#1820s wedding
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Beige Wedding Suit, 1824.
Worn by Sylvanus Warren.
Augusta Auctions.
#menswear#1824#1820s suit#1820s wedding#sylvanus warren#known wearer#extant garments#wedding#1820s#19th century#beige#Augusta auctions#suit
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Wedding dress and spencer ca. 1822
From Kerry Taylor Auctions
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Marya Narukhina 1826 Lookbook - holiday gift 2
I've got much more free time now that school is out for a few weeks, so here's another gift! This lookbook was inspired by those of @aheathen-conceivably. Yes, you've seen her before and you'll see her again - it's Marya!
(keep reading for rambling and cc links)
Marya is one of my oldest surviving sims. She was originally created as a background sim in a War and Peace save file. At that time, she was blonde and about 2 years old. Her parents, especially her father, are also among my favorite sims.
The best word for Marya's style would be "gloomy." She prefers darker colors, especially deep purples and blacks. Her fashion is influenced by the gothic styles that were popular in the late 1810s and early 1820s, when she was a teenager and young adult. Due to her status in society, she dresses stylishly, but still keeps her older dresses, as can be seen in her more old-fashioned dinner and summer outfits.
You'll notice that the silhouettes of her dresses are kind of inconsistent. The 1820s were a major transitional period in Western women's fashion, so there are big differences between, for example, the slightly older dinner dress and the modern evening dress.
CC Links
Genetics: eyes / Maxis eyelash remover / blush (Torrada bodyblush)
Day Dress: hair / chemisette (Jan) / dress / puff sleeves (Katharine) / ring (Base Game)
Mourning: outfit (Simsfinds)
Going Out: hat / gloves
Evening Dress: hair / headpiece / necklace (Base Game) / dress / gloves / shoes
Sleepwear: hair / nightgown
Dinner Dress: necklace* / dress / stockings / shoes
Summer: bonnet (Harriet) / hair (Sapphire) / chemisette / dress
Winter: hat / outfit (Simsfinds) / boots (Hartfield boots)
*look.....the truth is.....i don't know. i have no idea where i got this necklace. there's a little ghost on the thumbnail in cas? help
#marya gorovina#ts4 historical#ts4 lookbook#sims lookbook#af lookbook#regency lookbook#my stories#ts4 1820s#19c#ignoreeee the wedding ring in the wedding outfit in the original post. it's not there. poof. gone. underneath the glove now#god bless tumblr annihilating the image quality you can't even see how poorly i edited that ring out
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Bridal veil, 1820-30.
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A Wedding Dress For Wednesday 💕
Wedding dress ca.1820-24 from the V&A collection.
With detachable sleeves.
Description from the V&A website:
"Ivory figured silk wedding dress with shell motif applied onto the hem in cream silk-satin. The bottom of the skirt is also decorated with bands of padded silk satin, the bottom band forming the hem. There are two pockets on either side of the skirt, both edged with a scalloped border and silk-satin piping. The pocket on the left hand side is false and the pocket on the right is lined with lawn. The front of the bodice is decorated with applied silk satin forming a floral pattern. The back is fastened with corset-style silk ribbon lacing, threaded through eyelets reinforced with silk thread. Two vertical strips of whalebone on either side of the fastenings provide support. Beneath the lacing is a figured silk placket to hide the chemise or underdress. The waistband is made of figured silk edged with silk satin and is fastened with a hook and eye. The puffed sleeves are made of plain cream silk edged with a border of figured silk and silk-satin piping.
The bodice of the dress is lined with cotton and has a drawstring on the inside front of the neck for elevating the neckline. The skirt is unlined.
Separate sleeves of ivory figured silk with braided silk satin piping applied around the wrist."
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Alternate Ending: I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs
series masterlist
original ending || next part
pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x wife!reader
WC: 5.2k words (whoops I got carried away)
Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, benedict being so down bad for this woman, unrequited love, pregnancy and discussions around pregnancy/birth
Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.
A/N: The timeline for this ending diverges after chapter 12!! This is how life would look like if Chapter 13 and onward didn't happen.
March 3, 1820 - B,
I apologize for my delayed response – I’m sure you’ll understand that I was a tad occupied giving birth. But she’s finally here! It was easier than the other three, so I'm personally delighted, though Anthony seemed just as stressed as usual. And, as usual, he'll most likely be resting for the next five days. If he ever stops looking at her in awe, that is. It would be quite adorable if I didn't need to wrestle her away from him to nurse her every few hours!
Although, I will say that Anthony being taken with her has worked out quite well for me. I was able to finish my novel and get a full night's sleep last night. I'd love to see you soon if you're up for it. You can meet her and we can discuss your latest painting, which I heard was absolutely breathtaking. Anthony and I will both be home for the next week at least, so feel free to pop by any time.
