#setting is the 1880's!!

[stvnmvrsh]

sacrifice (eat me up) - enhypen

Colona was even more beautiful at night than in the day Stan thought. The hot sun faded, the busy crowd thinned, and the loud voices of people silenced. All was still in the night, except for Stan, who had just run out of his family's two-story Tudor house. He had just gotten into another fistfight with his sister, Shelly.

Ignoring his mother's piercing shrieks for him to come back, Stan picked up his pace. He ran as fast as his little ten-year-old legs carried him. Not daring to look back, he let his feet slap the ground and push him out of the town gates, over the train tracks, and deep into the pastures. His lungs were on fire. Chest heaving, he wondered if he could stay at Kenny's little cottage, but decided against it as he didn't want Mr. and Mrs. McCormick to telephone his mother and father. Plus, he didn't want to disturb him or his siblings.

He passed up Kenny's house and trudged into the woods. He wasn't afraid to enter the eerie grounds, he's hunted with his uncle plenty. As his boots crunched the unpaved floor, he watched as the fireflies' danced around aimlessly. Soft, yellow, and full of life. Pushing past the trees, he traced their thick trunks. After he felt like his legs could fall off, he sat on a flat boulder. He paid no mind to the cold rock underneath his bottom. He closed his eyes and listened to the chirping of crickets, breathing in the wood's distinctive scent. Stan's face drew into a content smile, happy to find a place he could finally relax.

His smile fizzled out when he remembered he had to go home eventually. He looked back towards the city and remembered his sister's cruel fist. He tugged his collar out to peer into his shirt, already seeing the familiar mottled red color forming on his stomach. He didn't want to face his family quite yet. He concluded if he was going to get scolded, he might as well stay out the whole night. Decision made, he weaved his way into the depths of the evergreens.

He took his time, listening to the sounds of insects flitting around. Just as he's about to turn around, his eyes zero in on a small clearing in the middle of thick foliage. It was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, just big enough for a person to slip into.

He heard his uncle Jimbo's voice in his head; "Best not to venture o'er there, Stanley. I've heard bad rumors. Not worth your own life, so I never bothered."

But Stan was curious then, just as he is now. He straightened the navy blue newsboy hat atop his head and walked straight through. Puzzled but cautious, he keeps his footsteps as light as he can. As he progressed, his surroundings slowly evolved. Inhaling deeply, the musky smell of leaves withered away and was replaced by a rich pine aroma. The earthen turf turned into fine Indian ricegrass. What once was barren was colorful and flowery shrubbery, their perfume potent and sweet. Large boulders and rocks are now stone statues, tall as pillars. Delicate and airy bluebells, columbine, and arrowleaf littering the area are a welcome sight. What could be so dangerous here?

Around three miles in, that's when Stan sees it. He follows a stepstone path of Venitian grey sandstone to a dip in the valley. An impressive deep royal blue Victorian Eastlake estate stood compellingly. Thick pine trees, a large, calm lake, and neatly trimmed hedges surrounded the area. A small greenhouse to the far left housed various herbs and flowers, so plentiful and lush. There was a quaint, yet enviable vegetable garden. Stan was beyond belief. He'd never seen anything more marvelous in his life. Everything was so breathtaking, it didn't make sense to have it all hidden away.

"What are you doing here?"

Stan just about pissed his trousers. The stranger's eyes were as startling as his entrance. Beguiling poison apple green eyes asses him with interest.

"I was just walking around and I stumbled onto this place. I didn't know this was private property, I'll take my leave now!" Stan blurted out hurriedly, not wanting to cause another problem. Ready to back away, he was stopped by a firm grasp on his forearm. This stranger was ice cold. He was released as quickly as he was caught, as if the stranger realized how offputting the action was.

"A little rude to be upon a stranger's house and not introduce yourself, don't you think? What's your name?" the boy asked with his head cocked to the side, indifferent to Stan's fear.

Unsuredly, he humored him. "Name's Stanley Marsh, but you can call me Stan."

"Hello, Stan. My name is Kyle." He extended a hand out, his milky skin almost looked like it was glittering in the moon's light. He smiled secretively like he knew something Stan didn't. He took his own sweaty palm and shook his frigid hand in greeting.

"Do you know how to play chess, Stan?"

He was still wary, but time and time again, his curiosity peaked. He just knew Kyle would be delighted to entertain him.

"A little."

"Come. Play with me." He waved his hand over to a stone picnic table nearby, a chessboard atop it.

While making their way to the table, Stan used the opportunity to study Kyle. His hair was shiny, his curly blood-orange hair peeking out of a rabbit fur ushanka. His nose was strong, like an eagle's. A juniper-colored suit jacket atop a starched white button-up was paired with short trousers. Stan grew shy as he saw Kyle's head turn back towards him. He looked really pretty.

After they were seated, Kyle let him pick between the black and white pieces. Stan flipped the board so that the white pieces were facing him.

"Care to wager? Whoever wins this game gets to ask all the questions they would like. Are you in?" Kyle grins at his queen in between his thumb and pointer, admiring the piece.

"And how do I know you won't lie to me?" Stan asks, pulling his woolen jacket across himself tighter as the breeze picked up slightly.

"Trust me." Stan waited for any malicious intentions to make themselves known, but he sensed nothing. Still, he felt like Kyle was trying to convey another message.

"You're on."

White knight moves to f3, attacking the black pawn on e5.

Kyle smirks and moves his pawn to d6 and captures Stan's knight. Stan allows his poker face to remain as he threatens Kyle's king on g8 by moving his queen to h5.

Stan sneaks a glance across the table.

There!

Stan sees his opening as Kyle is flustered, and escapes check by moving his king to g6. Stan finishes the game, checking the king with his queen to g6.

"Checkmate!" Stan exclaimed, victorious.

Kyle was only momentarily stunned, recovering quickly from his defeat as he smiled toothily at Stan.

Huh?

"Hey, Kyle?"

"Yes?"

"Your teeth are-" Stan didn't bother to finish his sentence. He couldn't stop his blood from pumping erratically at the sight of Kyle's fluorescent stare. Feeling like the very prey he hunted with his uncle, his hands were pressed against the cement bench, ready to jump up and run. This time, away from him.

"Don't tell me someone as clever as you do not know."

Kyle parted his mouth further, and there was no denying it. Seemingly out of nowhere, his short canines elongated past his plush bottom lip. Bone-colored, they looked to be needle-sharp and nearly fragile. Stan was almost scared they were going to puncture straight through Kyle's flawless skin.

Stan groaned internally. Of course, he would be worried about the supposed monster and not his own well-being!

"Are you going to kill me now?" Stan hated that his voice sounded so pathetic.

"No."

Stan clenched his jaw, growing irritated. "What are you playing at?"

"I thought we were friends." Kyle tilted his head, honestly perplexed.

"Like hell! We can't be friends! You're a-"

"Vampire?" His fingers drummed the table, but his gaze never left Stan.

"Yes! Exactly, you said it yourself."

"And why not? I sensed you ever since your feet hit the ground in this domain. I could have killed you without you even knowing. You could have easily run away by now. Yet you're still here, having a civilized conversation with a monster like me. We played chess together. You trusted me. I think that's plenty enough reason to be friends." Kyle fired back.

"Why do you want this so bad?" The question left Stan's mouth before he could stuff it back inside.

There was a tense silence like Kyle was afraid of his question.

"You found me. My father says that those who are worthy can find us. I thought we could be friends."

Kyle, who was self-assured and full of confidence, now couldn't even look at him. He was now focused on the tranquil lake, seemingly miles away. Stan knew it was over for him the minute he felt his guard falter.

"I won."

Kyle's head snapped towards Stan, but he didn't flinch.

"I won, so I get to ask you all the questions I want, remember?" His sapphire orbs took in Kyle's weighty expression.

"You're not leaving?"

"I've decided I want to stay here with my friend." He knew what it was like to be lonely and not have anyone. To be surrounded by people you're supposed to rely on but are unable to. If he could help it, Stan wanted to be there for him.

Stan didn't know if he'd made the right decision, but Kyle laughed. It sounded like Stan was in church with his family, the choir members singing. Kyle's laugh sounded like his favorite song; he never wanted to stop listening. He never knew a vampire could be so angelic.

Stan continued to bombard him with question upon question, Kyle was nearly taken aback by the sheer inquisitiveness he possessed.

"My parents are Gerald and Shiela Broflovski. My adoptive brother's name is Issac, but we just call him Ike. My parents immigrated from Polska to New Netherlands, but my mother wanted to move, thus our living here. My father used ancient magic to make the entrance visible to any living being that had no wish to kill us, people who were worthy of befriending. Before you ask, even though we are who we are, we only consume animal blood."

In the shade of the moon, with the lulling whispers of the cool wind, they revealed their lives on the table. Stan could not comprehend why, but he felt compelled to tell Kyle everything. Never before feeling so seen, he couldn't shut up. His family, his hardships, his pain. Oddly, Kyle reciprocated. He learned about his overbearing mother, his father's high expectations, and the discord between him and his brother.

Kyle's ears twitched, lips pursing. "My mother is calling for me."

Stan followed the direction of his movement, looking towards the house. He could have sworn he saw a woman passing by one of the various elaborate stained glass windows.

"The light will fall upon us soon, you should return home." Kyle held Stan's hand like it was a butterfly on his finger.

"Lest you want to be in deeper trouble." Right. He completely forgot about his dilemma. Scurrying to leave, once again he was stopped.

"I will be here." When he spun around, Kyle was already looking at him, smiling mirthfully.

He's a darling.

Stan didn't know if it was because he was naturally charming, or if it was a side effect of vampirism, but it was working on him.

"I will come back," Stan replied, matching his grin, praying Kyle couldn't hear his heartbeat too loud.

It was well past sunrise, but early enough so that Stan wasn't late to school when he walked back into town. After returning home from school, he was confronted by his parents. He got quite the scolding, his parents forcing him to apologize to Shelly. The only thought that got him through was seeing Kyle again.

After that night, like clockwork, Stan snuck out and returned to the hidden woods every other night. Despite his inner terrors, the Broflovski family welcomed him kindly. Mrs. Broflovski had her reservations as he was human, but once Stan won her over she thought of him as one of her own. They were all delighted that Stan was an open-minded human and accommodated him, having Stan's favorite foods and water around, a prepared bathroom, and even a spot at the dinner table. Dusk turned into twilight, and twilight turned into dawn. The two grew closer and closer, chasing each other through the flowers, retelling stories in Kyle's treehouse, sharing snacks in the kitchen, playing with Ike, it didn't matter. Together they felt a little more whole than they were when apart.

"Can you sing me that song again, Stan?" Kyle requested, wading his toes and sitting at the edge of the shallow end of the lake. Stan, who was dozing off in Kyle's lap, mumbled a small noise of agreement. He cleared his throat a couple of times before inhaling slowly.

"Amazing grace how sweet the sound That saved a wretch like me I once was lost, but now I'm found Was blind but now I see

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear And grace my fears relieved How precious did that grace appear The hour I first believed"

There were only so many things Kyle experienced throughout his sheltered life. He went game hunting for his own bear, subdued adult humans who wanted to massacre his family, and even braved a blizzard to search for Ike who got swept away as he discovered his flight ability. He doesn't ever recall being serenaded by anyone if you could even call it that. By no means was Stan the perfect singer. His voice, although young, was raspy. It was low and gravelly, almost like he was growling.

Listening to Stan, he had to check if he was floating from how light he felt. His voice is beautiful. Stan is beautiful. He could hear the richness of his tone, it made him wonder if this is what standing in the summer sun felt like. Warm, peaceful, and soothing, like sleeping in his parent's bed when he was a fledgling.

He opened his eyes when he realized Stan had stopped singing.

"You know, for an unalive being, your eyes are so full of life," Stan observed, reaching a hand to rest his fingertips on the right side of Kyle's jaw. Looking into Kyle's eyes made him feel like he was searching through a forest in the springtime. Teeming with bright green color, a breath of wild nature.

"That's very funny, as you who are filled with life energy have a gaze so dull and blank." Kyle retorted.

Stan allowed his hand to drop as he shifted his head in Kyle's lap.

"I feel the most alive when I'm with you."

Kyle froze. If he had a heart, he was sure it would be doing somersaults and cartwheels. His stomach flips at the sincerity in his words. He doesn't know why, but Stan has him in some kind of hold he can't break free from. It's so strange how someone could come stumbling into your life and make you feel so strongly, but Kyle wouldn't change it for anything.

"Thank you. That means quite a lot to me."

Stan could never get tired of Kyle's smile. It filled him with so much happiness, it drove him mad. Makes him think he could spend forever with him.

"Wait for me here," Kyle broke the cushy quiet, perturbed look on his face.

"Something up?" Stan asks, but he receives no answer as Kyle speeds away.

Kyle met his father halfway.

"Son, where is your companion?" Gerald inquires, an edge to his tone.

"Just by the lake. May I ask what this is about?" Kyle holds his arms out from his sides as if he could block him in the open space from getting closer.

