#regency wardrobe

[whennnow]

Jane Austen Ball 2025

March 29, 2025

[Image ID: a photo of Alex in her white Regency dress, with a red ribbon bodice, red shawl, and faux coral jewelry.]

Another Jane Austen Ball is in the books! I went with red accessories this time.

Much like last year, I had a fantastic time dancing, and I loved seeing so many people dressed up! (I even made a little game of guessing which sewing patterns the ladies used for their Regency dresses, though I never asked for confirmation.)

While the ball was about an hour away from where I live, many people from my local English Country Dance group were there, plus a few other people I recognized from local historical events. It was delightful to see so many familiar faces, and I look forward to seeing most of them at our monthly local dance in two weeks!

I had one extra special moment, standing out even from the dancing, the people, and the delicious cookies - I met someone who recognized me from my Instagram! It's a little silly - I'm not exactly an "influencer" or anything, nor am I trying to be, but it was a fun reminder that the people in my phone are people in real life! :)

[Image ID: a messy flat-lay photo of a Regency-era women's ensemble, including a white dress and petticoat, a pair of short stays, and a red shawl, jewelry, and purse.]

[artschoolglasses]

A birthday present, and an absolutely gorgeous book 🖤

Jane Austen's Wardrobe, by Hilary Davidson

[distant--shadow]

the witch and the widow chapter 8 WIP

The room is a thick cloud of incense and darkness, with the occasional sharp edges of vinegar and formaldehyde, settling vapours soft-furnishings of sulphur and petrichor.

Her breath does not come easily; wheezing a possibly-damning soft whistle from her nostrils between heaves from her throat that feel as though someone is standing on her chest.

Her eyes strain against the dim light; a soon-to-be-extinguished candle in a brass holder in her right hand, its flame catching in the thick glass lenses that sit on the end of her nose-

Her eyes slowly attempt to adjust.

When she looks down her hand is gnarled beyond recognition; freckles now liverspots and teal veins and purple capillaries barking the texture of the dense clusters of scars that entangle all of the visible skin of her arm. She wishes to pull back the sleeve further, but she can’t - realising her body not to be her own, watching, dreaming (assumedly) - as instead the candle is set down at a desk, the edges of tomes and vials and metal contraptions barely illuminated in flickering orange, phasing in and out of existence.

Her joints ache, abrasive like the points of her incisors dragging across the gritty base of fired fine porcelain, daring the bone to grind down and allow raw nerve to make the contact, porcelain jesters and singing blackbirds, her head heavy, spine wilting like a dying flower.

Her hands – their hands – (whose hands?) brace themselves momentarily on the lip of the crowded desk, before one slips under - feeling almost blindly - fittingly blindly, her vision foggy with a blizzard of cataracts as her fingertips read the woodgrain in the underside of the writing area of the desk, colliding into mortise and tenon, cornered in mitres.

A draft persistently licks at her- their- neck, the tips of their ears feeling frost-bitten, their nose dripping, heart beating in their ears, a longing for a copper tub filled with steaming hot water and perfumed tinctures-

Their fingertips meet their mark, a dull mechanical click sounding as something pushes into their thigh

They step back, their right hand taking the candleholder back into it, the shadows slowly pulling back like bed sheets to reveal the contents of the hidden drawer

A book - untitled, clearly bound by someone who at best was an apprentice on their very first day, the leather rugged and almost liver-spotted like the hands that marvel at it; pages loose and dog-eared, including those dogs that lost their ears from a mauling or were cancered bulbous then away from too much time with their pale fur in the sun.

A diary - though as the pages fly by they are written in a number of hands - and later, much later towards the end are excerpts - torn from manuscripts with monk-skilled dexterity and margin embellishments, and finally, the uniform type-face of a printing-press-

“My love-” they startle, as a hand rests over theirs - feminine, skin cold as though petrified, perfect, carved from marble so smooth it may be free of fingerprints “Your mind is not well enough to see this.”

Under the movements of their hands in puppeteered unison, the book closes shut.

The woman kisses them at their temple.

“You wrote down all that you can, the book will be his.”

The room brightens, though barely; a soft blue light as though the moon had entered through the window, exposing the faces of the individual stones that make up the masonry, the carving of barley twists in varnished wood.

The woman’s skin, almost iridescent and paler than fresh milk, her hair draping over her shoulders down to past her hips like perfectly spun silk

They look back to their overlapping hands, as though they were swearing an oath over the tome.

“Why do my hands look so old?”

“We are old, dear.”

“Why don’t you look it?”

She smiles,

beautiful, formidable.

“Because we made a promise.”

~

It’s always been hard to re-adjust to reality in the morning; Imogen had heard the haze referred to as being sleep-drunk, and it feels apt with how the beams of the stable roof bulge towards her, her eyesight slurring as if struggling for the words to quite decipher what they’re seeing, her motor instinct to marinate in the emotions that her sleep had given to her.

So often she wakes up as though in fight or flight, sleep certainly not affording her the rest it is supposed to.

There was no terror or gore last night, only the aches of a withering body and mind - clouded, outside of itself - Imogen can relate to the disassociating.

She wishes she had influence, rather than to only be a passenger, curtained off behind carriage windows. If the room wasn’t so dark, maybe Imogen could have caught themselves in a mirror, could see how much skin the scars had claimed, could look upon the woman’s face a moment longer-

Could have actually read a single word on any of the pages.

The book. That book.

The Lady’s Library.

Imogen sits up from out of her bedroll, rubbing her head and peering over the edge of the attic space, partially expecting another flower to fall from the sky.

Maybe this time it will become a ball of light - a comet with a long tail hurtling towards the floor and melting through it, maybe it would wilt in moments- slowly greet the ground as the body she had joined had in her dream, liquidising into a puddle of organic matter that flows between the gaps in the flagstones-

some power that would be-

though it is a blessing, to get that old. It is much easier to leave before then.

(she believes she was able to properly dry and preserve the dahlia.)

She stops rubbing her forehead and focuses.

The saddle stand still remains in the middle of the tacking room.

Imogen feels her stomach almost turn at its confrontation, almost undiscernible; how her belly drops to how her legs weaken and her insides lunge.

Her face flushes, her whole body

The Lady. The library.

Focus.

~

Ms Laudna is in the deceivingly large herb garden.

Deceivingly - ‘caus Imogen hadn’t quite realised how many of the herbs from around here had blooms - or at least maybe she wasn’t used to seeing them this densely arranged and in flower beds with consideration given to their orchestration by colour and height and shape and shading and scent.

Ms Laudna is kneeling on a cloth-

Now that they had taken that trip to the seaside together, Imogen recognises it as the one they had laid the oysters on.

“Imogen.”

Ms Laudna greets her before Imogen has had the time to clear her throat.

“Ms. Laudna-”

“Do you wish to talk with me? I assume you haven’t lead Foie Gras here to graze, I would have to draw a line before that.”

“What? No – I mean yes – yes, I did wanna talk.”

Ms Laudna smiles as Imogen contradicts herself; and Imogen buckles at her focus, eyes diverting down – down besides Ms Laudna’s knees and onto the embroidered cloth, where a pile of long and purple-flowered stems of bishopwort amasses.

“Should I stand?”

“I don’t wish t’disturb you-”

Imogen decides to kneel down as well, and Ms Laudna bows her head to her in acknowledgement and carries on with her work.

 “What’re ya harvestin’?”

“Nothing in particular, you have to cut many things back in order for them to grow fuller.” She continues, the meeting of two blades satisfyingly snipping as the bouquet grows fatter. Imogen finds herself unusually jealous of the flowers getting so much attention, even if they are being cut down.

“That’s bishopwort.”

“It is - betony - betonica officinalis, by the old language.”

“I’ve never heard someone talk the old language.”

“Times have changed.”

snip snip snip

bees hum

Ms Laudna maintains her focus on the flowers.

“I was given it at Master Faramore’s when I got sores on m’hands.” Imogen offers, thinking back again to the earlier days of her scars manifesting, before they had been there a long enough time for her to realise they were indeed scars and not sores.

“And how did it treat you?”

“Well enough.”

“If you ever need more then please, help yourself.”

snip snip snip

“Thank you Miss.” Imogen continues to watch as the lady prunes stems back to the stalk with the small  pair of shears, gathering another small bouquet in her other hand before she sets them down to add to the pile by her knees, Imogen trying to understand what makes these flowers in particular so worthy of Ms Laudna’s focus.

This part of the garden - as are many areas of the garden that are not the grassy paddocks - is alive with the thrums of bees’ wings and grasshoppers’ legs, some of the bees so round and fluffy that they look like pom-poms or dandelion heads caught on the wind, the honey from the hive in this very bed some of the most valued, complex and medicinal

the early morning sun dyes the downy and stray hairs at the nape of Ms. Laudna’s neck white gold.

-of course Imogen wishes to trace her fingertips over them, curl them around her knuckles. She could pretend the touch were a bee’s, hum in her Lady’s ear-

snip, snip-

‘help yourself.’

The library.

“Can I help y’now?”

“If you would like to.” Ms Laudna stops, turning to face Imogen, her hands still holding the shears resting on her lap.

“I would.” Imogen admits, though it had not been what she had planned. She had at least momentarily won her attention, maybe her favour too.