Yours, Y/I
You finished addressing the envelope to Benedict right as Anthony walked into your bedroom holding the tiny form of your newborn daughter. Twisting in your seat to face them, you cooed when you saw her fast asleep in his arms. She was wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and you couldn’t help but marvel at her tiny fists opening and closing absentmindedly as she slept. She looked so peaceful in Anthony’s arms, and it was terrifying to think that a human being this small would grow up to be an adult and that you would have to guide her through it. Well, she would have Anthony too, you thought. And the thought did a lot to quell your fears.
For as long as you had known him, Anthony had been a steadfast figure in your life. He’d been the eldest of the Beaumont-Bridgertons, and he certainly acted like it, too. The responsibility he felt for his family was evident in everything he did, and it was one of the qualities you admired most about him. Now, seeing Anthony cradle your newborn daughter with such gentleness and awe only solidified your feelings for him.
You had decidedly not been in love when you had married him, but one couldn’t simply have four children with someone and not develop at least a little affection for them. The two of you had been wonderful friends even before you were married, and you still were, but along the way, it seemed that you had learned to love each other in your own funny sort of way. It wasn’t the sort of all-consuming love you had for Benedict all those years ago, and that perhaps you had still in a corner of your heart. But it was comforting and safe and built upon a deep respect for one another, and your life was all the better for it.
Perhaps you and Ben had never been destined for a life like this, you thought. Your childhood intention to wed Benedict had been just that: a naïve plan. That night in the studio with Benedict, after he had found out in the most unfortunate manner that you and Anthony were courting, you had needed something safe and constant. And Benedict had given you the complete opposite. For so many years, he had been your anchor, but that night you felt like the ground had fallen away below your feet and you were in free fall. You had so much love for Benedict that you didn’t even know where to put it. You could feel it from your heart to your fingertips, and it was terrifying. You thought about Violet and Edmund in that moment, and how destroyed Violet had been when Edmund passed. The thought of that happening to you and Benedict made you sick. The thought of taking the risk and putting your heart in his hands only for it to crumble.
Maybe running away from Benedict at that moment was the cowardly thing to do. Maybe you should have faced your fears and given in to the overpowering love. Maybe you should have kissed your best friend and dealt with the consequences later, holding his hand the whole way through. But you hadn’t. You had sought out safety instead, running up the stairs to Anthony’s room and knocking incessantly until he opened the door, eyes startled and hand holding a handkerchief to his cut lip.
“We’re getting married,” you had declared, breathing ragged and arms crossed tightly over your chest.
“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, hoping you meant you and Benedict but suspecting otherwise given that you were currently at his door looking furious.
“You and me. And we’re going to do it as soon as possible.”
Anthony uttered a soft, “Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say. “And Benedict…” he added in a questioning tone.
“No,” you said firmly. “No Benedict.”
He had expected you to say more, but you just stood in front of him, unmoving.
“I suppose I can start the arrangements,” Anthony said finally. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”
“I am sure.”
God, Benedict must have truly done something stupid, he thought. “Very well, then.”
“Good night, Anthony. We can inform our families of our engagement tomorrow morning.”
He just nodded in response, still too stunned to fully process your words.
You cleared your throat and your stoic façade faded slightly. “And thank you, Anthony. For everything,” you said, suddenly very aware of what being married to Anthony might mean.
He shook his head. “No, no. It was nothing. You are family.”
A month later, you were married at the church near Aubrey Hall. Benedict barely stayed long enough to see the two of you say your vows, citing an urgent problem with his cottage in the countryside. His family was kind enough not to question his obviously fabricated excuse, but he couldn’t miss the endless looks of pity sent his way. He had been hurt. Well, you had hurt him. You hurt him when you walked away from him, and you hurt him when you announced your engagement to your family without telling him first, but most of all, you hurt him when you chose Anthony even after two decades of history with Benedict.
Maybe none of your fears would have come true, and you and Ben would have been happy. Maybe he would have treated your heart with the same love and care with which he always treated you. But it didn’t do to dwell on what could have been. Your marriage with Anthony was real. It was concrete and it was grounding, and you couldn’t imagine a more stable presence in your life.
Bringing you out of your musings, you felt Anthony kiss your cheek in greeting and ask, “Do you want to take her?”
You nodded eagerly, setting down the letter in your hand so you could hold your daughter. “I’m surprised you’re willingly letting me have her,” you teased, laughing as Anthony all but collapsed onto the loveseat across from you, clearly exhausted.
He had been an awfully attentive father the past few days, ecstatic to finally have a girl after three boys. Though she had brought out a heightened sense of protectiveness he couldn’t seem to shake. It was rather endearing to see him so frazzled over a baby that weighed less than eight pounds, but you suspected there might be something more to it.
