#(or carriages that work)

[polin-erospsyche]

Honestly this picture is doing more things to me than the chin hold one. Because yes a potential kiss is great and I’ve been dying to see it but you know it’s a kiss.

But this, here? RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD? I’m trying really hard to lead a normal life here.

What the fresh hell is this? Just look at him! The man is truly unhinged. The way he looks at her? The way he’s angled towards her? The way his knees is touching hers? And all of it in public and broad daylight? It is crazy to me that this man does not know that his whole axis resolves around her.

The boy will not be able to get up once his two working neurons finally catches up to his body and heart.

You two, kind sir, are most DEFINITELY and ONLY friends, there can be no doubts 🙂‍↕️

[blaithnne]

CBS Ghosts is my new guilty pleasure so take my new OCs. The Blanchet family were distant French cousins of the Woodstones who visited the house in the early 1900s, only for a violent house robbery to take the life of their youngest daughter, Mercedes, and her loyal self appointed guard dog, Horse. Only 8 years old, it takes some time for Mercedes to understand her fate, and for some time she’d be very distressed that her family seem to be ignoring her. On the bright side, the other ghosts are there to try and make things easier, though the misfit collective have a hard time caring for a child given their circumstances, and conflicting ideas on how best to raise a little girl.

Of all the ghosts, she is closest with Thorfinn. He has a soft spot for the little girl.

[dandylion-s]

Love that Jamie Tartt coordinated little outfits for his coaching with roy. Like yes king put on that pink shorts and hoodie set with matching socks for pulling a guy on a bicycle like a horse for a chariot. Bisexualism will make you dumb but by god you'll always turn a look.

[takethelx3]

I just keep rattling them inside my brain :)

[kat-rose-griffith]

Portia isn’t the only plotter in the Featherington house. Their servants have been working round the clock on Penelope’s love life trying to ensure that Prudence and Phillipa aren’t the next Lady Featherington

[wildflowerspollinator]

A family-friendly carriage scene for Nicola and Luke; since Netflix isn't providing a PG version, the internet will gladly step in!

[londondungeon2]

concept with dullahan! dire crowley OR dullahan! floyd leech, you can imagine either ⁽(◍˃̵͈̑ᴗ˂̵͈̑)⁽

now playing harley poe’s vengeance the demon / close the door / outcrowd

part i. vengeance the demon.

it always starts with you running. it has never once changed; you, desperate and panting, throw yourself across the earth on two lunging legs.

sometimes, you trip. sometimes, you crash into things. but you always keep running and running away from the sound of clomping hooves in pursuit. they echo in the mine ruins that you always find yourself in, sounding like an army of horses instead of the single one giving chase.

one time, you finally manage to reach the end of the mine shaft as you can see these polka dot patterns of light just ahead. you break out into a sprint.

the air is less humid when you burst out of the mines like a bullet passing through a body. you make a wild run for the houses lit by lanterns. pumpkins are on each porch. you end up stumbling into one, acquiring a new shoe, as you throw yourself against the door.

“please! he’ll kill me! he’ll kill me he’ll kill me!”

the only response you get is the window by the door opening just slightly. you almost miss the motion, so focused on pounding your fist against the wood. but through your eyes and the blood and the mud, you manage to spy it. two fingers opening up a crack in the blinds and one single eye peeking at you.

“please … please …” you sniffle, blood and snot a thick mélange running down your lips.

the eye stares at you. it looks like an immovable stone, something that has already made its decision. the light of the glowing pumpkin and lanterns pale in comparison to how bright the eye is.

“i can’t help you, yous folk is marked.”

ii. close the door

the girls and boys at your university hate you. your parents don’t hate you but they don’t like you either. you’re not even sure you like yourself.

the only person (and he’s not even a person) who loves you is your black cat, grim.

grim purrs at you which you take as validation as sweet as boyfriend saying he loves you or as validation as heartwarming as a best friend saying she’s grateful that two of you have become friends because no one gets her like you do. in him, you find validation that you have been missing since you were seven and that boy died at your birthday party.

it wasn’t your fault. your hands were only on the reins because the handler asked you, the birthday girl, if you wanted to hold and guide the horse. you must’ve fucked it up somehow because the horse reeled up, a black stallion of huge proportions looking like something carved into a monolith, before the stallion kicked back his legs and struck a boy in the head.

blood paints over the grass as the first adult came outside with the cake, the beginning of happy birthday on his tongue.

which is why some girls corner you in the bathroom, one wearing a party city horse mask and getting in your face. another kicks the stall, mimicking clop-clop noises with her mouth.

because the town hates you. everyone has always hated you.

it causes you little stress besides tears. what causes you the biggest stress is returning to your dorm, finding your window open yet not finding grim.

you search the streets like mad, shaking tuna treats in your hands.

eventually, you come across paw prints that have found their way into a water storm drain tunnel, those ones cities and towns install to minimize flooding risk. the paw prints are wet and small but you know deep down grim’s in there somewhere.

after some hesitation, you walk in.

