#suffolk remembers

[rochellek1994]

Late night/midnight photography session in Felixstowe, Suffolk (23/06/2023)

NOTE: Please DO NOT repost any of my photography works WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! If you would like to showcase my photography then please ask me for permission first and if I grant permission, please CREDIT ME. You also know the drill if I say no/don’t grant the permission, it means NO. It is preferable to use Tumblr’s built in reblogging function on the site at the very least as it will link back to the original.

[milkweedman]

Hello everyone needs to look at the sheep I just needle felted onto my gloves

The bodies are just some random white locks I had nearby which were suitably soft and fluffy (the pink sheep was avocado dyed debouillet again). The legs and horns are some black wool I spun bc I couldn't felt them small enough, so I just spun a quick 2 ply and embroidered them on. The faces are also embroidery with the handspun black wool--just some French knots. Was happy to find I still remember how to do them.

The gloves are kinda old and my work gloves so they're not in very good shape, but I'm not ready to make another pair. They started as badly washed Suffolk fleece which I dyed with horse chestnut hulls, carded into rolags, spun into a 2 ply, and knit into gloves using a self drafted pattern.

I'm very happy with the outcome :3

[ravenadottir]

islanders' data and anecdotes if they were honest:

SEASON 1

❝ main character ❞ she's the only one that makes any sense

❝ allegra ❞ 24, swansea, cocktail entrepreneur, the public loves to hate her

❝ erikah ❞ 20, norwich, jobbing actor, she changes, every guy will be the love of her life until a new guy comes around

❝ jen ❞ 22, london, fashion blogger, the equivalent of a piece of paper until she couples up with someone for clout

❝ talia ❞ 23, watford, music journalist, she's the only one everyone agrees is the best person here

❝ jake wilson ❞ 29, preston, chef, chicken shit that waits way too long to say something

❝ mason❞ 24, romford, musician and underwear model, if "this could've been an email" was a person

❝ miles ❞ 22, glasgow, carpenter, not interesting enough to remember. also tattoo

❝ tim ❞ 23, truro, dj, alright, we'll allow it

❝ jasper ❞ 26, kingston, financial advisor, straight to the bin

❝ levi ❞ 26, manchester, professional water polo player, sock balls

❝ rohan ❞ 23, wolverhampton, psychology student, he joined the villa and that's pretty close to the circus. also, see "injustice"

❝ cherry❞ 20, suffolk, west end performer, try hard

❝ reese taylor ❞ 22, birmingham, newsagent by day, professional wrestler at weekends, revolting lack of personality

❝ sammi ❞ 22, london, graphic designer and artist, the definition of 'wasted potential"

❝ lucy ❞ 25, bristol, “adventurer”, *snake sounds*

❝ returning miles ❞ 22, glasgow, carpenter, we still don't care

❝ returning jasper ❞ 22, kingston, financial advisor, at least we found out he has a pet snake

SEASON 2

❝ hope ❞ 26, london, brand ambassador, '‘voted “most likely to be the center of the drama because she puts herself there"

❝ lottie ❞ 24, melbourne, makeup artist, i have one personality trait and that's all you're gonna get

❝ main character ❞ she should change her name to 'girl #5'

❝ hannah ❞ 21, st. albans, social media assistant, she went home really soon because she was so shy, we're sure that's not gonna bite anyone in the face

❝ marisol ❞ 24, portsmouth, law student, talks too much/says nothing at all

❝ gary rennell ❞ 23, chatham, crane operator, SLUT

❝ noah ❞ 25, romford, librarian, QUIET SLUT

❝ rocco ❞ 21, belfast, owns a “cocktails and cronuts” food truck, LYING SLUT

❝ ibrahim ❞ 22, birmingham, gold player, SHY SLUT

❝ bobby mckenzie ❞ 24/26, glasgow, hospital caterer, does impressions and bakes some stuff

❝ priya ❞ 29, manchester, estate agent, should've noticed she's bi during the fucking season

❝ henrik ❞ 23, isle of wight, climbing and wilderness survival instructor, shiny and dumb/smooth brain/nothing behind those eyes

❝ lucas koh ❞ 27, oxford, physiotherapist, yes

❝ chelsea ❞ 23, buckinghamshire, interior decorator, there's pink and there's champagne

❝ jakub zabinski ❞ 25, rochdale, personal trainer and fitness model, real life mutant ninja turtle but like white

❝ elijah ❞ 26, watford, hairdresser and model, he's there and then he's not

❝ felix ❞ 21, rotherham, nightclub promoter, annoying little cousin that grows up to be the annoying little virgin at the club

❝ kassam ❞ 26, new castle, techno dj, if you blink you might miss him

❝ graham ❞ 23, devon, commercial fisherman, ginger thanos

❝ arjun ❞ 24, norwich, dog groomer and influencer, "where's my hug?" kind of guy

❝ carl ❞ 29, dublin, tech entrepreneur, he's almost learning how not to sound like a robot

❝ shannon ❞ 24, dublin, professional poker player, "you'll forgive how annoying she can be because of her body"tactics, players, poker analogies all the time"

❝ blake ❞ 22, kensington, if you blink you won't miss her because she's so goddamn annoying

❝ elisa ❞ 22, london, social media influencer, the human form of a gear shift because of all the blame she shifts

❝ jo ❞ 23, cheshire, bmx racer, was here for only three days and it was still too long

❝ returning henrik ❞ 23, isle of wight, climbing and wilderness survival instructor, absolutely not the same person and it gets worse

❝ returning lucas ❞ 27, oxford, still a physiotherapist, "toxic fucks"

❝ returning hannah ❞ now 22, st. albans, she resented lottie so much she became her

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 23.

Summary: A conversation between you and Oliver as you both try to distract yourselves from thinking about the day behind, and the night ahead.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 2957 words. i split the henrys dinner into two parts because the dinner itself was very different tonally to the conversation with oliver that needed to be had i think. this part is sfw but the next part Will Definitely Not Be :) also im putting more gratuitous shakespeare mentions because i love characters pointing out their own narrative parallels. i feed off of the lovely comments y'all leave, so if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, i always love to hear them!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

No matter what you wore, these formal events made you feel like you were choking.

Oliver finds you in the shared bathroom a few hours before dinner began, already dressed and agitatedly fussing with your collar in the mirror. Spotting him in the reflection, your scowl doesn't clear, but you do start vocalising the thoughts that had been running through your head.

"Lady Daphne has three children, all under fifteen."

"What?" Oliver, still looking entirely casual in sharp contrast to you, leans against the sink, watching you with interest.

"Tonight; the woman next to you who isn't Ven, she has three children under fifteen, their names are -" squeezing your eyes closed tightly, willing yourself to remember, you swear with frustration as the children's names elude you. You'd managed to find and memorise Henry of Suffolk's children's names - Henry Jr and Charlotte - but you're again feeling like it's not enough. Your collar feels too tight.

Unbuttoning your top button for what must be the fifth time in the past half hour of your indecision, you groan with frustration.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks carefully, to which you try and waive off his concern. Clearly, it doesn't work, considering he's making his way over to you to rest a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine, it's fine," you tried again, though it still comes out with clear irritation. Closing your eyes again you try and calm yourself enough to focus, "I saw their names the other night in my notes, I know this," you hissed under your breath, "Lady Daphne and Lord Henry; he's Sir James' godson and his own sons are named..." you wrinkled your nose, braced against the counter, "they're fucking French names, I know this!"

"Are Lady Daphne and Lord Henry French?" Oliver asks.

"No, they're just pretentious," you bit out, though suddenly it came to you, "Regis, Gabriel, and Louis." A grin lights up your face at that; the tension leaves you for the moment in the wake of your small victory. You feel like you can breathe again. Oliver gives you a hesitant smile, at least glad to see you're feeling better for having finally remembered. Breathing a relief sigh, you turn to him properly, "how are you, Ollie?"

"Should I remember Regis, Gabriel, and Louis at dinner?" He asks with faint hesitancy. You shrugged.

"I'm sure it couldn't hurt," logically you knew your own anxious preparations were often too detailed for what the night would actually require, but if you had information that could help ease Oliver into this world to which he was unaccustomed, you'd offer whatever you could to make him feel prepared.

But when he asks if you want to stay with him while he gets himself ready for the evening, you still find yourself hesitating.

Farleigh had found you that afternoon as you'd been coming back in from your gardening; he looked more than a little irritated, but refused to explain his mood. There was something unusually guarded about him at the time, something almost bordering on reproachful in the way he looked at you.

As your heart sank with realisation, you tried to find a way to explain to him everything that had happened between you, Felix, and Oliver. The tricky part of it all would most certainly be reassuring him that you believed him entirely, while also figuring out a way to explain why you'd given Oliver another chance despite knowing he was lying to you and Felix. There was no way you'd be able to explain yourself in this moment, and Farleigh seemed to realise this too.

"If you have something to say to me," Farleigh told you tersely, glancing over his shoulder where you could both hear Felix chattering loudly to Oliver down another corridor, "if you can bare to tear yourself away from your darling, little Iago," he spits, and you sighed deeply, expression clearly showing your disappointment, which Farleigh paid no mind to, standing to his full height and fixing his cool gaze upon you, "you know where I'll be."