“She’s so tiny!” he defended, gaze fixed on her admittedly minuscule form in your arms. “I can’t help it…” He trailed off, deep in thought. You glanced up at him, noticing the change in his tone and his hunched posture. After five years of marriage, you had him memorized, and reading him came as naturally as reading a book.
“Is anything the matter?” you asked gently, already having a general idea about what was plaguing him.
But he shook his head, murmuring a soft no and focusing on the writing desk behind you instead. “Is that for Benedict?” he inquired, nodding in the direction of the letter.
“Yes, I’m just telling him that she’s here and asking him to come visit,” you answered, still eyeing him carefully.
“So, he’s coming to visit, then?” pressed Anthony, eyes back on your daughter, who was currently sleeping soundly in your arms.
“Well, I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Why do you ask?” You changed tactics, trying to seem nonchalant about your concern.
“Alright. That’s good. Yes, that’s good,” he muttered, seemingly satisfied with your answer but his mind was obviously miles away.
Growing increasingly worried, you stood up and carefully laid your daughter in her crib, ensuring she remained undisturbed. With her settled, you approached Anthony, who hadn't shifted his gaze from where you had been sitting. Kneeling beside him, you reached out and gingerly placed your hand on his. The touch seemed to quiet his restless thoughts, and he turned to meet your eyes, acknowledging the weight of his anxiety.
Anthony spoke softly, carefully. “I just want to make sure that you and the children are taken care of. In case something happens to me. I want you to have someone.”
You should have known that this was what plagued him. During the first year of your marriage, you settled into a comfortable dynamic with Anthony. It was not quite love, but something like it had blossomed between the two of you. However, it was after the birth of your first son, Arthur, that Anthony reached a breaking point. He realized that his grand plan to marry someone he didn’t love to avoid any undue heartbreak was not, in fact, foolproof. Even if there hadn’t been growing affection between you, Anthony completely fell in love with Arthur from the moment he was born. It was like nothing he’d experienced before; beyond anything he could have imagined. And it was terribly frightening.
He had shared his fears with you–he’d had no choice in the matter when you were as stubborn and insistent as you were–and you had shared that you, too, were scared. But you trusted one another, and so the two of you navigated parenthood in tandem and Anthony’s fears subsided. Regardless, you could understand that the birth of your daughter brought back this fear in full force, and he felt a greater need to protect her from danger than he would with his sons.
“Anthony, I won’t need someone. You’re right here, and you always will be.”
He shook his head, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. “How can you know that?”
You pursed your lips, brows furrowing. “Even if you aren’t, it won’t be your fault. You’re a wonderful father. And a wonderful husband.”
With a deep sigh, he clasped your hand and stood up, bringing you with him. “Just promise me you’ll ask Benedict to take care of you if I go?”
Your heart softened. Knowing he needed to hear you say it out loud, you nodded, “I promise.”
---
March 5, 1820 – Y/I,
One would think Anthony had been the one to give birth instead of you! I’ll pop by today to give him a talking-to. And to meet my lovely niece, of course.
Yours, B
You found yourself in the nursery this afternoon, your three boys gathered around you and your daughter fast asleep in her crib. It was a lovely day out; sunny but not too hot, but the boys hardly noticed. Instead, they sat still, completely enthralled as you read from your current novel. Though you adored reading to your children, you found children’s books rather boring and repetitive. Thus, you had shifted to reading them excerpts from your own reading material. It made the endeavor much more interesting, and the boys seemed to love it too, evident as they hung on your every word.
“‘Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder,’” you read, and your sons gasped, not quite understanding the meaning of the word but easily catching onto your surprised reaction. You continued, “‘and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask-’”
“Surely I’ve heard wrong and you’re not reading to your children about murder!” came Benedict’s voice from the doorway.
Immediately, three voices squealed in delight and Frankenstein was completely forgotten as your sons rushed over to their uncle. Charles was only one year old, but his brothers’ excitement only fueled his clumsy crawl toward Benedict’s waiting arms.
“They don’t exactly know what it means, Ben,” you laughed. “Besides, it’s wonderful literature. And it keeps them entertained.”
He picked up Charles in one arm and Arthur in the other, making his way over to you as Bernard clung to his leg. “Well, I’m sure you know better than me, darling,” he commented and kissed you sweetly on the top of your head.
“Isn’t that usually the case?” you teased, standing up to properly greet your best friend. Though you hadn’t joined the welcome committee, you were positively glowing now that Ben had arrived. It had been over a week since you had seen him, and you had missed him terribly. You smiled brightly, instantly at ease in his presence.
Eyebrows raised and eyes shining with mirth, he teased back, “You forget I have three very bloodthirsty boys on my side who have just learned what murder is.”
You looked at Arthur, who was completely focused on attempting to undo Benedict’s cravat, and Charles, who had two fingers in his mouth and was unsuccessfully attempting to put in a third, then glanced back at Benedict.
