can do."

"You have?"

"Yep. When you were like... 15? You played a charity game in my area and my mum took the whole family to watch you. I remember that you scored and amazing free kick."

"Oh, wow. I don't know if I remember that day" I chuckle. "I'll have to check the photos back home. I may even see you."

"I didn't look this good, tho. You may not recognize me" Declan says with a cheeky smile.

"But you still had the same eyes, didn't you? Those are hard to miss."

"Thank you, ma'am" he replies, his cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. Did I just make him blush? Me? Oh, wow. "I also remember that I didn't expect a princess to play football like that."

"What did you expect, then?" I ask, raising a brow.

"I don't know" he shrugs. "Maybe that you enjoyed other type of sports, like cricket or that thing with the horses."

"Equestrianism."

"That one, yes."

"Posh sports."

"Yeah..." he chuckles, scratching the back of his head and making the muscles on his arm pop. Why did he have to do that when I was finally acting normal around him, maybe even flirting? Now I'm stuck again just looking at him.

"We must go, Eleanor."

"What?"

"It's time for us to go, the boys have to train" my dad says.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"It was really nice meeting you, ma'am" Declan says.

"You too."

"See you in Canada?"

"See you in Canada" I repeat

"Great" he says with a big smile that makes whatever I'm feeling on my stomach be more intense. "Until then."

"Bye" I say, definitely smiling like an idiot.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"That was nice, wasn't it?" my dad says once we are back in the car.

"Really nice, yes."

"Fell in love with any of them?"

"What?" I say, feeling my cheeks getting hotter and hotter by the second.

"I was only joking, relax."

"Oh" I reply with a nervous laugh.

"You are a clever girl. You know that you can't fall in love with a football player."

"Why not? You married mum and she was a journalist."

"One with a degree and a PhD, a serious career. These boys have nothing beyond money and being good looking. At least some of them" he chuckles.

"These days more and more players are studying while playing, tho" I point out.

"Still, it isn't enough. You are meant to be the next Queen of England. You must marry accordingly."

"Dad, this isn't the 15th century."

"I know, I know. But there are certain things that must still be kept in mind. So when you travel to Canada to support the team, do not fall for any of them, ok?" he laughs.

"Ok" I say, rolling my eyes and looking out the window, thinking that it may be a bit late for that.

#declan rice #declan rice fanfic #declan rice imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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felipeandletizia · 11 months

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May 20, 2023: King Felipe, Queen Letizia and Infanta Sofia attend Princess Leonor’s graduation at the UWC Atlantic College in Wales, England

#King Felipe #Queen Letizia #Princess Leonor #Infanta Sofia #King Felipe of Spain #Queen Letizia of Spain #Princess Leonor of Asturias #Infanta Sofia of Spain #King Felipe VI #Princess of Asturias #King Felipe VI of Spain #Leonor HS Graduation 2023 #20230520 #May 2023

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thequilandpaperwriter · 6 months

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Share your fav pics of Leonor & sofia🩷✨

That’s definitely a hard question to choose as I have many! 😅🤣 they alternate as time goes on but definitely these are my top three lately.

The Leonor picts speak for themselves. As Leonor is around the same age as me I really admire her strong yet soft personality. I believe she will make a great queen when the time comes. And she’s just the sweetest thing on earth…hence the second pic. I also just really admire her dedication to her country so I had to add her in her military uniform (with the Golden Fleece I believe) this was the first time she’s ever worn it round her neck. So that was quite fun to see! As for Sofia , I chose the football match between Spain and England. I just loved seeing Sofia so animated and enjoying her time! And lastly I chose one of my favorite sister duo moments from the girona awards a couple months ago. Your so sweet to ask! Thank you again! I also really enjoy your page as well! ❤️🫡

#european royals #spanish royal family #princess leonor #royalty #infanta sofia

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foreverinthepagesofhistory · 8 months

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This might just be my opinion but if I was Leonor or Sofia and someone asked about my family history I would not hesitate to tell them that I was descended from queen Victoria not just once but twice! ! 🤯 I feel like Felipe has the most blue blood only because both his parents were royal. That’s definitely a really cool fact for him!

Hi anon! I partially agree with you on this! I would love to tell people that I’m descended from Queen Victoria! I try to incorporate into conversations that I’m descended from Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of England and France (very VERY distantly) but no one knows who she is unlike Queen Victoria (still in America no one knows who she is lmao 🥲).

But if i was another royal who didn’t want to be known for just their familial connections I wouldn’t want to talk about it that much. Sometimes Royals just want to be “normal” and have a “normal” life. It’s a good idea for some but not all if you get what I’m saying.

Thank you for the ask!!! 💗

#answered ask

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 years

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idk if you've posted them before but can u show us all the dolls?

I can do my best!

Top row, left to right: Marinette (fashion doll by the Francois Gaultier firm of Paris, in original clothing, c. 1880), Sarah (Armand Marseille model “1894″ doll, made in Germany around the year of her mold name), Victoria (1980s porcelain doll given to me by a dear friend some years back).