So now, here you were, after almost an hour trying and failing to distract yourself by skimming through Shakespeare's Othello since Farleigh's latest cruel nickname for Oliver had reminded you of it, you'd decided to bite the bullet and get yourself ready. Really you should head over to Farleigh's room and sort things out with him, talk everything through and smooth it all over, but Oliver looks so helpless at the mere thought of what tonight would require. You tell yourself you can always talk to Farleigh later.

The afternoon eases itself into early evening with far less tension than the middle of the day had brought with it. Simply being in Oliver's company does wonders for your nerves. Even if talk between you is limited, the silence is not uncomfortable; Oliver gets himself ready, and you continue to skim the play while splayed out on Oliver's bed, and the duvet that used to be yours, easing each other's anxieties in quiet parallel.

You're looking for a quote you half remember from when you'd studied the play back in high school, a line that would be all too fitting of an offer to Farleigh when you saw him next, picking up on his allusion while trying to assure him you weren't just blindly believing Oliver over him - there.

I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

You keep the text open on the bedspread before you as Oliver asks you questions about the unspoken scripts that you all must follow throughout the night. There's something like vindication that wells up within you when you realise how easy you find it to talk him through them.

"Do you always wear suits to these things?" Oliver asks carefully in the intimate moment in which you stand before him, doing up the cuffs of his dress shirt.

"The Henrys dinners? Yes," you nod, nimble fingers dancing against the fabric by his wrist. An amused smile makes it's way across your lips as you explain without even really thinking, "the first and last time I wore a cocktail dress to a Henrys dinner I made one of them, Henry Rochester I think, very uncomfortable," you smirked at the memory, and though Oliver's glad to see you're more smug rather than uncomfortable about the memory, he still doesn't quite seem to understand why.

"Because you're...?"

"Technically yes," you huffed a laugh, letting go of the first cuff to do the second, "because he now gets hard thinking about me in a dress and he doesn't know how to feel about it, and I don't want to deal with that." For a moment, the words simmer in the air between you both, and you finish up with the second cuff, stepping back with a pleased little smile. Oliver, however, still seems to be confused, and finally you acquiesce, giving him the final piece of the story;

"It was a very nice dress, Henry was just so bloody wasted he forgot I was the one wearing it when he couldn't see my face when he walked in on Fi and I in the wine cellar decided to stick around and watch with his dick in his hand," you shook your head dismissively at the memory, rolling your eyes but still grinning, "which isn't our fault, it's our wine cellar, he's the one getting drunk and going for a roam on someone else's estate."

It startles a laugh out of Oliver, the sound bright and sharp as his hand comes up reflexively to cover his mouth. Your expression scrunches up, pleased at the sound. In the few moments that follow, you straighten out Oliver's collar as he's giggling to himself, watching you from behind his hand with warmth and something almost adoring.

"I should show you some time," you wet your lips, crossing your arms as you gave him a leering look over, your intentions obvious. Oliver flushes a little, smiling under your gaze.

"The dress?"

"The wine cellar," you corrected, making Oliver laugh once more.

"You sure you're not going to get me drunk and brick me in down there?" He asked, and your eyebrows rose at the unexpected reference to Poe's Cask of Amontillado. At your obvious surprise, Oliver gives a half smile, reminding you that you'd left a book of Poe's work in the drawer by his bed. He'd read it? You're not sure why you're so touched by that, but you are.

"If we end up drunk in the wine cellar, I promise I won't be leaving you alone down there," there's a surprising amount of affection in your voice for what is ultimately some pretty on the nose flirting, but Oliver seems to appreciate it nonetheless.

When you return from your own room with a pair of cufflinks for him, however, his expression is pensive as he's sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking through the copy of Othello you'd left there.

"Thought my party had something to do with the Midsummer Night's Dream one," he says with faint confusion. You've already got the line you'd found earlier memorised, so you're not concerned that he's flicking through, losing your page in the process.

"No, it is, it's just Farleigh -" except you really don't want to tell Oliver exactly what Farleigh had called him, had implied about him with a single, derisive nickname alone. Iago. You shrugged, "he just said something earlier that reminded me of it is all." Then, sitting down beside him, you shoot for a smile, "what are you up to now; tie?"

For a long few moments, Oliver gives you this utterly unreadable expression. You wonder if he knows the play; if he did, he could almost definitely make an educated guess about what Farleigh's comment may have been, especially given the very recent circumstances. Even if you don't know exactly how Oliver would react to something like that, you're not exactly eager to find out.

The moment thankfully does pass without further comment on the play, with Oliver instead standing and heading to the full length mirror by the wardrobe.

"Is your family helping Felix's with paying for Farleigh's uni and stuff?" Oliver asks with genuine curiosity in his voice as he glances at you in the mirror's reflection.

"What?" The question seems to come out of nowhere, and your reaction is entirely genuine.

"I just wondered if that was, you know, part of the reason he was so loyal to you," Oliver shrugged, though there's something almost apologetic in his eyes, "and, I guess, why you knew you could trust him to be so loyal?"

How did he even know the Cattons were helping with Farleigh's education? Your suspicions were with Elspeth, whom you loved despite how much of a gossip she always was, but Oliver admits that Felix had told him about how he and Farleigh were cousins, and Sir James' guilt over his semi-estranged sister, all the way back at Oxford. Ah, makes sense. Part of it was probably to explain why Farleigh was always hanging around them despite his obvious distaste for Oliver. It takes you a beat to compose your thoughts; knowing both Oliver, and Farleigh, you had to be deliberately sure of whatever information you shared in this moment.

"I'd give Farleigh anything if he asked," you admitted, wearing a faint, sad little smile as you recall how coldly he'd looked at you earlier that day, "but he never has," you shook your head, "not about something like that at least. Why?"

Looking over at the mirror, you see Oliver with his tie done up, looking at you in the reflection as though you're a puzzle he's desperately attempting to solve. But, when you smile, he returns the look in kind.

"I think this might just be one of those times where I have to remember you telling me there's more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy," Oliver says with a wry smile, and you can't help but laugh at the memory of your first proper conversation with him about your friendship with Farleigh on one of Oxford's many rooves.

"Farleigh is simply one of my best friends; I don't begrudge him his pride, it's part of who he is, and I love who he is," with your warm laughter, the mood in the room has lightened considerably, and you finally stand. Wrapping your arms around Oliver from behind, perching your chin on his shoulder, you take in the sight of you both in the mirror.

"You know, I think you'd look so beautiful in a dress if you ever wanted to wear one," you tell Oliver idly, handing over the box with the little, golden cufflinks that you'd been fidgeting with on the bed.

"Beautiful enough to give an old man a sexuality crisis?" He asked with a blithe grin, pulling out of your grip if only to make his way to the cupboard where his jacket had been hung.

"Oh, undoubtably," you don't even hesitate, sitting yourself in the arm chair by the window, watching him once more.

"Don't know if I could start with a cocktail dress," he says, gazing at himself in the mirror with a pleasantly thoughtful look in his eyes as he genuinely considers the idea. Then, "I think I trust you with this more than I trust me," he gives a suddenly self conscious chuckle, ducking his gaze, fidgeting with the collar of the jacket he was still holding.

"You don't have to start anywhere if you don't want," you assured him faintly, but Oliver's smile is so damn affectionate.

"It's fuckin' impossible to describe the kind of effect you have," he tells you, shaking his head, "if you say I'd look beautiful, all I know is that I think I want to look beautiful, just so long as it's you who's looking at me."

"I feel very lucky sometimes," you give an endeared hum at his words, grinning to yourself, "my beautiful boys." Oliver, jacket now on, freezes. He's turning a delightful shade of red at that, looking like he was trying and failing to fight off a pleased grin. Finally, he meets your gaze in the mirror, "would you let me put together a costume for you, for your birthday?"

"What?"

"It's a costume party after all, could I put together a costume for you? Not a cocktail dress, I promise," you teased, and Oliver finally turned back to you, regarding you with nothing but love and affection.

"You know, sometimes I still can't believe you give me the time of day," the words almost seem to surprise him as they leave his lips. Something in your chest tightens, and you pause, once again caught off guard by Oliver Quick. There's a sweetness to the way he speaks that has butterflies fluttering so strangely in your stomach, "you're so..." he turns the words over in his mind, looking for the correct one, before he finally settles, "you're a dream," he says simply, "I don't think you don't get enough credit."

His words fill the sudden silence of the early evening as he steps towards you, cufflinks in hand, offering them as a silent request for assistance. You agree without even thinking.

In the back of your mind, you hear Farleigh calling Oliver Iago, but you can't bring yourself to care. Yes, Oliver spent enough time around you, observing you, talking to you, being in your space, that he knows exactly what to say and how to say it to endear himself to you. Clearly he's genuinely fond of you, but it's not often he gives you a compliment like this. Everything always so deliberate.

But it feels so fucking good to have someone put in the effort for you, someone other than Felix. Felix had always known how you worked, what songs to sing to make you dance if the whim ever struck him. It almost overwhelms you to realise that Oliver had learned how to hum along to the quiet song your heart sings too.

You wonder if you should tell Oliver that he doesn't need to try and manipulate his way into your life, that you'd already made a place for him here, all he had to do was ask to stay.