"The village is searching the woods for him, he must leave now." The creases on Gerald's forehead deepen as he urges his son.

"The magic is supposed to stop them, I don't see why he has to go. He is safe here with us!"

Gerald knew he was going to meet resistance, but it didn't make it any easier. "This is too dangerous. The woods are supposed to be kept empty to guarantee our safety. The more people there are, the likelihood that someone is able to find the entrance increases. We may not like it, but Stan must leave and never return to prevent another incident like this."

"Pa! What are you saying? I can protect us! I'm ten years old, I'm not a little kid anymore! I don't want Stan to go! He's my best friend, he can't!" Distraught, Kyle didn't want to argue with his father. He grew antsy as he strained his ears to listen to the human crowd.

"Don't be foolish, Kyle. You know how this will end, worst case scenario. Stan gives us up, they find us, and we let them kill us, unless you're prepared to take on a whole town of humans. It is easy to slaughter but impossible to be the same afterward. You would have to kill children, ones even younger than you and Ike. I don't wish it upon you, even more so, us. Do you understand me now?"

"Stan would never do that! Please!" Kyle's eyes pricked with tears, not liking the odds of the outcomes playing through his head.

Behind the trunk of a nearby tree, Stan clamps his hands over his mouth to conceal his shock. Unsatisfied with his question unanswered and concerned for Kyle, he followed as quickly as he could. Thoughts that he should have stayed put were diminished as Sheila appears in front of him. Today her dress was claret satin, her heeled ankle boots white. Her ginger hair was in an immaculate updo, and her makeup was perfectly applied. Somberly she brushes a pine needle off his jacket and straightens the collar of his shirt.

"I don't want to go, Mrs. B." He whispered, face already wet with tears.

"We don't want you to go either, sweetheart." She smothers him in an embrace and flies to the estate. She whisks him into the kitchen where the rest of the Broflovski's were gathered and placed him into a chair.

"Stan!" Kyle engulfs him in a hug, their arms bolting to hold each other. The air was so dense, you'd need a butcher knife to cut through it easily.

"You are aware of what is happening, yes, son?" Gerald's cornflower orbs trained on Stan.

Stan just nods meekly over Kyle's shoulder, not wanting to let go. Ike forces himself in between the two boy's legs and does his best to be included in the hug. Sheila busies herself by rummaging in the cupboards.

"There is one more thing we need to do before you leave us tonight." Gerald continues, locking eyes with his wife. Sheila presents what she was searching for in the cupboards. She opened the dropper cap of a black glass bottle no bigger than her pointer finger.

"This is water from the Lethe."

Stan could feel the Broflovski brothers clutching him so tight, he almost couldn't breathe.

"Lethe, Greek meaning "oblivion". The Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. One drop can erase your most recent memories. One mouthful erases your whole life."

The bottle absolutely horrified every being in the house.

"Why, father?" Enchanting and fetching Kyle was no more. He was arctic, intransigent.

Releasing Stan and Ike, he stepped before them. Once again, his arms spread wide, as if to shield them.

"We don't have to do this, do we?" Kyle faced his father, chin tucked in, eyes blazing verdant.

"We don't have a choice, Kyle!" Gerald finally lost his composure.

"You think I take pleasure in this? I didn't think I would ever, in my existence, have to do this! We are monstrous leeches to mankind. Parasites, killers, inhumane. I don't know how, but Stan has broken the boundaries. Now, we must all pay the price."

Stan placed a hand on the small of Kyle's back to try to soothe him. "It's okay, Kyle."

Stan straightens his back, "I'll do it."

"Stan?" Kyle slumped to the tiled floor crestfallen, but he knew Stan was too.

"I started this whole mess. Now, I'll be the one to clean it up. I'm just one person. If I can warrant this family's safety, I won't hesitate to."

They knew Stan had meant to slacken the chains of their intertwined lives, but he had only secured them further.

He leveled himself to hold both of Kyle's frosty hands. "I thought it was just my rotten luck, I always get myself into trouble. Now, I think of it as fate. I was destined to meet you. I don't think any amount of Lethe will erase you from me. I won't let it."

As he stood to make his way to Shiela, Deja vu stuck him as Kyle grabbed hold of his forearm. Just like they first met. This time, he didn't let go.

"What if you forget me? Us?"

"That's impossible. I can't."

"How are you unmistaken?" Kyle's brows furrowed in cynicism.

"I didn't want to admit it too early, but seeing as this moment is all I have, I shall tell you. I love you."

It was like there was no one else in the room. Unabashed, Stan proclaimed his love.

"I didn't want to let you in, to see me for who I am. I'm just me, plain and ordinary. You made me feel special when really it is you who are special. Your eyes sparkle when you speak about your family. As you handle the flowers in the greenhouse, you make sure to be extra gentle. I would argue besides your strength, your mind is your might. After that first game of chess, I have always lost to you. Of course, I can never forget how you make me want to give you my heart."

They were all in awe of Stan, misty eyes all around the room. He was right. He was just one human. Crazy though, how one person can change your life.

"I'm ready."

After wiping her face with a tissue, Shiela cups his chin gently. She pulls the dropper from the bottle. The liquid inside was snowy white.

"Are you sure, maleńki?"

He doesn't respond right away, preoccupied with scanning the faces of the Broflovski's. Ike is weeping softly into his father's shoulder. Gerald does his best to give him an encouraging smile, but he too was putting on a brave front.

Lastly, the reason Stan felt good about his decision. Kyle's lengthy lashes are plastered with tears. He wanted to smooth out the frown lines on his face, but he was too far. Stan tried his best to drink in Kyle's silhouette. He wishes he could engrave Kyle into his brain so he could never have to forget him.

"Can I hold you before I go?"

Kyle has no second thoughts as he closes the distance, pulling Stan's hands through his curls. Stan thought this is what heaven might look like.

"I love you, too," Kyle murmured as if it were just something they would share. On the spur of the moment, Kyle unfastened his favorite brooch from his breast and pinned it inside Stan's jacket.

"Just once more," Stan begged, tracing Kyle's cheek.

Kyle would never refuse. "I love you."

One drop hits his tongue, cool and sweet. Stan's eyes shut like a babe who has been rocked to slumber. It has been done.

[littleeyesofpallas]

So, with the new legends there's a neat way we can take a guess at some of the time frame. Although it's largely aesthetic and hard to gauge the intended historical parallels of, the not-Eiffel Tower at the center of the city could presumably have been completed in the late 1880s like the real thing. Interestingly that places it pretty concurrent to the construction of the Hokkaido Government building in the 1870s that served as the basis of the Galaxy Team HQ in the first Legends game.

But with the keywords being "urban redevelopment" the setting could only possibly be Haussman's renovation of Paris that took place from the 1850s-1920s. So given that the tower is already standing, that places Legends Z-A between 1889 and 1927.

And I doubt it would play into the setting of a Pokemon game but I think it's neat that it would mean taking place firmly in the 3rd French Republic, as that's not typically the most romanticized period of French history. (Kind of shocking given just how much Japanese pop culture loves to fixate on the Ancien Regime and Rococco architecture.) It's right at the height of the French Colonial empire and their rivalry with the British... Even if they don't address the history directly, certainly not the darker bits, I wonder if we'll see an ancestor of Rose* and some mention of Kalos and Galar's relation as a hint at the Pokemon world's equivalent of India. (Elephant, what elephant...)

*put a pin in that... Well come back to Rose later...

Also I know a lot of the stupid "leaks" that were just running with any/every rumor they could find had been talking about Celebi, despite there being no signs of it in the direct, but it's possible that the Z-A title and the fadethru of the sort of sci-fi looking city diagram into a pencil and parchment one is indicating going back in time --backwards, from Z to A, end to start.

and just so long as I'm just picking at edges of things...

The unknown are an anagram of, "POKEMON PRESENTS"(oh and the SOEYUE one at the end is just "SEE YOU") and the ""confidential"" stamp on the documents likely reads "Gokuhi" as in gokuhi[極秘]: "Top Secret," but the rest of the text doesn't seem to match either Japanese, French, or English,

Hito to POKEMON no kyouzon o yumemite[人と ポケモンの共存を夢見て]: "Dreaming of people and Pokemon's coexistence" Toshisaikaibatsu hassou MIARE CITY[都市再開発発想ミアレシティ]: "Urban Redevelopment Concept Miare City"

The obvious exception being that redacted text is clearly the romanized MIARE from the Japanese MIARE[ミアレ] and the English CITY, which is the Japanese name for what was localized as "Lumiose."

Curiously the word "Pokemon" is very clearly missing from the passage, and also in both cases there are too few "Galarian" characters for how long the phrases are in any actual language.

and finally, given some of the existing examples of handwritten Galarian in SwSh, I'm guessing the text on the big logo is as i've transcribed into the more standard Galar font, although I'm really uncertain about that second one, and a bit iffy about the big "X"s, but the little cyclone O, the V with the underbar, and the E seem certain enough.

Also there's a logo I know I remember seeing that looks like this one but I can't remember where it is or what it's associated with.... It's the logo on the Macro Cosmos power plant. Not Rose's personal logo with the stylized rose, and not the Cosmos business logo with the big star system orbital ring Cs, but the power plant in Hammerlock where you go to fight Eternatus specifically.

It would be really neat if whatever this organization is was tied back to an ancestor of Rose and Peony and the origins of Macro Cosmos somehow.

[chere-indolente]

Trois femmes aux ombrelles

And we're back at the regular 1880's fashion with this set which inludes bustle skirts in 3 lenghts, 2 skirt overlays, 3 flower accessories, a parasol and an umbrella !

More pics and download below

As referenced in the title, this set was inspired by Marie Bracquemont’s painting : Trois femmes aux ombrelles ou Les Trois grâces / Three Ladies with Parasols or Three Graces, 1880.

Thanks to @javitrulovesims for making the perfect pose for this set !

———————————   Skirts  ———————————

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Once again, these skirts have a slight bustle shape which would best fit for the natural form era : roughly 1875 - 1883 ; (well actually, the size of the bustle is dependant on the size of the sim’s butt so do with that what you will). They are more ornate than my Cueillette skirts featuring some gathered layers and trims typical of the period, so they would be better suited for higher class people or more dressed up occasions.

And as always I give you 3 versions with each a different lenght to have more teen options and worker friendly options . The short one end mid calf, the medium one is ankle lenght and the long is full lenght. 

74 swatches : 22 solids, 10 floral, 6 plaid, 25 striped & 11 polka dot patterns

3 lenghts : S, M & L

————————— Skirt Overlays —————————

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These two overlays will allow to respectively change the gathered layers and the trim swatches in order to channel the trim crazy period that were the 1880's.

in the middle finger section

74 swatches for the skirt overlay : 22 solids, 10 florals, 6 plaids, 25 stripes & 11 polka dots patterns

22 solid swatches for the trim overlay

———————— Flower Accessories ————————

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To properly channel Marie Bracquemond's painting I needed a bunch of flower accessories so you will find 3 accessories in this set : a hair flower, a collar flower and a boutonnière. In my opinion these are pretty timeless and can suit a wide array of looks as portrayed in the pictures below.

These are all edits of @the-melancholy-maiden's Hair Flowers Through the Ages Part 2 thanks to her very open TOU.

none of these are compatible with hats

51 swatches : the-melancholy-maiden's original 29 colors and my 22 colors

the collar flower and the boutonnière are in the necklace section

the hair flower is in the hat section, available for both female and male frames

the hair flower is hat slider compatible

————————   Parasol & Umbrella  ————————

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I made both an umbrella and a lacey parasol (using Javi's texture). These are rather timeless too I think, they are definetely suited for late victorian and edwardian eras.

These are both edits of @javitrulovesims's Meiji Komorebi Accessory Parasol, thank you Javi !

NOT compatible with necklaces, earrings, piercings or anything using the same UVmap (such as kijiko's lashes unfortunatly)

in the right index finger section

45 swatches : 2 colors for the frame and handle, 22 for the canopy and 1 fully black swatch

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Download : dropbox — simfileshare

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[vintage-london-images]

Here we have a selection of colour photographs of Piccadilly Circus from the 1950s 60s and 70s.

Piccadilly Circus connects to Piccadilly, a thoroughfare whose name first appeared in 1626 as Piccadilly Hall, named after a house belonging to Robert Baker, a tailor famous for selling piccadills or piccadillies, a term used for various kinds of popular collars of the time. The street was known as Portugal Street in 1692 in honour of Catherine of Braganza, the queen consort of King Charles II but was known as Piccadilly by at least 1743. Piccadilly Circus was created in 1819, at the junction with Regent Street, which was then being built under the planning of John Nash on the site of a house and garden belonging to a Lady Hutton, the intersection was then known as Regent Circus South (just as Oxford Circus was known as Regent Circus North) and it did not begin to be known officially as Piccadilly Circus until the mid 1880's with the rebuilding of the Regent Street Quadrant and the construction of Shaftesbury Avenue. In the same period the circus lost its circular form.

The Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain or Eros at Piccadilly Circus was erected in 1893 to commemorate the philanthropic works of Anthony Ashley Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury. It was removed from the Circus twice and moved from the centre once. The first time was in the mid 1920s, so that Charles Holden's new tube station could be built directly below it. The fountain returned in 1931. During the Second World War, the fountain was removed for the second time and replaced by advertising hoardings. It was returned again in 1948. When the Circus underwent reconstruction work in the late 1980s, the entire fountain was moved from the centre of the junction at the beginning of Shaftesbury Avenue to its present position at the southwestern corner.

Piccadilly Circus tube station was opened on 10th March 1906, on the Bakerloo line, and on the Piccadilly line in December of that year. In 1928, the station was extensively rebuilt to handle an increase in traffic. The junction's first electric advertisements appeared in 1910, and from 1923 electric billboards were set up on the facade of the London Pavilion. Electric street lamps interestingly however did not replace the gas ones until 1932. The circus became a one-way roundabout on 19th July 1926 and traffic lights were first installed on 3rd August of that year.

[lazypapers]

The Golden Hour Cast

The stories and art about John, Arthur, and Dutch in their youth is my Golden Hour AU/Headcanon. Also will add Hosea there later. It takes place in the 1880's to 1890's pre game.

Golden Hours is like the highest moment of their time and the golden moments of their family.

It's the moment before the sun sets or when the sun rises. I also think it is the moment when Arthur dies when looking at the sunrise.

[realbeefman]

they should do a modern remake of house but set in the 1880’s to really allow house to let his freak flag fly. i want him championing bold and outrageous ideas like washing your hands between patients and maybe sometimes the women aren’t being hysterical

[gretavanfleetposts]

Chapter One: The Angel of Music

Summary: In 1880’s Paris, you join the company of the Palais Garnier Opera House, newly financed by your childhood friend Daniel with whom you reconnect, and haunted by the man you will soon come to know as your Angel of Music.

Content Warnings: brief mentions of death

Word Count: 4.7k

Masterlist

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— 🌹 —

By now, there are few who have not heard of the 1884 disaster at the Palais Garnier Opera House. That was the year it burned thanks to the grand chandelier that had lighted the great concert hall since 1861. Its plunge was attributed by the French National Police Force to old, faulty chains that finally gave way under the immense strain that had stressed and stretched the links during its 20 year tenure. But those who subscribed to a box in the opera house and, even moreso, those who performed on that fateful stage, know the true cause of all that crystal and bronze plummeting down on the poor audience in the middle of the only performance of Don Juan Triumphant that would ever be given.

And those who know the true story of the fall of the chandelier should also know of the epic love story that hallowed the halls of that opera house much more definitely.

— 🌹 —

You’d only been a chorus girl for the company of the Palais Garnier Opera House mere months when it switched hands to new management. The old managers had seemed increasingly frazzled by whatever unknown workings of the opera house they undoubtedly dealt with on a daily basis and word of their imminent departure had been spreading like wildfire through the company for only a few weeks time. Of course, plenty of your fellow performers chalked it up to nothing more than idle gossip from pupils with far too much time resting in their hands. But you, having seen a glimpse past the curtain and into the true secrets that the many walls of the opera house hid, suspected that it was those very secrets that had driven them out of their managerial position, longing for an easy retirement after all the stress the place had caused them.

The news had come during a dress rehearsal for Faust that had only progressed to see the dancers stretching and the chorus doing their vocal warmups. That was when the two acting managers waltzed in, looking more relieved than they had in quite some time. Certainly since before you had even joined the company.

It wasn't the sight of the managers looking finally pleased that caught your attention though, nor was it the good-looking man that followed closely at their side who kept his hair long and his facial hair to match, but rather the fourth man who trailed in after all the rest with bright eyes and warm, eager smile, all of which seemed surrounded by perfectly jovial curls that danced upon the top of his head. He looked absolutely delighted to be even gracing the Palais Garnier stage, taking in the grand set pieces and decorated horses with awe. It was a look you recognized, not from your own experience three months prior having witnessed the grandeur up close yourself, but from your childhood, of all places.

When you were children, you'd called him Danny. But now, so many years later, you knew him by another name, so often gracing the public papers which spoke of his many accomplishments: Le Vicomte Daniel de Charon.

“We have an announcement to make, if you will all please gather round. This should only take a moment,” boomed the first of the two managers whose boisterous laugh you'd grown accustomed to hearing echo around the concert hall. He seemed particularly fond of the company's production of Les Contes d'Hoffmann and could be heard all the way from box ten laughing jovially with his other managerial half who preferred to shush him just as loudly.

The performers crowded together to form a huddle not unlike a vibrating mass of nerves, and your one and only friend at the opera took your side to whisper along with the others.

“Suppose the rumors are true, then?”

Joshua was one of the few people you had gotten to know in your very short tenure at the opera house, a fellow chorus boy and understudy with a voice that would soon catapult him to Primo Uomo in good time, you had no doubt. He had lived in a tiny apartment a block away from the opera house all his life and thanks to his mother’s employment as ballet mistress and occasional talent-seeker, Madame Kiszout, he had never gone without art in his life. He’d been raised on music just as much as you had. That was what had drawn the two of you together in the first place; music was no passing passion for either of you. It was the very air that you breathed.

“We regret to inform you all of our immediate retirement from this grand opera house,” the second of your two managers announced, even over the chatter amongst the crowd that never found pause. “I understand that this may be a surprise to some-”

“Although surely not to all,” the first muttered, not too under his breath.

“-but we can assure you, you along with these hallowed walls will be left in the most capable of hands.”

The handsome man with the long hair stepped forward at the behest of his predecessors who grew in eagerness with each passing whisper. But that man that you did not recognize looked to you to be just as eager. You only hoped he was as much a lover of the arts as the rest of you. A fine business it was, although most months you were certain the place barely broke even what with the arguments you’d heard coming from the managers’ office, but for one who took interest in the opera, in music at all, there were riches far finer than profit to be found at the Palais Garnier.

“Monsieur Samuel will be replacing us as acting management effective immediately-”

“Can you believe it?” Joshua grumbled at your ear, “Faust set to premier in three days, our Prima Donna’s health on the fritz, and they mean to abandon us like this?”

“-alongside his financier Le Vicomte Daniel de Charon, who will hopefully find this venture fruitful.” This last part spoken in more of a mutter than the manager’s usual blithe tone.

“Hardly,” you answered absentmindedly, already struck by the way Daniel joined the other three with a hearty smile and a heavy hand clapping Samuel’s shoulder in excited camaraderie.

God, how you had missed that smile, one that had always seemed so sure of itself even during life’s darker moments. Daniel had been like a beacon of light when you’d known him. A day spent in his presence could warm the soul. It was a terrible thing how long you’d now gone without him. Entirely your fault, of course, but terrible nonetheless. But that smile shined so warmly over what was now his opera house that it felt as if no time at all had passed.

“You seem lost in thought. I’d hoped you’d commiserate with me.” Joshua nudged you lightly with his shoulder, watching your face for signs of life.

“I’m sorry,” you offered meekly, unable to tear your eyes from the viscount. “I just…”

You gave up on speaking altogether and Joshua took that as his cue to follow your eyes to the tall, curly-haired boy you had grown up with.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

“I did once, when I was younger. We were something of childhood sweethearts.” The smile on your face could not be helped. “I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me now though.”

“Well, if he was as in love with you as you say, I would think he’d know your face anywhere.”

“Now, now, I can understand you might all have your concerns,” the new manager finally spoke, “and I promise I shall hear each one of them. But for now, we shall continue on with your work as you have already planned and prepared it.”

“But what of the matter of the Prima Donna, sir?” questioned a voice that owned no body from somewhere amongst the cluster of chorus girls and boys, each one more eager than the last to have their chance at understudy.

“What is this matter?” Samuel implored, his eyes searching the crowd for whomever might have brought this matter to attention and, thus, might elaborate. Though, it was one of his forebears which saw fit to explain that trifling detail.

“Ah, our Prima Donna, or that is to say, your Prima Donna, is presently ill. But no matter. She shall be ready for the performance in three days’ time.”

He gave an ardent laugh so as to brush off the matter but this ceased at the sound of Madame Kiszout clearing her throat, as she often did to swiftly procure the attention of her dancers who sometimes preferred to giggle and gossip than pas de chat when told.

“Y/n could do it, good monsieur.”

“I beg your pardon-” her former boss scoffed, a sentiment you could have easily mimicked, but Sam already had his hand raised to silence the man, proof he intended to listen to the woman who had quite a number of years on him.

“Who was it that spoke just now?” he questioned his audience.

“It was I, monsieur,” Madame Kiszout answered as she stepped from the crowd to distinguish herself.

She was a simple woman in hair and dress, always with the same brunette bun held in place by a jade hair comb and a worn black taffeta dress, but one not to be trifled with nevertheless. In fact, when one met her, it was suddenly quite easy to see where her son had acquired his passion. She wasn’t one for nonsense when there was work to be done but she certainly knew how to revel in a good performance. And despite her strict demeanor when running ballet rehearsals, the woman was sweet, her students need not agree.

“It would be a shame if your Prima Donna was not, in fact, ready in three days’ time,” she continued without prompt. “She currently has no understudy but Y/n has been taught well. She knows the role. She can do it.”

“And where might this young woman be?”

Joshua’s hand at your back pushed you forward from your hiding place in the crowd when your feet refused to move on their own accord. You weren't overly fond of drawing attention to yourself and Daniel's eyes fixing to you as you emerged from your shroud didn't help the matter of your nerves, whether he recognized you or not.

“Here, monsieur,” you answered in a voice as meek and quiet as your existence.

“You know the role?” Samuel confirmed.

“Yes, monsieur.”

“And you are trained?”

“By the best,” Madame Kiszout answered in your stead at the sound of your voice faltering.

She was, after all, the only other person who knew of the lessons you'd been receiving from the quiet and secluded confines of your dressing room. Not even Joshua was privy to this knowledge, although he knew of your proclivity to shut yourself in that little room for hours at a time. But he had never so much as uttered the question.

“This is true?” Samuel implored of you.

You gave confirmation by way of a hurried nod. “We meet daily.”

Monsieur Samuel nodded his head once with satisfaction. “Then you shall have your moment. And I shouldn't take any more of your precious practice time.”

You curtsied your quick thank you, stealing a moment to gaze back over to your Daniel who now looked upon you with a curious expression. There, a glimmer of remembrance in the brown pools of his eyes, a mere spark of recognition perhaps. But Joshua's mother was already at your elbow, ushering you along with the quiet fury of a woman who has seen her practice cut short and is eager not to further delay matters.

“Come, come. You must change.”

— 🌹 —

Samuel and his financier made themselves scarce the remainder of the days leading up to the opening of Faust. Samuel had peeked his head through a doorframe to whisper his musings of good luck to the company just moments before the curtain went up, but it wasn't until the second act when you nervously took your place on stage and the curtain rose yet again that you saw another glimpse of Daniel, perched in box ten beside his friend and fellow businessman.

In truth, you remembered little of the performance itself. Each time you sang, your mind seemed to recuse itself. But your body felt it. Your body felt the expulsion of energy as your voice carried high into the rafters of the concert hall, falling upon each attentive ear like a gift bestowed by an angel. Your body felt the fatigue of divine exertion, like God himself was drawing the music from your lungs and you were but a vessel for his intervention. And when your music finally met its natural end and a deafening applause took its place, you felt heavy tears roll down your cheeks.

From box ten where the vicomte sat, you appeared like a weeping angel defending the stage that seemed your natural home with your soul. He sprang to his feet alongside Samuel the moment your voice quieted, joining in on the voracious applause and even offering a sharp whistle with his thumb and pinky to his lips.

“You have a marvel on your hands, Samuel,” he fawned.

“Undeniably,” Samuel agreed. “Makes me wonder why those dusty old managers didn't showcase her talent more. You say you knew her?”

Daniel nodded with his angel still at the focus of his eye, the little white figure with diamonds like snowflakes in her hair practically glowing from the vast candlelight thrown upon her. A heavenly visage, he thought quite. “I did, as a child. We were mad for each other. She did not seem to recognize me earlier though.”

“Well perhaps you should reacquaint yourselves,” his partner suggested. “Find out if she's turned into a diva. I don't like to be given trouble and I certainly hope I didn’t inherit it.”

Daniel practically scoffed at the idea of the girl he knew causing trouble.

“I can assure you, she was no trouble when I knew her and I doubt she is now. She was only…sweet. And good.”

He thought back to the girl he had known, the one with dreams in her eyes and music on her lips. She had dazzled him with her kindness and her beauty, her talents and her curiosities. Before her father had died, her spirit had been the freest thing he knew. He supposed he didn’t rightly know her all that well now but how could little Lottie have changed so much as to cause trouble now? It was still just as unbelievable a notion as the voice which had sprung from her frame and incited the entirety of the concert hall to weep.

Samuel gaped unabashed at his friend.

“You're still in love with her, aren't you?”

He shook his head for naught, the unconvincing lie already being told. “It was a long time ago, Sam.”