“Alright.” The look Ms Laudna gives her is far too coy, Imogen feels as though she is at her feet shucking oysters again.  “We’ve seen your knife skills, how about you show me some sewing? I believe it should be coriander, sorrel, and tarragon at this time, I would say.”

(link 2 previous chapters on ao3 caus tumblr hates me linking to there the programmed way)

[iamthemaestro]

I feel like I need to get more into regency clothing

[raspberry-beret]

12 Days of Christmas - Ten Lords A'Leaping

[rosesnink]

Listen, I love BGN3 plot-wise, but the costumes (save Penelope's) are just plain ridiculous. Some don't even look Regency, just a terrible parody of it ����

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Regency Fashion

The Regency. The King is mad, the Prince of Wales is lording it up as the de-facto head of state. Napoleon is raging in Europe, Jane Austen is Austen-ning and the Bridgertons are on the prowl, waiting for their glow-up season. But what are they wearing during this period? Now, for this post, I am focusing on the actual Regency period (1811 to 1820). The before and after will come… eventually.

The Regency is a curious sub-era of fashion because it is bracketed between the early Victorian era with its large skirts and large puffy sleeves and the Georgian fashions with the court mantuas. I once read an article that pondered what the Victorians thought of the fashion of their grandmother’s and great-grandmothers during the Regency, wondering if they were scandalised.

Undergarments

The Regency undergarments have much of the same structure of those that came before and after, just with tweaks.

For ladies, the Regency was a time for natural silhouettes, so this meant that the long-structured corsets of the Victorians were a way off and the panniers of the Georgians were forgotten (except at court but we will talk about it later).

Chemise: This goes under everything. This is not up for debate. I am talking to you period drama wardrobe people, yes you, you know who you are. The chemise is like a big linen shirt worn under everything else.

Petticoat: This was a thin skirt worn over the chemise to keep the chemise from sticking to the skirts. These weren’t worn for volume as petticoats were and would be worn.

Corsets: The Corset in the Regency period was much shorter than you would expect but so were bodices. Regency corsets might make you think of modern-day bras since they sometimes spanned from the breasts to the waist rather than the hips.

Stockings and garters: Stockings are like long socks that go up past the knee, usually in muted colours and embroidered. Stockings were held up by garters, which were strips of cloth tied around the leg to keep them in place.

Drawers: Technically most Regency women didn’t wear any underwear, but the Regency period was the beginning of the interest in wearing them. Some women adopted the drawers which were modified versions of the drawers worn by men. Princess Charlotte, Princess of Wales was said to have tried them out which confused a lot of other women. In the later years of the Regency, some women adopted the pantaloons which were like drawers only longer. Drawers were short of linen or cotton shorts, only with a split in the crotch and a drawstring waist.

Gentlemen

Undershirts: Men wore their own kinds of chemises, but these were much shorter and tucked into the drawers. You’re thinking of Colin Firth aren’t you?

Drawers: Like I said, the lady’s versions are adaptations of the men, cotton/linen shorts with a drawstring. But during the Regency, the drawers were adapted to have buttoned flaps.

Corsets: Yes, men also wore corsets. The Prince Regent wore one for his back issues officially but there were rumours of him wearing one to try manage his considerable weight.  

Stockings and garters: Stockings are like long socks that go up past the knee, usually in muted colours and embroidered. Stockings were held up by garters, which were strips of cloth tied around the leg to keep them in place.

Gowns and Suits

The Gentlemen

The men of the Regency were just as interested in their fashion as their female counterparts and their predecessors of the Georgian period.

Tailcoat/Jacket: Jackets and tailcoats were tailored, with the tails shaped into a “M” shape. These were made to show the shirt, vest and cravat underneath.

Waist Coat: The Regency waistcoats were vests, usually single-breasted but double-breasted were popular too. The trend in the Regency was high collared vests.

Shirt: Men would have worn shirts over their chemise for warm, only this shirt would be of more substantial fabric and often embroidered.

Cravat: The cravat is like a tie, wrapped around the neck and knotted.

Pants: When not at court, men wore trousers. These were buttoned at the front and usually tailored.

Breeches: Breeches were worn more at court as they were considered old-fashioned.

Pantaloons: These were tight, fitted trousers that were worn with high boots.

Suspenders: Trousers worn with suspenders were originally a working-class trend – as all the best trends are – become popular in the years preceding the Regency.

Inexpressibles: Probably what you’re thinking of when you think of Regency pants. These were extremely tight fitting and have reputation.

Buckskins: These were sort of the equivalent of comfy pants for the men. They were made from deerskin and worn during down time.

Great Coat: The great coat is a long coat worn over the ensemble and could be as fancy or as plain as the gentleman wants.  

Shoes: Usually, leather dress shoes and worn to every sort of event except outside where boots might be the best option. Boots were never worn at night.

Ladies

The women of the Regency period were experiencing something new, something more aligned to the Romanticism of the day. Women took inspiration from the Classical world in their fashion. Bodices became shorter, sleeves shorter and silhouettes less structured.  

Morning Gowns: These were dresses worn in the morning or during the day time if one was staying at home. It had an empire waist, short sleeves and worn with shawls and bonnets if taking a stroll in the garden. These were usually made of light fabrics such as muslin or poplin

Visiting Gowns: Visting gowns were worn when calling on friends or family. They were made of more substantial fabric like wool, satin or silk and less plain than the morning gown. They would be long sleeved and worn with gloves.

Walking Gowns: Walking gowns are pretty much self-explanatory, worn when walking outside, so that means long sleeves. They were made of thick fabrics such as wool, cotton and velvet and always worn with a bonnet and a spencer or a pelisse and gloves.

Promenade Dresses: These are a fancier gown than walking gowns, usually more decorated and worn both for walking and for riding in a carriage. Worn with a bonnet and gloves. Usually worn when one is taking a quick trip by carriage.

Carriage Dresses: Yes, the Regency not only had one dress for riding in a carriage, they had many. These were very similar to the promenade dress but designed for better comfort. Can be worn with gloves but definitely worn with a bonnet. One might wear this one on long journeys by carriage.

Riding Habits: This was worn by women when they were riding horses. They were usually made of thick cotton, leather of wool depending on the weather. This outfit was comprised of a long coat, riding gloves, high boots for the muck and stirrups and worn with a hat to keep the hair from the lady’s face.

Ball Gowns: Ball gowns were short sleeved, empire waisted and made from silk, satin and usually well decorated depending on the lady’s rank. They were always paired with long gloves. No bonnet worn here. Hair would be arranged under a tiara or an array of flowers or jewels or combs.

Shawl: Was a drape of fabric worn over the upper body against a chill. It may be made from wool or a heavier fabric but if worn to an event, it would be made of lighter fabric.

The Spencer Jacket: The Spencer is a fitted jacket, long sleeved and waist-length jacket worn over a dress when walking.

Pelisse: Is an coat dress which like the Spencer was close fitting but it was much longer.

Cloak/Mantelet: The cloak wasn’t dead yet in the Regency period. Women would have worn them in the evenings when attending balls, parties, the opera and the theatre.

Tucker: The tucker was a piece of fabric tucked into one’s bodice to cover as much as one’s chest and shoulders as possible.

Bonnet: The bonnet was usually a cap with a wide brim, trimmed with fabric flowers or ribbon and held in place by a ribbon tied under the chin.

Slippers: These look like a ballet slipper. They would be made from silk, satin, leather etc.

Boots: These were made of leather, often worn when walking distances in the city and country and usually only reached the ankle.

Pattens: This was a metal lift worn at the bottom of the lady’s shoe to keep her from ruining her shoes in rain or the city’s muddy streets.

When at Court

If you have ever watched Bridgerton, you might see that Queen Charlotte doesn’t wear the same gowns as the rest of the ton. This is actually historically accurate as Queen Charlotte was a traditionalist at heart and distrusted the new fashions, though we have a surviving empire-waisted dress of hers worn in private. When the ton descended on court, especially at the debut, they would not be wearing their short-sleeved, empire gowns. They would be wearing a wide hooped dress with a long train – but the Regency ladies weren’t about to give up on everything modern, they followed Queen Charlotte’s rules but kept the empire waist which lead to a ridiculous looking gown. I mean, look at it.

Bejewelled

The Regency era is a very important era for jewels because *trumpet sounds* it was the dawn of the tiara, or the renaissance of it. The modern idea of tiara came about during this era due to the women taking inspiration from the stephanes worn by the Ancient Greeks and Romans. Tiaras became a staple during this time, giving us some of our most famous and beautiful tiaras we still have today.

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Alia in the womb: Bro, stop being such a whinny little bitch and found your empire already. I need to start pre-ordering my regency wardrobe.

[softaestluv]

The king assigns four knights to the princess in hopes to protect his daughter’s innocence and modesty, your virtue and purity. But your poor father doesn’t know what happens behind closed doors. Can’t seem to figure out why every potential suitor runs away with their tails tucked between their legs.

Knight! Tf141 x Princess! Reader

Tags: Poly! Tf141, Stereotypical hierarchy during regency era, Regency era inaccuracies, Mentions of forced marriage, Mention of non-consensual/aggressive touching/pulling/pushing, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Next (soon!)