"I keep giving you the time of day because I'm very, very vain," you can't bring yourself to face his sincerity with any of your own, or you think you may either start crying, or possibly jump his bones, and it's too close to dinner for either. Instead, you grin from ear to ear, teasing tone letting him know how clearly you were joking, as you fixed the first cufflink to his jacket's sleeve, "and you keep saying lovely things about me."

"Lucky for me then that I don't think I'll ever run out of lovely things to say about you," you'd forgotten just how well Oliver could flirt when he really wanted to. Eyes bright and smile brighter, you can see mischief sparkling in his eyes when you look up, meeting his gaze. You love this boy so much it feels like it hurts at times like this.

"Think that means I should keep you very close by, at all times."

"Very few places I'd rather be, sweetheart."

That beautiful bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Later, out of this space, out of this moment, out of Oliver's arms, you could go back to worrying about the night, about all the lies oscillating around your whole situation, about Felix and Farleigh and Venetia. Later, you'll find yourself thinking that Farleigh may have had far more of a point with Othello than you'd first realised when you read 'one that loved not too wisely, but too well' before you put the text back on the shelf.

Later.

Right now, you let Oliver pull you in for a kiss.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Teasing the hell out of Charles Brandon or Henry Cavill to the point they make the reader pay😘❤️

I picked Charles Brandon because The Tudors was a whole thing for me, like I fell in love with the entire cast but also with Henry’s delicious ass. I remember the first time I saw it onscreen and just about passed out. Hims got cakes! And Charles had redeeming qualities so it was sort of easy to forgive him for being a dick. Anyways, here’s a shameless piece of smut!!

Title: Doing Something Unholy

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Reader

Fandom: The Tudors 

Summary: This is a prompt fill for @thereisa8ella who wanted some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over. Enjoy!

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), fingerfucking (f receiving), cock worship, orgasm denial (m receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, ball handling, choking, creampie

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist 

You awake to sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, a heavy weight across your middle, and soft snores rumbling in your ear. The musky odor of sex still lingers in the air and its heady scent goes right to your core. Shifting to your other side, you come face to face with a still-sleeping Charles Brandon.

This man was a god, how else could he be explained? That chiseled jaw, sinister smile, eyes like the ocean…and that’s just his perfect face. Below the neck, he was just as exquisite. Abdominals like sculpted marble, legs like strong tree trunks, and a cock like a third arm. Yes, he deserves to be worshipped. But you deserve your fun too.

You press on Charles’ shoulder to get him to lie on his back, waiting until his snores return. You shift down the bedding so it just comes to his thighs and marvel at this man’s body once again. You inch closer to him, throwing a leg over his chest so your face hovers over his groin. 

You lean down and kiss his hips, snaking your tongue out to taste his freckles. Using your tongue, you draw a line down his Adonis belt to where it meets his cock. You place sweet kisses along the shaft and that stirs the Duke of Suffolk. He only moves his hips slightly and groans at first, but as you take him into your mouth, he fully awakes.

“What a beautiful view, who knew the sun rose at the same time as the moon?” He punctuates his sentence with a solid grip on both your asscheeks.

Letting his hardening cock slip from your mouth, you wiggle your hips in his face. He gets the hint soon enough, his deft fingers finding your folds and getting to work. You suck him down again and his digits slip inside. Your moans guide his ministrations, his grunts and thrusts highlighting that you have him right where you want him.

You ride Charles’ fingers until you feel the familiar break in your resolve, walls fluttering as he fucks you through your orgasm. You pause in your worship of Charles’ cock but with some incentive of his hand pushing on the back of your head, you get back to work. It’s then when you get the idea to edge him, something you’ve never done with him. First time for everything, right?

You take him to the hilt, your rose brushing his hairy sac, inhaling his musk. You swallow around him in your throat while playing with his balls, all while starting to ride his fingers again. You roll his balls between your fingers, moaning around his girth to elicit vibrations. When you feel the telltale ripple in the shaft, you pull off and squeeze his base. His orgasm is effectively ruined, and he can barely move as you cum again around his fingers.

You: 2. Charles: 0. 

You’re coming down from your high as Charles is landing a sharp slap to your swollen and sensitive clit. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” You don’t have time to catch yourself as he throws you across the bed and slots himself between your thighs. Charles places his hands under each knee and pushes your legs into your chest, opening you fully for his enjoyment. He’s hard enough to enter you in one swift motion, your slippery folds welcoming him into their tight heat. “Trying to tease me, were you, love?”

“I don’t…know what…you mean,” Your words are cut off by deep and sure thrusts, your inner walls thoroughly stimulated.

“Where did my good girl go? Who is this temptress who denies me her warmth?” His pupils dilated, and he looks like a feral beast, wanting to claim his prize.

“Still…here,” You moan, failing to convince him of your innocence.

“No, she’s not here,” He wraps a hand around your neck and leans down to whisper into your ear, “You’re doing so well taking my cock, but I want to try something new. And you, my little spunk dump, are gonna take it.” He leans up and kisses the tip of your nose before tightening his grip on your neck and pounding into you until your combined grunts and wet slaps of skin are all there is to hear.

He holds your gaze, even when your eyes start to lose focus. He lets go of your neck as his hips stutter in their rhythm. You gasp for air as another orgasm rocks through you. Charles follows soon after, painting your walls with his heavy spend. He collapses on your chest without pulling out, your panting breaths the only sound in the room.

He leans back to look at you, utterly spent and exhausted. He pulls himself out of you slowly, watching his load leak out of you. He slaps the head of his dick against your sore clit a few times, earning him a satisfying whimper from your lips. He runs a hand between the valley of your breasts and leans up to kiss you and nuzzle your nose.

“Am I still your good girl?” You plead, not fully wanting to forget you got the upper hand on Charles.

“Hmmmm,” He draws it out, making it seem like he is thinking hard on the matter before chucking at your pout, “Of course you are! You will be my good girl forever, don’t you worry that pretty little head.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” You breathed, feeling satisfied and happy with how you spent your morning.

A/N: First time writing for Charles Brandon, he is fun to tease! Hope you enjoyed it!

**Tag List**

@enchantedbytomandhenry 

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz! 😁

[trashpandacraft]

hi! ok so i'm going to talk about one of my top-five favourite things, which is: dyeing stuff! this is going to be specifically about dyeing protein fibres (animal fibres—wool, alpaca, silk, etc) in a pretty low-key way in your kitchen.

to be clear up front: this is not the most scientific, most perfectly reproducible, or most Objectively Correct way to dye things. i get a lot of fibre that i like this way, though, and i think that other people can, too.

fibre i've dyed that i think is neat:

you can also dye yarn like this:

yes, i like blue a lot. i also really like variegation and heathering, which is why most of the fibre here has patches of white—it's an intentional choice that i've made. you can make different choices.

here is what you need to dye things:

fibre, vinegar, dye, a pot, heat, and some water.

that was so you don't get overwhelmed by the impending wall of text. here is what you need to dye things (it's the same stuff!), but with way more detail:

fibre or yarn. this is the big one, obviously. i tend to dye in 100-200 gram batches, because that's approximately what fits on my stovetop easily. if you're very nervous about felting or harming your fibre, you can use stuff that's been treated to be superwash, start with yarn (which is harder to felt than fibre is), or use a felt-resistant breed like dorset or suffolk. honestly, though, i learned with merino because that's what i had, and it was fine. again, though, this guide is only for protein fibres. it will not work for things like cotton. the only exception to this is nylon, which will take on some colour, but less than a protein fibre will.

a mordant. this is a fancy way of saying a thing that makes dye stick, and for what we're doing here, it's citric acid or vinegar. your grocery store definitely has at least one of them, though if you can choose, i prefer citric acid, because i love wet wool smell but i do not always love wet wool vinegar smell.

dye. i use acid dyes, and am personally deeply loyal to dharma acid dyes, but ashford and jacquard acid dyes work the same way. if you don't want to buy dye or don't have access to it, food colouring will often work, as well, though i haven't tried this with natural food colourings and have no idea how well they'll work.

a dedicated dye pot. ok, if you're doing food dyes, you don't need this. if you're not, it's definitely best practice, though i don't know how dangerous it is not to. any large metal pot will do, but my favourite option is hotel pans, which are those huge metal pan/tray things that hold food at buffets and the like. i have a full-size one that's 15cm deep, and a half-size one that's 4cm deep. they're great because they let you lay out the fibre you're working with so you can see most of it in a single layer.

dedicated dye utensils. as before, i don't know how much of a huge deal this is. i'll be honest and admit that for several years i had a single pair of tongs that got used for all tong-requiring events, including dyeing, and i'm still alive. i suggest that you have at least a big spoon, and a big spoon and tongs are even better.

something to mix the dye in. yeah, i use empty plastic sports drink or soda bottles for this. you can be fancy and get mason jars or little squirt bottles or whatever, and if you get super into dyeing you'll want to mix up dye stocks, but that's way outside the scope of what we're doing here. i like the powerade bottles that have a little squirty mouthpiece, because it's fun to squirt dye onto things.

