#meanwhile in wales

[victusinveritas]

Hill Forts of Britain and Ireland

[kinsey3furry300]

Wales and New Zealand

Kinda in love with the idea that different places on other sides of the world can look so similar. Something something universal human experiences

[bodhrancomedy]

Because I had a vision:

We’re in the third act of an Indiana Jones style adventure. We’re in a cool creepy trapped up mine in Wales.

Our main heroes (H) are fighting our main villains around the (for lack of a better word) control centre for this maze of a mine.

Meanwhile, our Smart Guy (SG) is in a side tunnel with Evil Minion (EM). EM has taken SG’s glasses and is about to shoot him execution-style in the back of the head.

The narrative requirements are that EM dies with SG’s glasses in such a way they can’t be recovered so I get a short-sighted SG trying to navigate a dangerous environment and an in-universe way to censor a really gory death.

[llyfrenfys]

PLEASE TELL US ABOUT Y DDRAIG TRAWS!

Certainly! I'm more than happy to oblige.

First though I'm gonna need to tldr: the history of Y Ddraig Goch before we get onto the (accidentally) canonically trans part.

A brief history of Y Ddraig Goch:

(The modern Welsh flag)

Y Ddraig Goch first appears in the tales of the Mabinogi (Charlotte Guest version) in the tale of Lludd and Llefelys where it is fighting a white dragon. The fight is also described/expanded upon in the c. 829 AD text Historia Brittonum (attributed to Nennius) - where the red dragon represents Wales and the white dragon represents the Anglo-Saxons. In the story the red dragon triumphs over the white. Of course, Geoffrey of Monmouth also covers the story c. 1136 in Historia Regnum Brittaniae in which he introduces the concept of the red dragon heralding the arrival of King Arthur.

Geoffrey of Monmouth claims Arthur used a banner featuring a golden dragon. But we also know the accuracy of Monmouth can be questionable at times. Owain Glyndŵr did use a banner with a golden dragon called Y Ddraig Aur - raised in 1401 at Caernarfon - Glyndŵr chose this banner as a nod to the supposed banner of Arthur and his father.

Later on the Tudor monarchs (being a Welsh family) adopted a red dragon on a white and green background in their heraldry. Eventually Y Ddraig Goch on a white and green background became the official badge of Wales in 1800. The design became the official flag of Wales in 1959.

Y Ddraig Traws:

Now for the thing you're all here for -

So, as outlined, the history of the dragon as a national symbol of Wales goes back a long way. If we're just talking post-1959, there's some interesting implications for Y Ddraig Goch's depiction.

This is what the Welsh flag (and Y Ddraig Goch) looked like in 1959 when it was officially adopted as the flag of Wales. It looks broadly the same as the first flag and has some common features - such as not having a penis (or, as in the correct heraldic terminology - a pizzle). Meanwhile, in the arms of the Tudors (specifically Henry VII)

(Tudor dragon with pizzle) vs (dragon on the flag of Cardiff - pizzleless)

the penis is almost always included. So much to the point that the present royal family still includes the penis. While pretty much 0 depictions of the dragon in Wales include a penis. So you could interpret this as the dragon is seen as male only by the British royal family and as female everywhere else (which kinda implies that at some point the Tudor dragon had an mtf transition in Wales and she keeps getting misgendered by the royal family every time she is depicted in (mostly) England).

So much to the point that in 1995 this pound coin was made by the Royal Mint featuring the pizzle on the dragon with all four feet touching the ground as opposed to standing up (passant rather than rampant).

But in Wales you'd be hard pressed to see a pizzled dragon anywhere. Ergo, we can only conclude Y Ddraig Goch is trans and she transitioned in Wales and keeps getting misgendered in England.

[note: This is mostly tongue in cheek - but I do think it's fun to extrapolate that the Welsh dragon is trans because of the differences in depiction between Wales and England. Like many things Welsh, it is misrepresented by England and the idea of the Welsh dragon being misgendered only in England is, I think, a good metaphor for a whole lot of English treatment of Wales.]

Unrelatedly, there is a gay Welsh flag held at the National Museum of Wales which has a very wonky dragon which I find very endearing.

(cleaned up version I made)

So much so I made it an emoji in my Welsh bilingual LGBTQIA+ Discord (requirements for joining are - be 16+, either speak or are learning Welsh and identify as LGBTQIA+ in some way. Dm for link!).

(triaist ti 'you tried' emoji)

~ Completely unrelatedly ~ never forget the time someone was trying to homophobic to me by suggesting that I was disrespecting all the soldiers who died 'for the Welsh flag' by making it rainbow colours and not red - arguing that any change of colour of the dragon was disrespectful. Reader, my bus pass at the time for Mid Wales Travel had a purple dragon on it.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I’m saving up my Welsh questions so I’m not a total bother!!

1. I can broadly understand why location names in Wales are different in English (colonialism ☹️) but can you explain Castell-nedd v Neath? Maybe I haven’t gotten far enough yet but it seems to be an outlier in that they just dropped a whole part of the name?

2. Cinio v swper, I’m assuming (perhaps incorrectly hence the checking) that cinio = noon meal and swper = evening meal? Is that right or is it backwards?

3. I am deeply interested in the etymology of llun because it appears to be both a picture and (+ dydd) Monday. Are they linguistically connected??

4. Speaking of days. Am I right in inferring that dydd iau means Thursday and ddydd Iau means on Thursday? I can’t quite differentiate why the spelling changes.

5. Speaking of days part two. Nos Mercher v bore dydd Mercher. Why does nos appear to drop the dydd? Does bore ever do the same?

6. Moving away from days. There seems to be no difference between dych chi’n and wyt ti’n as far as I can tell. Are they interchangeable or are they formal/informal like vous/tu? Or is this a dialect thing like different regions??

7. I am learning about eisiau and I have a question about contractions. It appears to be dw i’n mwynhau but dw i eisiau. Why no ‘n?? I know the i’n is i yn so where’s the yn with eisiau? 🤔

Welsh my beloved you are so fun to learn but Duolingo sucks at explaining nuance.

HA okay *cracks knuckles*

1. Location names are always a bit of a wildcard between languages, because sometimes they corrupt differently and sometimes they have wildly different origins and meanings in the first place. Castell Nedd - Neath is actually a relatively mild one; it's just that people abbreviated it more in English than in Welsh. A similar thing happened to Penybont ar Ogwr - Bridgend.

By contrast, Abertawe - Swansea is totally different, with different meanings. Ditto Drefdraeth - Newport, Caergybi - Holyhead, etc. Wild shit.

2. Like a lot of languages, cinio can either mean lunch or evening meal depending on who uses it - the English equivalent is 'dinner'. Younger generations generally mean lunch. Swper is a direct transliteration of supper, though, with the same meaning (I personally use 'te' instead for evening meal). So, in short, you're broadly right, but it's a bit ambiguous.

3. Oh, you'll like this! As far as we know, it's from Proto Indo European lewk, meaning 'bright; to shine, to see' - we also get 'goleu' from it. The theory is that Dydd Llun therefore gets a similar etymology to Monday, because it refers to the moon (lleuad/luna). Llun (picture), meanwhile, is a thing you see, depicting what you see. The fact that they ultimately corrupted into the same word is coincidental.