“Quite bloodthirsty, aren’t they?” you deadpanned as you gently pried Charles’ hand from his mouth.
Ben couldn’t help the waves of laughter rolling off him as he observed your sons. “It seems they still have a way to go before they get there.”
Then, spotting the pink crib across the room, he gasped and set down Arthur and Charles and somewhat successfully shook Bernard off his leg. Walking over to the crib, he stared at her, completely awestruck.
"She’s so tiny!” he exclaimed, careful to keep his voice down so as not to wake her.
You giggled, making your way over. “That’s exactly what Anthony said,” you smiled at him.
But your smile did nothing to soothe the dull ache that had blossomed in his chest as he remembered all the things he could have had with you. The pain was not as unbearable now as it had been five years ago, but he was inclined to think that it would be there for the rest of his life. In the back of his mind, Benedict wondered if he would have been as good of a father as Anthony. He supposed he would never know, having devoted himself completely to his art and extinguishing any lingering hopes Violet had that her second son would ever marry. But you seemed happy, and that was truly all that mattered.
Ignoring the pain in his chest, he smiled sweetly back down at you. “What’s her name? Something starting with a D, I’m sure. Otherwise, Anthony will have lost his mind.”
“Yes, naturally,” you giggled. You tugged on Ben’s sleeve to bring him closer to the crib. “Benedict, meet Diana Bridgerton.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured, intently observing your daughter as she slowly blinked her eyes open.
“Quite eager to meet her uncle,” you observed, but Benedict was too mesmerized by her to respond properly.
“She’s got your eyes,” he whispered after a few seconds, turning back to you and placing an arm around you. Your arm snaked around his back, and you drew him in a little closer.
Leaning down to place his cheek on your head and hugging you tighter, he spoke softly, “I thought you might name her Daisy. Flower names and all that. Besides, it starts with a D.”
Benedict didn’t quite know where the comment had come from. You hadn’t mentioned flower names in years, but the thought had suddenly popped into his brain quite unexpectedly and he had been unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. He knew he was so incredibly lucky to know you and to love you and to have a friendship with you, but it was at times like these when he wished he didn’t know you quite so well. At times when knowing you was only a reminder of what he lost.
In that moment, you were thankful to be facing Diana’s crib instead of Benedict, because you could feel the tears prickling at your eyes. The flower names. Of course Benedict would have remembered. You had never truly regretted marrying Anthony, but what you had with Ben transcended anything you could ever have with anyone else, and sometimes it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t your person anymore.
Shaking your head to will the tears away, you responded, “No. No, I could never.”
“What? You always said you wanted to name your children flower names.”
“No, Benedict. I wanted to name our children flower names.”
He felt all the air in his lungs escaping all at once. It felt as if someone had reached deep inside of him, taken hold of every organ inside his body, and squeezed very tightly. Wanted to name our children. Our children. Our. Just a simple word, three letters in total, had managed to leave him completely disarmed.
It was silly, really. You were married and had four children with his brother, of all people. And Benedict was still completely and irrevocably in love with you. He rather thought that he would always love you, in some form or another. Benedict suspected that Anthony knew this too, though his older brother was far too tactful to ever broach the subject.
Seemingly unaware of Ben's internal turmoil as he tried to reduce his feelings to their usual dormant state, you grabbed hold of his hand and led him away from Diana toward the door. “Nurse Edwards can watch the children while we go downstairs to have some tea. I must hear about your painting displayed at the National Gallery! I wish I hadn’t been about two days from bursting so I could have gone to see the unveiling.”
---
November 17, 1820 – Benedict,
Y/N has fallen ill, and I am away on business unable to tend to her. Go to Aubrey Hall as soon as possible and make sure she’s alright.
Please.
Anthony
Benedict could barely hear the rain pouring down outside his carriage over his racing heartbeat. Anthony’s frantic note had left Ben in a state of panic. He had left for Aubrey Hall immediately upon receiving the note, but he still worried that he might be too late. What on earth had frightened his older brother to the point of asking Benedict for help? A million possibilities, each one as devastating as the other, raced through his mind.
The sight of your home interrupted his catastrophizing, and he swung the door open and ran toward the entrance before the carriage could come to a complete stop. Benedict was somewhat aware that he was getting completely drenched in the rain, but his mind was far too focused on getting to you to care.
The front door was already open when he reached it, and Benedict burst through, barely hearing the butler’s, “Upstairs in her bedchamber, Mr Bridgerton,” before he was frantically climbing the stairs to get to you.
Once he reached your door, Ben stopped quite suddenly. He didn’t want to startle you by bursting in unannounced, so he waited a few seconds to catch his breath. Finally, he turned the doorknob slowly, hands shaking nervously as he entered your bedroom.