— 🌹 —

You didn’t fully return to your body until Madame Kiszout had finally pulled your dressing room door closed after you, shutting herself on the side of the dizzying fanfare that had swarmed the moment you’d left the wings of the stage and made the quick journey through the marble foyer. Flowers had already overtaken the tiny boudoir, blooms and buds overflowing in their bundles on every surface that had been available to the poor runner who had eventually opted to place vases on the floor given the lack of space. Only the little stool in front of your vanity had been spared.

Perching atop the seat and gazing at your appearance in the mirror, you felt you hardly recognized the woman you saw staring back. She looked radiant, far more so than you had felt in quite some time. She practically sparkled and glowed as if lit from within. And the music you had made, music which hadn’t even registered to your own ears as such: your own. It all served to bring tears to your eyes, gentle drops of water that within each held a little elixir of emotions: grief for your father who would have been astonished at what you had accomplished that night, reminiscence over the boy that had watched from box ten and, as such, had brought such a large piece of your past to the very forefront of your mind, and gratitude for the angel which had imparted upon you a mere fraction of his talent without which the audience for that night’s opera wouldn’t have been served up such an achingly beautiful performance. No, the woman in the mirror was hardly you at all. She was a mix of all of the people that had shaped her and guided her and taught her along her way.

There was one singular flower out of place amongst the garden of blooms bursting in every corner of your dressing room, out of place in not only the fact that it was on its own, a sole stem with carefully shaved thorns wrapped with a silky black bow and crowned with one of the more devastatingly beautiful roses you’d ever seen, but it also went without note attached. You inspected it just as carefully as you had your foreign face, twirling the stem between thumb and forefinger and letting the scent catch your nose as you leaned into it. But who had plucked such a perfect posy for you?

The commotion just outside your door had hardly calmed when a knock sounded, followed by Madame Kiszout peeking her head in through the tiny space she had wedged to ensure you were decent. She was known to have a master key which she threatened the use of far more often than she actually employed it. She didn’t tend to barge unless she deemed it important. And you suspected Joshua the catalyst for this great importance.

“Mademoiselle, the Vicomte to see you.”

You’d scold him for it later, when your heart wasn’t suddenly plunging within your body in search of your feet.

“Of course.” You dropped the rose and stood, straightening and smoothing out anything on your person that your hands could fly quickly to in preparation of finally meeting Daniel face to face after those long, sullen years void of his presence. If only he remembered you.

He emerged from behind Joshua’s mother like he was suddenly conjured up there by your ‘okay’, dressed in a smile that reminded you of the frolicking the two of you had done so merrily as children when the world still felt hopeful and bright. That was before your father had died, of course.

The woman pushed him further into the room like a mother urging her son to ask the neighborhood boy to play with him, then sealed the two of you in there alone, her deft reprimands dispersing the crowd on the other side of the door the only proof she had even been there in that room at all. So you found yourself standing rather awkwardly across the room from him, unsure of what to say or if introductions would be proper in the situation of having already met the person you stood before but not so very recently that they might know this themselves.

“You must forgive any intrusion but that was one of the most extraordinary things I've ever witnessed,” he said at last when it seemed he couldn’t bear to stand there doing nothing but wringing his wrists any longer.

“It's no intrusion,” you assured him with a polite smile. “I am very glad to hear it.”

The awkward silence resumed once more as the two of you did nothing but stare at one another. But his eyes seemed to implore so deeply and intensely that you could feel the rouge stipple its way into your cheeks, prickling your skin with tiny little fiery points until they grew into a cover of heat that begged of you, look away!

You felt you were darting off back to your vanity to avoid his direct gaze, opting instead to watch how he lingered many steps behind you in the mirror you now stood before. It was, though, wholly impossible to stand there and maintain the facade that you did not recognize him for his sake and so for your own, you had retreated.

Thankful for the glass that mirrored his tentative step that he took further into the room, you watched his movements through the safe divide between your heated face and the cause of it.

“Never in my life have I heard a voice like that,” he said as he watched you carefully. “Not since we were children and your father played the violin while you sang.”

In a flurry of white taffeta floating through the air as delicately as snow, you squealed and jumped into his arms.

“You do remember me!”

“I could never forget you. Not if I lived a hundred years.”

His arms closed around you, holding you to his chest in an embrace that drew up all of the remembrance and nostalgia from your bones until you were each content with the spark of warmth it had generated.

Daniel seemed to hold that spark in his eye as he fixed his gaze to the woman you had become, only a mere whisper of the woman you had been when he'd known you.

“The way you sang tonight was nothing short of spiritual.”

“Daniel, do you remember those stories my father used to tell us up on the hill under the stars? The stories of the Angel of Music?”

“Of course. His stories were always so imaginative. Then again, we were so easily entertained back then.” His laugh danced about the room as free as a petal might float in the wind.

“It wasn't a story,” you urged more seriously, taking him by the hands to kneel in front of you as you found perch on a stool, leaning in like you meant to whisper to him great secrets that were as old as time itself. “I have been visited by the angel.”

Daniel's laugh rang again. “I have no doubt. I'm certain your father is smiling down on you.”

“No, no, not my father. The Angel my father has sent. He gives me lessons, in this very room-”

“Well, you are quite the student.”

“It's him,” you insisted.

“No, my Lottie, it's you.”

Your chest caved. It seemed your beloved Daniel had shirked his more curious tendencies with age; nothing you could fault him for, of course. Though, he was the singular person on earth that might have understood. He'd known you better than anyone. Longer than anyone. And he'd known your father, too. Maybe even the last to remember him by your side. You had feared even your own memory would fade before your father had sent the angel to you, and you knew that was the reason he'd sent him to you. But Daniel, poor Daniel, he was too far along in the forgetting process, it seemed.

Even so, the soft and gentle desperation behind his eyes that pleaded with his mind to remember you how you were now made your heart do mysterious things in your chest. You might have forgotten that twinkle yourself, that gleam that kept the brown of his eyes warm and his face light.

“God, you are somehow even more beautiful than I remember,” he spoke softly as he studied you the way you realized you were him.

“You know, I…I owe you an apology for running away the way that I did.”

“Not at all-”

“No, I do. You were grieving just as much as I after my father passed and I wasn't there for you. I just couldn't. I couldn't face the world without him. Not even you.”

His curls danced and jumped around his shoulders as he nodded. “I understand.”

“I always meant to find you again but then you became Vicomte and with all that responsibility, I just thought-”

“You owe me no apology or explanation. Really. Whichever fates saw fit to divide us did so knowing we would again find one another. I don't care about the time we spent apart. I care about this now, the time we'll spend together.”

Your emotions sat in waiting at the corners of your eyes, only held back by the reassuring squeeze of his hands engulfing yours. The understanding and appreciation was silent on your face and in your hands but you knew he could feel it. Daniel always could.

“I have not spent even a single day not thinking about you since the last I saw you.”

You gave him a slight shrug of your shoulders where concern was resting heavy. How long you had missed your Daniel. How certain you were that you did not want this opportunity to go to waste.

“I worry I've changed.”

“I'm certain you've changed,” he smiled brightly. “It was so very long ago that we knew one another. But I would like to get to know the new you.”

You gave him a smile that matched his own as the entirety of it came back to you, frolicking on the hills, hand holding that changed its meaning when you became teenagers, confiding in one another all your hopes and dreams, yours to be a great opera singer and his to be a man of his estate. You'd dreamed of marrying him, too. But that was all so very long ago.

“I have a gift for you,” he said suddenly, a spring in his step as he jumped to his feet. “I did not know if you'd remember me, I didn't want to impose myself on you. Will you wait for me here? I'll only be just a moment.”

“Of course,” you smiled, a breath of a laugh fanning over your lips as you watched his excitement carry him practically floating out the door to your little room.

And as you sat there on your little vanity stool, you turned toward the large mirror on the wall to examine your appearance and pinch your cheeks a bit, a fluster of nerves coiling so tightly in your chest you felt you could fly away. You studied yourself that way, the way Daniel had, for a lingering moment, staring into the depths of the mirror and into the depths of your very soul.

That was when the music began.

— 🌹 —

When Daniel returned to his Lottie's dressing room with excitement bursting in his chest which pounded against the little box in his breast pocket, he was greeted first with the sound of muffled conversing, one voice he recognized and one which he did not: a man's voice. He was secondly greeted with something that troubled him even further: a locked door.

“I sang for you, only for you,” Lottie's voice rang out, as plainly as it could have traveled through a sea of flowers, drapery, and finally, heavy wooden door.

The man's voice, now angry, answered in a bellowing cry. “He is an ignorant fool!”

“He's nothing, my angel!”

The conversation continued, dipping down to lower volumes that Daniel couldn't decipher all the while his hand fiddled with the handle that saw fit to keep him from his old friend. Worse yet, she did not even seem to hear him as he called to her from that place behind locked door, her name bursting from his lungs with the quickening of his pulse and the sweating of his palms.

“Then you shall know me finally,” he heard the man say at last. “Come to the mirror. Come to me.”

His love was in danger, of that he was certain. And as a mysterious music lingered in the air and replaced audible conversation, Daniel took to throwing his shoulder at the door as he continued to call out her name in desperation.

But by the time the door gave way and Daniel’s body was sent hurtling into the room all at once with the give of the wood against the frame, the dressing room was already empty.

Taglist: @roving-blade @vanfleeter @readyforthegarden @stardustthread @wrldabomination @josh-iamyour-mama @notsostrangerthing @runwayblues @redundantrachel

[yeoldenews]

It’s Dear Santa time again!

Every year since 2010, I have spent the month of December posting children's Dear Santa letters.

Publishing letters to Santa in the newspaper first became widely popular in the late-1890s, though scattered newspapers did so as early as the mid-1880s. I believe this sudden explosion in popularity was at least partially the result of the famed "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause" editorial which was published in The New York Sun in September of 1897.

In large cities Dear Santa letters often acted as a method of getting needed clothing and supplies to impoverished children when parents might be ashamed to ask for charity. Subscribers to the newspaper could choose a child’s letter and provide the items they asked for. The most common requests were shoes and coats.

Sometimes newspapers offered prizes for the best letter (which I suspect often acted as another clandestine form of charity as the winners were often letters asking for basic clothing and school supplies.) Though these prizes could range from the ordinary (a sled or a doll) to the extravagant (a $20 gold piece or a live pony.)

Often local stores would enter children in a drawing if they mentioned the store in their letter - which on occasion would result in children hilariously name-dropping every store in town just in case.

Writing Dear Santa letters was also commonly an activity done at school, often following some rough form letter. These letters are fairly easy to spot as they often hype up what a good student the child was and include effusive praise for their teacher (who would likely see the letter before it was sent.)

So why have I spent hundreds of hours of my life over the last decade reading tens of thousands of these letters?

Children's voices are largely absent from the historical record.

Dear Santa letters offer an extremely rare opportunity to see history unfold through children's eyes - in their own (often creatively spelled) words.

1914′s “Remember the children in Belgium” becomes 1918′s “Please visit my brother in France”.

During the Great Depression the very common phrase “I know you’re poor this year too Santa” gives a glimpse into parents' attempts to explain to their children why they might not be getting as much this year.

1939′s “Be careful flying over Europe” becomes 1945′s “Since the war is over you’re making bb-guns again right?”

Requests for toy flying machines become aeroplanes become fighter jets become space shuttles.

Dolls and wagons become Shirley Temple merchandise become Erector Sets become Barbies and Star Wars action figures.

But through all these changes one thing remains clear throughout 130+ years of letters to Santa, despite the rapidly changing world around them - children have always been children.

I hope you enjoy these letters as much as I do! (All decade+ of posts are tagged “Dear Santa” if you’d like to see more than just this year’s selection.)

Hapy Holadays and Marry Crimes!

[jaymber]

I connected the dots! (a.k.a. I'm autistic and "meta" isn't enough)

Okay, okay! I get the whole anchor-being thingy being a metaphor for the X-Men franchise falling apart since Jackman's retirement as Wolverine, but.... I'm autistic and had to look at it too deeply !

I came with this conclusion that solve most questions regarding D&W's main plot!

Ooookay, maybe I need to explain it further....

So, the main questions I had/heard after watching D&W were :

Why would Logan's death in 2029 affect Wade's timeline in 2024 ?

So, first thing first : Logan (2017) isn't set in the same universe as the rest of the X-Men franchise. It's set on Earth-17315, though it's unclear which events differ from Deadpool's universe (Earth-TRN414).

The anchor being residing in a different universe means all the movies we saw, except for Logan (2017), were NOT main timelines, but branches.

When Mr. Paradox talked about pruning Deadpool's universe, he meant cutting down the whole tree, every universe derived from Logan (2017)'s timeline. The "trunk" slowly withering, all the "branches" will slowly die with it, including Deadpool's universe.

Yeah, but it's the future...

