#la robe verte

[donkeytonk]

La Robe Verte

Inspired by the traditional folk song “La Robe Verte” as well as the song “Les Amants du Saint Laurent,” this story is set in Ville de Québec in the early days of British military occupation of Nouvelle France (Canada) during the Seven Years War (1756-1763). It's not necessary to know the songs at all, but lyrics for the two songs can be read here. (Also, I almost forgot I had written an alternate story about Les Amants several years ago which is here.)

 ---

“Louise, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Margot asked, clasping her friend’s hands in her own. “It’s not safe! Is it?”

“No, it’s not safe, but it’s a matter of life and death! He’s in far more danger than I will be, and I can’t just let him – I can’t let them – ”  She could not even say the words, and she had to pause and wipe her eyes. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair and it’s not right.”

Margot returned to the little seat with a clean handkerchief for her. “I know.”

“It’s not even what the judge said, the French judge originally. He was going to send him to the galleys. And then he changed it to a fine. It was a huge fine, but he could have paid it from his share of the family business, and he would have except for his wretched brother making a fuss, and I’m certain it’s just because Pierre-Joseph converted. But now the English judge! He has it all wrong!”

“I know.”

“And he didn’t abduct me, we were going away together to be married!”

“I know, I know.” Margot had heard all of this many times before, but she nodded sympathetically.

“And he didn’t even touch me, not in any improper way. He’s far too sweet and shy. Did I ever tell you about our first kiss?”

 “Yes, about a hundred times,” Margot laughed lightly. “He was too shy and you had to ask him for a kiss, and then you ended up kissing him first.”

Some of Louise’s anger faded, and she smiled at the memory. Then Margot continued, cautiously, “And didn’t a midwife even…?”

“No! I told my parents I was willing to let a midwife examine me if that’s what it would take to free him, but they wouldn’t let me. Not even after the English judge took over.” She stopped as she realized she was twisting the handkerchief into a knot, and she paused to smooth it out again. “But I’ve been thinking, maybe they would have let us be married if – you know. Maybe this time, if anything happens, I’ll tell them that I’m pregnant.”

“Louise! You’d lie about that? To your parents, and in court? And even to a midwife?”

“Maybe it wouldn’t have to be a lie.”

“Louise!” Margot was scandalized but intrigued at the same time.

“Well, we’re going to be married anyway! And how can it be a sin if it saves a life? I will do anything I can to hold onto him. We promised each other we’d be together until death.” A shadow passed over her face as she thought of the full implications of that promise. Hopefully death would be far, far in the future, but to make sure of that, there were preparations that she must do now. “Well, I think I’d better go now.”

“Right, I’ll get Simon to saddle the horse for you.”

“Simon’s here now?”

Margot smiled shyly. “Simon is nearly always here. And he’s fond of Pierre-Joseph too so he’s glad to help. Or, at least glad to do anything I tell him to do. You don’t need a sidesaddle? Oh right, of course not. You can take Silène, the gray; he’s a good steady boy and the most recognizable. Oh, I almost forgot! Here, Simon brought you some clothes too. What are you going to wear?”

“My green gown.”

“Good, and here’s my hood too. Or the cloak? Yes, I think the brown cloak will be better. And you’ll go to Trois-Rivières, to Simon’s cousin?”

“Yes, the one who married a protestant too. They won’t think to look for us there. I hope they won’t.”

“Good. And Simon will be waiting at the Porte Saint-Jean to change horses tonight.”

“And what about you? Will you be all right, Margot? The Gagnon name is so prestigious, and your father…”

“Don’t worry about my father. I’ll deny everything, and so he’ll deny it too. I’ll be sure to spend the whole day at home so he’ll have to deny it, though I wish I could be with you.”

“And you’re sure you don’t mind? You could get in trouble if they found out you were lying.”

Margot shook her head. “I can’t let you take all the risk yourself, can I? Not when I can help. Like you said, if it saves a life, I will do it. For you.”

Louise embraced her friend heartily and clasped her in her arms. “Thank you, my dear, dearest friend in the world. I’ll write to you as soon as I can.”

---

With trepidation, Louise knocked on the door of the judge’s house and was shown in by an English servant. It was the first time she had actually had to converse with one of the English, and the fool was incomprehensible. She assumed that he was asking her what she wanted, so she said simply “The judge?” hoping that he would at least know what that meant. The man muttered something and gestured for her to follow him. There was a narrow hallway with a few other people who she assumed were also there to speak with the judge, but it did not take long before a man opened a door to summon her.

The preoccupied man whom she presumed to be the judge was seated at a desk covered with papers and books. He was wearing an elegant coat, but she could not tell if it was a military uniform. He grumbled a question in English before looking up and realizing that she was a French woman. He switched to passable but irritated French. “What do you want, mademoiselle?”

“Oh, good Monsieur Judge, I wanted to get your permission to speak with my master in prison. I’m a servant of the Rouffio family, and they sent me to speak to my poor young master Rouffio – “

“Yes, yes, all right,” he snapped, much to her surprise. He spoke sharply to his English clerk who looked equally busy across the room, but he lost patience found a fresh piece of paper to write the note himself. “You want to see a prisoner named Rouffio, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He signed the note and handed it to her. “There, take that to the prison guard. Good day.”

“Oh thank you, sir! Good day.”