4. There's some fun stuff here, okay.

So, you are hitting up against everyone's favourite Celtic language quirk which is MUTATIONS ┌⁠(⁠★⁠ｏ⁠☆⁠)⁠┘ These pop up in many funky ways of course. In this instance, it's not a plural but it IS trying to tell you something. So:

Dydd Iau: Thursday

Dyddiau Iau: Thursdays

Fi'n mynd i'r dre ddydd Iau: I'm going to town on Thursday

Basically, the mutation is there to indicate that there's an invisible preposition going on. If we hypercorrected it would be "Fi'n mynd i'r dre ar ddydd Iau", and that's what triggers the mutation; but in modern Welsh it's a quirk of this particular context that we do away with the preposition, because the mutation makes it clear it's there invisibly. Why do we do this? Unknown.

5. This is a slightly weird one and I suspect the answer lies somewhere in the fact that 'night' just means the dark bit while 'day' can either mean the light bit OR a 24 hour period containing both.

But, actually: you can actually drop the dydd for bore, too. It's dealer's choice. BUT, you cannot have the dydd for nos Fercher. In English, the 'day' part of 'Wednesday' is kind of invisible, and just means the 24 hour block. But in Welsh, they're still separate words, and it very much means 'the light part'. So 'nos dydd Mercher' would be like saying 'Wednesday Day Night.'

6. It's formal/plural Vs informal. Chi is formal (or plural), ti is informal.

Occasionally monoglot English Tumblrs make posts about how they reckon we should bring the you/thou divide back to English, and as a person who speaks a language that still pulls this bullshit and occasionally has to play the "How formal am I supposed to be with this person" game, every time it makes me sneer and think about how those same people complain all the livelong day about invisible social rules. You do not want this, folks. Be suitably grateful to your forebears.

7. Ah, yes, eisiau is a law unto itself.

So, the yn/'n in Welsh is normally there because the verb 'to be' gets split in half, and half gets attached to the following verb to make that verb active, right? So for example:

Rwy'n cerdded - I'm walking

Roughly, but not literally, equivalent to the English "I am walking", except if you were to split "Rwy'n" out into "Rwy yn", neither of those words means "I" or "am" - it's not a literal step by step translation.

'Yn' gets bundled in with the verb, more often than not. And again, while this is not a literal translation, it makes the verb into an '-ing' word. Welsh does not distinguish between "I walk" and "I'm walking" - it's always "I'm walking."

But eisiau is different because it's not used grammatically like that. You personally cannot actively want something in Welsh. But, there can be a want upon you. So instead of "I am wanting", you say "There is a want upon me."

So, "I want to go to town": "Mae arna'i eisiau mynd i'r dre".

Duolingo might be asking you to construct that slightly differently, though; they might want "Mae eisiau arnaf i" or something similar. But ultimately that's what it's doing.

I hope this was helpful! Let me know if anything is baffling, still.

[pablitogavii]

Jealous reader?

No need to worry, I'm yours

She kept touching him ... and here I was sitting in the car watching it all happen right in front of my eyes.

I knew it would be hard dating someone with so many girl fans who wanted all of his attention all the time. It was the fact that Pablo gave them the bare minimum and always fully focused on me.

Today I had a bad day so seeing this was the breaking point and we fought inside our hotel room. I flew with him for his away game and all I wanted was more of his attention meanwhile he was very stressed and didn't know what he did to cause my cold behavior.

"I'll take you to dinner later ..." he said after packing for his training session but I didn't reply keep 'reading' my book in bed.

"She's driving me insane with these silent treatments, hermano!" Gavi was talking to Fermin while they waled together clearly not in the mood for anything right now.

"It's girls, their way to show us something is wrong ..." Fermin answered tapping Pablo's shoulder in reassurance.

"I don't know what is wrong! Why can't she just tell me? I did nothing freaking wrong!" Gavi said tossing his bag on the rack and starting to get ready.

I was in the shower when Pablo came back having my dress already chosen on the bed and he smirked touching the red silk. He really just wanted this stupid argument to end.

"I found this Italian place ..." Pablo said while I walked in taking the dress and walking to closet to wear it. I already cooled down but the way he was looking at me drove me insane.

"Amor ... can we stop?" he walked in noticing the way I struggled with zipper so he took over resting his hands around my waist after finishing.

"What did I do? " he whispered moving my hair to the side and starting to leave kisses down my neck. I really liked the sudden attention so I pulled away just to see what he does.

"Basta nena!" he growled grabbing my hips and pulling me back against him and I bit my lower lip feeling him hard underneath his pants. God this man was driving me mad!

"Hm you'll leave a mark Pablito ..." I say shyly feeling his hold tighten on my waist while he smirked resting his chin on my shoulder again.

"Good ... you're mine nenita" he said sucking in a prominent mark on my neck and I fought an urge to moan loudly.

"Now tell me what got my girl mad at me, huh? Tell your Pablito, nena" he said turning me around so that I was facing him and he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.

"You were talking to her for so long ..." I whisper and he took a moment to think before realizing what I was talking about now.

"With a fan? Aii nena are you un poco celosita, mi amor??" he pinched my cheeks and I immediately denied it. Well obviously!

"Zero celos! It's fine, whatever!" I try pulling away from Pablo but he pushed me into a corner of our closer and trapped me there against the wall.

"Hmm I like it princesa ...but hear me when I tell you, I'm obsessed with you ...and nobody else even crosses my mind. I promise, bueno?" he said in reassuring tone and I just nod still a little unsure cause the girl was really pretty. Pablo raised my chin gently caressing my cheek.

"Yo te amo, princesita ...only you" he said and it took me a little by surprise cause Pablo was never direct like this before. He really just said I love you like it was nothing straight to my face... this boy is special for sure.

"Yo tambien te amo Pablito ..." I say with blushed cheeks while he still held my face in his big hands and we looked into each other's eyes.

"Then there is no need to worry about mi amor, I'm yours bueno?" he said leaving small kisses on my cheeks while I slowly smiled again and he did as well glad I was talking to him again.

"Bueno ..." I said shyly but he wanted me to sound completely certain so he didn't let me go yet.

"Look into my eyes and say it loud and clear. Say, you're mine Pablo Gavi!" he said and I blushed looking back into those warm chocolate brown orbs.

"You're mine Pablo Gavi!" I said and he smirked nodding his head and kissing my lips passionately while his hands went underneath my dress grazing my legs.

"Hmmm yes I am baby, and you're all mine too!" he said kissing my neck and I moaned nodding my head while throwing it back in response.

"We still have our dinner reservation, but later ...I wanna hear more of those sweet moans of yours ...me vuelves loco amor" he said and I smile nodding my head asking him to zip my dress up fully and he does so as we finish getting ready for dinner.

pablogavi

All yours princesa👸🏻💗

comentarios:

gavifans: AAAAA lindosss!

y.n.bebe: mi amor💗💗💗

pablogavi: mi vidaaa

y.n.bebe: mi rey!🤴🏻

pablogavi: solo tuyo princesaaa

gavirafamily: him being proud of being hers!!!!

aurorapaezg: 😍😍😍

pablogavi: ❤️

y.n.bebe: hermanaa. liked by aurorapaezg

gaviragirls: he looks so good with her DIOSSS

gavi.y.n.fans: the forehead kiss 😍😍😍

[smolvenger]

The Little Princess (Henry V x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: As queen of the nation and wife to Henry the Fifth, all rejoice to discover you are pregnant with your first child with your beloved husband. Only to discover, the child is not the long awaited son, but a girl...