The king, your father, assigns four knights to your side because you can’t seem to keep yourself out of trouble or disgracing the family name. He hopes to protect his daughter’s innocence and modesty, your virtue and purity. Four knights who he thinks are doing their job quite well, pleased to hear that you haven’t been causing too much havoc around the kingdom.

But your poor father doesn’t know what happens behind closed doors. Can’t seem to figure out why every potential suitor runs away with their tails between their legs.

You suppose it started rather innocent, your father wanted you to find a suitor, become married to a distinguished family. Give him an heir even if you did not want to, were not ready for a child of your own. So, when your father started inviting suitors to the castle you hid amongst the abundance of wardrobes and armories you could find.

You were thankful that you had a loyal lady-in-waiting by your side, tried to hide your secret for as long as she could from the king. But when this no longer worked you began to climb the garden walls. Which wasn’t exactly an easy feat, especially in the bodice and garments you were constantly adorned with. Tore the stitching in one too many gowns, bashfully brought the ripped fabric to your handmaiden.

Regularly scolded how ‘your highness, I have never met a young lady who’s ruined so many gowns before. Perhaps you should have learned how to sew instead of how to ride a horse.’

‘But I do know! Mama taught me so!’ you would argue, plopping your head at her knees while she sewed, ‘If she was still here do you think she would stop father from forcing me to wed?’

‘I do not know, little deer, but the king has been entirely gracious with you. You have reached the age to marry for years now, and he never demanded it of you until now.’

‘Well, perhaps he should have done it when I was young and naive! Maybe I would have been more inclined with the woes of marriage.’

She would laugh nodding her head, ‘Yes, perhaps he should have. You’re too stubborn for your own good.’

And when she was done, she would show you the double stitching she used to reinforcer the material to prevent any future tears. Then lean real close and whisper the next date your father had invited suitors with a hushed promise of preparing your horse outside the garden walls for your ‘great escape.’

You thought that would be the worse of it, but maybe your defiance came as a guttural shock to your father. You had been nothing but obedient, the perfect image of a princess before now and perhaps he was not prepared for your sudden insolence. Had called you into his royal office to scold you that he could not understand why you would possibly be undermining his honor.

‘Perhaps he had given you far too much freedom,’ he had grumbled, ‘Maybe he should not have taught you how to ride a horse or how to shoot a bow and arrow. It was unladylike to know how to hunt, after all.’

‘But Father, you were the one who insisted on taking me hunting! Mama advised you otherwise.’ You had interjected.

‘Yes, indeed, it would have been wise to listen to your mother.’

‘Father, I assure you that knowing how to hunt has not hindered my want to be married.’

‘Then maybe it is all those books you have been reading, filling your mind with strange ideas and fantasies. That will not do, you are my daughter and you will marry.’

That was when he assigned the royal guard, Sir MacTavish, to your side. You had thought that was rather dramatic, a knight would not make you marry. Though, it was not the worst company to have, and he was quite easy to charm. So, when the first visitor arrived after MacTavish was assigned, you were able to wrangle your way out of his sight. A fact that your father wasn’t entirely pleased about. You almost felt guilty watching MacTavish get reprimanded by your father.

Which is how you found yourself in your current situation. If one knight wasn’t enough, your father certainly thought four should do the trick, which proved true. It was rather difficult to escape the tight confines of knights such as Sir Price and Sir Riley, the pair was far more diligent and rigid than MacTavish was.

You thought four knights was a bit excessive especially considering you were merely a princess and not an enemy to the throne. Truthfully, you might have taken MacTavish for granted. Not a moment went by where you weren’t under the watchful eye of the royal guard. Couldn’t roam the castle without them following close behind, perched in the library reading a book and there they were. Sat in silence while you practiced the piano in the great hall, watched you paint with oils and watercolors in the drawing room, followed along on your horse rides.

At first you despised it, despised them with every breath. Privacy was nonexistent for a woman such as yourself, and four knights were not exactly the company you craved, but with time they began to meet your fancy.

Sir Price began to share novels he read with you when the two of you sat in the library. Swapped preferred books with each other every week before discussing the language and thoughts when returning the next week after finishing the works. The discussions would turn quite heated, but Price would laugh along, a glint of admiration in his eyes every time you challenged something he said or the words in the book.

Sir Garrick sat on the piano bench with you while you played; he enjoyed the music, the sounds and symphonies, so you taught him how to play easy songs and ballads. Couldn’t help but smile every time he mastered a song with you, every time he wanted to show the other three knights what he learned proudly. Met your eyes with reverence and adoration every time the two of you performed a song without mistakes.

Sir MacTavish accompanied your side while painting, albeit he was a far better artist than you were, so he helped you more than you were able to help him. Explained certain ways you could stroke your brush, how to apply shadows and depth, angles and perspective until you were accurately able to capture a landscapes, sunsets, and portraits. Clapped and smiled at you boisterously and proud when you finished a new painting, singing your praises.

Sir Riley drank morning tea with you before joining you on your horse rides in the forest. As soon as it became an established routine, he had a cup of warm tea waiting for you every morning, drank in comfortable silence while you rubbed the sleep from your tired eyes. He followed far behind on your rides, gave you the space and freedom he knew you had been craving, or maybe it was because he enjoyed the peaceful look on your face in the dewy mornings; you weren’t entirely sure, but you cherished the time anyways.

Now, there was not a day you did not look forward to MacTavish’s careless talking, unconcerned and informal or the deep grunts of acknowledgement from Riley. You treasured your interactions with them, but it did not change the fact that they were there to push you into the hands of dukes you did not want. Just as they sat there during your leisure; they accompanied your side when you were sent on excursions with dukes and lords. Forced you to participate and eliminate any chance of an escape.

Maybe you were still naive, maybe you should not have believed that they would not follow your fathers orders, that the bond you were beginning to form with them was more than that. So, as much as you enjoyed their time; your relationship with them remained hostile when it felt as if they betrayed you. Your words were harsh, your stares even harsher; you shut them out, stopped reading the books Price would give you, sat in the middle of the piano bench to prevent Garrick from sitting with you, painted in the confines of your private quarters, pushed the tea that Riley would make away as soon as your fathers efforts seemed to work, as soon as you were sent off to be married, an act you did not have a say in, not when you father honored the man with his blessing to take your hand.

When you had turned to your four knights for help, they turned their gaze the other way, left you stranded and helpless. You were sure they had heard you crying in your room more times than not, wallowing in your bed because you were to marry a man that repulsed you.

Still, they did nothing, but guide you into his arms.

You knew it was not entirely their fault, they were serving their king, following his orders no matter how much it pained them to watch you push them away, listen to the sobs ricocheting off your walls, but it still settled a nasty taste in your throat, vile and painful every time they ushered you to another ball with the Duke.

That was before Sir Riley had attended a horse ride with you and the Duke, trailed far behind the two of you when you stopped at the stream you always perched yourself at every morning. It was not mandatory for Riley to follow you, not when you were in the presence of the Duke, but he came along anyways. Maybe it was because he wore his occupation like a badge of honor, maybe it was because he did not trust the Duke alone with you.

Perhaps he knew he should not have trusted the Duke.

You had begun to peel your shoes off, just like you always did at the stream, preparing yourself to walk into the cold water. The Duke watched you with hesitant eyes contrasted the reverence in Sir Riley’s directly behind him; it was an act he had seen you perform countless times, stood and watched you closely, so you would not lose your footing, but it was new to the Duke. An action he deemed he did not like as he lunged forward as soon as you began to move, banding his strong grip on your arm.

“You are not to go into that water.” The Duke snarled, pulling you backwards so harshly that you stumbled over your footing, fell backwards into the rushing water.

Sir Riley was by your side in an instant, hoisting you into his brawny arms, and carrying you to stable ground, settling your bare feet in the dry grass.

“My princess, are you alright?” Riley asked, concern laced in his tone, as his eyes darted over your wet frame, gown dripping with water, to find any injuries.

You nodded your head through chattering teeth and wet clumped lashes, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, just cold.”

Riley removed his cloak at your response, placing it on your shoulders before typing it off around your neck, smoothing his large palms over the fabric to emit warmth.

“Oh, she’s okay; It’s just some water,” The Duke sneered from behind Riley.

You watched the edges of Riley’s irises shift hard, steel-like, turning to snap at the Duke, seething, “I’d choose my words very wisely if I was you.”

The Duke didn’t have more to say, trotted behind on his horse as Riley escorted you back to the castle. Ushered you inside your private quarters quickly, gesturing for the other three knights to join him, murmured to you that they had business to take care of before disappearing down the grand hall.

That night when you were summoned for dinner, you were surprised by the absence of the Duke, but when you pressed the maids all they shared was that the he left with swollen cheeks and blackened eyes without an explanation to your father. And when you met your knight’s eyes across the room, you couldn’t help but smile.

dividers made by @/olenvasynyt! I will also be reblogging the post if you guys want to support as well!

masterlist

[whennnow]

The Good, The Bad, The Short Stays

February 13, 2019

[Image ID: a flat photo of Regency-esque short stays made of unbleached muslin]

I started my Regency fashion journey back in the summer of 2017 and I… have not made it very far. All I have right now are a chemise that I can’t get over my shoulders (whoops!) and a set of nice looking short stays with some dark secrets. I’m disappointed with my progress - it’s hard not to be - but I’m trying my best to look at this as a learning experience. So, without further ado, let’s dig into my stays!