Actually, the notions of past, present, and future don't mean the same thing from one universe to the next. One example would be Logan from Earth-21923 (a.k.a. Old Man Logan), who fought the War of 1812 (despite most Logan variants being born in the 1880's) :

[ Source : Old Man Logan (2016) #21 ]

Meaning, who's to say when year zero of each universe starts. 2029 doesn't mean anything... It doesn't matter when the anchor being died, he just isn't here anymore at the time of Wade's present.

Logan (2017) is a different universe, okay... So, why didn't Wade go to his timeline's Logan for help ?

I don't have a 100% irrefutable answer here, but...

a) It's Deadpool, who's just traveled to another universe (Logan (2017)'s) and might've wanted to check out other universes ;

b) Logan from Earth-TRN414 is already gone. Logan has died a bunch of times on Earth-616. For example, in the OG Infinity Gauntlet event, Wolverine died by Thanos' hands.

[ Source : Infinity Gauntlet (1991) #4 ]

c) Deadpool has messed with the timeline of Earth-10005 (the Fox X-Men Universe up to the Events of Days of the Future Past) by killing a variant of himself. We can't say how that affected Earth-10005, from which Logan from Wade's universe is originally from... Lemme explain myself here by answering another question :

Are there two Logans and two Lauras in Wade's timeline now ?

Applying the logic of the other movies, no. The Worst Wolverine and Laura (Earth-17315) replaced the ones from Earth-TRN414, if there were still/already existing.

In Days of the Future Past, Logan (Earth-10005) wakes up on Earth-TRN414, an universe where Scott and Jean didn't die. He only remembers the events from his universe, but every other person remembers their version of Logan. By changing the past, Logan didn't fix his timeline, but made his universe (Earth-10005) disappear in favor of another (Earth-TRN414).

Linking this to my previous point : Logan from Earth-TRN414 has been overwritten by a variant from Earth-10005, the same Logan that Deadpool interacted with in the end of Deadpool 2. Butterfly effect, etc. Either the Worst Wolverine erased Logan, or Logan was already gone, and the Worst Wolverine "filled the spot".

Again, I *know* there's a meta explanation about the X-Men & Co. universe revolving around Wolverine (even more so now that they got Dafne Keen as well to take over the role until she's herself 90 or something), but my brain needed a diegetic answer to my questions 😅

[andavs]

I’m just getting into 911… got any buddie fic recs?

You know, I actually do?

Actually, Truly by MilenaDaniels Isabel calls to tell them Eddie's been shot on a Thursday afternoon and by lunch on Friday Helena and Ramon are landing at LAX. When they land, they learn Eddie's already home recovering and has been for two weeks. ---- Or, Helena (and Ramon) tries to find a way back into Eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding Buck around every corner she turns.

Breathe by @kitkatpancakestack After Eddie Diaz has a breakdown in the middle of a grocery store, he's forced to face the fact that he might not be dealing with his PTSD as well as he thought. At the urging of his aunt, he leaves to spend the summer in a small California beach town, where he meets a bright-eyed, blond-haired surf instructor who reminds him what it feels like to be alive.

bro·ken by @thekristen999 bro·ken

adjective 1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. 2. having given up all hope; despairing.

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

if you say it with your hands by @henswilsons Buck thinks it must be a habit he still hasn’t dropped from his days in the army, or maybe it comes with the territory of being a dad – but Eddie can nap pretty much anywhere.

or, Eddie starts casually falling asleep against Buck, and Buck is very normal about it.

In the Gray You are Golden by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels When the world fell apart, Eddie did his best to keep his son safe. But now winter's coming on, their supplies are dwindling, and Christopher needs medical attention, so Eddie takes the chance to move them across the country to the west coast, where the rumored 118 Safezone takes in all survivors.

Buck's proud to be a member of the 118's search and rescue teams, but he can't shake the conviction that his lost sister is still alive in the wasteland. When he sneaks out to find her, he runs into Eddie and Chris instead, and vows to get them to the 118 safely.

But the wasteland has many ways of tearing people apart, and the undead are just one trick up its sleeve...

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again.

In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

[deadpresidents]

Which President, in your opinion, was the most reluctant to seek the position? Which wound up hating it the most by the end of his term?

I am a strong believer that nobody truly becomes President of the United States "reluctantly". That's not exactly the kind of job that seeks you, especially the modern Presidency.

For a significant slice of American history, many of the people nominated for President acted as if they were being called upon to run when, behind-the-scenes, they were very active in building their campaigns and corralling supporters. Until the 20th Century it was frowned upon to openly run for the Presidency, but almost all of the Presidents wanted the gig.

I'd say that George Washington was probably more reluctant than most of his successors and likely would have preferred retiring to Mount Vernon after the Revolution, but I think he also recognized that he was the guy who needed to be the President that set the precedents. I think Ulysses S. Grant would have been perfectly happy to not be President, but once he was elected in 1868 he also wanted to keep the job. He even tried to run for a third term in 1880.

That 1880 election might have been the one case where the winner -- James Garfield -- genuinely wasn't interested in the Presidency at that point. He had gone to the Republican National Convention to support fellow Ohioan John Sherman (and defeat Grant's hopes for a third term) and gained some major attention after giving a well-received speech placing Sherman's name in nomination. When the candidacies of Sherman and James G. Blaine -- another anti-Grant candidate -- stalled, Garfield became a compromise choice and was eventually nominated on the 36th ballot. Garfield was apparently legitimately shocked by the events leading to him leaving Chicago as the GOP nominee.

By most accounts, William Howard Taft was far more interested in a potential seat on the Supreme Court than becoming President. At heart he was a judge and believed himself to be better suited for the judiciary than the Executive Branch. But Taft turned down three offers by Theodore Roosevelt to be appointed to the Supreme Court (in 1902, 1903, and 1906) because he felt obligated to complete his work as Governor-General of the Philippines and then Secretary of War. But Taft's wife desperately wanted him to become President and by the time of President Roosevelt's third offer of a seat on the Court, Taft was already being talked about as Roosevelt's hand-picked successor in the White House. And, as with all other Presidents, once he had a taste for the job, he didn't want to give it up, running for re-election in 1912 against his former friend, Roosevelt.

Gerald Ford is the only other President who hadn't spent a significant portion of his political career with his eyes on the White House. Ford spent nearly a quarter-century in the House of Representatives and his main ambition was to be Speaker of the House, but Republicans weren't able to win control of the House when Ford was in Congressional leadership positions. But even with Ford being a creature of Congress, he did attempt to put himself forward as a nominee for the Vice Presidency, first in 1960 and then in 1968, and Nixon kicked the tires on picking him as his running mate in 1960. No one wants to be Vice President without seeing it as a potential stepping stone to the Presidency, particularly at that point in history before Vice Presidents were empowered with some real influence within the Administrations they served in.

As for who wound up hating it by the end of their time in office, I think it's safe to say that John Quincy Adams didn't shed too many tears when he was defeated for re-election in 1828. And I'm sure he wouldn't use the word "hate", but nobody can convince me that George W. Bush wasn't thoroughly ready to escape Washington by late-2007. There were times in 2008 when he seemed like he just wanted to hold a snap election like they have in parliamentary systems and go home to Texas. If some Presidential insider published a book that said that Bush asked if he could just give the keys to the White House to Barack Obama in July 2008, I wouldn't be the least bit shocked.

On the other hand, if there were no term limits, Bill Clinton would have been running for President in every election since 1992 (and the crazy thing is that he's still younger than both of the presumptive 2024 nominees). I'm kind of surprised that he didn't make an effort to repeal the 22nd Amendment in the past 20 years. Clinton loved being President and was trying to find something Presidential to do until minutes before his successor was inaugurated in 2001.

[onceuponatown]

The Loomis Radio School, Washington D.C. ca. 1921.

The school was located at 401 Ninth St. N.W. and operated with the call letters 3YA. By 1920 it was offering a six month course enabling the graduate to obtain a first grade commercial radio license and by January of 1922 was offering a four year course with a degree in Radio Engineering bestowed on graduates.

The school was founded by Mary Texanna Loomis, pictured in the last photo.

Born August 18, 1880 near Goliad, Texas. She was the second child born to Alvin Isaac and Caroline (Dryer) Loomis. Though born on homestead in Texas in 1880, by 1883 her parents had returned to Rochester NY and then on to Buffalo where Alvin became president of a large delivery and storage company. Little is known of her early years, but appears she had a fairly middle-class up bringing. She seemed well schooled, with an early interest in music and language (she mastered French, German and Italian) Her early years were spent in Buffalo, NY and she later relocated to Virginia. 

During the early years of World War I, she became interested in the new field of wireless telegraphy. There was a family precedent; her cousin, Dr. Mahlon Loomis, had conducted early wireless experiments with moderate success and may in fact have been the first person, in 1865, to send and receive wireless signals. 

Mary soon became proficient enough in wireless telegraphy to be granted a license by the United States Department of Commerce. Thoroughly fascinated with the field now called “radio”, she decided to turn her expertise into a career. Also, she wanted to do something that would honor her pioneering ancestor. Her idea was to do this by founding a radio school. 

Though radio was indeed, for many years, a profession dominated by men, Mary Loomis around age 40 took no notice and in 1920 founded the Loomis Radio School in Washington, D.C. and it quickly gained an excellent reputation. Ms. Loomis set high standards for the school and it attracted students not only from the United States but Europe and Asia as well. Loomis enjoyed teaching as much as she enjoyed radio itself. In an interview, she said, “Really, I am so infatuated with my work that I delight in spending from 12 to 15 hours a day at it. My whole heart and soul are in this radio school.” 

As president and Lecturer of the Loomis Radio School, Mary authored a definitive book on radio, named “Radio Theory and Operating.” 

By January 1922 the school was offering a four year course with a degree in Radio Engineering bestowed on graduates. Loomis also intended that her students understand more than just the inner and outer workings of radio. In addition to a radio laboratory (with equipment constructed almost entirely by Mary herself), the school maintained a complete shop capable of teaching carpentry, drafting and basic electricity. She reasoned that many of her graduates might find themselves at sea, or in other challenging situations and she wanted them adequately prepared. “No man,” Ms. Loomis said, at the time, “can graduate from my school until he learns how to make any part of the apparatus. I give him a blueprint of what I want him to do and tell him to go into the shop and keep hammering away until the job is completed.” 

The school appears to have been in existence at least through the early 1930's, but it has not been possible to find information after that.

In an interview given to H.O. Bishop of the Dearborn Independent in 1921, Mary was asked: “What sort of young men are taking up the radio profession?” to which she replied:

“The Kind who have grit and want to get there! Virtually all of them are ambitious and enthusiastic over the possibility of visiting every nook and corner of the world. My students are not only enrolled from various sections of the USA and Canada but from many foreign countries, such as Sweden, Ireland, England, Poland, Russia, Austria, Rumania and the Philippines. One of the brightest pupils I ever had was Prince Walimuhomed of Far-away Afghanistan. He was an extremely modest young man, keeping his real identity a secret until after graduating. He said he had no idea of earning his living by working at radio, but just wanted to know all about it. He does.You have no idea how much happiness I get out of the success of each individual graduate. My boys keep in touch with me from all parts of the world. Scarcely a day goes by that I do not get some trinket or postcard from some remote section of the world. I have made the wonderful discovery that the only way for me to get happiness for myself is to make some one else happy. I find that I am making these young men happy by teaching them every phase of the radio business so that they can earn a comfortable living for themselves and their dependents and at the same time, see the great big beautiful world.

As far as we can figure out, Mary Loomis left Washington D.C. around 1935 and moved to San Francisco where she worked as a stenographer. She died in 1960 and is interred at Woodlawn Memorial Park, Colma, CA. 

Source

[chimaerakitten]

so @darlingofdots's awesome Temeraire!universe historian post mentioned the wreck of the HMS Allegiance and I have been thinking about where it is literally all day.

Not just where as in "somewhere in the South Pacific" (because duh) but also, specifically, how deep, and therefore how the wreck would be studied.

Because a lot of archaeologically significant shipwrecks are pretty shallow, since they're the wrecks we can dive to, either on normal air scuba tanks or mixed gas. The Uluburun shipwreck off Turkey, for example, sits between 44 and 61 meters deep, which is right on the edge for air diving. The archaeologists could only be at the bottom for 20 ish minutes at a time, two times per day, with careful decompression timing as they went up to avoid the bends and not-insignificant amounts of nitrogen narcosis at the bottom. Mixed gas goes deeper, 100 meters or so for some of the more available ones. (there's a Phoenician shipwreck off the coast of Malta that's about 110 meters deep, and was excavated by technical divers) Beyond that it's just commercial divers laying oil pipelines with the super $$$ gas at depths of up to 500 meters or so. Anything deeper than that is the domain of submarines and robots.

and really, all of that ^ paragraph is just tangential set dressing that I added because I like shipwreck archaeology, because knowing the Allegiance went down in the middle of the South Pacific meant it was always going to a be a submarines-and-robots wreck. The middle of the Pacific Ocean is uh. deep. but I wanted to find out exactly how deep.

so the map from Crucible of Gold puts the sinking at a little under 50°S and a little over 121°W, which the NOAA bathymetric data viewer says is just about 3000 meters deep

Since that's an extremely boring screenshot, here's the CoG map overlayed on a bathymetric map:

It's actually on a bit of a ridge there! which is why it's at 3000 meters and not deeper.