personal protective equipment. i think this is the part of things that freaks people out. ideally, you wear plastic gloves and a mask (yeah, like your covid masks) when you're working with dye. realistically, i almost never remember to put on gloves and just accept that my hands are going to be blue sometimes. you should wear a mask, because dye is an irritant, but the world is an imperfect place and i have wicked bad adhd and sometimes i forget. this isn't advice. i'm just being honest. you should use some kind of safety stuff. you probably won't die if you don't.

you might also want some little random bits: an old toothbrush or paintbrush, a pipe cleaner, some toothpicks, etc. this is mostly if you like speckles, or if you want very small patches of colour.

so first: there are a million ways to dye things, and i'm not convinced that any of them are objectively correct. i do what i do and it works for me. some of the things i do are the opposite of what most guides suggest, but i do them because i like the effects they create.

ok, that's all the background stuff you need. let's dye some stuff!

the number one most important thing to remember when you're dyeing is this:

you can always add more colour. you cannot take it away.

that's in fancy writing and bold because every once in a while i forget this, and every single time i end up regretting it.

here is how to dye things:

put water, citric acid (or vinegar), and fibre into a pot. add dye and heat. let cool completely. rinse the fibre in cool water, then hang to dry.

like, sure, we're going to go into way more detail, but push come to shove, if you do that, you're going to end up with dyed fibre. there are a lot of tutorials telling you that you must soak your fibre first, or you must add your citric acid this way, or hold the water at exactly this temperature, and i'm here to tell you that while any of these things can give you different results, those results aren't necessarily better.

the only way that you can totally screw this up is by accidentally felting your fibre, so before i get into the way more detail part of things, i'm going to talk about that.

how not to felt your fibre

i feel like if you've read this far, you know how things felt: wool, heat, and agitation. you may also notice that at least two of these things are required for dyeing. this can be stressful! but you don't have to be afraid of it. there's only been one time that i felted something to the point that it was unusable, and that happened because i literally fell asleep for several hours while the pot was on the stove. you can avoid doing this by simply setting an alarm—this is a good idea anyhow, because you'll want to check on your dye pot!

when you're dyeing, use the lowest heat that you can while still keeping the water at a simmer. if your stove, like mine, has one burner that's wildly unpredictable and sort of out of control, you may want to look for some sort of flame diffuser, also called a flame tamer or a simmer ring. i bought one on amazon for about fourteen dollars, and it's literally just a thick metal circle. it works fine.

you can also keep the heat low by using a pot with a thick bottom, though in my experience those are expensive, and if i had one i would be using it for soup, not wool.

avoid shocking your wool—never put room temperature wool into hot water, and never put hot wool into cold water. leave your wool in the dye bath until it's cooled completely, which for me usually means overnight.

finally, obviously you have to move the fibre around some. you'll need to peek under it in the pan, and when you're done, you have to rinse it and squish out the water. try to minimise handling, though. don't run water directly onto the fibre, don't get a wooden spoon and stir your dye pot around, don't wring the fibre dry when it's done.

you're probably never going to be perfect. i often find that i lose a gram or two of wool where fibres have grabbed onto each other, or where parts of the ends clumped up. it's not really felted, just sort of compacted, but it's not great to work with, and i'd rather lose a gram of fibre than fuss with the clumpy bits.

back to how to dye things

let's take it step by step, assuming a hundred grams of fibre.

put your pan on the stove and fill it halfway with water. add either a teaspoon of citric acid or a tablespoon of vinegar. this is going to help the dye strike, or stick to the fibre. the teaspoon/tablespoon is a guideline, but one that it's fine to exceed. adding more will help the dye strike faster, which can be useful if you're trying to create blocks of colour on your fibre. i usually err on the side of a little more than the guidelines, and just eyeball this—if you feel like the dye isn't taking well, you can add more later.

add your fibre to the pan. this is the first place you have to think about what you want the finished fibre to look like! you can put it into the pan any way you want, but i suggest trying to keep it in a relatively even layer, regardless of what that layer looks like. here are some ways to get specific effects:

if you want a gradient from one end of the fibre to the other, use a rectangular pan and lay your fibre out so that the line of it is parallel to the short sides of the pan

if you want a short, repeating gradient, use a rectangular pan and lay your fibre out so that the line of it is parallel to the long sides of the pan

if you want something that starts with very close repeats that get further apart as you go down the fibre, make an approximate spiral

if you don't want A Pattern (i usually don't) just lay things out in a single layer, more or less

here comes the next exciting part! decide if you want to let your fibre soak or not. again, doing or not doing this gives you some different effects!

soaking your fibre will mean that dye takes more evenly. if you want consistent colours, you'll want to soak.

not soaking your fibre means that the dye takes less evenly. the fibre on top will have less acid available to it, spends less time in the dye bath, and also has to actually get wet before it will start to dye. i actually love doing this, and think it affords a lot of cool opportunities to play with and layer colours.

if you're soaking, leave the fibre there until it's submerged. if not, don't.

now you're going to add dye! decision time, again.

you can add dye when the water is cold, which will give you more even dye coverage, and in my experience gives the colours more time to mix together

you can add dye when when the water is hot, which will give you less even coverage, and tends to encourage the colours to stay more delineated

probably surprising no one, i tend to heat the water first unless i'm starting with a base colour or i'm doing a two-colour gradient.

time to mix up some dye

as i mentioned earlier, i'm assuming that you're using powered acid dyes for this. if you're not, this mixing up part is technically optional—but doing it gives you way more control about how and where you place your colours, so i'm going to assume that you'll do it.

i usually mix dye in some sort of empty drink bottle. regardless of what you're using, before you add dye to anything, put some water in the bottle, wipe off the lip, put the lid on tightly, and shake the bottle vigorously. if there is any leakage at all, do not use that bottle. find a better bottle. if your bottle cap doesn't seal well or if you have an empty condiment bottle that's just a little wonky or whatever, you will get dye all over the kitchen, and your landlord will be really really mad about it, and you will regret your life choices. (if you own your kitchen, you can do whatever you want, but this isn't about you and you know it.)

so you have a bottle that seals tightly! great job. dump out the water and carefully put some dye powder into the bottle. remember earlier how i said you should be wearing a mask? this is the part where you should be wearing a mask.

i know that people are reading this and going, ok, but how much dye do i put in?

my answer is put in the amount that feels right in your heart, and don't forget the number one rule of dyeing things, which is that you can always add more colour, but you cannot take it away.

this isn't a very scientific answer. most dyes have a guideline about how much to use, expressed as a percentage of the dry weight of the fibre, which is what you use to get the whole quantity of fibre dyed evenly. for dharma dyes, it's like 1.5-2%, i think ashford is 1%, and jacquard is more like 2-4%, depending on the colour.

here is the problems with doing that in your kitchen: first, using that much dye will get you an evenly dyed piece of fibre, which—for me, at least—is basically the opposite of what i want. second, and more importantly, unless you have one of those teeny tiny scales used by jewelers and drug dealers, your kitchen scale will not weigh out such tiny quantities with any accuracy. third, if you do it like this, you really have to plan what you're doing ahead of time, because there's a point after which no more dye will bind! the fibre will be like enough thank u that's it i'm good and that'll be it, so you lose some of your ability to decide that actually, you want more green.

you can probably guess, at this point, that i don't weigh the dye. once you've done a couple batches of fibre with a given brand of dye, you'll start to get the vibes for how much you should use. if you really want a guideline, for a hundred grams of fibre, start with a quarter teaspoon of a given colour. you can add more—either more of this colour or a different one—later, as desired.

put your dye in the empty bottle, and then fill the bottle partway with hot water. the amount of water doesn't really matter here, nor does the specific temperature of the water. i usually fill about 3/4 of the way, because that way there's plenty of room for this next step, which is: wipe the lip of the bottle, recap it tightly, and then shake it up real good. the dye powder is going to dissolve into the water, and you now have a bottle of dye!

if you're going for a gradient, you might want to mix up your second colour so you can add them at (basically) the same time for more even mixing. if you're not, or if you only have one mixing bottle, you can do them one at a time.

oh my god we're finally putting dye on the fibre

are you ready? it's time!!

you have basically infinite options for how to do this, and many of them will give you different effects. here are some ideas:

pour the dye all at one side of the pan. and if you don't add anything else, your fibre will fade from the colour of the dye to the natural colour of the fibre

pour two colours, one at either side of the pan. depending on how much dye you use (and remember, you can always add more), this will give you either chunks of colour surrounded by white, or a two-colour gradient

add all the dye to unheated water and mix it gently, then let the fibre soak for a few minutes longer before turning on the heat. this will give you a fairly even colour

pour randomly all over, and you'll either end up with a tonal yarn or a heathered one, depending on how much dye you're using

add the dye to the water under the dry fibre, which will sink in and take up more dye on the bottom of the fibre than the top

if your heat wasn't on before, it should be now, and you're going to let the dye hang out in the hot but not boiling water for a while. how long? well, one of the cool things about dyeing with these dyes is that they exhaust, which means that when the dye has been sucked up by the fibre, the surrounding water will be clear. how long this takes will depend on the specific dye, how much of it you used, how much mordant you used, etc. i try to check every fifteen minutes.

reminder: if you started with room temperature water, the dye's not going to start taking until the water heats up, so don't check it after fifteen minutes and freak out that nothing has happened. it is fully normal for it to take up to an hour for the dye to exhaust. don't turn up the temperature, just give it time.