Bottom row, left to right: Celine (wax child doll, probably made in Germany c. 1870s, seriously damaged), Clara (wax child doll, also probably German, also damaged, c. 1860s), Em (another damaged probably-German wax doll from the 1860s), Magda (German wax lady doll, 1860s). On their laps are China (original pink dress, 1880s china doll made in the U.S. of German bisque parts and a domestic-manufactured cloth body) and Flora (original cream dress, wax-headed doll probably made in England c. 1840s-50s).

Top, seated: Maryse (modern ball-jointed doll by Canadian artist Marina Bychkova, face painted by Jay Searle, outfit- unfinished -by me).

Standing: Jeanette (1870s French fashion doll by the Francois Gaultier firm mentioned above, original undergarments.)

Left to right: Rosamond (1955 Madame Alexander “Cissy” fashion doll wearing an early 1960s “portrait” dress by the same company), Leonore (seated, late 1860s French fashion doll by the Dehors firm of Paris, outfit by me), Barbie 5 (#5 ponytail Barbie c. 1961), Barbie 3 (#3 ponytail Barbie c. 1959-60), Draculaura (collectors’ Monster High “Draculaura” doll, modern), Isabelle (seated, modern BJD by French artist Lillycat, “Chibbi Lana” sculpt), Margaret (1860s china dollhouse doll, behind held by Isabelle).

That little cream blob at the feet of Barbie 5 is Lydia, another 1860s china dollhouse doll. She has TINY BLUE BOOTS, which is Very Important.

And that’s about all the ones I’m not currently trying to sell!

#ask #anon #long post #dolls #bjds #vintage dolls #antique dolls

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royalchildreneurope · 6 months

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Queen Letizia of Spain, Princess Leonor, The Princess of Asturias, Infanta Sofía of Spain and Queen Sofía of Spain attend the 'Princess of Asturias Awards 2023' ceremony in Oviedo, Spain -October 20th 2023.

#queen letizia #princess leonor #princess of asturias #infanta sofia #queen sofia #british royal family #england #2023 #october 2023 #princess of asturias awards #princess of asturias awards 2023 #royal children #my edit

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evita-shelby · 1 year

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Of Gods and Witches

Chapter 11

Taglist: @v3d3rl1cht @thegreatdragonfruta

Gif by @unicornspwnall

Thank you youtube for existing!

Eva had been taught to swim at the age of exactly thirteen months. The moment Eva mastered running was deemed perfect to learn how to swim by her father, Harry.

Henry Absalom Smith could swim like an Olympian in the sea or in the rivers and lakes, a skill he vowed to pass on to his four living children. He and his brothers and sisters loved swimming so much that Daj called her children the matchai, or the fishes.

Her Romani Traveller father had been born in a marigold yellow vardo but raised in a bright yellow river boat called the Marigold until his parents decided to live in a brick-and-mortar house in Small Heath, Birmingham.

But he never felt at home in Small Heath, found it constraining and eventually when he knew every nook and cranny in Great Britain and Ireland, he snuck aboard a ship called El Botón de Oro where he met the enchanting Miss Isabel Riley who had been expecting him.

By the time they arrived in the Port of Veracruz, they were El Senor y La Senora Enrique Smith and ten years later Eva Leonor Smith Riley was born a week early in the Sistine Chapel.

And twenty- one years after her first swimming lesson, Eva feels as clumsy as baby foal as she tries to keep up with Ch’ah.

But Tlalocan is beautiful, and she likes his laugh, so she cannot complain.

He holds her hand unashamedly, showing his people his clear intentions with this strange woman with him.

Itza had warned of the suspicion his people would have of her, of how people would believe she had bewitched him with her love spells to ruin them all.

They will love her, they will accept her as queen and see their suspicions were unfounded, K’uk’ulkan had argued.

The people greet them with the same salute, one Ch’ah had taught her back in Veracruz.

Like the open jaw of a great shark.

Líik'ik Tlalocan, rise Tlalocan. A battle cry that stuck around after several chieftains and generals rose against him a century ago.

The people look at her with mixed feelings, some in excitement because she is like their king, others are wary because they know she came from the surface.

“The Vibranium changed everything it touched, the things we grow are the same as they are in the surface.” Ch’ah had explained as he guided her on a tour of Tlalocan.

The life here reminds her of the life above, the ruins above are restored here and adapted to the growing city. People bustling here as they did in Veracruz or Mexico City.

Everything is perfect, and K’uk’ulkan tells her excitedly how his immortality allowed him to fix every problem that arose.

There is no over crowdedness and inadequate housing like in the cities she’s lived in, the city is clean, the design elegant but not as gaudy as the ones she’s seen, everything here is just perfect.

“I never want to leave.” Eva said when he asked what he thought of his kingdom.

“You won’t have to, ki’ichpan.” He assured her. “No one will hurt you here, not while I live.”

And he lives forever.