Louise clutched the note in triumph, trying to hide her look of delight, but the judge was already busily harrying his clerk over a ledger. Once she was back in the street she examined it, but it was written in English and his handwriting made it even more indecipherable. She saw the name Rouffio, however, and she thought she could read the words “servant” and “master.” She could not believe how simple that had been! She could have visited him sooner and her parents would never have known.

---

At the prison she had much the same ease, though the guard outside was a soldier who barely spoke French at all. She asked him to help with her horse, and he pretended not to understand her meaning. He was able to read the note, however, and he brought her inside to speak to another guard, a Canadien like herself who had some English.

“So, Bower here says you’re a servant come to see Rouffio?”

“That’s right.”

“And what’s in there, then?” he asked, prodding the basket on her arm.

“It’s some fresh clothing for my poor young master,” she said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “And there’s a few bottles of brandy. One for you, good sir, if you’ll show me the way!”

His somber face became a smile as she handed him a bottle. “Ah, well! Right this way, mamzelle! Don’t you touch my brandy, Bower. On second thought, better take it with me.” He escorted her and his bottle through the prison up to one of the upper levels. Thankfully he was not a talkative or curious man, and she spent most of their ascent following behind and pretending to cry. Finally, he unlocked a door and called out “Rouffio!”

It was a large, dim, crowded room with most of the occupants on the opposite side where there was rosy violet light slanting in from a few small barred windows. Even with his back to them silhouetted against that sunset light, she recognized Pierre-Joseph immediately. But when he turn towards them at the call of his name, her heart was stung by the look on his face; it was a pitiable mixture of hope and fear at the same time.

 “Oh, my poor young master Rouffio!” she cried, rushing to grasp his hands before he could speak. “It’s me, your servant Lucie, remember? Your brothers sent me to beg you one last time to talk to the prie- the preacher. The pastor at the church.” He stared at her in bewildered and speechless delight. Then the jailer, satisfied with his duty, closed the door to wait outside with the bottle of brandy for company.

“Louise!” Pierre-Joseph finally exclaimed in a whisper. “My dear beautiful Louise! What are you doing?”

Still speaking loudly, she added “And I brought some brandy for you and all your friends to share.” An appreciative murmur rose from the other prisoners in the room, and she handed two bottles to the nearest men. The remaining bottle she gave to Pierre-Joseph. “Is there anywhere we can be private?”

He was still staring at her in joy and disbelief, but he quickly steered her to a cell. During the day they were allowed to move about freely in the open room, but this was the cell where he was locked in at night. It was quite dim even with the door open, but he was fumbling to light his precious stub of a candle.

“No, no, leave it.” The darkness would be better. She put her hand on his to stop him, and he pulled it up to his lips. Then he was embracing her, kissing her face all over, and after returning one kiss she had to force herself to pull back, laughing. “I’m supposed to be your servant, Monsieur Rouffio. What will they think?”

He laughed too, though he did not let go of her hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe that you’re actually here. I didn’t think I’d get to see you again, or get to say goodbye.”

“It’s not goodbye.” Her tone was now deadly earnest, and he stared at her in eager curiosity, studying her face in the dim light. She picked up the bottle from the floor where he had set it. “Will they give us privacy for a while? Can you ask them?”

He nodded and took the bottle out to the open room where the other prisoners were sharing their brandy. There were a few appreciative cheers of “Rouffio!” as he delivered the fresh bottle to one of the men and he whispered in his ear. The man nodded. After a first swig, the man passed the bottle and started a song which the others quickly joined in singing.

Louise meanwhile unpacked the rest of the contents of her basket and laid them on the narrow wooden cot, as well as her cloak and white linen cap.

“They’ll be busy for a while, I think,” Pierre-Joseph announced as he returned. “What’s all this about? What are these clothes?”

“They’re for me, and some are for you. Take off your jacket and your waistcoat. We’re going to swap.” She had already unpinned her apron and was removing her green gown.

He gaped at her in amazement. Louise, his beloved Louise, was here in the prison on his last night on earth, undressing right in front of him.

“Stop staring, Pierre-Joseph! Take off your things! You can keep your shirt and breeches.”

He obeyed, casting an anxious eye at the door, but he still did not understand. She was clearly not here for a moment of intimacy before his execution. “Why though? What do you mean we’re going to swap?”

She threw her gown on the bed. She was marvelously beautiful just now, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight. She was still wearing her stays, chemise and petticoat, but he was transfixed.

“Waistcoat! Off!” she reminded him. “We’re going to swap so you can leave dressed as me.”

That certainly broke his reverie. “What? But what about you?”

“I’ll stay here dressed as you.”

“No! No, Louise, you can’t stay here! They’ll never believe that you’re me.”

 “Exactly! When the time comes, they’ll see that I’m not you, and you’ll be long gone by then, and they’ll have to release me.”

“Or they might just decide to hang you instead!”

She shook her head. “No, out in public for everyone to see? They wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t dare!”

“You don’t know that! They’re English. There’s no telling what they might do.”

She understood his doubt but her resolve was firm. “It’s worth the risk so you can live and we can be together. Don’t you agree? You would do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Then let me do my part. Please, will you do yours?”

He took a deep breath and then nodded. “All right. Yes. I will.”

By now she was removing her other petticoat, and he was astounded to see that she was wearing a boy’s breeches underneath. For a moment the sight drove all other thoughts from his mind.

“Where did you get those?”

“Simon’s little brother.”

“Simon Boulanger? Why is he helping?”