yay it worked!

at this point, you have a pot of hot water with some beautifully coloured fibre in it! but maybe it's not beautiful enough. maybe you want...more colours.

that's cool as hell and you should go for it. we mentioned two-colour gradients up there, but what if you want something else?

the answer, probably obviously, is adding more dye.

first, a caveat: while you can successfully make multicoloured gradients like this, it's more difficult than you think, and if it gets messed up—all the colours bleed into each other, say—it turns into a muddy mess. my suggestion is to stick to two (or three at most!) colour gradients until you have a much better feel for what you're doing.

let's talk about ways you can add more colour. you have two options: big colour and little colour.

big colour is going to add a lot of colour—you're going to mix up the dye and pour it just like you did before, but paying more attention to places that don't have dye yet. sometimes it's the middle of a gradient, or the white splotches from random pouring, or the half of the fibre that wasn't submerged when you started. or maybe you dyed the whole thing yellow, and now you want to add a blue gradient over top. whatever!

if you don't want to freehand pour, consider buying a couple large syringes, or a bottle with a squeezy top. these are also fun because you can easily get more colour between the laid-out fibre, or even under it.

in the pictures at the start of this post, the red-and-gold top and both yarns were dyed by adding big colour.

little colour isn't going to add big patches, but is going to add speckling, tonal depth, or smaller patches of colour. all of the blue-base fibres and the yellow-and-blue yarn were dyed like this.

if you're still reading this closely, you might have caught that i just said both yarns were dyed with big colour, and that the yellow-and-blue yarn was also dyed with little colour. these are both true! the base colours of the yarn were done to make big colour, but if you look at the full-size image, there are also a bunch of speckles. you can do whatever you want! no one can stop you!

here are some ways to add little colour:

mix up some dye, but use less water. add drops of the dye, either directly onto the fibre (more dramatic!) or in the water (tonal!)

use a toothpick to grab a little bit of dye powder and drop it into the dye bath (similar to the previous one, but a little less predictable)

put on a damn facemask. take a clean toothbrush, paintbrush, or pipecleaner, and just barely touch it to the dye powder. gently flick or tap the brush to add speckles of that colour

find a salt shaker that you're never going to use for anything but this. put citric acid, salt (to make it distribute better), and dye powder into it, and shake it up (with the holes covered, please cover the holes) to make sure they're evenly distributed. gently shake this over the fibre to add speckles, but more of them, and clustered together

put a little dye in a spray bottle and gently mist the exposed fibre, kinda glazing it with colour

another thing is that if you like a natural coloured yarn with dyed speckles, you can do any of these techniques without doing big colour first. the only thing to note when doing this is that you'll want to be very sure to spread out the fibre well, and maybe to consider dyeing one side, then very very carefully flipping it over and getting the other side.

ok, now what?

let's say that you've added all the colours that you want, and you've let your bath simmer long enough that the water is clear, or nearly clear. (if it's not, check troubleshooting, below.)

put the lid on your pan and walk away. if you don't have a lid, just walk away, but it's less dramatic.

the super frustrating part here is that the safest thing to do is wait until the water and fibre is fully cooled before you do anything else.

have i ignored this? yes

has it ever gone horribly wrong? not horribly wrong, but it's definitely caused me to lose an inch or two of roving on occasion

is it way more stressful if you don't wait? absolutely yes

honestly maybe just go to bed and deal with your fibre in the morning

so now let's say that it's morning and you slept long enough that your water and fibre are both room temperature, which often actually feels quite cool on your hands.

you have to drain your fibre. there are two ways to do this:

lift the fibre out of the water. this has the upside of not risking dumping your beautiful fibre into your sink, and not needing to maneuver a full pot of water, both of which are admirable. the downside is that wet fibre is fragile, and you'll want to be careful to support it.

dump the water out of the pan. this has the upside of minimising how much handling you're doing of the fibre, as well as (in my opinion) making rinsing easier. the downside is attempting to keep the fibre into the pot while you dump the water into the sink, and also needing to carry around a full pot of water.

secret third option: dump the fibre (and the water) into a strainer. upside: very easy, and you can keep the fibre in the strainer while you rinse, minimising both how much it needs to be handled and the weight on the fibre. downside: i never remember that this is an option until i'm already elbows-deep in acidulated water, discovering every tiny cuticle tear.

you're going to fill your dyepot with water again so that you can rinse the fibre. you want to minimise thermal shock, so keep the water temperature as close to the temperature of the fibre as you can, and don't run the water directly onto the fibre. i like to pull all the fibre to one side of the pan, and fill the pan on the other side.

side note: if you, smart person, remembered that you can use a colander, simply fill a pot with water, put the colander in the pot, and gently agitate the colander.

if you, person who is deeply relatable, did not remember you can use a colander and now have a pot with clean water and fibre, gently move your fibre in the water to encourage any excess dye and also citric acid to get out of there.

drain your fibre again, and this time, you're going to squeeze it dry. you're still trying to minimise agitation, so this isn't a 'wring it out' situation, it's a 'gently squish it between your hands and/or a hand and the side of the pot' situation.

hang your fibre to dry. remember what i was saying earlier about it being fragile? let me suggest, here, that you do not simply drape the entire length over a single hanger or something and hope for the best. if you literally have a single hanger, at least drape it back and forth a bit, but better if you can use more than one hanger, or a clothes drying rack, or that weird metal wine rack thing that came with your fridge that you've never used, or whatever.

important reminder: drip-drying things will make your floor wet! if you live somewhere very clear with no major roads or pollen nearby, you can probably dry things outside, but if you don't, you'll probably want to position the drying rack in a bath, shower, laundry area, or otherwise over something that will catch and/or absorb the water.

how long it takes for the fibre to dry is another unknowable variable. if it's warm and dry where you are, it might literally be overnight. if it's damp and cool, it can take days. the batch i posted a couple days ago literally took almost a full week to dry. spread it out as best you can, gently squeeze out the water you can, and otherwise you just have to wait.

you're done!

when it's dry, that's it, you're done! you might find that you need to pick off some little lint balls or a bit of compacted or slightly felted fibre from the tips, but other than that, you should be good to go.

like most fibre stuff, this is best maintained by handwashing in cool water. you may see a little bit of dye or colour loss the first time you wash it, which is pretty normal and nothing to worry about.

congratulations! you made it to the end of this incredibly long post, and if you followed along, you've just dyed some fibre!

troubleshooting

this isn't dyed enough! i want more colours!

add more dye! i'm not the boss of you.

this is true even after the fibre is all done and dryed. there's nothing that says you can't dye it again—you can, and i have.

some fibre seems to require more dye than others. silk, for example, dyes beautifully with acid dyes, but also needs way more dye than i expect it to.

remember that if you're dyeing something that's a wool/cotton blend, for example, the cotton isn't going to dye. the only exception is nylon, which will kinda dye, but not as dramatically. this guide will not work for plant fibres.

this is too dyed! i want fewer colours!

please refer back to the number one most important thing about dyeing, which—as you know—is: you can always add more colour, but you cannot take it away.

pull out some more fibre and try again. this has a learning curve, just like any other fibre craft.

these colours don't look like i expected!

this can be about a lot of things.

colour guides, especially if you're looking at them online, aren't always very accurate.

colour guides tend to assume that you're dyeing a single colour at the suggested dye percentage of weight, and using less than that will give paler colours.

dyes, especially if you're mixing brands, can interact with each other and behave in ways you didn't expect.

dyes can also break, which is when they split into their component colour molecules. this happens commonly with blacks and browns, food colouring, and anything that dharma trading has marked as 'advanced'. some people find this very desirable and seek it out; some people are very frustrated by it.

the ph of your water can sometimes affect your dye. i've been lucky enough that i've only lived places with lead problems, not weird ph stuff, so i haven't investigated this closely, but if you're consistently not getting the results you expect, even going for a single, solid-colour dye, look at the ph.

my dye water's not clear!

if you used a quarter teaspoon of dye and a hundred grams of fibre, and it's been, say, 45 minutes of actually hot water and your water still isn't clear, you probably didn't use enough mordant, and you should add some more citric acid or vinegar to encourage the dye to get in there and do its thing.

if you used you used more like a teaspoon of dye, or if the citric acid doesn't change anything, you used too much dye for your fibre. you can either shrug and pour it down the drain, or you can add some more fibre and dye that, too.

my rinse water's not clear!

you probably used too much dye. it's ok—just keep rinsing it, gently, until it's more or less clear.

some colours just like to run—you know how every once in a while you get a yarn and it just bleeds a little bit every time you wash it? sometimes it's just like that. i wouldn't worry about it too much.

my fibre has felty/clumpy bits!

a little bit of this is normal, especially at the ends of a fibre that felts easily (this means you, merino!)

pick off the bits that you don't like—this is generally fairly easy, and involves very minimal fibre loss. i don't bother doing it until i sit down to spin, and then just pull off bits as i come to them.

if there's a lot of felty/clumpy bits, more than you can reasonably pick out, you agitated the fibre too much. there's not much for this other than trying to card it out, which may or may not work.

sometimes this happens because your stove got weirdly aggressive and boiled your fibre. especially for wool that's prone to felting, the bubbling and jostling can be enough to encourage more clinginess than you'd like.

i want my dyeing to be reproducible!

this is kinda doable. it's a handmade thing, so it's always going to have some natural variance, but you can do it.

buy a jeweler's scale that measures in fractions of a gram.

start measuring your dye and acid, and take detailed notes about what you do.

follow those notes in the future, and you'll be probably 90% of the way there.

i want to dye with natural dyes!

i fully support this and have played around with it a little bit myself, but absolutely do not know enough about it to advise you.

the internet is very large and full of many people who are much smarter than i am, and i feel confident that at least one of them is desperate to tell you all about how to do natural dyeing.

i am, at this point, not that person.

i want to dye plant fibres!

i am begging you to find another guide, because this one will not work.

you didn't answer my question!

that's what my inbox is for

i have to reiterate that i'm just a person with real specific interests who started dyeing things because i couldn't find or afford the kinds of colourways that i wanted.

i am not a professional

i will do my best to answer questions, but sometimes the answer is 'just fuck around until you find out'

plant fi—

shhhhh

the end

thank you for reading this incredibly long post! i might make another one in the near future, either so i can show pictures or because i took out an entire section about how to choose colours and pick a colour scheme and work with colours, and i kinda want to talk more about that, but this is no joke almost six thousand words long, so i thought, you know. maybe not tonight.

anyhow, i hope that this was useful to someone! thank you for letting me talk about one of my very favourite things.