These are the designs and pattern pieces I started with. I drafted the pattern myself, which was a first for me, and the pattern turned out surprisingly well! The finished product even fits well!

[Image ID: three mostly rectangular sewing pattern pieces labeled, from right to left, "front", "side", and "back"]

In the original designs, I had planned to have boning on either side of the center front lacing. I was forced to scrap that, as my chest just isn’t that wide. I also changed the number of gussets in each cup to four, instead of three, and made each gusset the same shape. They seem to work fine, but I’d be curious to see if shaping them would make much of a difference.

The gussets did not turn out well at all. I had never sewn gussets before, and didn’t bother doing any research before I jumped into them. I admit I still haven’t read up on gussets, but I suspect that part of the problem was that I had mis-measured the gussets and made the seam allowances too small, so when I folded in the seam allowances for the front panels and sewed them down, the gussets didn’t catch in some places. To remedy this, I hand sewed them using what could, on a technicality, be called a whip stitch, I think. The quality of my stitching isn’t very consistent, but it is very nice to run my fingers along in some places, and it serves to reinforce the seams there, which is probably a good thing.

The eyelets were also a first for me, and most of them turned out very nicely! There are 14 eyelets total, all hand-bound, with metal jump rings inside them for reinforcement. You can definitely tell which eyelets were my first if you look closely, but I’m very happy with how they turned out!

The body of the stays is just two layers of unbleached muslin. Something sturdier would have been better. The edges are bound in off-white bias tape, which seems to have worked well enough. The boning is heavy-duty zip ties, a carry-over from my cosplay days. The boning at both sides of the center front, where a busk should be, is actually just a wooden dowel. Doubling up the zip ties wasn’t giving me the support I needed for the bust (lift and separate!), so I had to find an alternative. Obviously, neither zip ties nor wooden dowels (or the jump rings in the eyelets) are ideal or washable, but they do, technically, get the job done.

Each cup has a drawstring at the top for adjustability. The shoulder straps tie to the front, also for adjustability. I ordered the cord I used for those and the front lacing from Wm Booth Draper. I had never heard of them before, but they seemed to be well-established and had lots of good reviews on their Facebook page, so I took the chance and was not let down!

To finish off, since this has gotten to be a lot longer than I meant it to, I’m not completely happy about how these turned out, but they fit and have been a very good learning opportunity for me, so I am content. I do plan on remaking them in the future, but that might be very far into the future, at this rate.

Stay warm, stay safe, stay dry.

[nyc-looks]

Eiligh, 23 Gemma, 20

Eiligh, 23: “The bulk of my wardrobe is either thrifted or made by me. The sweater is from Nomadic Traders, I lifted the hem bc I am very short, the sequined top is thrifted, the skirt is from Autography, my shoes are Obeo, and the blue top is a piece I made inspired by Regency Spencers. I made my necklace, and the earrings were made by a friend who does traditional Meti beading. I am consistently inspired by historical dress, clowns, handcraft, and love to dress eclectically.”

Gemma, 20: “I’m wearing a wool sweater and pleated skirt I made, and a vintage varsity cardigan with a Bettie Page pin. I’m also wearing black bows, a hankie from my best friend and Memery heels. I’m inspired most by butch/femme lesbian contemporary & historical styles, and my constant love of 1920s collegiate style and 1920s-1950s fashion overall.”

Mar 4, 2024 ∙ Garment District

[parkerslatte]

Beauty

For @erisweekofficial Day 6: AU

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader (Regency AU)

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: sexism. mentions of illness.

Summary: Throughout their whole childhood, Y/N and Eris grew up with one another, always seeing one another from across the park that separated their houses. However as time goes on, Eris begins to distance himself and Y/N cannot work out why. After an unfortunate incident at a ball, Eris goes to check on Y/N and some truths come to light.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Nineteen Years Ago

Two eight year olds lay in a shadowed part of a garden, their parents involved in boring adult chatter inside the house. The sun was beginning to set and while the children should be getting ready for a bath and bed, they were giggling happily, clothes stained with mun and pond water. 

“You liar!” Little eight year old Y/N exclaimed. 

“I’m not lying!” Eris Vanserra replied, nudging Y/N’s arm. 

“Yes you are!” Y/N said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And for that I’m telling your mother. My mother told me to never lie.”

“But I’m not lying, Y/N,” Eris pleaded. 

Y/N giggled. “But you said you wanted to marry me?”

“I do,” Eris said. “You are my best friend.”

“Do people marry their best friend?” Y/N asked.

Eris shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“If that is how it works then I will marry you,” Y/N said with a wide smile on her face, one of her front teeth missing. “People will be jealous because we will have the most fun at our wedding.”

Eris smiled. “It will be better than anyone elses. My dogs can be a part of it!”

Y/N gasped. “I wish we could get married now and make everyone jealous! It will be so much fun.”

Rain began to fall down upon the pair and Y/N giggled as the cold water hit her face. Eris stood to his feet and looked in the direction of the house. 

“I think our parents forgot about us,” Eris said. 

“Should we go and tell them about our wedding?” Y/N asked. “Or do you want to play out here more?”

Eris smiled and quickly nudged Y/N and ran away, laughing loudly. Y/N giggled and stood from the wet grass and chased after him, rain falling down around her. 

Present Day. 

The mirror before her presented an image she was used to. A plain girl with all hope and wonder gone from her eyes. At twenty seven years, Y/N is what many others would consider a spinster. She was not married, nor did she have any prospects. Being a spinster wasn’t what Y/N originally wanted for herself, she would always dream of her very own romance story from a very young age. A whole stack of paper was buried deep within her wardrobe detailing her dream life and wedding day. Y/N couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. 

“Are you ready to go?” her mother asked, coming into the room. 

Y/N let out a small sigh. “Do I really need to go to this ball? I already know it is going to turn out like any other.”

Her mother fiddled with the ends of her hair already falling out of its updo. “Y/N, we have spoken about this. You need to find a husband soon–”

“Mother, the men at these balls are not any different from the men last season. I know I am not on anyone’s mind in terms of marriage. I am ancient in their eyes,” said Y/N, straightening out her gown. 

“Perhaps this time will be different,” her mother suggested.

“We both know it won’t be,” Y/N said sadly. “You should just marry me off to Lord Ashington. I overheard him talking about me at the last ball.”

“Lord Ashington is ancient,” her mother said. “Y/N, I know I push you to marry but I don’t wish for you to end up in a marriage you are unhappy in. I want you to have a whirlwind romance I had with your father.”

“As much as I wanted that too mother, I think it is now time to look at the reality of my situation,” Y/N said. “I am no longer desirable in any man’s eye as I am not new and fresh to the marriage mart. I must settle for the first man with money to look my way. Lord Ashington is the route to go if I want to secure money to provide for you.”

Y/N fought the sting of tears, she turned her face away from her mother so she wouldn’t see but her attempts were futile. 

“Oh, my baby,” her mother said, wrapping her arms around Y/N. “This isn’t the life I wished for you.”

Y/N continued to cry against her mothers shoulder. If only Y/N could stay home then everything would be better. 

“I have a gift for you,” her mother said as she wiped Y/N’s tears away. “It was meant to be for your birthday but I can give it to you now.”

Her mother disappeared from the room for a minute before returning with a dress draped in white fabric. The moment the dress was unveiled, Y/N gasped at its sheer beauty. 

“I have been putting aside money to get it made for you,” her mother said. “I hope you like it.”

Y/N gently touched the fabric. “I love it.”

“If you wish to wear it tonight, I suppose I will allow it,” her mother said. 

Y/N wrapped her arms around her mother. “Thank you.”

***

By the time Y/N made it to the drinks table, her feet were aching and she was read to sleep, but even that couldn’t keep the smile from her face. The moment she had stepped into the ballroom, she had gathered more attention than she had in years. Y/N was sure she hadn’t danced this much since her first year in society. She forgot how much she enjoyed it. 

“I see you have made a few heads turn tonight,” a voice Y/N never thought she would hear again spoke. 

As she turned to face the source of the voice, Y/N felt a tightness in her chest. “What do you want?”

“A dance,” Eris answered. “With you.”

Y/N fought the urge to scoff. It had been years since she had exchanged words with Eris, and even longer since they had had a full conversation. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the silky smooth tone of his voice. 

“My dance card is full,” Y/N answered. 

“I can see one space available,” Eris pointed out. “Y/N, please. Just one dance.”

Y/N sighed. “What do you want, Eris?”

“I am only asking for a dance,” Eris answered.

“No. What I meant was, why are you speaking to me? You’re the one who has gone out of your way to avoid me.”

Before Eris had the chance to even open his mouth, a handsome gentleman offered Y/N his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Y/N sent one final look towards Eris before placing her hand in the man’s. “You may.”

As Y/N made her way into the centre of the ballroom, she watched as Eris’s grip on his glass tightened and he looked away. Y/N turned her attention back to the man in front of her and plastered a bright smile on her face. Although for the whole duration of the dance, she couldn’t get the image of Eris out of her mind. 

***

“Y/N, it seems like you haven’t had a moment to yourself all night,” Iris, a woman a few years younger than Y/N, said. “All that dancing with so many suitors must have tired you out?”