Word Count: 5K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

@anukulee @herdetectivetheorist (from your request!)

A/N: hehehehe uploading this while listening to "The Man" by Taylor Swift

Warnings: Pregnancy and childbirth in the beginning, which I try to portray as realistically as I can. I changed up what would have happened in history per the request I was given for this. No way is it accurate. But also this is fanfic world and irl Henry V wouldn't have had the luscious curls and ass of Tom Hiddleston. Mentions of sex but no smut. Baby stuff. Some angst, but lots of fluff. Grammar and spelling mistakes that missed my radar.

“Her Majesty, the Queen of England, is with child, Your Highness,” the messenger announced.

Henry had slouched, relaxed on his wooden throne. He then shot up straight. The dominant grace he held cracked for a second. His blue eyes blinked, doing his best not to stagger in his posture.

“She…she is?” he asked, almost incredulously.

The messenger nodded his head.

“Yes. The physician just examined her. He asked me to inform you of these happy tidings. And we shall pray you shall soon be blessed with an heir apparent,” he reported with a smile.

Henry found a small half laugh escape him. He smiled so wide it showed his teeth. He lowered his head, feeling a little dizzy for a second. But he knew how to regain himself quickly after his time as the ruler of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.

“Tell the physician we thank him for his swift and happy news,” he replied.

The messenger bowed his head and exited through the wooden doors.

Henry did his best to remain focused throughout the meetings today. But he found his head swam. You- his precious wife, beloved consort-was going to have a child- have his child. He was going to be a father, and you were going to be a mother. His entire world had changed in just a minute and he was supposed to act as normal.

Once they were declared finished, he shot up.

“I would like to visit her Majesty at once,” he declared.

“She is in her chambers, my lord,” one servant confirmed.

He hurried to where you were, the attendants right behind him. The hallways nearly spun as he walked with such a quick bounce. Not caring even if his crown was knocked out of his head.

Meanwhile, you were sitting down. Your stomach was already churning- for you had become more aware of it since this morning. You could only sit and embroider with your ladies in waiting- it was only a matter of time until-

“His majesty, the king,” a male attendant announced at the door.

 You shot up and curtsied as Henry the Fifth of Lancaster bounded in. The other ladies followed suit.

“My lord, and husband,” you replied dutifully, raising back up to face him.

Henry looked flushed, scattered even. He walked up to you and held both of your hands in his.

“My lady, do you confirm that what I heard was true? Are you…are you with child?” he asked softly. As if you were in private and not with a dozen eyes on you.

You nodded, smiling. You leaned in closer, your voice matching his quiet tone.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I know it in my heart, Harry. I’ve had no courses for months. The physician’s tests confirmed my suspicions….” you replied.

 You took his hand and moved it to your stomach. Even if it appeared normal, even if the baby was now small- it seemed even the king himself sensed the presence inside.

“Our first child is inside me now,” you said finally.

He picked you up and spun you around and kissed you. Bursting into laughter, you clutched him. He held your face and kissed you again. You, his wife, his queen, his beloved, now about to be mother to his child. Who cared if these people saw this intimacy from their lord? He was the maker of what was formal, not they. 

“We’ve prayed so long for this, my lord. You know how long we have asked God to bless us someday… and someday has arrived!!” you replied.

He held your face again, his eyes shining.

“I’ve never loved you more than this moment, Y/N,” he confessed. 

“I love you too, Harry,” you responded.

As the pregnancy passed, you dealt with each symptom with as much grace as you could. For you knew once you had a son, all would see you as more than just Henry’s pretty accessory and broodmare. You would be the mother to the next king. All would respect you and revere you far more. That brought you through the mornings of nausea and sudden, intense cravings for certain foods.

What was best was the nighttime before sleep. Henry defied court tradition and insisted he wanted to join you in your chambers. Even though there was the advice that he avoid his marital duties until after the baby arrived, to risk any lustful acts harming the child inside you. To have a misteress to pleasure him as you carried the child was out of the question for Harry of England. He would prefer to fall on his sword instead.

The truth was, you didn’t need to perform any act of lust with your husband to be with him. You both could sit in silence. Read books and play chess or little games. Discuss anything and everything. Even to lay in bed and to hold each other. And how your heart burst with love as you felt his hand on his stomach and heard him talk to the child.  Even placing little kisses on there. When the baby first kicked, you put his hand there to feel. You both grinned and kissed each other. That was as intimate as anything with your bodies entwining. Whispering names and hopes for the little child. Said little prayers for a safe delivery for you. For the baby in your stomach to survive past infancy. To survive to an adult. One that would always know how much their mother and father wanted and loved them.

When the time came for confinement, the time when you would stay only in your private chambers in the ninth month away from the court, including Henry, to help guarantee a safe delivery. Your heart beat fast. Your stomach was so large that you could only waddle rather than walk. Henry only kissed you, gently tracing your face. Promising that only if there was a crisis would he break down the doors and run to your side. 

For days you sat in your rooms. It became stuffy and dark as they closed the curtains, the priests carrying incense throughout and blessing what was going to be the birthing bed. You sat there, sweating, and feeling both the immense fear of your death and the fear of the pain.

 At last, one early morning, your water broke. Hyperventilating and crying, you awoke a lady in waiting to run to get the midwife. You were shaking, pain scorching as the baby was starting to get ready to emerge. You knew what would happen, and yet when it began, you felt thrown into the unknown. You were so frightened, you let out screams as the contractions began. They fetched the birthingThere was the delivery, you cried your way through the pain. 

“Harry- where is Harry? Where is my husband? I’m so frightened! Please! Where is he!?” you cried, your vision blurry with tears.

“This is not the place for your husband to be, your Majesty. The Lords thought it best he be kept away for now. But how proud he would be of you now- you’re doing well- the baby’s coming out fine!” the midwife encouraged you. “Keep pushing, my lady! I see the head!”

You were sweaty and disgusting and at your most primal, far from the elegant and regal woman they all saw in public. Blood and fluids, including some embarrassing ones, had come out during the labor which was all being cleaned up after it was spilled.

The hours dragged on in torture. The midwife yelling encouragements through your hot face full of tears. You felt sick, even faint, as you pushed the child out from between your legs. Sitting on the stool with the midwife over, every lady in waiting dabbed your burning forehead and squeezed your hand through each push.

Then, finally, a cry came out. But not from your voice. A baby’s cry. You let out a shaky breath of relief.

 Alive. The child was alive. As were you.

You caught your breath, panting hard. One lady in waiting grinned at you-

“Well done, Your Majesty!” she praised.

You let out a gasp as the afterbirth crawled out. But it was easy and painless compared to a child and slipped easily into the below pot placed for it. A maid grimaced but took it away. You heard the click of a knife as the cord on the child was cut. Another warm cloth went over the tiny, wrinkled newborn as it wailed and wailed. You felt dizzy, the red curtains of your chambers swimming around. Then you came to.

The heir. The heir apparent. Henry’s heir- Henry’s heir was here. The one purpose for which you were made wife to the king was now fulfilled-

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced. 

The child was in the midwife’s arms. your eyes noticed the lower half of the baby’s body. She was correct. 

For a second, your heart stopped. The world stopped. 

There was a slight silence in the room. It wasn’t like the eruptious joy that would have followed had it been the opposite.