[notasapleasure]

I know we all see 'green party' and breathe a sigh of relief, but please remember the umbrella of 'green' still includes homeopaths, nimbys, people who believe in the 'unspoilt beauty of the countryside' (and use it as an excuse to campaign against wind turbines and social housing) and Malthusians. Please, please, please, just as you'll be scrutinising new MPs from Labour etc (and rightly so!) also make sure you check what kind of green your local representative is or party organisers are. Mostly harmless crackpot (the deputy leader of the UK greens used to offer hypnotherapy to women to increase their breast size*) or tree-hugging nimbys like the lot in Suffolk who think digging up the ecologically fragile seabed to lay cables from the offshore wind farm is preferable to having to look at a pylon or two. The green party in the UK has been proactive about booting out antisemites and disassociating from the TERFy groups that have caused division among them previously, and credit to them for that. But ecofascism is real and you can't just assume they're all 'Labour but leftwing', you've got to keep an eye out, just like y'all are rightly keeping an eye on Labour for attitudes to trans rights and a ceasefire. They're still a party made up of various individuals with differing beliefs and you've got to keep that in mind, no one party is pure and perfect.

*Source. He has said he's had a storied life and many different jobs. He's also apologised because he realises this may cause 'offense' which leads me to believe he doesn't actually understand what's fucked up about it but ok.

[queenmarytudor]

Mary I's Fight For The Throne

20th July - Mary is victorious

Having heard of Robert Dudley proclaiming Jane queen in Kings Lynn, Mary sends "requiring them to apprehend the Lord Robert and also to lie in wait for the like apprehension of the Duke, if it shall happen him flee, as it is suspected he will do" following Mary's proclamation for his arrest on the 18th. 1

The Earl of Oxford finally arrives at Framlingham "with a large force of men whom he had quickly been able to gather at the moment of his desertion of the duke." 2

Still wanting more men, Mary and her Council decide to "discharge all manner of gaols [...] within the counties of Norfolk and Suffolk" 3, while 500 are appointed to attend upon Mary at all times to guard her from harm. 4

In the afternoon her troops are mustered in two separate companies led by the Earl of Sussex and Lord Thomas Wentworth, where "the standards were unfurled and the military colours set up; everyone armed themselves fully as if about to meet the enemy. The infantry made ready their pikes, the cavalry brandished lances, the archer bent his bow, and girded on his quiver; the harquebusier filled his weapon with powder, inserted its leaden ball and set his match burning." 5

At 4pm, Mary rides out from Framlingham castle on a white horse, and "gave warning in an order that no harquebusier should fire his gun, nor any archer release his arrow until her majesty had inspected the army. When this order was given, such was the respect that everyone felt for their sovereign that no harquebusier nor archer fired after the command; but the soldiers bowed low to the ground and awaited their beloved mistress's arrival." 6

On foot, Mary walks around the two divisions of her army for 3 hours, "speaking to them with exceptional kindness and with an approach so wonderfully relaxed as can scarcely be described, in consideration of their esteem for their sovereign, that she completely won everyone's affections." 7

After she finishes inspecting her troops, the cavalry put on a rousing display as they "streamed forth and beat and trod the ground with such a thunderous noise and spread so widely through the field that it seemed like one enemy in pursuit of another." 8

Returning to the castle, a delighted Mary discovers the "most welcome news, scarcely to be hoped for, that Northumberland had abandoned hope of success because of the continual desertions of his supporters, and on 19th July had likewise taken flight from Bury in the middle of the night." 9

The Earl of Arundel and Marquis of Winchester arrive to confirm the news, and reveal that the Privy Council have proclaimed her Queen in London. They go to their knees with a "dagger turned towards [their] stomachs in recognition of [their] offence and submission to the penalty deserved." 10

They also bring a letter wrote by the Privy Council following their proclamation a day prior:

Our bounden duties most humbly remembered to your excellent Majesty, it may like the same to understand that we your most humble faithful and obedient subjects, having always (God we take to witness) remained your Highness’ true and humble subjects in our hearts ever since the death of our late sovereign lord and master your Highness’ brother, whom God pardon; and seeing hitherto no possibility to utter our determination herein, without great destruction and bloodshed both of our selves and others till this time, have this day proclaimed in your City of London, your Majesty to be our true natural Sovereign liege lady and Queen, most humbly beseeching your Majesty to pardon and remit our former infirmities, and most graciously to accept our meanings, which have been ever to serve your Highness truly, and so shall remain with all our powers and forces to the effusion of our blood, as these bearers our very good lords the earl of Arundel and Lord Paget can, and be ready more particularly to declare; to whom it pay please your excellent Majesty to give firm credence; and thus we do and shall daily pray to Almighty God for the preservation of your most royal person long to reign over us, from your Majesties City of London, this day of XIX July, the first year of your most prosperous reign. 11

Mary gladly accepts their submission.

While Mary was inspecting her army, Northumberland had proclaimed her queen in Cambridge and retreated to the house of Sir John Cheke. The Mayor, discovering this, "attended by a large force drawn from both town and gown, had the duke's lodging surrounded and watched on all sides to stop him leaving or escaping." 12

Now, Mary sends Henry Jerningham and Northumberland's former ally the Earl of Arundel to arrest him. 13

Meanwhile...

Jane Grey, Guildford Dudley and the Duchess of Northumberland are detained in the Tower as prisoners. 14

The Bishop of London flees the city after his sermons. 15

Sources:

1.Acts of the Privy Council, Vol 4

2. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

3. Acts of the Privy Council, Vol 4

4. Acts of the Privy Council, Vol 4

5. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

6. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

7. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

8. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

9. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

10. Spanish State Papers, 22nd July 1553

11. Memorials of the Most Reverend Father in God, Thomas Cranmer, sometime Lord Archbishop of Canterbury

12. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

13. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

14. Spanish State Papers, 22nd July 1553

15. Spanish State Papers, 22nd July 1553

[mariacallous]

Well, if you’re just joining us, the nation has delivered an all-night victim impact statement. Labour has won a landslide and the Conservatives have suffered their worst ever general election result. Keir Starmer – the prime minister – has promised “national renewal … to fight until you believe again”. Liz Truss has failed to save South West Norfolk, let alone “the west”. That is the big picture (if not the whole picture, with turnout and Labour’s vote share notably low). Meanwhile, it’s incredible to think that only a short while ago we thought we’d eradicated measles and Nigel Farage. Both have now been brought back, largely by the same people.

But look, after the 3am to 7am shift, no one will be able to say the right doesn’t do comedy. There were moments worthy of entire Netflix specials as in sports halls and community centres various Dickensian grotesques were ushered into their Christmas future, live on stage. Alas, it was going to take more than buying the Cratchits a turkey to get out of this one. Jacob Rees-Mogg heard his fate standing next to a candidate wearing a baked bean balaclava. He’ll be crying into Nanny’s starched bosom today. Committed sewage apologist Thérèse Coffey was pumped into the sea in Suffolk Coastal. Andrea Jenkyns had the middle finger given to her by the voters of Morley and Outwood. In Welwyn Hatfield, Grant Shapps chanted “supermajority” five times into the mirror, and then it came for him.

Then again, Michael Portillo losing his seat was supposedly 1997’s big moment. So perhaps the question is: in two years’ time, which current hate figure will be presenting a cosy travelogue on Europe’s most picturesque illegal migration routes? Alternatively, do remember that one person’s onstage humiliation is another person’s milk round for directorships in the arms trade.

Speaking of absolute weapons, hat twat George Galloway wimped out of his own count in Rochdale, presumably out of fatigability. He lost to Labour. There was jubilation for the Lib Dems, who finished not a million miles behind “the natural party of government”, and for the Greens, who won all four of their target seats. The SNP can now squeeze its MPs round the flip-down dining table of a motorhome. Referendum arguments may move to Northern Ireland, with Sinn Féin now that nation’s largest Westminster party.