Even La Huesuda won’t get her here.

----

“She will need clothes, and her things.” Livia had said as she ordered them around.

“I can’t believe you were going to trick her into going to leaving Mexico, tia.” Santiago said as he carefully loaded the suitcase onto his car.

“That K’uk’ulkan ruined my plans, Eva could’ve been Queen of England!” she huffed.

Livia had pulled strings to secure a place in Mayfair, an introduction to English high society and ensured Prince Edward of Wales was intrigued by the thought of Eva.

It had taken her everything to put a wrench in Enrique’s brothers’ plans to settle Eva with her grandmother in Small Heath, Birmingham.

There was a young man, a fucking gangster, who despite his ambition and good looks did not stop being wholly unsuitable for her sweet and beautiful Evita.

Now there was some Mayan nutjob who had seduced her and taken her like the thief he was.

“Mami, we’re Catholic and Edward of Wales is infertile.” Nachito pointed out amused.

“So, she can convert, fuck one of his relatives and destroy the British Empire from the inside.” She explained her schemes.

The Rileys were schemers at heart, ambitious enough to thrive and smart enough to get what they want.

Livia Drusilla Riley Arambula wanted to be the Lina Astor of Mexico and she had almost done it.

Except Francisco Madero died when the Americans and the Germans backed Huerta and the Rileys were scattered to the winds.

She would be leaving for New York with her eldest son, Andres who goes by Andy, with Alba who hates her for letting Aurelio marry her to some rich American breaking into politics, with Nacho who goes by Izzy because the fucking gringos can’t say Nacho without laughing.

And Eva, as always, only thinks of herself and not the agony she puts them though with every disappearance.

Livia will not plan another funeral; she’s had to bury to many of her loved ones. She will die with her niece if she has to plan Eva’s.

----

They call her Chilan Eva and Ch’ah thinks his people, at least the average citizens will accept her as their queen sooner than his advisors and other members of the court and his family.

Eva had taken in the beauty of Talokan with a childlike wonder. Asked questions until she had felt satisfied with his answers and was left speechless by the sun.

Eva had been gawked at, approached by curious children and given gifts by the time they reached their destination.

His palace, something that took almost half a century to build and that housed his throne and the sun.

Itza had counseled him to get it over with, if he was upfront with his intentions towards the surface-dwelling witch, K’uk’ulkan could nip most dissent in the bud.

Ch’ah had wanted to wait, to have Eva understand what they were up against first, but Eva had surprised him by agreeing with Itza.

I survived three dictatorships, nothing scares me anymore, she had said.

No, just the idea that you could live forever does, he had pointed out.

But Eva was easy to love, he thinks, clever, kind and resilient like vibranium.

“She’s pretty, I suppose,” his cousin, Kinich, said with as much interest as a new pet his elder daughter, Atziri, brings home.

“But not good enough to be my wife, you mean.” The king narrowed his eyes at his cousin and advisor.

Kinich was related to him by one his mother’s many sisters. Kin, one who was four years his senior and died at the age of ninety-seven surrounded by his nine cousins, their children and their grandchildren.

The first two generations did not live long, their bodies had yet to adapt to their new life and lived only a handful of years more than their air breathing ancestors.

It was then that K’uk’ulkan ventured above in search for answers and met Phastos who came searching for a place he once knew.

The Vibranium Sun gave them longer lifespans, seasons, nutrient rich foods and lit the way to make them as good if not better than their enemies.

“Some wonder if she bewitched you, feed you toloatzin to make you love her.” He whispers as they observed her with the other women of his family.

“It doesn’t work on me, remember.” K’uk’ulkan reminded him.

Once, a Talokanil had tried that trick only for her to realize that his unique physiology made it impossible for her to try a surface-dweller’s love potion.

“She’s a witch, K’uk’ulkan, you said it yourself, she is as powerful as Itza or more. She may not know it either.” Kinich tried to convince him, but the king refused to listen.

No, Eva would never do that to him. She had told him of she’s vowed to never use one again after hastening a man’s death by bewitching him. His only crime had been being Venustiano Carranza’s son and she would be the reason he would put a gun to his head.

But Kinich would not understand, he would think her a liar and him a fool who believed her.

“That is where you are wrong, Kinich, Chaac destined her for him and him for her, their souls were bound to each other even before humanity was made from the corn.” Itza coolly explained why he was wrong to accuse Eva of such sins. “She will be Queen of Talokan and mother to the king’s heirs.”

“I can’t argue against Chaac, I suppose. Congratulations.” Kinich congratulated him genuinely if a bit begrudgingly. “May your children have her good looks and give you as much trouble as Atziri and her little sisters give me and my good lady wife, Ch’ah.”

---

Translations:

Daj: mother, grandmother in angloromani

Matchai: fishes in angloromani

Toloatzin: Nahuatl for Toloache

#eva smith riley #namor x mexican!oc #kukulkan x oc #kukulkan namor #namor x eva #of gods and witches fic

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