We do find and investigate wrecks at that depth and deeper these days. The Titanic is at 3800 meters, and it has been investigated extensively (though we also have a recent pretty major news story about why thats still difficult and uh, very dangerous) The USS Samuel B Roberts was found at 6895 meters, and perhaps most relevantly, the search for Malaysa airlines flight MH370 turned up two 19th century shipwrecks at 3500+ meters deep, over 2000 kilometers off the coast of Australia.

One of those wrecks was a wooden ship from either the 1870s or 1880s, and though, being wood, it was pretty badly decayed, its cargo (coal) and metal features (anchor and water tanks) were still extant. On the Allegiance, that would also include her guns and her metal keel (which would probably be the identifying feature TBH, the keel marking her as definitely a dragon transport)

That wreck is probably the best parallel to the Allegiance in other ways, being a wooden sailing ship with a wreck not only very deep but also very remote. It also probably went down due to an explosion, just like the Allegiance. They were common on coal-carrying vessels, and the sonar images showed the cargo was scattered across the seafloor like something catastrophic happened.

The Allegiance would be more remote than its real-world parallel, but anyone looking for it would be hunting for it specifically and would be armed with probably a decent idea of where she was when she went down, seeing as there were survivors who would have been very keen to remember where they were so they could know how close they were to land. Plus, much like the Titanic (though not to the same extent) there'd probably be funding to investigate the Allegiance once found, as she had a part to play in major political turning points on at least three continents. People tend to be interested enough to throw money at that sort of thing.

So, there you have it. It would take a pretty serious effort to find her, though not an impossible one, and once found she'd be investigated by shipwreck robots, which would bring back pictures and samples of her metal remains, with organic matter being mostly absent by the time she was found.

[chere-indolente]

At the Theater

It's me again ! I won't rest easy until I'm done filling the gaps in my 1880s wardrobe and evening wear sure was a big one. So here, come and look at these 1870's / 1880's evening bodices, 4 of them ! You're welcome, just don't use them for gardening or the historical fashion police will be on your back ❤️

More pics and download below

This set was inspired by 2 of Mary Cassatt's paintings : as referenced in the title, At the Theater, 1880 and Woman in a Loge, 1879.

——————— Plain and Bow Bodices ———————

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These 2 bodice are the ones that are most inspired by Mary Cassatt's paintings, but it's also a style I've seen a bunch in other impressionist paintings of the time. It's a simple sleek bodice with off the shoulder sleeves and a low rounded collar as was fashionable in the late 1870s and early 1880s.

It is specially made to be worn over my bustle skirts. An overlay is included to change the bow's color.

74 swatches for the bodices : 22 solids, 10 floral, 6 plaid, 25 striped & 11 polka dot patterns

22 solid swatches for the bow overlay

the bow overlay is in the right wrist section

Disclaimer :

1 -be aware there will be some distorsion in the armpit area, I did my best but armpit weights are tricky.

2 - the patterned swatches will not be seamless in that same armpit region as you can see below it's quite cluncky :

————————— Rococo Bodice —————————

———————————————————————————

This bodice, like the name implies, is inspired by Rococo fashion. The Rococo style dates back to the 18th century and it had a bit of a revival during the victorian era which impacted the fashion as much as the interior decor among other things. This influence, here, results in a squarish neck line and a triangle piece reminiscent of 18th century stomachers.

Like the the plain and bow bodices it has been specially made to be worn over my bustle skirts. An overlay is included to change the trim's color.

74 swatches for the bodice : 22 solids, 10 florals, 6 plaids, 25 stripes & 11 polka dots patterns

22 solid swatches for the Rococo trim overlay

the Rococo trim overlay is in the right wrist section

————————— Flower Bodice —————————

———————————————————————————

This bodice was mostly inspired by some fashion plates from 1880.

Contrary to the 3 others, I made it so it sits under the skirt, so it'll work with other bottoms than my bustle skirt too should you want to.

74 swatches for the bodice : 22 solids, 10 florals, 6 plaids, 25 stripes & 11 polka dots patterns

62 swatches with various color combinations for the flower overlay

the flower overlay is in the right wrist section

——————————   Boutonnière  —————————

———————————————————————————

In addition to the flower accessories from my previous set, here is a boutonnière that sits lower on the chest to work with lower neck lines. Contrary to my previous boutonnière, this one is also compatible with necklaces. Like my other flower accessories, this is a pretty timeless accessory as evidence by the picture below.

Once again this is an edit of @the-melancholy-maiden's Hair Flowers Through the Ages Part 2 thanks to her very open TOU.

not compatible with hats

in the nose piercing section (so that it's compatible with necklace)

51 swatches : the-melancholy-maiden's original 29 colors and my 22 colors

available for female frames

———————————————————————————

Download : dropbox — simfileshare

———————————————————————————

And as a little bonus some of my main reference pictures :

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter Seventeen (Loki x fem! Reader Hiddlesverse Crossover Miniseries)

Series Summary: Based on Sarah J Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses series with the Tom Hiddleston characters. You are a woman of 1880's in Aldwinter in Essex, England, dying of tuberculosis. Never to be married to the local Lusty Vicar. When Loki appears to you and offers to heal you...if you spend a week of every month with him

Chapter Summary: You have returned to Aldwinter. And begin to set plans for your revenge on Will.

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: Some spicy stuff but no actual smut (please forgive me, the chapters in this fic are long enough), mentions of cheating and portraying Will's cheating as bad I am very blatantly against the Will/Cora pairing in The Essex Serpent and it shows so if you like either character or the pairing, you have been warned. Mentions of sex and religion and violence and abandonment. Supporting Women's Wrongs.

A/N: Thanks to @muddyorbsblr for the brilliant ideas about how Reader could get her long due revenge and the great suggestions!

Also,

Happy New Years Eve! Instead of going to clubs and drinking and partying or being invited to a party, I'm spending it editing fanfiction. So this is to all of you out there who too feel a little lonely like me and like you should be out there doing partying and "normal" things...you aren't the only one, and I'm sending you a hug.

I hope you enjoy the start of the "next" season of Court after that cliffhanger! Leave a comment or reblog or send me an ask or dm if you especially liked it! Happy 2024!

Series Masterlist

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

You could still recall your wedding with Loki.

It was night. The moons shone above. Stars sprinkled across the sky as people laughed and went out to restaurants and taverns. They weren’t the ones about to find a cauldron. They could go on in ignorance and always in safety.

But your own pulse was picking up as you held Loki’s hand. Excitement and nervousness.

You both walked into a temple, a building with a garland of roses over the door. For even gods still needed worshippers. Inside, there were two priests going about. An old man and a younger man in fine golden robes swept the floors. The younger one turned and gasped, tugging the sleeve of his sage.

They recognized Loki and both bowed.

“Ah, great prince and god of mischief, what brings you here?” the older one asked.

“I want you to marry us!” Loki announced.

Their jaws dropped, and the brown eyes of the old man grew large.

“Without the…the consent of the AllFather?” the older priest asked.

“No- I do not need it. I am not a child anymore. I am a man grown and this is the woman I want to marry.” Loki said, gesturing to you.

You walked over and placed a hand on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you.

“This is one order I give you, both as god and prince- Perform a marriage between me and Y/N. The Jotun Prophet says she is my True Love- always shall be. Don’t break the True Love Bond. Perform a marriage ceremony. I’ll reward you handsomely if you do.”

They relented. The Older Priest led you both to the large altar in the next room. It had a tall statue of Frigga smiling with outstretched hands from her gown’s sleeves. Firewood was brought to make a nice kindling blaze in the fireplace from the younger priest to the fireplace in the room.

The older priest gestured you both to You walked around it to the wooden table placed right before the statue. It was covered in runes in its tan wood. There was a small dagger, a cornucopia, and a tall, white candle that the elder priest lit with fire from the fireplace. The younger priest stood to bear witness, as well as holding a spare marriage contract for you both.

“The AllMother might feel a slight twinge in the air tomorrow, for marriage is part of her realm. But yet…if you are certain, then you are certain. Any last things you would like before we begin?” asked the older priest.

“It feels a little more like a lamb is about to be sacrificed than a wedding,” you shyly commented, for the Christian weddings of home were more what you were used to.

“The AllMother doesn’t like offerings of lamb!!” laughed the older priest.

“Here- let me make it more decorated, then,” Loki offered.

With a flick of his hand, there were flowers everywhere. Soft roses in bloom, their perfume a gentle caress in the air. They decorated the statue and the altar. Flower crowns were placed on the two priests, much to their amusement.

“Should I go back home and get that lacy bustle dress then? I know it’s your favorite” you teased Loki.

He gave you a small laugh, then lifted his hand and flicked it in the air.

Golden light came down from over your heads, he gave himself rich green robes with gold armor plates over his shoulders Both a prince and a groom.

You looked as the magic went over you and your clothes transformed on your body. You were given a long dress that was a soft blush pink to compliment his green. It shimmered when light touched it. It showed your shoulders but the sleeves were so long they draped to the floor, the way that a few of the queen’s dresses did. For that was what a woman of royalty wore. The bodice made a heart shape over your chest. On your head was a long veil that went down your back and onto the floor of sheer material, forming a beautiful train melting into a lacelike pattern. It made you look like you floated.

You smiled up at him.

“It’s beautiful, thank you!” you gasped.

Loki smiled, then nodded at the priest for him to begin.

You clasped hands. There was a prayer and some milk poured into a bowl and placed at the feet of the statue as an offering to Frigga..Loki conjured daggers for you both to trade, symbolizing how you would protect each other.

“Now, make your vows to each other,” signaled the Priest.

Loki held your hands. Though the priest whispered the words in his ear, he repeated it with sincerity.

"I, Loki, do swear before the AllFather and AllMother, take you to be my wife, my friend, my lover, and my companion. From this day until only death do us part. I pledge you my fidelity, refusing all others as long as we live. My softest words and tenderest embraces. I shall choose to respect you and choose to love you. In my bed and on my table. In battle and in peace. In sickness and in health. In joy and in sorrow. Day and night. From this hour, as long as we both live."

You took his hands and repeated what the priest whispered into your ear.

“I, Y/N, do swear before the AllFather and AllMother, to take you to be my husband, My friend, my lover, and my companion. From this day until death do us part. I pledge you my fidelity, refusing all others as long as we live. My softest words and tenderest embraces. I shall choose to respect you and choose to love you. In my bed and on my table. In battle and in peace. In sickness and in health. In joy and in sorrow. Day and night. From this hour, as long as we both live."

Then Loki’s magic brought up the ring- the very one you won from the Weaver’s cottage.

“That was why the Weaver thought I earned it…even she knew…” you wondered.

“She’s a matchmaker then, who knew,” Loki teased.

Loki placed it gently around your finger. He conjured a ring that you slipped through his finger.

There was a final prayer and chant. The younger priest brought forth the document which you both signed.

“Now seal it with a kiss- and all the nine realms shall consider you husband and wife,” announced The Older Priest.

You did, happily. Embracing each other and locking lips. They both smiled and applauded. Loki paid them generously with a conjured bag of coin.

You both were still holding hands as you hurried home. Your wedding gown and his shoulder plates glowing in the moonlight.

With the crowds around Asgard, you could slip by unnoticed. But you were smiling. He was red-cheeked, almost running and pulling you with him until you picked up your skirt and met his pace. You ran together back home at an equal speed. The thrill of being married at last soaring in your hearts.

You got home in your finery, clutching hands happily. At the entrance, no one came to meet you. The guards simply allowed you through, never asking questions.

“Husband…” you teased, tasting the word. Placing a hand on his warm chest. His eyes went big.

“In the older times, a marriage isn’t considered legal until it is consummated. Is Asgard…like that?” you asked with a slight giggle in your voice.

Loki took his hands around your waist.

“Better safe than sorry, then,” he agreed.

He scooped you easily into his arms and carried you right into his chambers. Taking you onto his green bed and laying you down.

He crawled on top of you and kissed you. Desire burned between your legs as he let in some of his tongue and touched your face, pulling you close. Hands greedily running down your body. Giggling you rolled over so he laid down and you were on top. The veil shimmered as it fell from your head into a melted, sparkly puddle on the floor. He let out a small gasp of surprise but laughed it off, his ivory face below you, his beautiful black curls splayed across the bed.

‘Now that we are wed, I’m going to make my wife scream with pleasure on our wedding night. And every night after that.”

His hands went to your hips, gripping the flesh beneath the cloth. You set yours on his broad shoulders.

“First I’ll have to spare your stallion and ride you instead!” you whispered.

“I love you, my wife… and princess,” he voiced.

“I love you too- prince and husband,” you said.

You began to grind him as he undid his own leather trousers. Then you pulled up your long skirts and began to sink onto his-

“O God, whose blessed Son was manifested that He might destroy the works of the devil and make us the children of God and heirs of eternal life:...”

The vicar’s voice broke you out of your memories.