In between shockingly vivid dreams and a splitting headache, you vaguely registered what looked to be Benedict’s tall frame standing in your room. You shook your head, confused by his presence and not quite trusting your own eyes, but the effort left you breathless and you coughed violently.
“It’s alright, darling. You just rest,” he shushed you, shrugging off his drenched coat before he came to your side.
It killed him to see you like this, pale and sweaty as shivers wracked through your tired body. He had never seen you look so ill, not even when you came down with influenza when you were ten years old, and he was trying his hardest to hold himself together.
“Have you called for a medic?” his voice came out a bit strangled as he asked your lady’s maid, Rose, who had been nervously fidgeting off to the side.
"Yes, Mr Bridgerton. It's pneumonia," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "The best we can do is keep her comfortable and give her fluids until her fever breaks."
He nodded, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm down. But you had drifted into fitful sleep, and your shallow, ragged breathing was only making him more worried.
Nevertheless, he had to think clearly. Anthony was away, meaning that Benedict was now entirely responsible for you. The realization steeled his nerves, so he straightened his waistcoat and released a controlled breath, ready to face whatever came his way.
“Where are the children? I trust Nurse Edwards is with them now,” he said firmly.
Rose nodded. “They’re asleep now, but she is there in case they need anything. They’re taken care of,” she reassured.
“Very well. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to them.” Then, clearing his throat, “Ring for tea, please,” he instructed. “And bring me towels and a bowl of lukewarm water.”
She nodded, hurrying out of the room. Benedict moved closer to your bedside, his heart twisting at the sight of you in distress. He didn't hesitate, pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down beside you. Gently, he reached out to feel your burning forehead, but you immediately flinched, the pain evident in your eyes as they shot open.
“Too cold,” you rasped. “Please don’t.”
He cursed under his breath, heart cracking slightly at your reaction. But he withdrew his hand immediately, settling instead for sitting on a chair next to your bed, watching you intently for any signs that your condition was worsening.
You looked awfully pale, paler than he’d ever seen you, and your lips had turned a concerning shade of purple. Though even when you were drenched in sweat and shivering, you still were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he thought. Even now, years after you had married another man, you remained his muse. The heartbreak he experienced that summer had been an admittedly excellent source of inspiration, and his new works helped propel him forward in the art world. It had served as a distraction, proving especially useful when Ben heard the news that you were pregnant for the first time so soon after the wedding. But now he supposed that art was no longer a distraction, and had instead become his life.
Maybe it was better this way, he sometimes thought. Maybe fate had never intended for him to be with you, though he couldn't fathom why the universe seemed so cruel. But the conclusion that he most often came to is that this was some sort of punishment. And he supposed he rather deserved it. He had continuously run away from the person he loved most, his best friend, the love of his life, time and again while you had only waited patiently for him to love you back.
Looking down at you now, he still felt the need to take care of you. The instinct would never go away. But it was a shame that the only reason he was allowed to do it now was because your husband had asked him to.
Your lady’s maid cleared her throat, standing at the doorway with the items Benedict had requested. He waved her in and had her place the tea on your bedside table, but he took hold of the towels himself and dipped one of them in the bowl of water.
“How long have you been here?” Ben asked Rose, taking in her exhausted appearance.
“Since midmorning, Mr Bridgerton,” she responded, stifling a yawn. "But I'm happy to do it. Lady Bridgerton seems to need it, too."
“Well, I think you ought to go to bed now, Rose,” he responded, gently placing the damp towel on your forehead. You let out a soft sigh of relief, and the tightness in Benedict’s heart loosened the tiniest bit.
Hearing his words, Rose could have collapsed right then and there. “Thank you, Mr Bridgerton. Please call for one of the servants if you need anything,” she said gratefully. And then, before he could change his mind, she hurried out of your bedroom.
The towel had seemed to rouse you from your sleep, and you sat up weakly so you could take in your surroundings.
You opened your eyes, happy to find Benedict still in your room. “Hello, there,” you croaked, but he shushed you, immediately holding a teacup to your lips. You took a hesitant sip, but the warm liquid ran down your throat so soothingly that you grasped the cup with your own hands and drank the entire thing.
Ben laughed softly, delicately taking the teacup from you so as not to touch you, not having forgotten your earlier protests when he placed a hand on your forehead.
“How long have you been here?” you asked Benedict, a particularly strong shiver making your teeth chatter. Noting his look of concern, you rushed to reassure him, “I’m fine, Ben. Promise.” However, you didn’t know how convincing you had sounded, given that you started violently coughing immediately after the words left your lips.
“I can see that. You look great,” teased Benedict.
“I bet,” you shot back, and he was unable to keep the fond smile off his face. “I’m–” you started, but another coughing fit prevented you from continuing. He looked at you, eyes overflowing with worry, and exchanged the towel on your forehead for a fresh one, hoping it would provide at least some relief.