Y/N nodded. “I suppose it did. I am quite sure I haven’t danced this much in years.”

“I wonder why,” another woman, Evangeline, said thoughtfully and shared a look with Iris. 

“Tonight you seemed to catch the eye of every single available suitor here,” Iris continued. “You could have left some for the rest of us.”

Y/N chuckled, although she was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. “I have seen all of you on the dance floor. All of you are no shot of suitors yourself.”

“But none of us have caught the eye of Eris Vanserra,” Evangeline commented. “And you turned him down.”

Y/N shook her head. “I didn’t turn him down–”

“But I overheard you,” Evangeline siad, a wicked smirk appearing on her face. “He was so eager to dance and you turned him down only to run into the arms of the next man who spoke to you.”

“Eris and I have a…complicated past, I didn’t want to bring up past memories that are best left forgotten,” Y/N explained. 

Evangeline took a sip from her drink. “It must have been your dress.”

“My dress?” Y/N asked, confusion evident on her face. 

“I mean, how else would you capture Eris’s attention?” Evangeline said and Iris tried to hide her laugh. “Your hair is clearly not doing you any favours, it has already come away from its hairstyle. And you could have done something about those dark circles under your eyes.”

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked.

“I am just confused as to how a spinster has captured the attention of half of the ton. Your dress might be beautiful from far away but anyone with eyes can see how it is cheaply made,” Evangeline said. “Oh look, there is even a loose thread right here…”

Before Y/N could stop her, Evangeline pulled on the single loose thread and the lace decorating the edge of her bust fell away. Y/N gasped and dropped her drink, causing the class to shatter onto the floor. Everyone around the group looked her way. 

As Evangeline and Iris laughed, all Y/N could do was stand there. The burning from each and every eye on her was insufferable. Y/N held her hand to where the lace was falling away and fled the ballroom, quickly finding a small sitting room not too far away. The instruments from the ballroom were dull and barely audible as Y/N slumped down on the ornate settee and wiped the tears that had begun to fall. 

She wasn’t crying because of the embarrassment caused by Evangeline and Iris. Y/N was crying because of the runed dress. She hadn’t asked what her mother had paid for it and now it was ruined. Her mother rarely ever bought anything for herself for these past few months and now Y/N knew the reason why. Now that reason was ruined. 

The door to the sitting room opened and Y/N hastily stood up. 

“I am sorry for being in here, I can leave–Eris?” Eris stood in the doorway of the room, looking at Y/N with concern in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you are alright,” Eris said. “Clearly you are not.”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said. “Something silly.”

Eris’s eyes softened. “I guarantee it is not silly to garner this reaction from you. I know the girl I grew up with would rarely cry at anything.”

“I suppose I have quite a lot to cry about these days,” Y/N said. “I am no longer the girl you once knew Eris. You would have known that if you cared for me anymore.”

“Of course I care,” Eris said, stepping further into the room. 

Y/N scoffed. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Slowly, Eris closed the door behind him. Y/N’s eyes widened. 

“What are you doing? If I am seen alone with you, do you know how it will ruin me?” Y/N exclaimed.

“Then I will say that you were quite ill and I found you passed out in the hallway on my way out and found you somewhere to rest your head and then I will swiftly take my leave when I know that you are in safe hands,” Eris said. 

“Why did you follow me, Eris? We haven’t spoken in years,” Y/N said, completely defeated as she sat down on the settee.

“I know,” Eris said, sadness lacing his tone. “And that will be one of the biggest regrets of my life.” 

Y/N watched out of the corner of her eye and Eris walked over to her and sat next to her. The settee was small enough that Y/N could feel the heat of Eris through his jacket. If she had still been Seventeen and so desperately in love, she would have inched closer. Alas, she was no longer Seventeen and she had larger things on her mind than a simple touch that still sent her senses into overdrive. 

The two sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the ballroom muffled. The tears Y/N had shed were now dried up and she was sure her eyes were now bloodshot and pink. She fiddled with the lace in her hands, more of it had come away from the bodice and the more it came away the more her heart sank. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Eris said quietly. “I haven’t told you that yet.”

“I am sure you mean ‘looked’,” Y/N said. “I don’t feel beautiful right now.”

“You are,” Eris said with such a tenderness in his tone that it caused Y/N’s heart to skip a beat. “You always are.”

Y/N finally met Eris’s gaze and she felt herself melting. His gaze always had the power to do that. “What is bringing this on?”

“Does there need to be a reason?” Eris said. 

“Yes, because you have avoided me for years. You cannot simply talk to me out of nowhere and call me beautiful when the last time I tried to speak to you, you walked away from me and left me alone in the middle of the ballroom,” Y/N said. 

Eris looked at his lap almost shamefully. “I regret that, Y/N. I truly do. I wanted– want– nothing more than to speak with you, dance around ballrooms with you, talk with you until the dead of night.”

“What changed?” Y/N dared to ask. “Everything was going well, Eris. Even my mother thought we would end up engaged before I made my debut.”

Eris sighed. “Do you remember when your father passed away?”

Y/N nodded. She remembered that day vividly. Her mother was distraught and could barely keep herself together. Y/N depended on the maids to help her with her studies and making sure that her mother was okay. When Eris learned of the news, he moved into Y/N’s house for nearly three months. His father never gave his permission but Eris would defy any order his father gave him to help Y/N. 

“Well after he passed, my father noticed your mother taking money from your dowry to pay the maids and staff. He only noticed this change as your mother came to him for help once as your father always did all the finances. Once he noticed the low sum in your dowry, he didn’t want me anywhere near you incase your mother thought of the idea to marry you off to me to claim money from the Vanserra’s,” Eris explained. 

Y/N shuffled away. “The reason you avoided me was all because I was a burden to you.”

“Not at all,” Eris said quickly, inching his hand closer to her. “Please let me finish.”

There was no deceit on his face, he seemed truthful. Slowly, Y/N nodded.

“When he told me to stay away, I told him to stay out of my business, although not as kind as that.”

Y/N couldn't help herself but let out a quiet laugh. A small smile appeared on Eris’s face. 

“Anyway, after that I continued to see you and came by your house almost every single day after that,” Eris said. “You were my best friend, someone who I love dearly. I could not simply stay away from you. It was torture.”

“Then why did you avoid me after that night you came to me?” Y/N said. 

Thinking back to the night of her seventeenth birthday, Y/N always looked back on it with fondness but as time went on it became more and more painful. Did she do something wrong? Was she not what Eris wanted? Was she undesirable?

“You knew how my life could have been ruined if anyone found out what we did, Eris,” Y/N said. “I allowed you to kiss me. I allowed you to take me to bed.”

“I know and I wish I could go back in time and propose to you right there and then,” Eris admitted. “I was ready to as well. My mother gave me her engagement ring.”

Her heart sank to her feet. “What?”

“That night I was going to propose to you, Y/N,” Eris said. “I didn’t care that you hadn’t made your debut yet. I didn’t care that my father was so obsessed with even more money. I didn’t care about any of that because all I could care about was how much I loved you.”

“Then why didn’t you propose?” Y/N asked. 

“The weekend of your birthday, my father was out of town on business and it was only my mother and brothers in the house. All of my brothers were all too young to really care about what I was doing and my mother was glad to be rid of my father for a while and she went to visit an old friend. But that night I brought you into my bed, my father came home early. Since it was just my mother and brothers, we didn’t close the door properly, he saw the both of us,” Eris said, his hand anxiously twitching in his lap. 

Y/N’s eyes widened. “He saw us? Why did you never tell me?”

Eris shrugged. “I couldn’t. He made me promise that if I didn’t propose to you and abandoned my entire friendship with you then he would keep what he saw to himself. If I didn’t then he would tell the ton and you and your mother would have been ruined.”

“I fought of course,” Eris said. “I said that if he released that information, I would marry you on the spot and tell everyone that we had been engaged since before your birthday. I would have needed to make up a date but the plan would have worked. But my father made another threat. If I followed through with that plan then he would cut me off. I would be penniless and kicked out onto the streets. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t drag you down with me.”

“Eris,” Y/N said. “Why did you never tell me any of this?” 

“I was afraid of my father finding out,” Eris said. “I never wanted you at the centre of any negative gossip.”

“We might have been only seventeen, Eris, but I would have happily lived on the streets with you than live the nightmare of trying to find a husband,” Y/N said.

“But I wouldn’t have wanted that life for you, Y/N,” Eris said. “I wanted to be able to provide for you and make sure you have all the luxuries you deserved.”’

Y/N gently placed her hand on top of Eris’s. “All I wanted was you. I didn’t care about wealth or social status, not when I was around you.”

Eris squeezed her hand. “I always knew you would say that. But I could not let that happen. When I imagined my life with you, I always imagined living in a large house in the countryside. I imagined being able to provide for you, treating you to extravagant dresses that I knew you would ruin when you gardened. I imagined children running around that would look exactly like you. They would grow up in a loving home, safe and secure.” 

Eris paused. “I still imagine all of that to this day. There are some days that I ponder the life I would be having right now if my father never saw us that night and I went through with my proposal. I think of the children we might have. I think of the home we would be living in. I think of how much happier I would be with you by my side.”

“You still think about us?” Y/N asked.