As for Reform … Farage won in Clacton, a constituency for which he will now have to hold surgeries, presumably by Zoom link from his hot desk in the US presidential colon. Or as he put it in his victory speech: “This is the first steps of something that is going to stun all of you” – at least confirming his political abattoir will be bolt-gunning its victims unconscious first. Farage is the horror version of Inside Out, where Mendacity is only just holding off Racism at the control console. His cultural hinterland extends to a single Goodbye, Mr Chips DVD he got free with the Sunday Times in 2008, and the idea that this hollow chancer should still be one of the most significant politicians of the age says everything about the age.

Anyway, back to the Conservatives’ four-hour in-memoriam reel. Penny Mordaunt, Jonathan Gullis, Michael Fabricant, Gillian Keegan, Steve Baker, Alex Chalk, Johnny Mercer, Michelle Donelan, Victoria Prentis, Liam Fox, Mark Harper … all out, along with many more. So many cabinet ministers fell that the ones who live may actually develop survivor guilt. It’s currently unclear how gruesome things will be among the extant Conservatives in this post-apocalyptic world. As a fictional president once wondered of Dr Strangelove, will the living not end up envying the dead? Far from it, Strangelove reassures him, forcing down an involuntary Nazi salute. What will abound is a spirit of bold curiosity for the adventure ahead!

Speaking of which, 13th fairy Suella Braverman finally turned up, holding on in Fareham and cooing: “I am sorry that my party didn’t listen to you. The Conservative party has let you down.” Expect to see her humbly attempting to disembowel fellow survivors Jeremy Hunt and James Cleverly in the forthcoming trial-by-combat for what convention demands we style as “the soul of the Conservative party”.

At his count, Rishi Sunak explained he’d already conceded the election in a congratulatory call to Keir Starmer, adding, “I take responsibility for the loss.” In Downing Street, he confirmed he would be standing down as Tory leader in some sort of due course, stressing, “I have heard your anger.” Then, instead of yet another speech straight from the Tortured Prime Minister’s Department, this one offered humility and magnanimity, as well as a pointed reminder of the positive (and fragile?) progress that saw him become the UK’s first British-Asian prime minister. What a contrast to the relentless negativity of his past six weeks. Sunak’s campaign was conducted like a gender-reveal party where the device that’s meant to release the puff of blue smoke accidentally functions as a pipe bomb and burns the house down.

It also closed out several years of mindboggling chaos, dysfunction and national decline. They won’t be playing anything from this album on the Conservative party’s Eras tour. The Tories have cycled through five prime ministers over the past eight years, to the point where they were recently found going through the rubbish, pulling the first guy back out, thinking, “Actually, he doesn’t look half bad now,” and making him foreign secretary. This is the behaviour of addicts.

Not that they have the monopoly on erraticism. Any dispassionate view of these results suggests the fabled post-Brexit “realignment” is more of a dealignment – the huge sweeping gains of this or that political moment able to be reversed in previously unthinkable timespans. Volatility might now be our defining electoral characteristic, and a rise in sectarian politics cannot and should not be ignored. Because hey – what’s the worst that can happen with that one? Meanwhile, many people who derided the simplistic “Get Brexit done” slogan in 2019 have pretended not to notice that the winner here went out under the even more gnomic banner of “Change”.

Yet in the wider global context, what a win. One summer evening in 1914, the foreign secretary, Edward Grey, famously remarked: “The lamps are going out all over Europe.” In our own times, a darkening has recently felt at hand, as hard- or extreme-right parties have gained ground across the continent, to say nothing of the US. But here – in this country, in this moment – a different direction has been taken. That matters today, and anyone not on the wingnut fringes, who hopes to avoid those gathering shadows, should wish Keir Starmer good luck with his task. For plenty who would snuff out the lamps are also rising – increasingly, they walk among us.

[gauzyfruitcake]

"So you don't have an owner, but we could punish you by looking a-a-at you?"

"Probably, right up until I remember I have a lot of sharp teeth."

*

Inspired by Discord conversations, I present: "Howl Systems Red: a MurderBark AU."

Featuring the adventures of PreservationFlock as they explore new frontiers of the farmyard:

-Mensah as a Suffolk sheep

-Ratthi and Pin-Lee trying not to gossip

-Arada hoping to be friends

-Gurathin the A-a-a-augmented sheep (i.e. a goat)

-Murderbot as their security guardian dog, trying to avoid eye contact and just blend in (at least until hostiles attack). I decided to make it an Akita because they are wary of strangers, powerful, and independent, but caring toward their family. Plus a white Akita would be good at blending in with sheep :)

Pose reference (x)

Color palette (x)

[rochellek1994]

Suffolk Day 2023 - Suffolk Remembers in Felixstowe (21/06/2023)

NOTE: Please DO NOT repost any of my photography works WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! If you would like to showcase my photography then please ask me for permission first and if I grant permission, please CREDIT ME. You also know the drill if I say no/don’t grant the permission, it means NO. It is preferable to use Tumblr’s built in reblogging function on the site at the very least as it will link back to the original.

[milkweedman]

Needed something to do last night bc I couldn't sleep, and spinning takes about a million times less brain power than knitting or crochet, so now I'm working on this.

Its from a 2.8 ounce batt that I had labeled southdown Romney blend, and I'm 99% sure that what I was told it was when I bought it (I remember thinking how much I love a good southdown blend), but when I finally unrolled the batt last night it had a label that said Suffolk hampshire blend. I think that's what this is--it feels 100% down breed rather than a down and strong wool blend. Honestly I probably still would have bought it as a hampshire blend, so I don't mind that much.

No clue what to do with it. It's not soft but the prep wouldn't do for socks, which is my usual idea for coarse down wool. It's also got a much darker section that I've been trying to decide how to feature (if it's worth doing at all).

[consanguinitatum]

And Now For Something Completely Different: I look for an early 1993 Michael Sheen project!

As everyone who reads me regularly knows, I'm a David Tennant researcher/archivist (it's what I do!) and write A Tennantcy To Act, a Substack about his career. But last night at an ungodly hour, a question from a MS fan on Twitter got me amped to find a missing Michael Sheen project...so that's what I did. My body might be pissed I stayed up til 2 am (I'm an OLD!) but my soul and spirit are cleansed. I found it! So if you're a Sheen fan, buckle up. Let's take a ride on the Sheen side (and oh yeah, I just learned Michael's mum has retweeted all my research. So there's that!) The question was about a 1993 episode of a 1991-1996 ITV series, narrated by Edward Woodward, called In Suspicious Circumstances. Michael's Wiki had the series listed, but no further info on the title of the episode Michael appeared in, nor any date but 1993. Last night this fan asked Michael himself if he could remember the name of the episode (as apparently it's a bit of a mystery for his fans). Michael couldn't recall. So I went on the hunt. Luckily a tiny clip of the episode was featured on Twitter, so I could use it as a reference. And boy did it end up to be important!

The smart researcher analyzes what they've got. We see men in mustaches, bowl hats and sack coats using wagons instead of cars, so 1890s? Early 1900s? Michael plays "William Wright" and looks like he's fixing a wagon wheel. He reads his bible, and has an accent. Keep these details in mind. They'll be important. Okay - some background on the series: In Suspicious Circumstances was an anthology series which re-enacted historical crimes. Beginning on 16 March 1993, it broadcast three one-hour episodes, each of which contained two thirty-minute stories. Okay, so that means there are nine possible mini-episodes Michael could've been in. But which one? Let's narrow them down! The series' first episode aired 16 March 1993. It was called "Laugh Baby Laugh" and was about Elvira Barney, acquitted of murdering her lover in 1932. The second mini-episode was called "Shadows of Doubt" and was about Robert Hoolhouse, a laborer hanged for murdering a farmer's wife in 1938. Here are some newspaper articles about this broadcast:

I felt pretty comfortable ruling these two out immediately - mostly because both crimes were set in the 1930s, and our clip tells us Michael's episode was way before then. Moving on! Now let's talk about the third episode, which aired 30 March 1993. (I'm deliberately skipping over the second episode because I think that's the one Michael's in. Back to that in a second.) Anyway...the two mini-episodes from the third episode were called "Falling Starr" and "Good as Gold", and were about two very different women found dead on beaches...one in 1931, the other in 1900. Here are a few newspaper articles about these episodes:

The 1931 one we could rule out. But the 1900? Hmmm, it's a possibility, sure, though the clip we have sure doesn't look like it's anywhere near a beach town with sand dunes like Great Yarmouth, right? So that also seems improbable. Now let's examine that second episode, which was broadcast 23 March 1993. The first of the two mini- episodes was entitled "Dancing With Death" and was about the 1960s Glaswegian serial killer known only as Bible John.

Um, the 1960s certainly doesn't sound like it fits the clip Michael's in, right? So what's the second mini-episode, then?

Well, it's set in Suffolk in 1902 and is about a murder of a servant girl in "a scandalous affair in a Suffolk village which may have led to murder." Sounds promising! The time period certainly seems like it would fit. But what is it called? After all, no one was sure what the episode was entitled, because if they had, they would've known which episode Michael was in.

It's called "Candle In The Window!" So now we have to switch gears here to find the final proof. There are two possibilities, time period-wise, so we have to go to the source to find out if we can determine which one is the right episode. And by that, I mean newspapers of the period. After all, In Suspicious Circumstances was a historical series about real-life crimes. So I started with the Suffolk one, which I thought the most likely.