Once your coughing fit subsided, you were overtaken by a wave of exhaustion. Sliding back down into bed, you turned to Benedict. “I think I need to sleep if that’s alright,” you said softly, eyes already drooping shut.
“Mmm, I think so, too,” he agreed.
You reached out and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing your joined hands to your chest. “Please stay, Ben,” you said, eyes already closed.
His heart nearly skipped a beat, having completely forgotten just how right your hand felt in his. “Always,” he murmured, reaching over to kiss you on the forehead. Benedict settled into the chair beside your bed, carefully watching you to make sure your breathing remained even.
An hour later, a particularly intense shiver ran through you and you woke up to find that you were still clutching Benedict’s hand. He was staring at you intently, and you felt an overwhelming sense of tenderness for him. Even though you had married Anthony, he was still here by your side, ensuring that you were safe. Even though you probably looked about two minutes away from death, and even though he probably had much more interesting things to do, he was here.
“I’m sorry, you know,” you whispered, not quite sure you wanted him to hear but needing to say it anyway.
His brow furrowed, not quite sure why you were apologizing. “It’s quite alright.”
“No, I am. I’m so sorry,” you said, barely registering the tears running down your face and mixing with your sweat.
Ben wiped away your tears with one hand, the other still holding yours. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered.
You shook your head and the towel fell from your forehead once again, which he immediately replaced with a new one. “I don’t regret marrying him, but I regret hurting you,” you choked back a sob. “It was cowardly of me, and I’m sorry.”
Benedict was at a loss, your confession bringing his complicated feelings to the surface. But before he could find the right words, you had fallen asleep once again, eyes closed peacefully and your breathing even. He sat back in shock, attempting to process the meaning behind your words while still being careful not to move his hand too much so you could sleep peacefully.
Benedict sat there for what felt like hours, his mind in a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart as he watched you sleep, your hand still clasped in his. Surely you were at least a little delirious, he reasoned. How could you apologize for something he had caused?
Hours later, the morning sun filtered through your curtains and you stirred awake. You blinked your eyes open, a bit disoriented as you took in your surroundings. You glanced down, seeing Ben sitting in a chair next to your bed, fast asleep in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. Your hand was still clasped in Benedict’s, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. You felt a pang of guilt at the sight and cringed slightly as you remembered your tearful apology the previous night.
Sensing that you were awake, Benedict stirred, half opening his eyes to make sure you were alright. Wincing as his neck cracked, he sat up and asked groggily, “How’re you feeling this morning, darling?”
“Much better, actually,” you responded.
A sudden wave of panic washed over you. “Who’s with the children?”
“Don’t worry! They’re alright. Nurse Edwards is with them,” he assured you. “Perhaps it’s for the best; they might get to engage with some books actually meant for children.” He kept his tone light and teasing, not entirely sure if you remembered your apology and not wanting to open up the conversation if you didn’t.
“Oh, thank you,” you sighed in relief, relaxing against your pillows once again. Then, swatting his arm, you scolded, “And they enjoy the literature, mind you!”
“I suppose you are feeling better if you had the strength to hit me,” he remarked amusedly.
You rolled your eyes. “I could have hit you last night. Easily.” But your expression turned sincere. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to be a burden; I know you’re working on a new piece.”
“It’s nothing,” he waved his hand. “You could never be a burden.”
You cleared your throat awkwardly, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “And I meant what I said last night. It was ill-timed, I know, but I am truly sorry.”
“Nonsense,” he shook his head. “There is nothing to apologize for. I didn’t treat you the way I should have and I was the one who hurt you. I’m just glad I can still have you as a best friend.”
You smiled at him, pulling him into a hug. “We seem to be quite good at that, don’t you think? Being best friends.”
“Oh, the best,” he smiled at you, adoration clear in his eyes.
—
orginal ending || next part || buy me a ko-fi!