Eris nodded. “Constantly. Lately I have avoided going to balls because I know I would see you and my restraint lately is wearing quite thin.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Y/N asked. “If your father finds out that you are alone with me, won’t he follow through on his promise?”

“I am here alone tonight,” Eris said. “My mother has kept this gossip from spreading all around the ton, but my father is quite ill. Doctors say that he might not make it to the end of the season.”

There was no emotion on Eris’s face as he spoke. She couldn’t decipher how he felt about the matter. 

“And how do you…feel about this news?” Y/N asked carefully.

“Honestly?” Eris asked. Y/N nodded. “Honestly I feel relieved. I know I shouldn’t because he is my father but he has always felt like a stranger to me. Even when I was a child he never took any interest in me and the only time he did was to make sure I was fit to run the household in the future. Is that an awful thing to say?”

Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I remember how your father was, he was never kind nor welcoming.”

Eris sighed. “I am sorry, Y/N. I came in here to comfort you and instead I have turned this whole ordeal about me.”

Y/N offered him a small smile. “Well, it was relevant information.”

Eris chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it was. Now, if you wish to be left alone, I perfectly understand and I shall leave you alone in peace.”

There was one question still swirling around Y/N’s head. One question she had wanted answered for many years. 

“Did you still love me?” Y/N asked. 

Eris looked confused for a moment. There was a long pause before he answered. 

“Of course I do,” Eris said. “Were you even listening to my confession that I still think of the life we would have had together?”

Y/N laughed and nudged Eris. “Of course I was. I wanted to hear you say it.”

“Do you wish to hear it again?” Eris asked. “Because I will happily comply.”

Y/N nodded and Eris stood from his seat and bent down on one knee. “Y/N L/N. I love you.”

“Eris, what are you doing?” Y/N asked. 

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Eris answered. “I know that we still have a lot to talk about. I know that there are still things to work through. But I love you Y/N and I cannot live without you in my life any longer. Tonight has been torture, watching other men dance with you and make you smile and laugh, I wished I was in their place. But unlike those men, I know how to make you really smile and laugh. I know your deepest fears and greatest ambitions. I know how you like your tea. I know how you got that small scar on your bicep. I know exactly how you like to be kissed.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks. 

“I know more about you than those suitors ever will. What I am asking you Y/N L/N, is if you will marry me?”

On the surface, Y/N knew she shouldn’t accept this proposal. For years, Y/N had been left believing that she wasn’t good enough for Eris, that she wasn’t good enough for anyone. But something deep within her only wanted him, she always had ever since she knew what love really was. Even in the times when Eris avoided her, she sometimes thought back to their friendship and stolen kisses. She thought about how much she missed him. 

“You don’t need to accept. I can leave this room and we can pretend like I never proposed,” Eris reassured.

Y/N wasn’t sure what to say but the words that came out of her mouth were not what she was expecting.

“Technically we are already engaged,” Y/N blurted out. 

“What?” Eris said, looking confused.

“You proposed to me when we were eight,” Y/N said. “We were going to have a wedding everyone would be jealous of.”

Eris’s eyes brighten in recognition. “I remember that. I was only a child but I didn’t even fully understand the concept of marriage. But I knew that I always wanted you to be with me.”

Y/N smiled. “I have a stack of paper hidden in my wardrobe detailing every part of the wedding I would have had with you.”

Eris laughed. “Perhaps we can put those plans to use after all.”

Something within Y/N knew that the next words to come out of her mouth were the right words and the words that would change her life for the better. 

“I think we need to rework some of the plans but overall, I think they could work,” Y/N answered.

A small look of uncertainty flashed across Eris’s face. “Are you accepting my proposal, Y/N?”

“Yes I am,” Y/N said. “I will marry you Eris. We still have things to discuss but we can do that another night. Tonight, let us celebrate.”

A long sigh of relief left Eris as the weight of the world seemed to be lifted. “I believe that is a good idea.”

Y/N stood to her feet while Eris remained kneeled before her. Y/N gently touched his chin, tilting his head. He was so beautiful. 

“I don’t have a ring,” he muttered. 

“You don’t need to worry about that now,” Y/N said. “I doubt you thought you would be proposing tonight.”

“No, I didn’t,” Eris replied. 

He slowly stood to his feet and Y/N now tilted her head to look at him. They stood nearly chest to chest and Y/N felt her breathing get heavier. 

“Here,” Eris said, pulling off his silver signet ring. “Wear this until I can get you your engagement ring.”

As Eris slipped it onto her finger, everything suddenly became real. Eris was really her fiance. She was an engaged woman. The man standing before her would soon be her husband. When she stood in front of her mirror earlier that evening, Y/N felt like she was scraping the bottom of the barrel, not she felt as if she were on the top of the world. It was a feeling she could get used to. 

The ring on her finger was slightly loose but it still felt right. Y/N looked up at Eris who was looking down at her with so much love in his eyes. Y/N couldn’t help but lean forward to rest her forehead on his. 

“I love you, Y/N,” Eris whispered, his breath fanning her face. 

Y/N wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, breathing in his familiar scent. It immediately put her at ease. 

“Shall we announce to everyone that we are engaged?” Eris asked. 

“Would we be able to stay here just a moment longer?” Y/N asked. “As much as I would love to wipe the smirks from Evangeline and Iris’s faces, I still haven’t processed everything properly.”

Eris nodded and leaned forward. Y/N was expecting his lips to fall upon her own, when they didn’t she found herself to be quite disappointed. Although his lips were soon pressed against her cheek. 

“We can stay here for as long as you like,” Eris replied. 

Y/N smiled and held out her hand. The music from the ballroom was dull and faint but it was still audible. “Then how about a dance with your future wife.”

Eris smirked and took her hand in his. “I like the sound of that.”

As Eris danced with her in the sitting room, Y/N smiled and laughed genuinely for what felt like the first time in a long time. She let go and had fun. The weight that she had been pulling around with her for years had finally been lifted. 

Despite her and Eris still needing to work things out, she finally relaxed in his arms and allowed herself to feel that childlike glee she had when her and Eris would dance around the day room when they were younger. The steps were messy yet everything was more than perfect. 

“Future husband,” Y/N mused. “I quite like the sound of that.”

When Eris quickly pecked her lips, Y/N was not able to process it until he was pulling away and heading to the door. 

“Let us go so I can tell the world that you are to be my wife,” Eris said impatiently. 

Y/N smiled and allowed him to take her hand in his. When she followed him to the ballroom, everything else became a blur as she was swept up in a dance with Eris. Despite the lace hanging off her dress and the redness around her eyes. She had never felt so beautiful before. Not because of the man spinning her around the ballroom floor but because of the way the man made her feel. He made her feel like herself again. She made her feel whole. 

“Future husband,” Y/N muttered.

“Future wife,” Eris replied as the dance came to an end. 

There was no one else in the room as Eris took a step forward and pulled Y/N into a kiss. Gasps echoed around them but Y/N didn’t care about being proper. She didn’t care that this gossip would spread around the ton. After all, they were already engaged, there wasn’t much that could run either of them now. 

As Eris pulled away he uttered three simple words against her lips.

“You are beautiful.”

For the first time in a long time Y/N truly felt it. 

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (18) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you say the words coriolanus is so desperate to hear. 

word count: 1,785

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, outdoors sex, skinny dipping, fluff, pet name (petal), not proofread

“Do you know how to swim?” Coryo asked, settling behind you, pressing a kiss to your neck as you rifled through the wardrobe to find something to wear for the day. Ordinarily, your lady’s maid was to help you pick out your outfits and help you into them, but you found that you liked including your husband—your husband—in the process instead. 

“Yes.”

You could feel the smile on Coryo’s lips as he kissed your neck again. “Good. There’s a lake on the property that I’d like to take you to. Swim, have a picnic—” he nips at your neck “—perhaps have a little more fun.”

A giggle escaped you. “That sounds lovely. But what would you have said if I didn’t?”

“Offer to let you cling to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do that anyways.” You moved your head, exposing more of your neck to him. “But I didn’t have any swimming clothes packed.”

Your knees nearly buckled as Coryo sucked on a sensitive spot just below your ear. “That’s where the little more fun comes in, my pretty petal.”

“My, my, I didn’t know my husband was so insatiable.”

“How could I be satiated when you’re so addicting? For every piece of you, you offer, I find myself wanting more.” Coryo pulled away then reached around you, pulling a pale pink dress out. “Put this on while I ask the staff to prepare lunch for us.”

“Hurry back,” you said, turning around so you could face him, “I might surely die if I’m deprived of my husband.”

Coryo grinned. “Now who’s insatiable?”

You giggled, watching as Coryo leaned down for a kiss before disappearing out the door. Once he was gone, you began to dress for the day. Butterflies fluttered around in your tummy as you thought about your husband. Your husband. You never would have thought that the word would have you blushing like a schoolgirl—certainly not when that very husband was Coriolanus Snow. And yet, here you were, twirling around in a pretty pink dress, giggling at the thought of seeing Coryo in a compromising position while swimming. 

A grin stretched across your face as you heard the door opening, Coryo stepping inside. Though you weren’t looking at him, you could practically hear the pout on his face as he said, “Damn. I was hoping to catch you undressed.”

“Then we never would make it to the lake,” you said. 

“And, oh, what a shame would that be.”