it’s dark and humid. and you mean dark as in the only way to tell where walls are is to move your hands outward to check where they lie, you can barely make out shapes in this nebulous black. and you mean humid as your hair is starting to stick to the back of your neck and the place where your inner thighs touch are sweating with a passion.

but you have to find the only person who loves you.

you keep going till your foot catches on something. you don’t trip but you feel around with the sole of your foot, coming to conclusion you are stepping on none other than mine-tracks.

you have to go back. you have to go back! you think with a blinding panic.

but then you hear a meow, soft and faint. gradually, you calm down and call out for grim. please, grim come, you have been traveling too far down this rabbit-hole, both of you need to go home safe and sound.

but he doesn’t come, continuously meowing. a little farther, you can risk going that much for grim.

so you keep going, one of each shoe placed on the sides of the tracks, shaking your bag of tuna treats.

eventually, you come across light. not sparse light like polka dots but bright light that almost blinds you.

they’re celebrating something in a town just a two minute walk away. they are celebrating halloween.

the door on your old life is permanently shut.

iii. outcrowd

grim, you see him. just a bit down the way, he’s weaving through the crowd of people lined up on each side of a giant parade.

you pass by a man breathing fire, another on an elephant, one who is clipping roses from his skin and handing them out to children, another who is — your sight suddenly blurs when two forces hit you with surprising force.

“mama!!” they cry in unison. and two twins with your face but golden eyes gaze up at with love you have never been shown to before by human features.

“i told you two, not to run off during the parade; must i keep you on a leash,” a man with hair split black and white breaks through the crowd.

“oh well now i see why they ran so swiftly,” this mysterious man says as he addresses you. “welcome back, (name); i was worried you weren’t going to make it this year.”

“mama was gonna come this year! dad promised!” the twin on your right says, taking the easy opportunity to slip his hand into yours.

“dad never breaks his promise, uncle crewel! never!” the one on the left clings to your entire arm like a snake.

“i see,” the man tuts, giving you a mischievous wink. “come on then; he also promised to attain this parade,” mumbled under his breath, “if only he stays in the mood to attend this one and not chase his beloved wife around.”

the twins, with a surprising amount of strength, drag you along.

so, against your will, you watch this halloween parade pass by. finally apart of the crowd, loved and cared about by people. not part of that outcrowd that has kept you isolated.

it comes and goes until finally the star of the show arrives, a man cloaked in black, a pumpkin as a head, riding the black stallion from your childhood.

you try to pull away. the twins hold on tight. you watch in betrayal as grim walks up to the horse, only to be scooped lovingly in the arms of the rider, purring away.

that man is going to kill me, you think as he draws closer on that ebony stead of nightmares.

then, finally, he stops his horse in front of you and offers his hand up to you like a man offering up his entire heart, body, and soul. the twin on the right slots your numb hand into the rider’s easily. you are lifted onto the horse, sandwiched between the neck and a warm body, resisting the urge to cry like a baby.

“my wife,” the man behind you breathes amorous on your neck, removing the pumpkin from his face.

a single gold/two gold eyes greet you with such love you almost cry. “how lovely of you to finally join us.”

when he kisses you, you do cry.

[bethnoir-fic]

Give rockstar Lestat a french bulldog.

[elderberries-and-honey]

Winifred had been right to suspect that once the dog days of summer arrived, their quaint neighborhood would begin to fill out. The once peaceful, empty streets were now humming with life; as if the glittering morning dew frosting over each day had beckoned them all back home.

You could not go more than a few hours without hearing a horse’s steady gallop hauling a carriage, or sometimes, even the sound of a rare streetcar.

Lawrence was particularly pleased by this fact, anxious to get to know the families around the neighborhood, but Winifred herself was not quite as keen. She had liked the quiet of their solitude, and it felt almost like an invasion of privacy not to have it anymore.

However, much like their new seemingly sophisticated life, it was just something she would have to adjust to. These days, everything felt like something she just needed adjusting to.

And, now that autumn was just around the corner, their lives had somehow become busier than ever before; their days spent together at the lake felt years behind them rather than only a few weeks.

In the afternoon, Beth and Winifred attended painting lessons together; a gift from Lawrence to them both. Their instructor was a soft-spoken, well traveled Frenchman, teaching impressionism and neoclassicism.

Personally, Winifred thought he was a little overqualified to be teaching a skill of his caliber to a housewife and a widow, neither of whom had much experience in the arts, but she was trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, it had been a thoughtful gesture and she wanted to appreciate it nonetheless.

Despite not having the experience though, out of the two of them, Beth was notably more skilled; their instructor often awed by her work. More than once, she could hear his tone vibrating with excitement, almost bursting at the seam as he complimented her use of different brush strokes, much to Winifred’s envy.

Her mother, Alice, was always a natural at painting; as a girl, she loved to sit at her mother's feet whenever she stepped in front of a canvas, and watch as she transformed even the most mundane of landscapes into elaborate works of art. She regularly wished she would have inherited her aptitude for it, but it appeared that she was much better with a pen than a paint brush.

Even the little ones had busy schedules now that summer was on its deathbed. Lawrence had hired two nursery maids, one for each of the boys; it was the only service he had not taken care of before they arrived at their new home. He wanted them to be the perfect fit, and it seemed he had accomplished the seemingly impossible.