That was just the past. And here you were in a familiar scene. The memory is still warm in your body though you were back in that sterile church.

“Grant us, we beseech thee, that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves even as he is pure…’ Will continued to intone, signaling the beginning of the service.

You were sitting dutifully on the front row next to your parents. Just as you did for a long time. You were back home in Aldwinter, but you did not feel like the same lovesick girl counting down the days to her wedding and smiling up at the vicar with love and even restrained lust.

No, you kept your eyes down to the checkered floor, hands positioned to pray. You wore a dark-colored dress, but you were not in mourning. You would paint the picture of piety and repentance here. Still aware of the eyes still on you. Of the gossip.

“She left our respectable rector for that god. Yet she’s back here and - bless him, he loves her! He’s going to marry Y/N anyway despite all of that! Despite her being ruined. Despite her betrayal,” was what they were whispering in their pews and parlors.

‘They got it wrong as to who ultimately betrayed who. Twice.’ you thought. But you held back that part of you in your head. It was rather talkative lately, but you knew better than to utter a word of your true thoughts.

You looked about. There was the old chandelier that hung up with unlit candles. You wondered how they stayed on. What would happen if one were to fall? Would it hit someone?

To your amusement, you realized one hung over where Will was standing. You wished you could make a candle fall to hit him on the curly auburn head. It would have been funny, even the congregation would laugh. But you didn’t.

It deserved to be a knife aimed at his skull instead.

Everyone kept their heads down, though sometimes a pair of eyes would meet yours.

You were back. You told them- your family, old friends, and neighbors- little of what happened. As far as they knew, you were enchanted. But the spell was broken. Yhat you were returned safely- to pray, repent, and process all that happened with Loki…

And sometimes you did. The things you never imagined you would see or do when you went to Asgard. You thought you would live a plain little life in a plain little town and that you were content to do so. Did they know that you learned how to wield swords and daggers? That you were blessed with magic? Of the people you met from other worlds and timelines and planets? Stole belongings or helped in their stealing? Escaped death multiple times? Fought? Even killed? That you found new friendships with queens, princes, and warrior women? Seen aliens? Been to a ball? Met gods and learned to love one and was even married to him?

Now- here you were. In your old clothes and old church. Did those grand adventures even happen at all?

You knew they did.

There were a few extra faces in the pews. For some in town were surprised by an influx of men who built small houses and stayed nearby. Some women were thrilled for a bunch of new bachelors and hoped for marriage with one of them. They all said they were part of a construction company and factory that was nearby…when really they were of Grendel’s army. Bullies and monsters, all of them. And it was none other than Will who agreed with Grendel to let them stay in the town…if Grendel got you back here to him.

Will’s sermon continued as normal. He seemed happy as he began to discuss Paul’s book of Romans. Once you would have sat up in rapt attention. But you could hardly pay attention to it anymore. He seemed like a ghost in his long white robes. He wore a long blue sash draping down his shoulders trimmed with gold with symbols on the ends. He smiled brightly as he stood before the congregation, folding his hands so they disappeared from his robe’s sleeves.

You heard the voice of your husband through the bond.

'I’m going to kill him,' Loki said clearly in your head.

'Not yet,' you replied.

'I’m going to get out my dagger, and stab him right where he is.'

'Loki, please, don't'

'Then I’m ripping a portal to this church, slinging you over my shoulder, and carrying my wife out of this place. Right. Now.'

'Loki, I wish you could- but consider: they're watching. The whole town is watching and not just now! Everyone is obsessed and looking for you. My parents keep the doors to the house locked except for when I go on my daily walk. Everyone has purchased a weapon. They’re searching like madmen for you in Aldwinter. It’s not safe for you to just barge in.'

Now people discussed the Trickster god who kidnapped and ravished women more than the Serpent that was just a dead whale. They searched everywhere. Children played games and whispered about him. One thought they saw him in the woods. Another thought they saw him in the marshes. People kept close eyes on their daughters- he took first you, then Stella twice, and who knew which lady would be next?

One day, there was a rowboat on the river in town. It nearly ran into another rowboat. And no fishing nets were inside.

“What are you out here for?” one rowman asked.

“Lookin’ for the Trickster god! He was sighted here, wasn’t he?” answered the other boat’s first rowman.

“Blast it, not if I find and shoot him first!” said another rowman from the other boat.

‘But, my dear pet-’ Loki continued to sigh.

‘No- I don’t want you to. Besides, even if you could quickly get me out, I don’t want to leave yet…not without seeing to it that Will is punished’ you sent to him.

'You do deserve revenge, Loki agreed “So I should turn into a cat again, trot up to him purring, and then jump out and stab him.'

'Loki, it is a habit of men to avenge women they love who were wronged. It is in many stories- it is always the woman who suffers and dies horribly because of a villain’s sins and it is not her, but the man who is allowed to live to avenge her. Those writers don’t understand we ladies are perfectly capable of exacting our own revenges. I would like to do it. I am the person Reverend Ransome has wronged most of all. If anyone should do the stabbing, it should be me.'

'Then get a knife and throw it towards him in church!' Loki suggested.

'No! He will duck and it shall be me who goes into jail and shall be killed, not him. I can’t just murder him willy-nilly and with no certain escape or sanctuary. I must be careful with this if I am to get away with it.'

Part of you was impressed by him. Making a deal for your safe return at least, done by a man whose heart couldn’t be settled on one woman. You were keeping your simmering rage at bay. You took a look at the church, you noticed the walls that seemed blue-green in the overcast sky when they were really white. The light brown pews and the table with a tall wooden cross on it with two candles between. The three chandeliers. The two windows that overlooked everyone were like eyes.

When you burned Aldwinter to the ground, the church would be first.

No, no you couldn’t. Why should so many innocent people suffer because of one man’s decisions? You had to figure out how to exact revenge on the reverend Will Ransome, in a way that would affect him and only him. And in a way that no one would suspect it was you.

The service continued on as normal. Though you were always in a half-sleepy, silent daze now instead of at attention, doing every repetition of prayers and singing each hymn and crossing yourself soberly.

Sunday evening, as always, a nice dinner was made for Will, your fiancee and guest. It was as if the letter you wrote to him ending things was never sent.

It was the same picture. Everyone sitting down in your house. Napkins draped across laps as forks and knives clinked with plates. The smell of the meal wafting- your mother’s roast with salad and bread and potatoes. Laughter and chatter.

You would make a smile appear on your face, eating politely and quietly.

Then your father made one clap and rubbed his hands, looking at you and Will.

“Now- let us discuss the wedding! Do you have a date selected, my dears?” he asked.

“We have discussed about the wedding a little more…” Will began.

‘But I’m already married,’ you thought, glancing down at the emerald ring always on your finger.

Then again, Will wasn’t known for respecting the boundaries of marriage.

The Lusty Vicar placed a hand over yours and held it.

“We will reschedule the wedding for next month,” Will suggested. His blue eyes shined to you. “Then, my angel, I shall finally call you my wife.”

‘I would rather the Serpent become real and devour me,’ you thought.

“It shall be lovely,” you replied with a small smile.

“We shall have a wedding- free of interruptions and no sickness and no spells. It shall be simpler, mind you- we all know how much the first one cost,” your mother added.

“A big wedding doesn’t matter as long as it’s with a good man who truly loves you,” you commented.

Will again looked at you softly. He spoke with a smoothness, almost a seductive tone, like when he proposed to you. Not caring the others were there. In fact, they enjoyed it.

“It was God who told me you were to be my bride, Y/N.”

‘But God didn’t tell me.’ you thought. You only looked up at him and smiled.

“And we shall spend our lives fulfilling His word together,” he continued.

‘Did God also tell you to stick your fingers up Cora’s-’

“Oh, how beautiful! To see you finally married off to this godly, lovely man!” your mother sighed out loud.

“I am the happiest woman in Essex, ” you replied.

He kissed your hands and left back home.

“Y/N, now that you are a parsonage bride, be sure to attend to your duties at the church tomorrow. You must become used to them,” your mother reminded you.

One idea hit you. A small step.

Revenge you realized, was similar to cooking or baking. When one has a recipe, there are all sorts of small ingredients to gather, steps to take, and things to measure and mix. Small steps. They don’t seem like much at first, but bit by bit, they became something bigger, grander.

“Yes, mother. I shall,” you replied dutifully.

The next afternoon, the church was empty. Only Will and a few others planning out events in the meeting room. You had to help keep it tidy and check plans for Sunday School, for you were now going to join as another volunteer teacher for the children. As you looked over the lesson plans with the other teachers, you reached out your powers through your gifts. Searching. Would they be where they were last…

They reached his office. To what was under his desk.

No box. And no personal mail.

The letters from Cora were not in his office, you realized. That would take some searching.

But another thing was near his office- the church treasury kept in a safe in the next room.

Another step to your revenge.

One of the benefits of being a vicar was that while a clergyman received some of the tithes, a vicar got all of them.

Of course, some of it went to support his own church and ministry as well as put bread on the table. Will was probably discussing the budget with them from the Sunday tithes.

Finishing the Sunday School lesson planning was done.

Your senses told you the room with the safe was empty.

The old woman who taught the children’s Sunday school chattered on. Usually, women could teach children and other women. It was rare for a woman to teach a Sunday School class that included men. You got up. Saying you were going to get a glass of water and to wait for the Reverend, excuse me.

No one was in the hall. You quickly hurried in, your steps soft. To not click on the floors. Your powers unlocked the door and you stepped in. The plain brown room with a plain grey safe.

Quickly, your senses managed to unlock it. Opening up to numerous checks and huge wads of cash and coins in baskets.

You got out a few things of cash. Taking off your shoe, you slipped it beneath your foot and then retied it on. You then locked it back. Quickly walking away. You went over to the church kitchens to get your glass of water and sip on it in one of the parlors, your eyes down in innocence.

When you got home, you sat down in your chair, claiming you were tired and needed to rest. You looked at the blue gloves you had been knitting recently. Your eyes focused, your powers embracing it. You let it rip open and then reattach, sewn back together easily.

You removed your shoes and got out the cash.

You took the money and placed it in a blank envelope. Oh, how you wished you could recreate handwriting! Then you would forge Will signing it! But you could not, as much as you practiced. That would have given you away.

So at night, when no one was around, no one walking the streets, you briefly slipped the letter under your door. Then you went back to continue to knit more gloves as your parents read.

'Move' you commanded the letter silently.

And it did- it began to drift through the dirt road. You sensed where Mrs. Seaborne resided and directed the letter there as it floated through the ground as if a breeze moved it.

'Go to her house, slip it under the door,' you commanded it.

Quietly as a firefly. It located the house of a certain widow and slipped it under the door.

Your parents then said you would have to read the Bible more, to prepare for your marriage, and gave you a new copy they had bought. You turned to the Old Testament book of Judges and silently read some as they continued their own post-dinner activities by candlelight.

You poured over one story in that book. There was once a tyrant named Sisera who had long oppressed the Hebrew people. After his army lost a decisive battle with the Hebrew forces, he fled like a coward. He discovered a tent where who should be there, but only an ordinary housewife named Jael. She knew what he had done. She let Sisera have her food and sleep there as a guest, promising him that he was safe. Then as he slept, she got out a tent peg and killed him by hammering it through his skull.

You wondered why there weren’t more sermons discussing Jael. Why many never even spoke of her. Or perhaps even knew of her.

So every day you sat, sewed, obeyed your parents and fiancee, and prayed and bided your time. You had to seem like Jael- an innocent, dutiful, pleasant woman who would only do what was asked of her. Then, when the time was right, you would drive the peg through the skull of your Sisera.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── Will loved to take long walks in the mornings. Especially through the fields, the forests, and by the sea. You realized each day you sensed him. They were like clockwork-mid morning after breakfast. Then he would go out for at least an hour. If not two.

That would be the perfect time to find the letters.

The next morning, you said you were out to walk and take care of some errands. Your parents thought nothing of it but wished you well. You walked out.

You walked into the town and through. Careful that none were watching you. You knew where it was. You had been there one night before.

There it was- the tall white house, the vicarage. There was a large, plain backyard save for the little house made of sticks for the dog to sometimes rest in.

The dog was already outside, leased to the house for safety as his keeper was out. The sweet, brown terrier. He went up to you, wagging his tail, for he knew you. You got him little treats of bread from your pocket that you fed to him, so he would be happy and not bark up a storm. No more than what would alert any passerbyes. After petting him for some time, you got back up to go to the vicarage.

Your powers unlocked the door and you went inside. Now you weren’t as clouded with emotion, you could look about the place.

It was light tan wood on the inside. There was a kitchen with an empty table and vase. A little fireplace. A parlor by the windows with cushions where one could watch the outside.

It was a large house. The right size for a man who was expected to start a family.

You turned past one door, peeking inside, and you saw a bedroom. A large blue bed, neatly made.

To think, that was where the wedding night that never happened would have taken place…

Then you continued, you felt odd. Nostalgic for something you never experienced…a life you never lived, had wanted to live, and in a way, still wanted to live.