You held your Coryo’s hand as you walked down the dirt path to the lake. Your dress dragged the ground, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to pick up the skirts. If only your mother could see you now—she would surely have a heart attack if she knew you were about to be positively ravished anywhere but a bedroom. Stifling a giggle, you glanced at Coryo from the corner of your eye. He was already looking down at you, a soft smile on his plush lips. You moved up to your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“How did you manage to convince the Peacekeepers to let us come alone?” you asked when you pulled away. 

You had been surprised when Coryo led you out of the cottage, holding onto you with one hand, a picnic basket in the other. No one followed after the two of you like they normally did. When you had sent Coryo a questioning look, he kissed your temple and ushered you along. 

“I told them I would sooner carve out their eyes than allow them to see me fuck their Queen.”

“Coryo!” you chastised, hand smacking his chest. “You can’t say things like that!”

“And why not?” His smile turned into a smirk as he bumped his hip against yours. “Everyone knows what happens during the honeymoon period. Is it a crime to say it aloud?”

You leaned your head against his arm. “I just don’t want anyone but you to think of me like that.”

“Oh, petal,” Coryo cooed. An arm wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t say things like that again. Being with you robs me of any sense of propriety. All I want is for people to know that I’m the lucky man who gets to warm your bed, who makes you smile and laugh, who is fortunate enough to be called your husband.”

Laughing, you said, “You can wax poetic to whoever you want. Just leave our more intimate moments between us.”

“Deal.”

The lake soon came into view. It was beautiful. Something straight out of a fairytale. The water sparkled under the sun’s rays. And the water—oh, it was so blue. You would almost think it was artificial if it didn’t look like it had been untouched by humans for decades. As you neared the lake, Coryo dropped the picnic basket to the ground and led you out onto the dock. 

A giggle escaped you as he quickly removed his clothes before reaching for you, undoing the ties on your dress. As it slipped off your shoulders, down your hips, a growl rumbled from Coryo’s chest. “You wore nothing else?”

“What? I can’t seduce my husband on our honeymoon?”

His hands came to rest on your hips, tugging you against him. You giggled again and placed your hands on his chest. “Say thank you for me not allowing the Peacekeepers to come.”

You stood on your tiptoes and gently kissed him. When you pulled away, you whispered on his lips, “Thank you, Coryo.”

“Now, for your punishment—”

“Wait, what—”

Coryo picked you up as if you were a doll, took you to the edge of the dock, and tossed you into the lake. You screamed as you hit the water. Another splash quickly followed. Coryo emerged beside you. His eyes crinkled at the corners. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other tangling itself in your hair. He pulled you in for a searing kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned and moved your legs to wrap around his hips. His hand on your waist fell to your hip to help support you. 

“Fuck, petal—” he groaned. 

“Would you?”

And, oh, he would. 

Coryo reached into the picnic basket, pulling out a container of strawberries. He took care with selecting one before placing it at your lips, looking down at you as you took a bite. Your back was pressed against his chest, still bare after the swim, and hummed in appreciation at the sweet taste. Tilting your head up, you watched as he finished off the strawberry. You turned slightly and leaned up to steal a kiss. 

“Little minx,” he chastised. He, nevertheless, was quick to chase after you for another kiss. 

“How am I the minx when you’re the one who suggested this entire little escapade?”

“Because you went along with it, little petal,” Coryo said. 

You laughed and shook your head at him. Of course that would be his logic. Never mind that this was his entire grand plan, that you only went along for the ride. But, if that was going to be his argument, you supposed you should give him something to support the rhetoric. You turned around to face him, settling on your knees. You bit down on your lip as Coryo’s eyes drifted down to your bare chest. “I do believe you promised me more fun, did you not?” you asked, grabbing his hands and pulling them to your waist. 

“I did.”

“And what kind of husband would you be to break such promises?”

“A horrible one,” he groaned, pulling you closer to him. You swung a leg over either side of his lap, your hips settling against his. He hardened against your thigh. “You should send me straight to the gallows if I ever dared to deny you.”

“Let’s not let it come to that.”

“Let’s not,” he agreed. He reached between the two of you, guiding his cock through your slick folds. Your head fell against his. A gasp escaped you as you sunk down on him. You had only taken him in this position a few times before—it still took you by surprise, how much bigger he felt like this. Your nails dug into his shoulder as Coryo groaned out, “Fuck, petal, keep squeezing me like that and I’ll serve you Panem on a silver platter.”

You kissed him, desperate for more of him. “You’ve already given me everything I could ever want.”

Coryo’s fingers dug into your hips as he guided you up and down his length. You were grateful for it, your legs already trembling from the mounting pleasure. Sensing your exhaustion, Coryo pulled you against his chest, cradling you as he rolled you onto your back. Your back arched off the picnic blanket. Oh, how was this so much more pleasurable now? 

“Coryo—” you gasped. 

A hand fell between your legs, his nimble fingers rubbing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hand caught his wrist, holding him there as he thrust into you. The coil deep in your belly began to tighten, so close to snapping. 

“Go ahead, my petal, come for your King,” he cooed. He draped his body against you, his nose nudging against yours. “Come for your husband. Come for your Coryo.”

You screamed as the coil finally snapped. Coryo pulled his hand out from between your legs, cupped your face, and pulled you into a searing kiss. His hips continued to rut into you as he chased his high. It was one of the few moments where you got to see your husband truly desperate, and all of it for you. His hips stuttered as he finally toppled over the edge, still fucking his spend into you. 

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips. 

“And I love you.”

You felt him smile. But then he pulled away, his brows pinched together. Coryo brushed some stray strands of hair from your face, his pale blue eyes searching yours. Looking for any doubts, any hints of insincerity. You just smiled up at him, and said those words again. “You mean it?” he asked. 

“More than anything.”

A smile broke out, his white teeth twinkling. “Say it again.”

You only laughed. “Give me a reason to,” you challenged.

He did. He gave you many, many reasons. And when the two of you eventually made it back to the cottage, a right mess compared to the regal King and Queen you would have to act like in front of the Capitol, you showed him just how much you loved him in return. 

[raspberry-beret]

1254 - Jane

[emkayewrites]

Lukola fanfic excerpt: Luke and Nicola have feelings for one another but have not confessed them to each other. They are filming the one-take wedding dance scene. It goes as well as you can imagine.

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

28th November 2022 – Surrey (UK)

The Gallery was an ornately decorated room, with adornments of brightly-coloured flowers, sumptuous tapestries and antique furniture.  Large windows framed by draperies of velvet and silk lined the space, allowing natural light to filter through.   

Nicola considered how this majestic room would very shortly be filled with people and noise.  There would be the crew and then there would be the cast mates and extras, all in their various regalia.  This would be the last time this season that they would all be together in a scene.  Although some of the cast would still be returning to film additional scenes, today would mark her last filming day with everyone – including Luke.  If that was not enough to create an enormous feeling of occasion; it was also the day they would be filming Penelope and Colin’s wedding dance.  If she let herself linger on these thoughts for too long, she found her throat becoming dry and her heart start to race.  She could not let her mind overcome the muscle memory she was planning to rely on – not today.

She tried to orient herself to something that would distract her.  She gazed at the mirror on the wall in front of her and at the scene it showed was happening behind her: two crew members fiddled with lighting as Tom, their director, presided over them with his usual commanding yet father-like presence.  There was something about the familiarity of the scene that felt comforting.

Then her eyes shifted to her own reflection.  Whilst it was true that she had been in front of mirrors since five o’clock that morning, she had not truly looked at herself.  She had been going through the sleep-deprived motions:  taking sharp intakes of breath as the wardrobe team fitted her into her corsetry, yawning her way through the make-up teams’ application of thick, glamourous make-up on her face, neck, cleavage and even arms.  Sure, she had been slightly more alert when she was allowed to cautiously sip a strong black coffee with her usual seven sugars as her hair was expertly styled but even then, she had not really woken up.  Now, in the bright light of day and with the adrenaline coursing through her; she finally realised why everyone had been getting emotional at the sight of her.  She understood what all the fuss was about.

She stood resplendent in a blush satin gown that gracefully fell to the floor around her.  Her silhouette was perfectly accentuated by an empire waist; the neckline was tastefully rounded and short, slightly puffed sleeves added a little of Penelope’s individual flair to the look.  Her hair was a more striking shade of auburn than usual and styled with jeweled hairpins into a soft, intricate up-do with curls gently framing her face.  Her makeup was a lot softer and more natural in appearance than it felt on her face; rosy cheeks, a hint of pink on her lips and subtle but dark eye make-up enhanced her large eyes.

Even she had to admit that she looked beautiful. 

“Woah.”

Luke’s voice came from off to the side.

He walked in through the grand entrance: tall, dark and handsome.  He wore the traditional formalwear of the Regency era; a black, finely tailored frock coat that highlighted his athletic build with an ivory waistcoat underneath.  An expertly tied navy-coloured cravat and silver brooch finished off his look. 

She felt her breath catch.

He was immaculate.

He looked at her with awe written across his face.  It took her a minute to realise he was likely as mesmerised by her as she was by him.

“Hello to you too.” She managed to respond, forcing a smile that should be coming naturally.