Ozzy now spent most of his days with Ms. Hamilton; a woman only a few years Winifred's senior but with the sweetness and patience of one's old Nana. Ozzy warmed up to her quicker than anyone could have expected and their daily lessons seemed to be paying off. She taught him shapes and letters (of which he was quite fond of), along with all the manners that a well-adjusted young man should know (he was not quite so fond of this), and even how to begin writing his own name.

Every so often, when Winifred went to check-in on their little classroom, she would once again be overcome by a similar feeling of envy. She didn't want her children to struggle, not at all; each time she felt it, she would call herself a silly woman for being jealous of a toddler and be on her way, scolding herself for the thoughts that echoed in her head.

But, it was just that, well, they'd all adjusted so quickly! All of them were getting on with things just fine, while she could hardly make sense of it all!

Did no one else think this strange? Didn't they miss their chickens, or long to watch the sunset over the hillside, or even the flower paths on their way into town? And what about their friends, or their beloved shopkeepers who memorized all their names?

It was as if they'd all somehow forgotten the first place she could ever truly call home; and if she couldn't find the will to adjust, would they all wish they could simply forget her too?

next / previous / first

[jonathanbyersphd]

Btw the people saying Penelope should've picked Debling are how I know media literacy is dead

[kojiarakiartworks]

December 2003 PDX Portland Oregon U.S.A. 

© KOJI ARAKI Art Works

Daily life and every small thing is the gate to the universe ：）

[leifgrandeduchesse]

Alexandra, Princess of Wales, photographed by Archduchess Maria Theresa of Austria (Infanta of Portugal) in Bad Wörishofen, 1890s.

(x)

[destialpal]

NICOLA

[squirrellysax]

FYI Bath and Body Works has a carriage shaped hand sanitizer holder as part of their Bridgerton colab 😉 😂.

[sparrowmoth]

Gift art of Wylan for @sixofcrowdaydreams, inspired by her heart-wrenching and magical Wesper Cinderella AU, To Live In Color. 💙

[nonokoko13]

Me when the first coherent thought I have in the morning is that Grim was either abandoned or his biological parents died and the only family he has ever known are three ghosts everyone was afraid of so everybody left them alone for centuries and a human who doesn't belong who doesn't entirely fit there just like them so they were all alone until they found each other.

Ghosts tied to a space which is unsure whether they can leave or not and a human who may have somebody waiting them back home and may leave with no chance of return. Who can't take Grim with them because where they come from things such as fantasy creatures and magic only exist in fairytales so he'd either live hidden from the world or in danger of being treated as a monster and experimented on because when faced with what it's new and different the world reacts with anger and fear and want to control it and tear it apart until nothing it was before is left.

He doesn't know or understand this but MC does and that's why they would have to leave him behind. His dream of studying magic and be the greatest mage wouldn't come true on Earth, that's the reason they would tell him. It's true even though it's not the main reason why. But Grim would understand they just don't want to stay with him and prefer to leave and forget him because if they did love him they would stay.

Then again he could try to dig up in his origins and find his first family but what if time travel exists and MC from a previous timeline was who gave him the ribbon, his first gift and only possession before arriving at NRC? Meaning MC was the person his world revolved around before he even knew who they were and there was no other family he had.

Doubting the trouble squad has ever have a heart to heart conversation about Grim and MC's fates if or when they depart either because they have forgotten or pretend they aren't aware but deep down Ace and Deuce and all of MC friends know but prefer to keep ignoring it instead of confront their feelings. Grim and Malleus being the only ones who may have never think of it until the moment arrives nor accept it. Just like young children who believe their parents, their pillars, their everything that makes them feel safe, would always be there until death knocks at their door. Because MC have friends and a home in Twisted Wonderland and they need them so why would they leave?

They know MC keeps searching a way home and wondering if their loved ones misses them as much as they do and how much time have passed on their planet without knowing MC wishes they could have it all so they didn't have to choose between their previous family and the one they found there. And neither Grim or Malleus won't admit they know because thinking of it brings back the feeling of abandonment and losing everything that make them feel completed.

But the prince will have both Silver and Sebek and his grandmother for the rest of their lives with him once he returns home, people who was there from the beginning. Time to grow with them and accept they'll leave too. Everyone will graduate and go home and except special occasions each one will go their own path.

Grim will stay with somebody else but it won't be the same for him because he already had a family he wanted to keep together and failed to do so and without the dorm ghosts and MC the only thing left for him is the wound he carried before finding them opened once again that will remember him that nobody in this world can stay by his side forever so he'll stay and search a way to reunite with MC again and wonder if they miss him as much as he does and wishing MC have had everyone they loved in twst so they didn't have to choose or if they had to they had chosen him instead in the end and thinking of how all the future plans they shared and promises they made of growing old together were empty and the words that made him happy about how they loved him now hurt and they failed him and he failed to have everything he wanted and they left they left and he's thinking of them even after promising himself he wouldn't anymore a lie just like theirs and he's crying again and it hurts it hurts and