There was his study. The wallpaper on it was green, full of vines, leaves, flowers, and even birds all over. Beautiful and elaborate. There was a window where sunlight poured through the window over his desk sat. Looking out to the countryside outside. There was an oil lamp where one just turned and there it was. So many papers and journals on his desk, yet in neat piles. But most impressive in his room were the bookshelves. His study was almost a library in itself- tall bookshelves. Full of books, more than you could name. It was likely they all were books of theology or even history or anything having to do with his ministry and studies.

You looked about, pausing and smelling the musk of the place. The beautiful wallpaper. The impressive collection of books.

You could almost feel it like wearing an old shirt- the life you once had. A life that was also within your grasp again. A life where you would live in this house as Mrs. Ransome.

To sit in that bed knitting next to him as he read. To sleep beside him and with him. To fulfill your marital duties at night with quiet passion. A life where you planned the activities the children would do in Sunday school on your kitchen table. Sew up white angel costumes for the Christmas pageant every year. To go and stand by his side helping to bring out alms on a day of charity.

Sweeping and scrubbing all day instead of intense physical training. No worries about Grendel, but of making sure the dinner would be warm when he got home.

One where you would gather flowers from your garden to plop into that vase, making them look nice. A life where you would fix tea and lemon biscuits, and deliver them on a tray to him in his study as he wrote his next sermon. To give it to him and he would smile up from his papers. A life where you would sit by the fire sewing, discussing whatever sermon was coming up next with him as he made notes. Plan recipes for the newest church dinner or picnic coming up and talk to him about who was making what. Picking pastel wallpaper for a certain special room in the future for both of you. Holding hands in the middle of services.

No quests, adventures, or fighting. A quiet life, a domestic, peaceful life. A life you could no longer have. A life no longer accessible -and a life you knew you could no longer let yourself want.

Your powers reached and you found you were correct in your suspicions.

The second desk drawer on the left side. The locked one.

Your powers unlocked it and it jiggled open. There inside were letters. The love letters from Cora to the Lusty Vicar.

Because he wasn’t known as the Faithful Vicar.

Though it made your heart race and your stomach turn, you picked up the letters and began to skim through some of them. You couldn’t take all of them or he would be immediately suspicious. You had to select only a limited number of them- so they had to be the most damning ones.

You turned past one discussing the Serpent to a piece of paper with Will’s handwriting on it. A draft of a letter to respond to her.

“I apologize for not writing, there was too much to say. I cannot think straight around you. I love you, Cora.”

Love- Love! He was sure it was love! You noticed the rest of it was full of scribbled-out words.

Then you found the next one from Cora. Two words in it stood out to you and nearly made you drop the paper.

“Come quickly.”

She was asking Will to leave you for her! The shock made the letter tremble in your hands and your vision went dizzy at the edges.

“Come quickly.”

Your mind then raced, imagined, as minds do… spiraling further in its self-destructive cycle of imagination. Will told you he wouldn’t leave you…he also said he loved you. Said that he still loved you…

“Come quickly.”

What if you already married Will…and he ran off with Cora?

You imagined the scene.

You could see it already in this house. You would be doing your daily duties humming a cheerful song. Refreshing the vase in the kitchen with flowers. Planning ingredients for dinner.

The day turned to evening…and realizing he was taking longer with his church duties than normal. Wondering if something happened. Already missing him as you dusted off the countertops. Full of happy memories of him in your earlier days of marriage. The light brown kitchen where he’d lay a gentle hand on your shoulder in fondness as you stirred the soup. The doorways you teased that he was too tall for. Looking through the dinner you were going to make that night.

Panic bubbled lightly as the sun dipped down and the day became night.

You would finally wander into his study. The light shining orange from his lamp…. There, on the table was a letter addressed to you from him. You would reach for it and read it.

“My dear wife, I am in love with Cora Seaborne. I cannot think straight around her…with her, there is too much to say. I am going with her. I ask for your blessing. I will make sure you are taken care of. Thank you, for your dear blessing on us and for our love.” Will.”

And enclosed were several bills of cash money.

For he knew a married woman could not submit a check at the bank, then the money would go to her husband.

And now, your husband was gone.

The utter shock. Rereading it to make sure it was real, that this nightmare was real. The rage. The tears. The brokenness washing over you. How you would shake. Holding onto his desk for support. Until your legs gave out- how you would collapse, sobbing. Those three little words that would feel like a kick over and over: “for our love.”

Then, you would wander into another room—the pastel one. For by now, there would likely be an occupant.

A little baby in a cradle.

A nursery decorated with the theme of Noah’s Ark. A painting of the wooden boat and of doves with twigs in their beaks on the wall. Full of little animal toys going two by two. Specially decorated for this child’s arrival.

To look down at the little infant in its cradle. So lovingly swaddled safe and warm. A child who was half you and half Will.

On one hand, perhaps it would be worse if he took the child with him. A child you would never know if you would see again, for a husband could deny his wife access to their children. The law saw the child as Will’s, not yours.

And he already found a new replacement, a new wife for him, and a new mother to this child.

It was as if you never mattered in the first place.

But now, the child would be babbling and looking around. Then it would burst into tears, for it missed the cradling arms of its father. You would shush it and try to rock it. Call their name, sing a lullaby in a broken, crying voice, and kiss their forehead- the last reminder of Will you’d always have by you.

To think, once this child was old enough, you would have to look them in the eye and explain why Papa wasn’t around like the other Papas were with their children, even if Papa was a priest. That Papa loved Mama…but he wasn’t in love with Mama.

How you would cradle that child to your chest, walking through the rain, the letter in your pocket. Trudging to your parents home in the middle of a rainstorm in the night. Knocking on the door. They’d open. Seeing a sobbing baby and a sobbing mother.

To tell them what happened. You couldn’t imagine what they would say, would do. They wouldn’t have the heart to even turn you down. But perhaps people would talk.

Maybe you didn’t cook as well. Maybe you were mad and had to be sent to an asylum. Maybe you weren’t as pretty as Cora. Or as interesting or clever. Maybe you didn’t pleasure Will enough in his bed and the Lusty Vicar had to be satiated somehow.

You would not be able to file a divorce. A husband who had an affair and now abandoned you was not the legal grounds for a wife to divorce a husband.

In the eyes of both God and the Law, you were still William Ransome’s wife.

Now…you had to stay married to him until only Death did you part or he decided to initiate a divorce. Even though you were the upright, godly, proper vicar’s wife…the law would not be on your side. Not as a woman.

To wait. For envelopes that had letters- and especially money. To live at the mercy of those envelopes. Hoping the cash would be enough. For food, for warm clothes for your child- no his child, for by the law, the child belonged to the father, not the mother. The humiliation, the pain, the loneliness.

All because Will and Cora were in love.

And all because a stupid whale carcass was what brought them together in the first place!

You wanted to take that lamp that sat at his desk and throw it at the wall until it shattered into a million pieces. You wanted to tear at that letter. Topple the bookshelves and rip apart every last book that belonged to Father William Ransome. Do every violent thing to destroy that room in a rage. To run to Cora’s house armed with a cane like what men and old people used to walk with. For it was she who wrote that letter in the first place. Ready to beat the tar out of her until she-

But no…that wasn’t real. That didn’t happen. This was real, you reminded yourself. You were just sitting in his office with shaking hands.

‘I am not the Unwanted Wife of Aldwinter…I am the Princess of Asgard. Loki loves me, he says I’m beautiful, that I am enough for him- that I am great and awe-inspiring…he is who matters now. I am. Beautiful, powerful, and dangerous. I have the Aesir people, the servants of the palace, the warriors, and the army and legion of Asgard at my disposal- and I shall strike into Will and Cora until they plead for the mercy I will never give them,’ you reminded yourself.

Your senses reached out again and you found old documents from when Will was granted the vicarage and position. You memorized the names of those who appointed him. You searched thoroughly until you found papers with the address of the seminary that appointed him. Taking a scrap piece of paper on the desk and his pen, you wrote their names, as well name of their building and its address. You wrote it down and then hid it in your stocking.

And you had to hurry- what if he decided to return soon? Your senses told you he was still walking outside…but you would not tempt fate.

Taking in a shaky breath, you returned the draft of his letter- you could take it. But if it was missing, he would suspect something was afoot. You set the draft down.

You planned to take two to damn Will. Instead, you took three love letters- including the “come quickly” letter. For she was going to be punished already as harshly as he.

You stuffed them into the pockets of your skirt.

You promptly left the vicarage back to town, taking a path that made it less suspicious you came directly from there.

You did a little grocery shopping, and returned, saying you had to walk to clear your head- you had a nightmare last night. About Loki. You poured a few tears and they fixed you some tea in consolation, telling you that your enchantment and the dreadful act of warming his bed was all over.

Then, once you were alone in your room, You took out the letters from your clothes and hid them your copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, which you kept firmly in your personal bookshelf.

They were ingredients left to simmer until boiling. You had the evidence and the first address to send one to. You now had to figure out where to send the other two to bring them down.

[telekinetictrait]

God help us – for art is long and life is short! (Faust: First Part, written by Johann Wolfgang Goethe and published in 1808)

hiiii heres the first part of what will (hopefully!!!) be a series of western women's fashion from 1800 to today. obviously, not all women looked like this or dressed like this. in fact, most didn't - these are largely going to be looks worn by women of a higher socioeconomic class, at least until maybe the 1880s. this is for a few reasons, mostly being, uh... availability of cc. i'd love to MAKE some historical cc but my laptop won't run blender. another reason is that the fashion of the upper classes is typically better recorded than that of lower classes, especially before the advent and popularization of photography. i'm just rambling now.

anyway! the first part: 1800-1809. we see the opulence of the georgians cling onto fashion in bows, feathers, and jewels. we also see the rise of waistlines to the iconic empire waist, and the influences of neoclassical aesthetics in fashion. hairstyles in particular were emulating those of the ancient greeks, also pulling a bit from the stuarts. this decade also allows me to share one of my favorite tidbits of fashion history: the coiffure à la titus! for a short time in the 1790s through the 1810s, some women (french women especially) took to cutting their hair short and choppy. the reasons range from inspiration taken from a popular play at the time, to symbolizing solidarity with women executed via guillotine. some men at the time thought that having short hair was actually hazardous to women's health, so while the titus cut wasn't the norm, it was widespread enough to cause quite a storm!

you'll notice that 1806 is missing. that's because the dress i used, uh... completely messed up the arms and i did not notice until i was making the gif. if you wanna see it, it'll be under the cut.

cc links + creator tags under the cut!!

see my resources page!

adelais : clepysdra's padme snail hair / ice-creamforbreakfast's vittoria pendant / hanalinori's morning in the garden dress / oydis' willow armlets / oydis' eloise flats

aelita : plasma-jane's athena hair, updated by my-historical-sims / s-clubs laurel crown (tsr download) / kaguya-fox's nioh oichi hair branch / simsonico's shining nikki shy lady dress conversion / dancemachinetrait's lydia flats

alanis : peebsplays' regency bun / joliebean's joanna earrings / leeleesims1's throw it on accessory wrap / dissia's amy accessory sleeves (tsr download) / zeussims' estrella gown

amalthea : simsonico's shining nikki shy lady headband conversion / mothz's accessory necktie / serenity-cc's accessory frilled turtleneck / sifix's hope dress (tsr download) / simsonico's shining nikki reminiscence of flower fan conversion

anamarija : okruee's cicero hair / pixelunivairse's pearls necklace / gilded-ghosts' bingley gown / maushasi's acc. lace top (search 'lace', accessory included in file) / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves / leonalure's transparent priestess scarf or here (REUPLOAD, original download on shady site. leonalure – if you see this and want me to take it down, just let me know!!) / dancemachinetrait's lydia flats

aoide : teanmoon's helen updo / zeussims' dreamer earrings / gilded-ghosts' highbury chemisette / sifix's giselle dress (tsr download) / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves

arden : bedisfull's feel my rhythm rose straw hat / izuko's urban animal faux fur scarf / gilded-ghosts' emma gown / dissia's ayiana accessory sleeves (tsr download) / simsonico's shining nikki reminiscence of flower fan conversion / joliebean's satin tip shoes

astrid : sadlydulcet's set 22 hat (search 'set #22') / nightingalesongx's low side bun / simsonico's shining nikki shy lady necklace conversion / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves / simsbrush's regency dress / dancemachinetrait's kitty flats

azucena : buzzardly28's gesina hair v2 / magnolianfarewell's venus dress / dustyratt's emma frost cape / dancemachinetrait's pemberley gloves / dancemachinetrait's kitty flats

thanks to @clepysdra @ice-creamforbreakfast @hanalinori @oydis @my-historical-sims @plasma-janes @kaguya-fox @simsonico @dancemachinetrait @peebsplays @joliebean @leeleesims1 @dissiasims @zeussims @serenity-cc @okruee @pixelunivairse @gilded-ghosts @teanmoon @bedisfull @nightingalesongx @simsbrush @buzzardly28 @magnolianfarewell and @dustyratt

(heres the failed 1806)