Louise laughed as she fitted herself into petit Boulanger’s shirt. “Because he’s in love with Margot and will do anything to please her. He’s going to meet you at Porte Saint-Jean. I left a horse for you outside, a gray horse to the left of the building, so you can ride there to meet him. Now, petticoat first, this goes over your head, ties around the waist. Can you do up the ties? I need to loosen these laces.”

He moved obediently and allowed her to guide his arms. Even as he dressed, he continued his protest. “I hate the idea of you being here even for one night, with all these men around. Some of them are dangerous, Louise! And if they find out you’re a woman…”

“Well I hate the idea of you being hanged tomorrow,” she countered.

He choked out a rueful laugh. “So do I. I don’t want to die, not when I could be so happy. I want to live, with you. I don’t want to leave you.”

She offered him the sweetest smile and squeezed his hand. “Leave me for just one night, and afterwards we’ll never part again. But tonight I can stay in the cell and I’ll be safe. Don’t they shut you all in your cells at night? I asked a laundress whose husband was here. And also I brought a knife.”

He stared at her once again in astonished admiration. What a woman! She had planned for everything, and she was magnificently charming in her boy’s clothes and his waistcoat which made it difficult to think of arguments.

“Stop staring and put on the other petticoat, hurry.”

“They’ll never believe I’m you,” he mumbled through the layers of fabric as he pulled them over his head.

“They will if you don’t speak. Just pretend to cry and maybe no one will talk to you. Wipe your eyes on your apron, and cover your head with the hood of the cloak, and no one will see your face.”

“And you, don’t you speak to anyone either. Pretend to be sleeping for as long as you can. If you need help, go to that man I gave the brandy to. Did you see him? His name’s Michaut; the others will listen to him. The best guard is one named Roussel, big man with a big white mustache. He said he’d be here tomorrow for the… execution.”

“Roussel, Michaut,” she repeated, nodding. “All right, let’s see if this will fit you now I’ve loosened it.” She helped him into the gown, pinned it in place at the front (with many apologies for pricking his skin) and adjusted the laces at the back. “Your shirt neck, can you tuck it down? I didn’t think about your sleeves either. Well, it can’t be helped. Probably none of the men will notice, and it will be dark soon anyway. Neckerchief, you can tuck that in, now the apron. Sit down and I’ll put on the cap.”

He sat on the edge of the bed while she placed the cap on his head, adjusting the lappets to hide his face. The closeness was more than Pierre-Joseph could bear. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap.

“Stop,” she scolded him. “We don’t have time.” But she took a moment to caress his face and kiss him. “We have to hurry, love. Show me how to do these leggings. Don’t stare, show me! You’ll have time to admire my legs later.”

With the leggings in place, she donned his coat and finished with her hair tucked under a woolen cap. Pierre-Joseph tied her cloak around his neck and pulled the hood up onto his head. And then they stood back to look at each other and make final adjustments.

“Well I think you’ll do, though you’re not the most beautiful woman,” Louise sighed, examining her handiwork in the dim light.

“You are.” Pierre-Joseph gazed at her in utter love and admiration. “And you’re far too beautiful for this place. You’re the most beautiful and the bravest woman – the bravest person that I’ve ever known.”

And then they were embracing again until the guard called for her. “Mamzelle, time for all visitors to be out.”

“I’m coming!” she called back, and continued speaking in a loud and weepy voice. “Goodbye, my young Master Rouffio. God have mercy on you.” She kissed Pierre-Joseph’s cheek and whispered, “God bless you. Until tomorrow!”

“Until tomorrow. I love you!” he whispered fervently, squeezed her hand, and then he was gone.

---

The night stretched on interminably in Louise’s extremely dark cell, but her every moment inside the prison meant that Pierre-Joseph was safely out of it. She thought that she would never manage to fall asleep in the cold cell with its painfully thin straw mattress on a hard wooden cot, but she was startled awake in the morning by the clanging of keys on metal bars.

“All right, Rouffio, it’s morning.” A large jailer with an impressive white mustache opened the door. “Brought you some fine white bread that Madame Roussel made, special for you since it’s your last breakfast.”

She scrambled to feel that her cap was still on her head, her hair tucked away, and her shirt and waistcoat still closed at the neck. He was already leaving as she sat up on the edge of the bed. “Roussel?”

“Hmm?”

“What time –” She coughed and deepened her voice, pretending to have a rasping sore throat. “What time is it?”

“It’s just gone seven o’clock. You’ve got an hour, my lad. Sure you don’t want a priest?”

She shook her head. Poor Pierre-Joseph. He may have converted in order to marry her, but he did not understand last rites yet. She briefly wondered if she might be safer with a priest present, but she did not think she could carry out a deceit in front of one.

The jailer was leaving when she called for him again. “Roussel?”

“Eh?”

“I need to speak to the judge.”

Roussel’s mustache twitched in a sympathetic grimace. “You’ll see him at the scaffold, lad. He’s not going to listen to last minute pleading. Ah, here’s my good wife.”

A woman! Even better than a priest! Louise stood as the jailer’s wife squeezed past him at the door and came into the cell with a bowl and pitcher. “Poor Monsieur Rouffio, you get yourself washed while the water’s warm.” She set them down and then started with a squeak when Louise grabbed her by the hand.

Roussel rumbled angrily and strode into the cell to knock her hand away, but suddenly both he and his wife could see that this diminutive person standing at the back of the cell was not Pierre-Joseph Rouffio at all.

“Who are you?” the jailer demanded. “Marie, light that candle. Where’s Rouffio?”