The baby still cried heartily. They swaddled her- not the long-awaited him, her. For that was what the baby that was your constant companion inside you for months was. Not the long-awaited male heir for the Lancaster line. No- a daughter. And what is a daughter, but a disappointment?

In those seconds, your mind reeled. Your belly was empty now for the first time in over a year. You had disappointed the nation- there would be no heir to the Lancaster throne. Not yet. You had let down the court. Mothering a son brought special respect and privilege.

And, most of all, worst of all, you let down Henry. The one person you loved most of all. And that hurt the worst. 

The baby wailed. A high, piercing, harsh cry. Ladies in waiting gathered around and fussed. The midwife cleared out the mucus and fluids covering the newborn. Still, the crying rang through the room like harsh bells.

You wondered briefly if it would have been better if you didn’t recover and died from this than face the humiliation.

Wrapping some swaddling over the crying newborn, they handed her over to you.

“Here, hold her, your majesty. She seems a healthy, beautiful little girl,” the midwife announced.

The tiny, wrinkled babe at first didn’t seem beautiful. 

Then the bundle was placed in your arms and the baby stopped crying at once.

You looked down at her.

Something inside you broke.

She was….small. So small for your great pain. Her tiny face, the tiniest little hands, and hte tiniest head. She was fragile. Could you remember when you were brought to court to marry the king? You were just as fragile, as naive, as alone without protection- who knows what would have happened if Henry had been so gentle and patient with you, if you hadn’t grown to fall in love with him and he with you.

She nestled to you, her crying ceasing. Clinging to you. She didn’t know so many things…but she knew you were her mother.

And she trusted you to protect her. 

A new feeling burst on you. You were not afraid of facing humiliation from the men of court…you were afraid of failing her. She reached a hand and began to coo. Making tiny little noises like that of a mouse. You held up your hand and she held onto your finger- settling close to you. 

“Hello, my dear…hello…” you murmured. The pain seemed even more distant. 

Tears came down you again and you felt yourself smile. You loved her. This tiny, beautiful, and unwanted girl.

One lady in waiting reached for you and you barked at them.

“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” you yelled out, the tears running down your face, your breasts heavy with milk that was not going to be used, and the hotness in your body flushing to anger. You held the bundle closer to yourself.

You understood the instincts of bears, how they would rip men into pieces if they dared tread near the den of their cubs. If anyone- anyone- haughty courtiers that were so stuck in their ways that they had nothing better to do with their time other than harm an innocent child- incapable of fighting, of proper speech, of defending herself- you would have murdered them. And you would have enjoyed it.

She cried only a little, startled by your voice. You rocked her and shushed her, kissing her forehead. 

“Hello, hello- I’m your mother, don’t be frightened, my dear, I’ve waited a while to meet you, shhhh. Mother is here, you’ll be safe. I’m sorry I surprised you, shhh,” you whispered.

The midwife approached you cautiously.

“Your majesty…the baby must be cleaned further. Do not worry- she will be safe…” she assured you. And your good sense one- for the midwife had delivered hundreds of babes and you knew the girl was in good hands.

You looked down again at your baby, still somewhat patched and bloody. For that, you handed her over.

Henry was tending to his stallion in the stables. The white one was his personal favorite. He often enjoyed being the one to hand the horse hay and feel it nibble form his hand. His attendants just beside him to see to anything, wanting to do anything to distract their lord and sovereign as he anxiously awaited news of his beloved wife.

 A lady in waiting arrived inside and their heads turned like deer. She took a few steps forward and curtsied low. Henry gestured for her to rise.

“How is the queen? It was early morn when the birthing began. Tell me- Does she live?” he asked anxiously.

“Her majesty lives. She is delivered of a…a princess,” reported the lady.

There was a slight silence. A greyness washed over the faces of the lords. Frowns remained on their faces, but their eyes were kept on Henry.

Henry took a moment. He was still, his face unreadable. He then replied.

“The babe is fine?” 

“Yes, the babe is fine, born healthy,” she answered.

He broke into a relieved half laugh and smile.

“May- may I see my them?” he asked.

The lady nodded. “Yes, the midwife said you may.”

Henry gave the lady a nod.

“We most heartily accept these joyous tidings, sweet lady. I shall see her anon,” he said.

At once, he broke into a jaunty walk. He burst from the stables, and up the stone steps, through the hallways into his wife’s chambers. He was far faster than some of the stuffier, older lords could keep up with They had a hand on their heads for their hats and puffed as their legs attempted to keep up with their lord.

 Confinement seemed like his sweet angel was torn from him to another world and not another part of the castle. But he bounced up the steps. The sweet temptation to burst through those doors for weeks was finally relieved. 

He at once raised a knuckle and knocked on the doors. There were feminine gasps and murmurs on the other side. 

And another sound, something light, a little voice- that of a baby. And his heart picked up.

There were no servants or lords, so he announced.

“It is his majesty, the king of England.”

One lady opened and they all bowed low. Even the few ladies in the corner trying to get rid of sheets full of blood discreetly. But Henry was a man who had seen battles and once killed the famed Hotspur himself- what was more blood to him?

You laid in your bed, holding the little babe. Your heart racing hard, fighting not to break and cry and yet you found yourself smiling at him. His curls swept back from the wind of his rush and his blue eyes wide as he saw you. 

He came forward and knelt next to the bed in a few short strides. He took your hand in his and kissed it.

“How is my lady?” he asked.

“I’m…I’m fine,” you replied in a choking voice. Glad to see him again, glad you were alive to experience all this.

You looked down at the swaddled child.

“Here is…here is your daughter, my lord…” you presented.

You waited for the stormy look on his face, hoping your smile would relieve it.  But Henry the Fifth merely loosened his shoulders. His jaw dropped then broke into a smile as he saw her.

“May I hold her?” he asked.

You brought her into his arms. She seemed ot know her father, for she settled easily. He rocked her, and kissed her forehead. Happiness beaming everywhere on his face. 

“Mary…that is what we agreed, my lady, if it was a girl…would you still like that to be her name?” he said sofly.

You nodded.

He looked around the crowd. The lord and attendants finally arrived inside, staring with wide eyes.

“Today is a special day- for we celebrate the birth of the Princess Mary. Named in memory of my mother. And we are all going to celebrate. I would like there to be a joust and a feast as well when she is christened, all for the safe arrival of Her Highness, the Princess of Wales- And please note, I want a portrait of the joust commissioned-”

Henry looked back at you sitting up on the bed.

“I want my queen in the center, on a seat- beautiful as she is and shining bright, as a testament of my love for her…”

Folding your hands, you smiled back up at him. Exhaustion and love warming your insides. Joy seeping through to where you thought you would float.

“And I ask for a second portrait be of all of us- for we are now the royal family,” Henry finished.

The courtiers nodded solemnly with plenty of “yes, my lord” repeating from their lips. For none would dare cross the king.

They departed, leaving you both alone for the first time in weeks. Mary wiggled a little in her father’s arms. He sat on the bed and smiled at you. You laid a hand on his arm.

“Harry, all of this fuss! Should you save such grand celebrations for when we have a son?” you asked.

“No, sweetling. Our child is born alive and healthy- and with her in my arms, I’m too overjoyed, that her sex does not matter right now,” he responded.

“But…your heir!” you cried.

He smiled and his eyes lowered to his baby.

“ I have three brothers. There’s more than enough heirs. There’s no need to panic…”

He leaned close.