Tag List:
@bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti @sopanngon @fanfiction-she-wrote @aureolinb @ambitionspassionscoffee @bbubbllejisoo @marvelspogue @avengersgirlloriannaa @loliakeoghan23 @cierrajhilll @sadprose-auroras @merlieve @khaylin27 @cherrytop02 @little-duck @angerpearl @shondlenoodle @lyssamay52 @bags10 @angerpearl
#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton fanfic#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton fanfic#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton angst#benedict bridgerton x best friend!reader#bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x you#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton angst#love in bloom#love in bloom: writing
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'"la mariée" after louis léopold boilly, c. 1820' in the wedding dress: 300 years of bridal fashions - edwina ehrman (2011)
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I'm bored so
All years referenced in Hamilton:
(directly from the songs)
1776, Aaron Burr, Sir
1780, Winter's Ball
1781, Yorktown (The World Turned Upside-Down)
1785, I Know Him
1789, What'd I Miss
1791, We Know
1800, The Election of 1800
(by event/lyric, assuming Alexander was born in 1757, in order of events. This might be a bit confusing so feel free to ask clarification)
1754, I was given my first command I led my men straight into a massacre
1766, when he was ten his father split
1768, his mother went quick
1768-1835, Philip Jeremiah Schuyler (Angelica's brother, son of Philip Schuyler. Philip had like 15 children apparently, including the sisters and Philip)
1769, the cousin committed suicide
1769, as a kid in the Caribbean I wished for a war ("I wish there was a war", letter to Edward Stevens)
1771, they placed him in charge of a trading charter
1772, a hurricane destroyed Hamilton's town
1772, ship is in the harbor now see if you can spot him
1773, I am Hercules Mulligan
1773, your tea which you hurl in the sea (Boston Tea Party)
1775, Farmer Refuted
1775, yo let's steal their cannons
1775, I was a captain under general Montgomery until he caught a bullet in the neck in Quebec
1776, British Admiral Howe's got 32000 troops in New York harbor
1776, he promotes Charles Lee makes him second-in-command
1777, I need someone like you to lighten the load (Alex becomes Washington's right hand man)
1777, I'm John Laurens in the place to be
1777, je m'apelle Lafayette
1778, Theodosia meets Burr
1778, Battle of Monmouth
1778, duel between Laurens and Lee
1779, Laurens i like you a lot (letter from Alex to John, "I wish, my dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by actions rather than words, to convince you that I love you")
1780, give it up for the maid of honor (Alexander and Eliza's wedding)
1781, Hamilton leaves Washington (due to his lack of command)
1781, we fought with him
1782, Philip's birth
1782, me I died for him
1783, Theodosia's birth
1785, I am sailing off to London
1787, at the constitutional convention, goes and proposes his own form of government
(October-August) 1787-1788, write a series of essays titled The Federalist Papers
1789, Hamilton runs the state department
1789-1792, life without the monarchy
1790, Cabinet Battle #1
1791, Burr becomes senator
1791, Hamilton meets Ms. Reynolds
1793, Cabinet Battle #2
1793, Thomas Jefferson resings
1797, Washington's presidency ends
1797-1801, Adams' administration
1797, The Reynolds Pamphlets
1799, George Washington's death
1800, the first murder trial of our brand new nation (Levi Weeks' trial)
(March) 1801, death of Peggy Schuyler
(July) 1801, George Eacker's 4th of July speech
(23th November) 1801, George and Philip's duel
(24th November) 1801, Philip's death
1804, Alexander Hamilton's death
1810, You're making me mad (King George III actually goes mad)
1820, I'll love you til my dying days (King George dies)
I tried my best to get most of the dates, but tell me if I missed any! :)
#hamilton#hamilton musical#I really want to do a “every part that's historically inaccurate in Hamilton and everything that's a direct quote”#For funsies
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Timeless Thai Lookbook
Note : * (In game items)
General : Hair 1* | Hair 2 | Hair 3,6 (Vega hair) |
Hair4 | Hair 5 (WINGS_HAIR_ER0408)
🌺 Look #1 (1820s)
: Top / Female sarong / Shoes* / Belt and Sangwan
🌺Look #2 (1900s)
: Top (VV_JacketIII) / Pants / Necklace (Dimitrescu Pearl necklace) /
Earring / Shoes
🌺Look #3 (Northern Thai 1900s)
: Top(VV_ShirtwaistI) / Long skirt (bottom) / Necklace(Audrey collar) / Earring
/ Sangwan (BODY-ACC-RING-RIGHT) / Shoes* / Hair accessories
🌺 Look #4 (1920s)
: Blouse(Olivia brocade) / Long skirt (bottom) / Earring (Alice earring)
Necklace (Choker_Volindur_F) / Headband [1] (Hat) [2] (Bracelet option) /
Bracelet / Shoes* (Cottage Living EP)
🌺 Look #5 (1940s)
: Top (Tie Ribbon Blouse) / Bottom (Pei Skirt) / Hat (BigHeatBeret)
/ Shoes (lissa shoes)
🌺 Look #6 (Northern Thai Wedding outfit)
: Blouse (Magnolia top) / Long skirt (belt with bottom) / Earring*
/ Sangwan (Nose ring option) / Hair accessories
/ Breast cloth (Sabai | สไบ) / Shoes*
In Siam late1860s -1910s (aka called Thailand), The royal court inspired of European fashion and mixed Victorian blouse fit to traditional pants at that time. So I found some of google photos searching keyword “ Queen RAMA V ” they gave me an idea to choose Pose and Umbrella for women character in Thai renaissance period.