“I don’t know. I need to speak to the judge,” Louise repeated, no longer bothering to disguise her voice. “And I think he would probably prefer to speak in private rather than out on the scaffold in public.”

The jailer’s wife held up the candle to peer at her face. “Saints preserve us, he’s just a young boy!” she said quietly.

Roussel stared hard at Louise and finally decided that she was right, the judge was needed here. Let it be a problem for the Englishman.

“I’ll go and send word for the judge,” he finally grumbled. “Come on, Marie.”

Louise once again grabbed the good woman’s hand. “Wait! Madame, will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

The other prisoners had already come out of their cells and were waiting to eat in the open room beyond the cell door. A few were calling for Rouffio to come out and join them for a last meal together. After exchanging glances with her husband, the woman nodded.

---

They did not have to wait long before Roussel returned with the judge and his clerk, and by that time Louise had convinced the jailer’s wife of her true sex. She had also washed her face and eaten Pierre-Joseph’s final breakfast. Still holding her hand, Mme. Roussel whispered in her husband’s ear as the other two men waited outside the cell. The clerk began setting up his writing slope at the long table where other prisoners were eating their bread, though many stopped to watch the proceedings with open curiosity. It was not often that a judge came to see a prisoner on the morning of his execution. The judge glanced at the two figures in the back of the cell and rounded on Roussel. “Well, what’s the problem, guard? And this woman, who is she?”

“That’s my wife, sir.” Roussel was at a loss for words, but that question at least he could answer.

“Well? Come out of there, Madame, and you Rouffio, come here.”

The woman began to obey but Louise pulled her back, remaining in the shadows at the back of the cell. “I’d rather not, sir,” she said quietly.

“You’d rather not?” the judge sputtered. “Ridiculous. The guard has said that you have something to tell me that’s extremely urgent. So if you want to speak before you’re hanged, come here, sit down, and tell me.”

The common room had become far too quiet at this point. The other men had stopped pretending to be busy with their food, and every ear was listening.

Louise took a deep breath. It was time. She spoke very quietly. “But sir, you would be wrong to hang a girl in boy’s clothing.”

The silence lasted only a second before the first shocked prisoners whispered the words to their neighbors, who passed it along to the next louder, then louder, until the crescendo broke like a crashing wave of men who were shouting and crowding to the door of the cell to see the spectacle for themselves. Barely ahead of them were the judge and Roussel who bellowed at them to step back, while the poor clerk still sat speechless at the table.

The judge managed to enter the cell and was barking orders in a mixture of English and French. “Guard, let my clerk come here – Gilchrist, get in here! – and shut this door. Is there a light? Gilchrist, strike a light. Can you write in here? I want all of this taken down. Now, prisoner. Prisonnière.” He held the candle up to her face. “If you’re a girl, tell me your name.”

She had been prepared for this. She could hardly admit that she was Louise Cadet, the girl that Pierre-Joseph Rouffio had been condemned for abducting. “My name is Marguerite. Marguerite Gagnon. Perhaps you know of my father, Monsieur Charles Gagnon.”

The judge stared at her in shock, as did Mme. Roussel who told him, “It’s true that she’s a girl, sir, that’s true. And ah, Charles Gagnon! He’s one of the richest men in the city, a very rich merchant with a fine house.”

“Yes I know,” the judge replied testily. Everyone knew the name Charles Gagnon. “So, Mademoiselle Gagnon, why are you here in prison dressed like a boy, and where is prisoner Rouffio?”

“I don’t know sir. I don’t know who that is. I was here last night serving soup with the Ursuline sisters for charity, and I became very dizzy and must have fainted. When I woke up, I was trapped in here and my gown had been stolen. Please, may I go home?”

He stared at her incredulously while the jailer’s wife fussed over her, and then he turned to make sure his clerk was writing it all down.

“Wait – Rouffio. Wasn’t that the name of the man that one woman wanted to speak to yesterday? I wrote her a note.” The judge spoke with the clerk for a moment, but it seemed that the man had no record of the interaction. He turned to Louise. “A woman came to see me asking to see Rouffio. Was that you, Mademoiselle?”

She widened her eyes in sweet innocence. “Oh no, sir. I was at home all day yesterday until supper. You can ask my father.”

Her tale was utterly preposterous but there was no point in detaining an innocent and wealthy girl in the men’s portion of the prison, and he knew where to find her if he needed her again. After a moment of conferring with his clerk, he turned back to her and said “Yes, very well. My carriage will take you home.”

That had not been part of the plan. “Oh, no sir, I’d rather walk,” Louise protested.

“Walk? No, not at all, you mustn’t walk about the streets in those clothes, and there’s already a crowd gathering for the – damn it, Gilchrist, run and tell the warden that Rouffio’s gone missing and there will be no hanging today. I’ll go up and speak to him in a few minutes. Madame, will you find my man and tell him to bring my carriage to the back. Guard, open the door, we’re coming out. Please, mademoiselle, put your coat on.” Still not satisfied with the coverage of her figure, he pulled the blanket from the bed to wrap around her like a cloak, then guided her out of the cell and through the room with his hands on her shoulders like she were a child. He was an imposing figure with his fine coat and stern face and wig, and Louise was glad to have him between herself and all the cheering, laughing and shouting men.

---

She managed to persuade the carriage driver to take her to the servants’ entrance at the back of the Gagnon home instead of the front door, and then she had her long walk back in the direction she had just come from. She wished that she could rush inside to see Margot, but she knew that her friend needed to remain above any suspicion.