“And with my lovely wife naked in my bed again… once she is better…how can I resist a night where we can create another beautiful child? Wouldn’t our little Mary be happy having a brother to play with and tease and scold over?”

You playfully shook your head with laughter and swatted his arm lightly.

“My lord, you are unappeasable!” you teased.

“And I have missed you too, my lady,” he replied.

Both of you kissed as May began to cry again.

���•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

How incredible a nursery they had built for her. The rockers- two people set up to stay awake all night to rock the baby to sleep- curtsied low. It seemed that despite the disappointment, they were charmed with the sweet little baby. Her little noises that cackled about. Her adorable squeaks that made won people over. How you loved to call her “my little mouse!” when you visited to hold and rock her. For Mary would always nestle and wish to be held. She had no thoughts of being a great Princess of the Sacred Isle yet. She was an infant who only wanted to be cared for and loved.

The joust came and went. The artists got right to work for their commissions. The christening was a holiday throughout the nation. Bells rang as the Bishop blessed Mary in the church with all the nation watching. 

At the feast afterward, many gathered around to glimpse at their new princess, cloaks and hats and long skirts crowding around the official cradle made for state events. It was decorated with the arms of the Lancaster house. Plush red fabrics draped the inside- the colors considered traditional for her father. It measured seven and a half feet long and two and a half feet wide. The guests invited could look at the infant from a safe distance. You couldn’t help but awe at the creation-  all for one tiny baby inside! How small she looked compared to the great size of the thing! They must have thought her a giant child, not a human one!

There was no better, no more doting father than Henry the Fifth. It seemed that the only concern about a male heir came from his courtiers. And their protests and reminders fell deaf on his majesty’s ears. Even in public events where she was placed in the state cradle, Henry would stay to stand guard near it. He was not too much of a man that he was beneath wishing to hold her. He would bend up and use one arm to hold her crimson swaddling. 

“I am the Father of the Nation. Of my subjects, as much as she.” he would declare, one hand up to gently touch his little daughter.

How often you stayed in that nursery, amazed at her. The nursemaids tell you everything about what a baby did and why they did it. For even if she was not yours to raise, your curiosity would get to you- and how much every day she would grow and change! Just a month later and she was big enough you wondered how she got out of you!

One night later at dinner, Henry wished to have her cradle nearby so you could eat with her. Little Mary let out a hearty cry out of nowhere.

You jumped- for it was loud and sharp. She did not wail often in her father’s presence.  But Henry merely tilted his head.

“Now, what is the matter, lambkin?” he asked the baby.

She continued to cry. He picked her up. A hand over her head and her bum, placing her on his arm.

“What troubles you so, Fair little chuck-hm? Would you like a kiss from your father? Would it cheer you?”

He gave her a kiss on her warm cheek. She calmed down a little. Then she began to cry again. Your husband shot up his eyebrows in confusion. But you listened carefully to the quality of the sound of her wailing- this one was low-pitched, repeating its rhythms.

“My lord, the nurses tell me that kind of cry means she is hungry.”

With a smile on your face, you asked a servant to send for the wet nurse. Henry only widened his eyes in awe. 

“Well, my lady, tell me…what have you learned from them about the crying of babes?” he asked in curiosity. 

One day- after certain parliament sessions, you returned to the nursery. You heard her crying again- the sort she did when fussing. For you only wished to…to be with her, see her- for her childhood to be as good a one as you could afford for her.

Once inside, you saw one maid trying to ring her rattle. The other maid held her up to see it. But it was doing no good for little Mary who kept crying.

You walked inside and the little girl paused. She began to smile and kick her feet, her crying ceasing. She was even reaching two chubby arms towards you. 

How could you have hated that she wasn’t a son when she was born? What were you even thinking with such joy and such love this little girl had for you?

Reaching over, you brought her up.

“Hello, my lovely girl, how are you?” you asked. You brought her up to yourself.

 Smelling how well they bathed her. How she was indeed a sweet girl who only wished to be held and loved! You kissed her forehead.

The maids smiled.

“She does that when she misses you,” one reported.

But you never forgot the day you heard her laugh for the first time. It was the fourth month after the birth. Returning inside after strolling the gardens with the ladies, his majesty not being present. You assumed he was discussing something with the Prussian ambassador or shooting his arrows. You passed by the hallway with the nursery. You heard a small sound. Like the tinkling of bells-

It was Mary- her first laugh- you felt a gasp. And another followed- a masculine one right after- a certain laugh you knew like your hand.

Could it be… was it…?

Curiosity overcame you and you opened the door, Henry was sitting on the floor, holding her up above him and she was laughing, clapping her chubby hands. He laughed too.

You burst with love and put a hand over your mouth. The servants watching were flabbergasted. Seeing the sovereign himself playing with her, lifting her in the air and moving her about as she wriggled. You walked in and Henry still held her and leaned up.

“I believe you are enjoying yourself, my lord?” you asked.

“Mary loves it when her father makes her fly like a bird, I discovered,” he said. “You should have seen her with the ambassador's son. So used is she to men with beards, that when the shaven youth stepped forward, she stared at him like a wonder of the world!” he recalled. “Oh, and the little dear is rolling over. She can roll over to one side, but cannot roll back. And when she does, she can only cry in frustration!” he reported excitedly.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. Both of you admiring the new gown on the princess. When there was money left over in the budget, Henry would find ways to spoil her with toys and dresses. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Months passed. You and Henry waited until the time was right, when you were ready for his bed, for acts that would put his seed inside you... But…you were having trouble conceiving again.

You took advice from the physician, recalling every embarrassing martial act out loud to the old man. You devoured certain herbs prescribed to you like a rabbit. Even mixing them into drinks when you could.

Yet…your courses returned as normal.

But you began to wonder…perhaps Mary was the only child you would have. And part of you mourned. Wishing for the large, happy family you both whispered to each other at night early on in your marriage. Secretly envious of women who boasted of their broods so easily conceived. 

One evening, you sat by the fire with your husband and child after dinner. Mary was asleep in the cradle in your private room. You rocked it gently, hoping she would stay asleep when the servants would come to fetch her to her nursery. Already she was big and big, more fussy from the teeth she grew.

Henry walked by you and placed an arm around you.

“What ails you, darling?” he asked.

You looked up at him.

“I am just worried, Harry… if…what if…what if she is the only one I will have…” you mourned.

 Henry looked into it and said. “I think it would be wise if Mary was made my heir.”

You blinked, your jaw dropped.

“What- but husband-I have not a problem with it, but others will! But the parliament, the lords…they will refuse. They will hate her…even hurt her!” you replied.

He remained still, resolute. But his voice was soft. 

“I am their king. My word is law and final. The lords, no matter what they think, must follow as I say…and if she is the one of my line, she is the one of my line…Mary will be queen. A good queen. A queen who will lead England to prosperity.”

The fire cracked more. Both of you looked at the peaceful, sleeping baby. So lovingly tucked into her soft nightdress and snuggled into blankets.

“She can barely talk yet.”

He smiled.

“She has your blood. And if that is the case, then there is no one I trust more than her…”

There was a grand announcement. Shock ran like a storm through the country. Though yes, the lords all complained and bemoaned a female heir, Henry made sure the ceremony was grand. It didn’t matter if they liked it or not, England had its heir. 

There was a grand ceremony. The stony throne room decorated with grand emblems. A crowd gathered as you and Henry dressed in red velvets. Though she was getting a little heavier, you still held her high. Your face raised as every icon of another Mary with Her Child, and just as dignified, perhaps as important.