It was not that she was not happy to see him.  It was that she was too happy to see him.  All she wanted to do was leap up, wrap her arms around him, run her hands through his beautifully combed hair and kiss him.  The urge was so strong that it took her aback.  She would need to scale her emotions back around him; she would need to be the best actress she had ever been to achieve this.  The one small mercy that she had was that once the cameras rolled, she could ease up on herself.  She could let herself look at him with the mixture of fascination and obsession she wanted to because it would not be her looking.  It would be Penelope.

His eyes scanned over her, she thought that there was an element in them that conveyed restlessness and some sense of dissatisfaction.

Was she reading too much into things?

She had been plagued with thoughts of what if. 

What if he felt what she felt?

No, she could not read too much into his emotions.  She tried to remind herself that this day was bringing an emotional side out in everyone.  It would be strange if he was his usual laidback self.  In fact, it made more sense that he seemed somewhat disturbed.  They were all disturbed.  The scenes they were filming were high stakes, carrying with them the weight of the most important love story from that season.

“You look…” He started but seemed to interrupt himself. “I mean – are you – are we OK?”

“Yes, of course.” She was quick and somewhat defensive in her reply. “I’ve just been insanely busy as things are winding down.”

This was a lie.

Over the last few weeks, Luke had been contacting her nearly every day with an assortment of memes, random musings and direct requests to meet up for private rehearsal of their final scenes.  She had responded evasively, if at all.  She had felt awful doing it.  Yet, the alternative was to spend time with him alone – something she did not trust herself with.  In truth, these were not intimacy scenes that she or he would be highly anxious about and need private or even additional rehearsals for.  She knew that he was asking so that they could just spend time together, but this no longer felt appropriate for her.  He wanted a friend to banter with, she wanted to do things to him she could not say without blushing.  They were in different places.

“I really wanted to celebrate your last day in our traditional style – with some kind of feast in one of our trailers.” He smiled, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. “You pick.”

She reminded herself of her sister’s sage advice: keep your distance and keep your knickers on. 

“I’m really sorry, I’m heading off set and straight to a Barbie shoot.” This was at least not a lie.

“Oh, wow, I forgot that was coming up. That’s amazing, Nic.” He continued smiling, a hopeful tone to his voice. “I’ll be wrapped and back in the city on Saturday – maybe we feast then?”

She felt her heart sink. 

Why was he so sweet?

Why did this feel like killing a puppy?

“I’m sorry Luke…” She apologized again. “We’re doing Christmas abroad this year and leaving in under two weeks. I just haven’t got the time.  We can catch up when I’m back in the New Year?”

He seemed unconvinced by her answer, concern spreading across his face.

Before their conversation could continue, Tom was standing over them with Jack, their lead choreographer, right behind him.

“You guys look amazing.” Tom complimented them, scratching at his head.

“So, are we ready?” Jack asked, rubbing his hands together with excitement.

Nicola surveyed the expansive yet mostly empty room around them.  She spotted their cinematographer and a handful of the crew by the cameras, watchful and waiting.

“Is everyone else late?” She found herself asking out loud.

Jack and Tom exchanged knowing looks.  Luke stared at them and then at her, matching her confusion.

“No, no one is late – you guys are just a little early.” Tom explained, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I wanted time for us to get Penelope and Colin doing their first dance here, just the two of them stealing a moment alone together.”  Tom gestured to the room around them, a wide grin on his face.

“And Jack’s here a little bit early too just to offer some choreographic wisdom but really, I was hoping you guys could just let go a little, be a little spontaneous in movement…” Tom continued.

“I would say, do the steps but without overthinking the manners and formality.” Jack added.

Nicola digested this.  The one area of safety she had been clinging onto was to switch her mind and emotions off, and to surrender into the role of Penelope with the carefully planned out steps and words that she was scripted to do.  Now, she was having to contend with having to act from a place of improvisation.  Improvisation that had previously led her to completely lose control of herself with him.  The mental gymnastics of it all made her brain hurt. 

“Sounds good to me.” Luke responded in a nonchalant tone that seemed inauthentic to her.

“Do you guys want to go through a quick sequence…?” Jack queried, but Tom was quick to wave off his suggestion.

“No, let’s just go right now with whatever you guys have in the bag – I want to get as many spontaneous takes as possible.”

“Yay, spontaneity.” Nicola weakly enthused, eliciting a nervous chuckle from Luke.

“Right, we’ll go from your mark here.”  Jack guided them to their spot in front of the cameras before shuffling back to stand behind one of the monitors.

Nicola felt her heartrate increase again.

They stood face-to-face, the gap between them was just a few inches.  She felt as if her whole body was vibrating.  There was something about being in a wedding dress, in front of him in a tux, in this grand and historic room that caused a swell of emotion to overcome her.

Jesus Christ, get it together.  She tried to tell herself.

“Let loose a little bit.  There’s no audience.  It’s just Colin and Penelope.” Tom directed, standing behind the camera. “It’s the day they’ve overcome obstacle after obstacle to get to.  This is where they finally get to just be themselves, no pomp and circumstance.”

Luke nodded in acknowledgement, and Nicola followed, bobbing her head at Tom.

“Alright – action!”

Immediately, her eyes were locked onto his.   That was all it took for her to decide to just surrender.  No more defenses.  She knew she was gazing at him adoringly, wistfully, hungrily… her chest heaved with the deep breaths she took as she fell into the familiar configuration of steps that they had repeated hundreds of times.

They moved in perfect synchronicity like they had a so many times before in their rehearsals but this time, it felt different.  This time, she was Penelope without her guardrails.  She was Penelope alone with the man she had ached for for most of her life.  She was Nicola.  She was Nicola not having to restrain herself from not only touching him but holding onto him with a grip so tight that it was telling on her.

The world and people around them seemed to disappear as they danced around one another; drawing closer, touching, then breaking apart again, gently pulling further back before once again, being lured towards one another.  Pulling and pushing like two gravitational forces that could not quite work out if they attracted or repelled.

She could not take her eyes away from his.  There was a look in them that was intense and longing.   

This is our goodbye. She thought to herself, her heart silently breaking.

The surge of emotion was so great, she felt tears sting angrily at her eyes.  There were so many reasons why she could not cry right now.  She saw that his own eyes were glassy with the threat of tears too.  Instinctively, they pushed against each other, holding one another tightly, and she felt his hand gently caress the side of her face, making electricity shoot through her body as their lips drew closer and closer.

It was all she could do to hold her position there, millimeters from kissing him.

There was a pause that felt like it went on forever before Tom’s voice sliced through the silence, yelling cut.

Immediately, Nicola moved her face away from Luke’s hand, letting go of him, and turned to face the crew.

The looks on their faces were on par with the looks she had received when she had first stepped out in full costume that morning: pure astonishment.

“That… that was the fucking take, pardon my French.” Tom laughed, bewildered. “Jesus, I don’t know what you guys channelled there but that was it.”

“Just… sublime.” Jack echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’d have been flayed alive for some of those steps at a real Regency era ball but for what this is meant to convey… just, wow.”

Nicola found herself chuckling, grateful for the hint of comic relief.  She was almost too scared to look to her side, to catch Luke’s eyes.  The whole thing made her ache.  She was still working hard to keep the tears back.

“Get over here, you need to see yourselves because I don’t think you realise what you’ve just pulled off.” Tom enthused, ushering them over so that they were stood behind one of the monitors.

Their scene started to play out in front of them.  Nicola saw a couple moving together in beautiful harmony, clearly infatuated with one another.

“I only wanted you guys to get into character before the wedding dance with everyone, but I think we need to get Jess’s eyeballs on this, see if we can put it in somewhere.” Tom lauded, watching with them. “Really, well done, you guys.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Luke spoke, his eyes on the screen, but his voice sounded strange.

“A one-take wonder!” Tom laughed. “Might be worth saving a clip of this in case this just ends up on the cutting room floor.”

Nicola thought about whether she would want a copy of something so real and raw, or whether this would be better off relegated to obscurity. 

What would hurt her less?

She didn’t know.

[vaguely-concerned]

extremely quick doodle to establish a bit more what I think rye's actual clothes would look like. not for the first time I wish I was more interested in/better at/had more patience for drawing clothes and fashion, because my vision for him is so precise but getting it down on paper... regency gentleman twink but more goth and with punk elements. are you getting me.

anyway the worst thing about dragon age: the veilguard (2024) is that it won't let me see rye ingellvar wearing a fancy slutty little waistcoat over a high-collared shirt & cravat situation and probably a corset under there too a lot of the time (4 maximum menswear silhouette), as would be spiritually correct for him. lack of jewelry is one thing I'll accept it emmrich must jingle jangle through this game all on his lonesome because it IS the apocalypse and priorities I guess. but where are rook's fancyboy clothes bioware...... why does emmrich get to have a waistcoat and not my lil guy. smh. headcanoning over this travesty of injustice by deciding that he left the vast majority of his wardrobe at the necropolis when he was exiled 🥺 was sent off with varric and the watcher robes are just what he could cobble together as quickly as possible to be workable for most situations. between that and the striking misfortune armour he makes it work for him. (the big leather jacket is a throwback to the slightly more punk rye that existed in his teens and twenties which in general is a time that should not be revisited but you know what. maybe that chaos energy is just what we need to see off the blight so nice it got unleashed twice let's fucking go)