She was tired and footsore when she at last reached the Place d'Armes, but she smiled to recognize Simon Boulanger, Margot’s admirer still waiting for her in the driver’s seat of a carriage with the curtains drawn closed. She expected it to be empty, and that he would bring her to the appointed meeting place past the city gates, but inside to welcome her was Pierre-Joseph, her own handsome beautiful Pierre-Joseph, freshly bathed, freshly shaved, and dressed in clean but suitably unremarkable gentleman’s clothes. She barely contained a shriek before she threw herself into his arms for a kiss. Simon took this sound as a signal, and the carriage began to move. After perhaps a thousand kisses, Pierre-Joseph leaned back to look at her in the morning light that was peeking through the curtains. He smiled at her and shook his head fondly.

“My dear little boy, my dear Mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful and wondrous woman in the world, but these clothes don’t suit you and they smell! I brought back your green robe. Shall I be your servant, my poor dear young master-mistress, and help you to dress for our wedding?”

[flan-tasma]

He's a gentle lover

💖~ It was just Diluc, but then everyone fell into the same hole. I'm not complaining about that btw.

I have just finished a homework assignment of almost forty pages and my hand is hurting, my very strong and beloved menthol has carried me through the whole week.

Warning: Smut, not very dirty, lovely I guess idk(?, Fem!Reader maybe | English is not my native language, so if I have made any mistakes in the translation, I am open to corrections | Content in spanish and english!

Spanish:

Él era tierno, gentil. Con sus manos que te brindan calor con cada caricia, cuando levanta tu mentón para que lo veas y le permitas besarte. Siempre es tan gentil, un amante cuidadoso que te desviste con lentitud y traza tu piel con sus dedos.

Le gusta cuando no lleva guantes, pues sus manos toscas y rasguñadas te sostienen con firmeza y confianza, sabiendo cuál es el curso adecuado para que suspires contra sus labios.

Adora besar tu cuello, chupando y lamiendo la carne hasta que llega a tu escote y muerde, siempre buscando tus ojos para saber que te gusta lo que hace.

Jadea cuando ve que arrugas las sábanas, hundiendo tu cabeza contra la almohada con los ojos cerrados y cristalinos. Él bebe la sal y el azúcar de tu imagen, de tu piel y se emborracha hasta que sólo puedes chillar cuando se hunde en tu interior, descansando después de haberte arruinado lo suficiente.

No necesitas pensar, no necesitas meditar, ni elegir. Él lo hará por ti, él te cuidará con la mayor dulzura posible que se le resbala de la garganta mientras te mira a los ojos, esperando que tú también lo veas y que lo ames de la misma forma que él te ama.

No necesita que lo montes o que lo dejes follarte la boca, eso puede quedar para otra ocasión. Solo míralo con la misma adoración, sostén su rostro mientras te hace el amor lentamente y acaricia tus tetas y tus hombros, déjale escuchar tus gemidos como susurros en sus oídos. Él quiere ser egoísta contigo, guardarte para que nadie más que él pueda verte de esta manera, sollozando y llamando su nombre, mientras que él te responde con ternura y te hace suspirar.

No quiere que nadie se robe tu figura, ni la luna ni las estrellas que se asoman por la ventana. Solo quiere retenerte para él, hoy y siempre, así que déjalo hacerte el amor en la oscuridad, solo compartiendo su unión por las pocas velas que los alumbran y les reflejan los ojos cuando llaman al otro.

Diluc, Zhongli, Xiao, Baizhu, Kazuha, Tighnari, Alhaitham, Neuvillette.

English:

He was tender, gentle. With his hands that give you warmth with each caress, when he lifts your chin so you can see it and allow him to kiss you. He is always so gentle, a careful lover who undresses you slowly, tracing your skin with his fingers.

He likes it when he doesn't wear gloves, because his rough, scratched hands hold you firmly and confidently, knowing the right way for you to sigh against his lips.

He loves kissing your neck, sucking and licking the flesh until he reaches your cleavage and bites, always searching your eyes to know you like what he is doing.

He gasps when he sees you crumpling the sheets, burying your head back in the pillow with your eyes closed and glassy. He drinks the salt and sugar from your image, from your skin, getting drunk until he can only scream as he sinks into you, resting when he has ruined you enough.

You don't have to think, you don't have to meditate, you don't have to choose. He will do it for you, he will take care of you with the greatest possible sweetness that slips from his throat as he looks into your eyes, hoping that you see it too and that you love him as much as he loves you.

He doesn't need you to ride him or let him fuck your mouth, that can be left for another time. Just look at him with the same adoration, hold his face while he slowly makes love to you, caressing your tits and shoulders, letting him hear your moans as whispers in his ears. He wants to be selfish with you, to hold you so that no one but him can see you like this, sobbing and calling out his name as he responds tenderly and makes you sigh.

He doesn't want anyone to steal your shape, or the moon, or the stars that look out the window. He just wants to keep you for himself, today and always, so let him make love to you in the dark, sharing your union only with the few candles that illuminate you and reflect your eyes when you call the other.

Diluc, Zhongli, Xiao, Baizhu, Kazuha, Tighnari, Alhaitham, Neuvillette.