“I now announce her grace, The Princess Mary of Wales, is the heir to the throne. She shall succeed me- and all of you must honor my wife, Her Majesty, as the mother to your next ruler and honor her highness as the queen to follow,” Henry announced, his beard neatly trimmed and his golden crown beaming on his head.

“Her majesty-Princess Mary. And one day, Queen Mary of England. Long live the queen!” he declared.

“Long live the queen.” the crowd repeated.

It was the day the artist said he would show the works he painted. The small, dark-haired, bearded man went up to the first one, covered in a cloth. He pulled it off with a flourish as all took it in.

The first in the joust showed you sitting on your throne as Henry rode his white stallion to defeat his opponent. You seemed to be glowing. In bright colors that shone when light caught it. Placed in the center where all would see, decorated and beautiful.

The artist went to a second painting covered in a cloth. He removed it.

There stood the three of you standing in the church in bright,  The child in your arms and Henry by your side. The three of you appeared just as grand, even Immortal. 

You had not failed your husband. You had not failed the nation. You had provided an heir after all. And all would be well.

You looked over little Mary, leaning close to press a kiss to her temple and whisper to her.

“Long may you reign, my little dove.”

[angie-words]

Rivals Interview & Photoshoot

CW for mentions of sex, nudity

Highlights from the article (abridged! Full article by Caitlin Moran here):

Jilly Cooper’s raunchy Rivals: ‘You will see a lot of willies’

It’s taken 36 years, but finally Jilly Cooper’s legendary bonkbuster Rivals is on TV. Caitlin Moran — who was such a fan, she changed her name to one of the book’s characters — meets the author and stars on set and asks: how was it for you?

Guess where I am.

Oh my gosh — I am in RUTSHIRE.

If you own one of the multimillion copies sold of Jilly Cooper’s infamous Rutshire Chronicles books, you will a) be as excited as me, and b) know exactly where I am.

Yes, I am standing in front of a beautiful, honey-coloured mansion.

Yes, it is a beautiful summer’s day.

Yes, the herbaceous borders are magnificent.

Yes, there are adorable dogs milling around.

Yes, there are champagne bottles strewn hither and yon.

And yes, everyone is dressed in alternately fabulous, or ridiculous, Eighties outfits, with gigantic hair.

The ladies have electric-blue eyeshadow and golden, heaving bosoms.

The men, meanwhile, have tanned legs, huge Rolexes — and, in many instances, their gigantic hair manifests lower down: in moustaches like that of Tom Selleck.

And yes, of course, there is drama. David Tennant — wearing a lavish, gold, silken man-blouse and sucking on a cigar — is furious. He is savaging a roomful of party people, all looking stricken — and all, incongruously, wearing swimwear.

“How the f*** has this happened?” Tennant screams, as all the tits and legs fidget, gaudy piña coladas abandoned. “Get the f*** out there and sort this out! And why are you all wearing bikinis?”

Tennant storms from the room, apoplectic with rage — and then sees me.

“Oh, hello, darling,” he says, all sweetness and light.

“CUT!” the director calls.

Today, David Tennant isn’t, of course, David Tennant. He’s Tony Baddingham, the infamous, nominative-determinist baddie of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals.

“So, is this fun?” I ask him.

The last time I saw him on set, he was being the Doctor in Doctor Who, in a floor-length coat, trying to save the world from being exploded. Again. In the rain. In Wales. At 1am.

“Oh yes,” Tennant says. “I mean, look at my blouse. It’s like my aunt’s! Actually, I think it might be hers — it closes right to left. Don’t men’s buttons close left to right? Am I wearing,” he asks the room at large, “a woman’s blouse?”

“We need to go again, David,” the director says.

“Back in a tick,” Tennant says, running back on set, sucking on his cigar. Getting ready to be really evil, and Eighties, again.

-----

When it comes to the atmosphere on set, I later talk to David Tennant about this subject.

“Yes — there was a lot of due diligence about only having … joyful people on set. Crew and cast,” Tennant says, carefully.

(Dominic) Treadwell-Collins - executive producer - is more forthright.

“We had a very strict ‘no arseholes’ policy,” he says.

-----

Your mother was a Jilly Cooper fan? And, therefore, presumably … a Rupert Campbell-Black fan?

“My mum, you know … blushed when I told her [I’d got the role],” (Alex) Hassell admits. “A lot of women blushed when I told them.”

I’m interviewing Hassell, 44, and Tennant, 53, together. As a former Doctor, Tennant has, of course, a lot of experience in playing a role women find attractive.

“Once you’ve made [Rupert Campbell-Black] flesh, I think a lot of people are going to find it difficult to interact with you, Alex,” he says, helpfully.

It seems Hassell is aware of this.

“Yes,” he says. “One friend, when I told her, said, ‘Oh, that’s a bean-flicker role!’ I said, ‘Ah, I see.’ ”

“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone come up to me and say, ‘I’ve masturbated thinking about you,’ ” Tennant says, thoughtfully.

“David!” Hassell exclaims, hurt. “When we met, that’s the first thing I said.”

-----

“Tony’s from a lower class, while Rupert was born with an entire silver cutlery canteen in his mouth,” Tennant says. “So whatever Tony does, he never has that class advantage. Tony needs to taste the blood of his betters in his mouth to make him feel better. Rupert’s blood.”

“And while Rupert is, in many ways, a shit,” Hassell says, thoughtfully, “he’s not a bad man, like Tony. Tony is jealous of Rupert. He wants his house, his women, his life.”

Accordingly, this suit-based class war plays out as Campbell-Black tries to take over Baddingham’s TV station — and the backstabbing, shenanigans, shagging and skulduggery commence.

-----

The tennis court at Cooper’s house is the setting for one of her most iconic scenes — where Campbell-Black first meets his love interest, Taggie, while he’s playing naked tennis. He is adjudged to have lost a match point because something is over the line. Oh, why am I being so coy? This is Jilly Cooper. It’s his penis. His massive penis is judged to be over the line. A note to diehard fans: this scene is shot exactly as written. You will see a lot of willies.

“We’ve been equal opportunities in our nudity,” Treadwell-Collins says. “There’s a willy for every pair of tits.”

“That was my great disappointment over the TV show,” Cooper sighs. “The tennis court is a terrible mess — no one’s played on it for 20 years — and I thought [Disney] might be darlings and build me a new one.”

She looks around, hopefully.

“Do you think anyone here has some booze?” she asks. “It is the afternoon.”

Cooper has been an invaluable muse to everyone on set while filming. In one scene, she handed over an urgent note that read, “Rupert would never say ‘spouse’ — that’s very lower-middle [class]. He would say ‘wife’.”

She argued for particularly Cooperesque jokes and puns to stay in, and was firm that the whole “First of May” tradition remain.

“Oh, yes,” she says, looking delighted, and then quotes herself. “ ‘First of May, first of May — outdoor f***ing starts today. But if as usual it do rain, we f*** off indoors again.’ ”

This ribald rhyme kicks off a massive shagging montage, involving the entire cast. And all outdoors, of course.