Remember we talked about Michael's character's name, and how he was working on a wagon wheel? Well, here are a few articles printed at the time about the scandal, the murder, and the resulting trial. From the Hull Morning Telegraph and the Nottingham Evening Post, both 6 November 1902:

This is a LOT of text - and newspapers at the time loved to print drama and florid language and up the scandal (they didn't have television to satisfy that urge, I guess?) But here are the relevant parts.

Notice the name of one of the witnesses: William George Wright. And gee.....he's a wheelwright! Ya know, a maker and repairer of wagon wheels!

Bingo! The circumstances of this case, Michael's character's name and occupation, and the descriptions in newspaper blurbs about the 23 March 1993 broadcast of In Suspicious Circumstances all line up.

"Candle In The Window" is the episode Michael was in. I published this earlier today on Twitter and within an hour, industrious Sheenies collated all my work (with my blessing and permission!) and updated Michael's Wikipedia entry to include this new information. I'm just out here doing what I do - for the fandoms. I wish David-bloody-Time-Lord Tennant was this easy to find *harumph*! Anywaaaaaay...... Peace out!

[scotianostra]

On September 30th 1921 Hollywood film star Deborah Kerr was bor.

She spent the first three years of her life in Helensburgh, where her parents lived with Deborah's grandparents in a house on West King Street. Kerr had a younger brother, Edmund ("Teddy"), who became a journalist. He was killed in a road rage incident in 2004.

Deborah was a ballet dancer,appearing at Sadler’s Wells no less, before switching to acting when she became too tall. The theatre would become her first love, despite her enormous movie success, and she returned to it time and again.

Despite numerous nominations Kerr was to spend her career withonly one major honour ( a Golden Globe) from the various ceremonies she attended, 6 Academy Award Nominations, 4 BAFTA Award Nominations, and 1 Primetime Emmy Award Nomination, her credits would include some fantastic films including, from here to Eternity, King Solomon's Mines, Separate Tables and Julius Caesar, her costars read like a who's who of Hollywood greats, Marlon Brando, Spencer Tracy, James Grainger, Hayley Mills and Cary Grant amongst many others.

For me there are two films that stand out for Deborah, the first, From here to Eternity and THAT beach scene with Burt Lancaster, where they were said to have had an affair, and one of my mums favourite films, The King and I, it's a pity she didn't have the voice to sing in the film, they were dubbed over, but the chemistry between Kerr and Yul Bymer was a joy to watch, he won best actor, Kerr had to make do with a Golden Globe, her only award in her career.

Deborah Kerr has been described as "an artist of impeccable grace and beauty, a dedicated actress whose motion picture career has always stood for perfection, discipline and elegance." and in 1994, having already received honorary awards from the Cannes Film Festival and BAFTA she would finally get her hands on a coveted Oscar, albeit an honourary one.

Deborah Kerr passed away October 16th 2007 in Suffolk after suffering Parkinson's Disease, her husband of 47 years, Peter Viertel died of cancer less than three weeks later.

I was going to pos pics of Deborah Kerr but have decided to go with tDeborah singing "an affair to remember" from the 1957 movie of the same name.

[natequarter]

tudor gothic:

the lord chancellor is called thomas. he runs the country. he wants no part in where england goes from now. the lord chancellor is being arrested for treason. the lord chancellor was executed. the lord chancellor was never arrested. there is no lord chancellor.

the crown is dissolving monasteries. this is standard practice. all the monasteries are shutting down. this is thomas's fault. you have no idea which thomas. the crown wants the monasteries back. the monasteries are never coming back. you visited an intact monastery just yesterday. when you blinked, the ruins gave alms to the poor.

the wars of the roses have just ended decisively. the wars of the roses have been over for decades. the legacy of civil war haunts england. you've watched shakespeare's wars of the roses plays. the wars of the roses must have been over when the throne passed peacefully to henry viii. when you close your eyes, you can somehow hear reginald pole laughing at you.

the duke of somerset was beheaded for treason. so was the duke of buckingham. so was the duke of northumberland. so was the duke of norfolk. so was the duke of suffolk. the duke of suffolk never lost the king's affection. all the dukes are vying for power. but then you remember: there are no dukes. perhaps there never were.

the howards are not to be trusted. thomas howard was thrown in the tower. thomas howard was executed for treason. thomas howard lived out his life peacefully. thomas howard only narrowly escaped henry viii's reign with his life. you are drowning in thomases. they never end. one thing you are certain of, though: thomas howard is long dead. thomas howard will outlive us all.

you know the names of every courtier in the kingdom, and yet more go missing with every passing day. you try to note down the name of thomas wryth, but you cannot put quill to parchment. how is it spelt? wriothesley? you have always known that. you know it deep in your bones. and yet, when you try to say it out loud, words fail you. words fail everyone, where the earl of southampton is concerned. somewhere dark and terrible, an ancient beast awakens from its slumber. like everything else, it is also called thomas.

you turn to noting down the name of the queen. kateryn parr. this is a simple task. your subconscious whispers catalina to you in a distinctly spanish accent. your hand shakes. you try to write down catherine, but it morphs into a k against your will. you drop your quill, hand trembling. nonetheless, there is a name before you. whose name it is is anyone's guess.

mary is queen. which mary? which queen? suddenly, you are not so sure.

the bible is written in latin. the bible has always been written in latin. you flick through the pages of your bible, and greek letters swim before your eyes. you check the book again, and find you are holding a book of hours. all the words are in english. you cannot read any of them.

the king of england has ruled for many years. he is nine years old. the king of england is a foreign power. elizabeth was king; now james is queen. long live queen james!

[saleintothe90s]

Daily press, September 28, 1989

The more things change, the more they stay the same. 35 years ago people in South Carolina were still reeling from Hurricane Hugo. Very strange how people could just go to someone's house to donate (see left column) back then.

Imagine getting ready to get on a plane to London when you collapse at the airport.

I'd never heard of the comic Outland, it was a spinoff of Bloom County that ran only on Sundays. Here is Mortimer Mouse:

(eBay seller Erickson Comics and Paper)

I found this Sunday night, and then Monday night, I find out that Pete Rose died! VHS Tapes Old newspapers are magic.

Even in 1989, the clothes in these A&N ads already looked outdated. It was always like this with them. I could pull up a newspaper from 1994, and the clothes would look like the clothes people wore in ... 1989.

ooh, we have a Phar-Mor alert. We were not a Phar-Mor family, we did not visit the mythical store known as Phar-Mor. My mom said that area was too crowded. It was like a giant variety store with a pharmacy, right?

I was nosy, and looks like they broke up in 2001. So the Yorks were trying to gain "custody" of their embryo from a lab in Norfolk (they lived in California). I'm not sure if the couple were successful at having children though.

Oh no! It's our boy David Merritt! We remember him from the August 1, 1993 newspaper entry. Remember, his restaurant didn't open until 1992, and was hyping that it was going to open on April 7, 1990.

These ads are magnificent.

Old Mill? I gotta say it:

For you dead mall fans out there, both Outlets Ltd and Great American Outlet Mall are long gone.

I never thought that My Two Dads needed one censor, let alone two. I gotta watch My Two Dads, it has Paul Reiser and Dana from Step by Step! I love that podcast she has with Christine Lakin about Step by Step.

Speaking of censorship, STOPLESS GIRLS. I looked up the address, and looks like it was torn down.

No Cathy in this strip, but there are Fax jokes. Remember faxing in your lunch order? Onion rolls seem so old skool, I feel like I remember seeing them at the bakery at the grocery store when I was a real little kid, and then never again. Is it a regional thing? Do people not eat onion rolls in Hampton Roads anymore?

Garfield was upsetting that day.

OH I almost forgot. Speaking of upsetting:

A man on his bike was hit by a car down the street from the newspaper offices. So just you know, walk down the street and take a photo of it and put it on the front page of the local section. I hope Allen was ok. The McDonalds where it happened is long gone, but the building remains.

/edit/

So the day I went to publish this, I had to take the long way home from Suffolk, and I drove by this intersection on my way to the James River Bridge. Old newspapers ARE magic.

I know we make jokes about certain people putting raisins in potato salad, but what about raisins in your chicken.

I love the names of these raisin recipes! Silk Stockings?! Model T?! I would try a lil bite of each of these.

I can't remember where I mentioned this place, but it amuses me SO MUCH that back in the day you could go to Coliseum Mall and buy steaks.

wait. Bryers made jelly? I wonder if that's the same fruit that was in that yogurt they used to make that was so good. Breyers ice cream is soo bad now.

!! This was my friend Paul's mom! I about flipped when I saw this. This is exactly how five year old me remembers her. She would give me rides to school sometimes in her old jeep and would pick my mom up for room mothers.

Finally, this Eastern Airlines ad is beautiful. They had about a year and a half left, closed in 1991.

I completely forgot to post for September, I got 🦠 at the end of August that went into the first week of September, then I had to get ready for the Norfolk Zine fest, then then this weekend? Is Richmond Zine fest. Don't forget, my zines are available on my Etsy shop.

And there's a new design over at my TeePublic.

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