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 42, vol. 34, 18 octobre 1913, Paris. Robe de tulle vert toute scintillante de paillettes vertes et "clair de lune”, sur fond de charmeuse "paon". Cordon de vison au corsage piqué d’un camélia. Création de Bourniche. Imp. L. Lafontaine, Paris. Bibliothèque nationale de France

[fidjiefidjie]

"L'automne c'est le soleil qui pleure des gouttes d'or sur la robe verte de Dame Nature..." 🍂🍁

Radmou

Gif Cartoon/ Charlie Brown

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue August 15, 1952

Ruth Neumann wears a short forest green sheer taffeta evening dress, wrapped with a pale blue satin fascinator. Additional identification: The skirt is 10 inches from the ground and falls slightly over a crinoline. By Rappi.

Ruth Neumann porte une robe de soirée courte en taffetas transparent vert forêt, enveloppée d'un fascinateur en satin bleu pâle. Identification supplémentaire : la jupe est à 25 cm du sol et s'étale légèrement sur une crinoline. Par Rappi.

Photo Richard Rutledge vogue archive

[beatricecenci]

Claude Monet (French, 1840-1926)

La Femme en robe verte

[resplendentoutfit]

Gorgeous in Green:

Paintings of Women in Green Dresses (late 19th century through the 1930s)

William McGregor Paxton (American, 1869–1941) • The Green Dress • 19th century

Victor François Tardieu (French, 1870-1937) • Elégante à la robe de soie verte • 1909

Philip de László (Hungarian, 1869-1937) • Lady Apsley, née Viola Emily Mildred Meeking • 1924

DeWitt McLellan Lockman (American, 1870-1957) • The Green Dress • 1935

[icariebzh]

"Lorsqu'entre deux nuages, apparaît la lumière et qu'explose le vert éclatant des prairies, faisant suinter les arbres de perles de pluie et ruisseler les pentes imbibées de la terre, je veux croire aux légendes teintées de magie qui parlent de chaleur et de robes légères..."

Aurélie Prouff extrait de: "Où vivent les filles de la pluie..."

[nemosisworld]

Aucun mot n'est trop grand trop fou quand c'est pour elle Je lui songe une robe en nuages filés Et je rendrai jaloux les anges de ses ailes De ses bijoux les hirondelles Sur la terre les fleurs se croiront exilés Je tresserai mes vers de verre et de verveine Je tisserai ma rime au métier de la fée Et trouvère du vent je verserai la vaine Avoine verte de mes veines Pour récolter la strophe et t'offrir ce trophée

Louis Aragon

Ph. Tabercil : Michelle Monaghan

[clhook]

j'ai rêvé qu'on était le jour du mariage mais on avait pas reçu nos tenues on était habillés en mode normal jusqu'au milieu de l'après-midi, puis la poste arrivait avec deux colis : le mien c'était pas ma robe dedans mais une autre robe et elle était toute tachée de café, et celui de mon keum c'était le bon gilet et la bonne chemise mais sa veste était vert d'eau et trop courte (elle lui arrivait à la taille) et son pantalon avait une grosse rayure noire en forme d'éclair et il voyait pas le problème ??? moi j'étais en crise de larmes je lui disais qu'il ressemblait à un clown et lui il disait "mais non c'est exactement ce que j'ai commandé" 😭😭😭😭

[floresclandestinas]

BROZA DE GIRASOL

Y cómo negarlo...

Mi verso se ha vuelto

broza de girasol.

Recuerdos de mar,

de sol, de arenas...

Mi isla, mi riqueza

sus plácidos aromas

de monte, de café,

salitre y playas.

No me robes la alegría

de verte libre.

Por que cuando tú seas libre

seré libre...

Y sonreirá nuevamente

mi corazón.

Loy ©️

[donkeytonk]

Lyrics - La Robe Vert and Les Amants du Saint Laurent

Lyrics for the two folk songs that inspired my story. I haven't found a written source for the lyrics of La Robe Verte, but this is my best guess from listening. Maybe someone will have suggestions for the missing bits (and/or better translations than I attempted, and better grammar than mine.) La Robe Verte (De Temps Antan) [English below]

Dessus la pont de Londres un jour ont mi promené J’ai recontreé ma mie, j’ai voulu l'embrasser Les gens de la justice m’a rendu prisonier

Quand la belle a entendir que son amant est pris Elle prend sa grande robe verte et son cheval gris Est sans retard à la porte à la fond du logis

Arrivée à la porte, trois petit coups frappon “Ô monsieur de la justice par votre permission De parler a mon maître qui est dans la prison.”

“Ô si servente vos maître vous pouvez y parler, Il est dans la prison avec les prisonniers Au milieu de la place d’armes au milieu du marché.”

Arrivée à la porte, trois petit coups frappon “Ô prends ma grande robe verte et mon cheval gris Et vos attente dans la ville ne tarde pour longtemps [?]

Comme ont retour j’y aillu je suis connue la [?] Ô prends ma grande robe verte et mon cheval gris Et vos attente dans la ville ne tarde pour longtemps” [?]

Quand elle fu dans l’ échelle [cinq courses y par a mont?] “Ô monsieur de la justice vous n’avez pas raison De faire pendue une fille sur l’habits des garçons”

“Si vous ete une fille ditez-moi votre nom” “Je m’appelle Marguerite, Marguerite c’est mon nom, Une fille de grande mérite d’une riche maison.”

La belle si retourne avec le [propre moisé ?] “Je vais manqué de juge, de son bonne [écarlé ?] Avec ma grande robe verte, j’ai mon amant sauvé.”