-----

I can’t tell you what fun it is interviewing all the Rivals people. Because of the show, everyone talks about their memories of the Eighties (David Tennant: “No, my Eighties weren’t like a Jilly Cooper book — I was at school in Paisley with my glasses held together with sticky tape, and a very unappealing haircut”), and smoking (Hassell: “Everyone smoked everywhere, didn’t they? Even on planes. They’d draw across that little … health curtain, and everyone smoked behind it”), and how hard it was to leave Cooper’s world when shooting finished (Hassell: “No one was looking at me like I’m the most sexy man on the planet any more. It was tough.”)

-----

In the event, (Aidan) Turner, 41, is an absolute hoot — particularly on the subject of the massive moustache he sports on the show. It is a magnificent specimen of upper-lip pelt. It looks like a vole fell asleep under his nose.

It looks like the one Ned Flanders has on The Simpsons, I tell him.

Turner gives a huge, barking laugh.

“Ned Flanders? I mean, I was thinking more … Irish stag? Super-masculine?”

He starts giggling again.

Turner’s relaxed stance towards his sex god-dom comes with an interestingly meta twist. In Rivals, one of Baddingham’s TV shows is called Four Men Went to Mow — where sexy farmers, sexily stripped to the waist, carry out sexy agricultural duties.

Turner, of course, infamously stripped to the waist a few times in Poldark, for that scything scene or lying in bed or emerging from the sea. In a pleasingly postmodern moment, one scene sees Turner rail against Four Men Went to Mow — raging, almost camply, “TV can’t just be men taking their tops off!”

Rivals is on Disney+ from October 18

[juliairian]

When I went abroad travelling for the first time by myself, I met my first ever Welshman, and he explained that almost everyone in Wales is called Jones, him included. It was a running gag amongst people, he said, like "going to the Joneses" could mean any number of neighbours.

I'm just gonna assume they named so many people Jones in Doctor Who and Torchwood as a reference to it being made in BBC Wales?

When watching Original Doctor Who series, first, second, third doctor and so on, my partner and I had a running joke: once again the Doctor and his companion are on our favourite planet - a quarry in Wales. 😊

can someone explain to me why there are so many Jones’ in the Whoniverse

Martha Jones, Ianto Jones, Harriet Jones, Eugene Jones from Random Shoes- were the crew running out of surnames or what?

[skamenglishsubs]

Actual Royals dropping the ball on PR

So, one criticism of season 3 of Young Royals so far is how the court just ignored Simon, didn't offer media training, didn't offer security, and basically had the new PR person tell Wilhelm to tell Simon to stop posting shit on social media.

A lot of people think this is extremely unrealistic, of course a smooth media machine like the royal court would be prepared for something like this and have the resources and social media managers to stay on top of this and control the narrative, etc.

MEANWHILE, in the real world, in the UK, today, it's absolutely fucking amateur hour over at Kensington Palace!

The Princess of Wales has been notably absent this year for undisclosed health reasons, which is fine. However, they're pretending that everything is fine, and for mother's day they released a photo of her and her three kids, big smiles, happy family, yada yada.

Except the photo was painfully obviously photoshopped, it had been badly edited for no apparent reason. British media picked up on this immediately and refused to publish the picture. And when trying to control the damage, they released the following tweet:

😱😬🤡

Are we supposed to believe that Kate herself took the picture, and edited it herself before releasing it? That's beyond ludicrous. And that's the story they're sticking to? What PR person approved this? Are they so out of touch that they don't understand how stupid this looks?

"The plot in Young Royals isn't realistic!"

Sorry, the clowns at Kensington Palace just proved you wrong by doing something even stupider.

[victusinveritas]

Devil's Bridge near Aberystwyth, Wales. The original medieval bridge at the bottom, the 18c turnpike road bridge in the middle and the modern 20c bridge above.

[sitp-recs]

Hey, again love your recs! I'm completely in love with Drarry because of these lovely stories. Wondering, an recs with a rugged Harry/ Draco ( as in manual labour), and always sweet and smutty is always a win. I appreciate your time, thanks a bunch!

Thank you anon, I’m happy to hear that! Ohh very interesting ask, here are some E-rated fics for you. You might also enjoy this list with buff!Draco 🫡

Hot Metal by @bafflinghaze (E, 5k)

Harry Can’t Deal with the vision of Malfoy hot and sweaty at work in his blacksmithing forge. Meanwhile, Draco is entirely perplexed with Potter’s odd behaviour.

Heart to Hearth by @jtimu (E, 7k)

It should perhaps not have been a surprise that the repairman on his front step came not with coveralls and a toolbox but instead with a sardonic stare and a raised eyebrow. Harry stood in his open door and shut his mouth with an effort.

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?).

Hippomancy for Beginners by khalulu (E, 11k)

When Draco desperately insists on becoming a Centaur Liaison, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into, especially with that annoying hero-turned-hermit Harry Potter living right at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest. Not to mention foreign unicorn women, slavering three headed beasts, bitter brews, unexpected friendships, and the consequences of a very cocky vocabulary.

Voices From The Fog by noeon (E, 13k)

After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

One Floo Over the Lovegood’s Nest by Nattish (T, 14k)

Harry is not terribly surprised that there are magical plumbers, chimney sweeps, and pest control men. He is surprised that one of them is Draco Malfoy. And that he’s bloody hot in a jumpsuit.

Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be.

Here Be Dragons by birdsofshore (E, 21k)

Harry doesn’t want to waste his time investigating illegal dragonhide trading, whether it involves a fetish club in Knockturn Alley or visiting a remote island in Wales. Why the bloody hell does Malfoy always have to be up to something?

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 77k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

[world-of-wales]

ＴＨＥ ＲＯＹＡＬ ＣＨＲＯＮＩＣＬＥＳ : The Royal Wedding of Prince William & Catherine Middleton .* :☆ﾟ｡ ･

HRH Prince William Arthur Philip Louis and Miss. Catherine Elizabeth Middleton married in a religious ceremony at Westminster Abbey on what is my favourite day ever aka 29 April, 2011.

For the day, William was in the red tunic of the Colonel of the Irish Guards uniform with a forage cap bearing the Irish Guards insignia. He wore the Order of the Garter Star and Blue Riband to which his RAF Wings & Golden Jubilee Medal were fastened.

Meanwhile Catherine was a fairytale disney princess in a dress by Surah Burton of Alexander McQueen with the Cartier Scroll Tiara and a pair of diamond acorn earrings from Robinson Pelham. Her bridal bouquet featured myrtle, lily-of-the-valley, sweet William, ivy, and hyacinth.

Catherine was walked down the aisle by her father, Michael with whom she had travelled from Goring Hotel. Her sister Pippa was the maid of honour.

Will & Cat vowed to love, honour and cherish each other during the ceremony performed by the Archbishop of Cantebury.

He gave Catalina a ring made from Welsh Gold keeping with the tradition within the Royal Family.

Following the ceremony in true fairytale fashion, the new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge travelled in a horse-drawn carriage procession to Buckingham Palace.

They appeared on the Palace Balcony and shared TWO KISSES to the delight of the crowd gathered below and to my Disney obsessed self who'd been glued to the TV the entire time.

A Reception was held by the Queen in their honour at Bucking Palace, after which William drove his babykins to Clarence House in an Aston Martin DB6 Volante. Another private dinner was hosted by The Prince of Wales for his son and new daughter-in-law.

This was quite literally THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY! Aaaahhh all those feels of the day, everything was just perfect. Honestly for me nothing is ever topping twenty-ninth of april of 2011. And I don't think there was anyone who wasn't enveloped by the happiness radiating off of these two that day.

Nobody can talk about the day without talking about the goddess that our homegirl looked like that day, KateEffect had always been a thing but THIS DRESS like >>>>

[aftercamlann]

ACBB 10th Anniversary Recs: My Way Home is Through You

PapySanzo sent the following rec:

Title: My Way Home is Through You Writer: Leandra Artist: evaelisaa Ship(s): Merlin/Arthur Rating: Explicit Word Count: 118,842

Summary: In the 21st century, Merlin Emrys is recovering from his stressful job as a paramedic at his father’s veterinary clinic in Wales. While undertaking a hike of the surrounding area, he stumbles upon a mysterious stone circle that seems to call to him...

In the sixth century, King Arthur Pendragon finds a young, confused man in the woods. Even though the stranger doesn’t speak Britonnic, he immediately makes it clear that he thinks Arthur and his knights are a bunch of prats…

Displaced in time and burdened with an unexpected new gift, Merlin needs to find his way back home. Meanwhile, Arthur is facing tough decisions of his own, as he too has to choose the path he’s going to follow.

Link: FIC & ART: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40997886/chapters/102746721

Why PapySanzo recommends this ACBB: I cannot even explain how beautiful this story is. The setting of the story where Merlin leaves the city to visit his dad in the village already creates the whole mood of the story. The way Merlin feels a frenzy that he can't satiate in any way because there must be something more but even he doesn't know what and this frenzy finally settles when he goes into the past is one of the things I like best. The meeting with Arthur and the knights, how they start speaking the same language, how Merlin has to help Arthur win this war, how the two of them both grow as characters over the years, beautiful, just beautiful. Want to rec an ACBB fic yourself that you feel deserves some more love? Feel free to send us your rec through our 10th Anniversary Rec form!

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

July/September 1974 - Queen Story!

'Sheer Heart Attack'

Queen's third studio album was recorded between July and September 1974 at four different studios in England and Wales.

Produced by Queen and Roy Thomas Baker, with once again Mike Stone as engineer.

👉 Released November 8th, 1974

Reached number 2, chart for 42 weeks Achieved Platinum status.

🔸In May '74, after a week at the Uris Theater, Broadway, New York, bad luck hits the band. Upon arrival in Boston for the next stage of the tour, Brian May contracts a severe attack of hepatitis. The rest of the tour is scrapped (Kansas stand in for the band), and Brian is flown back to London on the 16th.

Meanwhile, Freddie, Roger, John, road crew and anyone else who may have come into contact with Brian hastily inoculate themselves.

"When he turned yellow, we thought he had food poisoning.", said Freddie in an NME interview in June. Sadly for Brian, the hepatitis is to become a regular feature of his life.

There is nothing for the band to do but start writing songs for the third album. After rehearsing for a week at Rockfield Studios, Monmouthshire, they immerse themselves at Trident on July 15th and start recording. But it just isn't Brian's year. On August 2nd, he is rushed to hospital with a duodenal ulcer - and straight onto the operating table. Queen have to cancel their US tour planned for September, but assure their British fans they'll still be gigging in England in November.

For the next three months, recording continues at Trident, but it is a frustrating, sporadic process. Sessions are frequently cancelled when May is too sick to attend, and when he does manage to turn up, his contribution is so below par that it has to be scrapped. As a result, the band decide it would be better to continue recording without Brian, and let him play his parts when his health improves. Against all the odds, the album is finished to a standard acceptable to all.

Brian: "For some strange reason, we seemed to get rather a diferent feel on 'Sheer Heart Attack' because of the way we were forced to record it, and even allowing for all the problems we had, none of us were really displeased with the final result."

Source ➡️ brianmay.com

Pic: 1974 - Queen 'Sheer Heart Attack' album cover shoot

📸 Photographer © Mick Rock (1948-2021)

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

When Catherine wss transitioning to become an official member of the royal family, was it also as messy as Meghan's? I wasn't an observer but perhaps there could be some similarities?

Nope.

#1 - Kate's transition was much, much longer. Her training most likely began in 2008 after she and William got back together and it continued all the way through very early 2012. (I'm using the announcement of Kate's first patronages and charities to mark her "training wheels" coming off.) This is on top of the "access" she had for the 4-5 years pre-breakup. So all in all, Kate's transition was at least 4 years somewhat officially, then another 4 years somewhat informally and situationally - so about 8 years altogether for Kate to become an official member.

So compare Kate's 8ish-year transition to Meghan's whirlwind 13-month transition (Meghan's move to England/engagement in Nov 2017 to the announcement of her first patronages): Kate had a ton more time to understand what she was getting into and she could take her time learning, acclimating, and managing expectations (everyone else's and her own).

On top of that, Kate has never reached full-time official status. She was supposed to "upgrade" in September 2017 (as announced in January 2017) but then best laid plans - new baby, pandemic, major illness, chemo. So some may suggest that Kate is still in transition. So that's another 11+ years to transition to an official full-time status.

(Also on that note, Plant's theory was that Kate began her 'Princess of Wales' transition in Fall 2018 after returning from maternity leave, when her coatdresses became more formal and kicked it into high gear/made it noticeable in Summer 2019 with longer dress hemlines and more polished, professional looks. With what we know now, the family may have begun their Queen-to-King transition in 2017 so Plant really may have been on to something.)

Meanwhile, Meghan expected immediately to become a full-time working royal because Harry was also full-time working royal, having transitioned to "full time" after leaving the Army. She quit Suits for this, after all. But again, best laid plans - Meghan immediately got pregnant, and then she burned out after 72 days of part-time status.

To me, this proves that William and Kate's plan of "slow and steady" has been incredibly successful. But it is incredibly glacial and in the immortal words of Miranda Priestly:

IMO, both William and Kate could stand to pick up the place a little. Let's break 120 engagements on the royal calendar when Kate is back up to full performance.

Anyway, getting off track here.

#2, Meghan's transition was messy because it also played out in PR and social media, and often at her own hand.

Kate's transition largely happened behind closed doors and away from the public eye. Kate certainly wasn't leaking anything to the press about meeting certain family members or planning what kind of work she'd do. It wasn't even officially confirmed that Kate met The Queen until William spoke about it in the engagement interview, while Meghan was leaking to her sources that she was meeting William as early as November 2016.

That's not to say Kate didn't have her messy moments. I'm sure she did, but they likely played out more privately. In fact, the only "messy" moments I can think of from before Kate married in are:

Carole chewing gum at William's passing-out ceremony. (The papers were horrified because how dare someone chew gum while existing in the same space as The Queen. It wasn't like they were having a personal audience.)

The having fun/going out dancing/drinking nights out with William and/or Pippa.

Leaked comments attributed to The Queen that she wished Kate would do something more productive with her time.

Mean girl rumors of Kate and Pippa vs Beatrice and Eugenie.

And the last one, I don't even know if it's real - Kate received "training" from the BRF on how to get in and out of cars around photographers. (I don't know if it's real because on the one hand, it's the only scene I remember from the Lifetime 'William & Kate' movie but on the other hand, this would've been back in the mid/late '00s when paparazzi were notorious for upskirt photos of young female celebs getting out of cars.)

Others who were around back in those very early days for Kate might have other info/insight.

But bottom line, it was a very different world social media-wise and traditional media wise in Kate's day vs when Meghan came around so that also must be taken into consideration when looking how both women prepared for marrying in, in addition to their own personalities and the position(s) they were marrying into.