---

The Green Dress

One day I was taking a walk on a London bridge I met my sweetheart, I wanted to kiss her The judge’s men imprisoned me

When the belle hears that her lover is taken She takes her big green dress and her gray horse And without delay the door at the back of the house

Arriving at the door, three short knocks “O judge, with your permission To speak to my master who is in the prison.”

“O yes servant you can speak with your master, He is in the prison with the prisoners In the middle of the parade ground in the middle of the market.”

Arriving at the door, three short knocks “O take my big green dress and my gray horse And your wait in the city won't last long

As I returned I was known [?] O take my big green dress and my gray horse And your wait in the city will not last long” [?]

When she was five steps up the scaffold “O judge, you are wrong To hang a girl in boys’ clothes”

“If you are a girl tell me your name” “My name is Marguerite, Marguerite is my name, A girl of great merit from a rich house.”

The belle returns with [her own clothes?] “I'm going to miss the judge, and his good [?] With my big green dress, I saved my lover.”

---

Les Amants du Saint Laurent (Le Vent du Nord) [English below]

Pierre-Joseph était un jeune marchand, n’avait seulement que 19 ans. Louise Cadet, fille du marchand-boucher, a quant à elle 17 années. Québec 1754, amoureux fous ils sont tombés, dans une veillée d’la vieille Agathe.

Quand ils voulûrent partir pour se marier, “grande jeunesse” les accusants, Jean le tuteur du bien trop jeune galant refusa son consentement. Ils dûrent s’enfuir vers Montréal, Éviter les charivaris, Prendre un canot en pleine nuit

On su leur fugue et aussitôt envoya Les archers d’la Marrée-chaussées Fleuve Saint-Laurent, s’a grève de Saint-Nicolas Les amoureux fûrent capturés Dans les cachots d’la Capitale Pierre accusé d’enlèvement S’enfuit de la prison Royale

Sept ans plus tard, par un beau lundi matin Trois petits coups sans prévenir C’est votre amant qui à nouveau tend la main Ouvrez la porte des souvenirs J’ai parcouru bien des vallées pour revenir à l’endroit même où mes yeux vous avaient quittés

---

The Saint Lawrence Lovers

Pierre-Joseph was a young merchant, only 19 years old. Louise Cadet, daughter of the merchant-butcher, is 17 years old. Quebec 1754, they fell madly in love at one of old Agathe’s parties.

When they wanted to leave to get married, their accusers said “You’re so young.” Jean, the guardian of the far too young gallant, refused his consent. They had to flee to Montreal, Avoid the charivaris, Take a canoe in the middle of the night

They learned of their escape and immediately sent the archers of the marshall’s guard Of the Saint Lawrence River, on the strike of Saint-Nicolas day, The lovers were captured In the dungeons of the Capital Pierre was accused of kidnapping, and he ran away from the Royal prison

Seven years later, on a beautiful Monday morning Three little knocks without warning It is your lover who once again reaches out his hand Open the door of memories I have traveled many valleys to return to the very place where my eyes had left you

[gloriousfartcupcake]

La petite fille robe verte

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 20, vol. 52, 20 octobre 1931, Paris. Cette jolie robe en taffetas changeant jaune et vert, ne nous laiss-t-elle pas prévoir le retour de ce tissu si délicieusement féminin. Evening gown of yellow and green taffeta. Vestido bonito para la noche, de tajetán amarillo y verde. Maggy-Rouff. Bibliothèque nationale de France

[zialinart]

Mon cadeau secret santa pour @saemi-the-dreamer ptit dessin et ptite fic même si bon, j'écris pas beaucoup donc c'est sûrement un peu bancal

Il était déjà la fin de l'après midi quand Arthur commença sérieusement à s'impatienter. Ca faisait au moins 3 bonnes heures que lui, une bonne partie des représentants les plus importants du monde breton et des délégations venues d'autres pays pour l'occasion attendaient. Et encore eux ils avaient la chance d'être assis, lui commençait à avoir sérieusement mal aux pieds. Et bon sang la couronne de fleur que Guenièvre avait insisté à lui faire porter lui grattait sérieusement le crâne. Il se tourna une fois de plus vers Perceval qui, tenant son rôle de témoin très sérieusement se tenait totalement immobile, les mains croisées :

Non mais bordel qu'est-ce qu'ils foutent ?

Vous voulez que j'aille me renseigner sire ?

Vous voulez dire comme les trois autres fois où vous êtes allés vous renseigner et vous êtes revenus bredouille ? Je sais pas vous vous sentez capables de trouver le chemin des vestiaires cette fois ou je vous colle un intendant pour vous accompagner ?

Non mais les autres fois je suis tombé sur Karadoc ça m'a perturbé, là c'est bon il est assis y'a pas de mouron à se faire sire.

Ok mais dépêchez vous, et dites leur de se bouger aussi ou je sens que l'église va se transformer en un champ de bataille romain-visigoth

De son point de vue il pouvait observer toute la salle et voyait clairement que des alliances commençaient à se défaire au fur et à mesure que les gens s'impatientaient. Les représentants des pays qui parlaient la même langue étaient très agités et parlaient de plus en plus fort, semblant ne pas s'entendre sur le goût du vin, dont ils avaient probablement déjà un peu abusé. D'un côté c'était la seule chose à faire en attendant. Perceval partit se renseigner et Arthur alla se chercher une coupe lui-même, histoire d'actionner un peu ses jambes. Il avait été plutôt fier de son idée de renouveller son mariage avec Guenièvre à la mode catholique, en invitant les plus grands noms du coin afin de montrer qu'il était revenu en tant que roi et que le royaume se portait bien désormais. Mais maintenant qu'il était là, face à tout ce monde qui s'impatientait, il se sentait plutôt nerveux. Bon sang qu'est-ce qu'elle foutait ? C'était pas si foutu compliqué d'enfiler une robe potable pour l'occasion, de se faire un peu tresser les cheveux et boum, mariage et on n'en parle plus.

Qu'est-ce que vous foutez retournez à votre place espèce de trou du fion !

La voix de sa belle mère resonna derrière lui tandis qu'il se servait un verre. Ah, au moins si elle était sortie du vestiaire c'est que c'était bientôt fini

En attendant que votre fille daigne se montrer faut bien que je m'occupe

Oui, bah c'est bon vous vous êtes occupés retournez à l'autel, là Elle le poussa vers le fond de l'église tandis qu'il protestait

Faites gaffe bordel c'est un costume spécial pour l'occasion j'ai pas envie de le tâcher en renversant du vin

Vous avez qu'à pas faire votre poivrot au moins pour une soirée. Pis toute façon croyez moi vous aurez pas besoin d'alcool quand vous la verrez.

Elle le laisse planté là, retourna s'asseoir auprès de Léodagan et secoua celui-ci qui s'était endormi sur son banc. Arthur prit une gorgée de vin en réfléchissant à ces dernières paroles étranges. Oui ok, il avait été assez peu discret ces derniers temps sur les regards qu'il lançait à Guenièvre mais enfin de là à ce que sa belle mère le remarque. Le goût acre du vin le fit hoqueter et il s'énerva mentalement sur les paysans qui n'étaient même pas capables de fournir un vin correct pour le mariage de leur roi. A ce moment là Perceval revint, accompagné de Bohort, l'un en bleu, l'autre en vert pour représenter les deux parties du mariage. Pourquoi Guenièvre avait choisi Bohort comme témoin ça le dépassait, après tout il ne les pensait pas si proches. Mais d'un autre côté il n'avait pas été tellement attentif aux passes temps et aux amis de sa femme durant le temps qu'il avaient passé ensemble. Il se promit mentalement de changer ça.

Ah bah c'est pas trop tôt c'est bon elle va venir ou il faut que je reporte à après-demain ?

C'est bon, c'est bon sire, dit Bohort avec un sourire jusqu'aux oreilles. Sauf votre respect vous allez être plutôt impressionné de ce qu'on a fait avec du simple tissu

Je m'en fous un peu de votre tissu Bohort j'aimerais bien commencer le processus pour que les gens finissent pas par s'étriper dans une église.

Bohort se rangea du côté de la mariée, toujours souriant, et Arthur remarqua que Léodagan s'était eclipsé, sans doute pour pouvoir accompagner la mariée jusqu'à l'autel, c'était bon signe. Même si bon, ils étaient déjà mariés depuis 30 piges techniquement il n'avait pas vraiment sa main à lui donner. Il sursauta alors qu'un orgue commença à résonner dans la salle. Ils avaient un orgue dans le coin ? Encore un détail qui luil avait échappé. Il déposa son verre de vin sur le côté tandis que les invités se levaient, certains de façon un peu vacillante. Deux petites filles apparurent du fond de la salle et dispersèrent des pétales de rose tout le long de l'allée. Et puis elle apparut au bras de son père. Sa machoire tomba et il oublia tout. Les trois heures d'attente, les invités qui s'engueulaient, le vin dégueu, même ses pieds. Elle était vêtue d'une robe en tulle blanche recouverte de fleurs bleues jusqu'à la taille. Ses cheveux lui tombaient sur les épaules en cascade, avec seulement une couronne de fleurs similaire à la sienne sur la tête. Elle était magnifique. Elle arriva à sa hauteur et Léodagan lui donna sa main et retourna s'asseoir. Elle lui sourit timidement tandis que le prêtre se mettait en position.

Vous dites rien ?

Je euh Pour une fois il était sans voix, tout juste capable de la parcourir du regard bouche bée.

C'est les fleurs c'est ça ? J'ai dit à Bohort que ça faisait trop mais il était sûr que c'était la mode et puis Merlin les a fait pousser exprès et du coup…

Il lui posa un doigt sur la bouche avant qu'elle ne s'emballe trop.

Vous êtes parfaite, réussit-il seulement à murmurer

Son visage s'illumina et elle rougit un peu.

Il sourit à son tour réalisant que la cérémonie lui tenait finalement plus à coeur qu'il ne le pensait. Leur premier mariage avait été un simulacre politique. Celui-ci était un mariage d'amour.

[chicinsilk]

"Jolie Madame de France"

Pierre Balmain Haute Couture Collection Fall/Winter 1958-59. Here Gunila is wearing the dress (identical to the one worn by Brigitte Bardot at the Venice Film Festival) in parma-colored Lyon velvet by Robert Burg. The chest is highlighted with a ribbon in water-green moire by Hurel, decorated with a bouquet of parma violets by Judith Barbier.

Pierre Balmain Collection Haute Couture Automne/Hiver 1958-59. Gunila porte ici la robe (identique à celle que portait Brigitte Bardot à la Mostra de Venise) en velours de Lyon couleur parme de Robert Burg. La poitrine est soulignée d'un ruban en moire vert d'eau de Hurel fleuri d'un bouquet de violettes parme de Judith Barbier.

Photo Philippe Pottier