✨ Thanks to all gorgeous cc creators ✨
@serenity-cc @sentate @rustys-cc @gilded-ghosts @javitrulovesims
@marsmerizing-sims @ommosims @glitterberrysims @pralinesims @bedisfull @zurkdesign @arethabee and others are not currently in tumblr.
#ts4 lookbook#ts4 cc lookbook#ts4#maxis match#ts4 maxis match#sims4ccfinds#sims 4 maxis match#sims 4 cas#simblr#thesims4#the sims custom content#timeless#the sims 4 thailand#thai#ts4 clothes#ts4cc#s4cc#s4mm#ts4 maxis cc#the sims 4 cc#ts4mm#ts4 clothing cc
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"I was always more of a quiet kid, greatly preferring my books and toys, and the company of those that I was familiar with. I suppose that's why Fritz and I got on well -- We were of the same temperament and had more than a couple shared interests.
Being a part of such an unconventional family hasn't always been easy... Especially now that I'm more grown and am more aware of tensions brought about by politics and the like. But I wouldn't change it for the world."
Portrait descriptions under the cut!!
Portrait 1: The Berlin Family, painted in more recent times.
(L to R Back)
Otto (Order of St. John), Niklot (Reiner's son, Neubrandenburg), Konrad (Berlin), Gilbert (Prussia), Rahela (Gilbert's wife, Romania), Reiner (Brandenburg), Ilse (Potsdam), Johanna (Koenigsberg),
(L to R Front)
Ludwig (German Empire), Sztefa (Silesia)
- Gilbert and Rahela were wed in 1866, after Prince Karl of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen came to the Romanian throne as King Carol I of Romania. The marriage is purely political, but the two maintain a cordial and warm friendship. much to Erzsi's dismay
- Niklot is Reiner's son, born from a human lover he had before the 30 Years War. Father and son were only recently reunited in the 1820s.
- Sztefa is Gilbert's adopted daughter, taken in during the First Silesian war, and raised in part by Frederick II. Served in the volunteer corps during the Napoleonic era disguised as a man. Is Ludwig's scary lesbian older sister.
Portrait 2: The Vienna family, painted c. 1830s.
(L to R Back)
Erzsebet (Hungary), Sztefa, Anneliese (Vienna), Roderich (Austria)
(L to R Front)
Ludwig, Gilbert
- Roderich may be bonded to Austria, but his sister Anneliese, who embodies the capital, takes more of a leading role when it comes to government matters.
#answered#ask19thcenturydoctorgilbert#hetalia ask blog#reboot#hws prussia#gilbert beilschmidt#hws germany#ludwig beilschmidt#hws ocs#hws brandenburg#hws berlin#hws potsdam#hws konigsberg#hws hungary#hws austria#hws nyo austria#good LORD thats a lot to tag dsjkksd#welp welcome to lud's crazy family#there's so much tea and drama bubbling under the smiley surface
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Part 7 of Letters from Watson, "Light in the Darkness," has one spot where contemporary readers would have been the edge of their walnut, horsehair-stuffed, plush-covered seats, murmuring: "It's got to be... can it really be... it must be... c'mon Holmes, surely you see this!" Then there's another where the reaction would be: "But how? I have so many questions!"
C'mon Holmes, surely you see it!
Holmes' "perfect shriek of delight" at realizing how he ought to test a key clue is what the savvy reader was surely feeling, no matter how ungentlemanly it might be by the standards of its day.
What got me digging into the matter of the pills is that Watson, Lestrade, and Gregson seem too unconcerned with what poison is involved. While forensic toxicology was nowhere near what we see on crime shows now, the concept existed. The Marsh test for arsenic had been developed back in the 1830s, to prove arsenic poisoning in suspected murder cases. While this poison is clearly too fast-acting to be arsenic -- or even the Aqua Tofana of the newspaper editorials -- surely if there was one poison that scientists tested for, there were at least efforts to test for more.
Showing little concern over something that seems important and puzzling is usually, in old texts, an indication that whatever-it-was wasn't puzzling to contemporaries.
Here, nobody is puzzled because in this period, everyone who enjoyed sensation stories and true crime already knew that of course if you have a poison duel, the poison is water-soluble and fast-acting. As far as I can tell from stories under the excellent Poison Duels tag on Strange History, the poison used in poison duels wasn't specified in these tales (which might be outright urban legends). The poison in a poison duel is just that kind of poison.
In a poison duel, the combatants each choose a pill to dissolve in their drink. One is a harmless placebo. The other is a fast-acting deadly poison. These stories had been popular since at least the 1820s and kept recurring. Were they true? That's dubious. It's possible that the murder method here is the equivalent of a meme.
Why have a poison duel? As a duel, it's a matter of honor, so Drebber and the murderer are, for some reason, heinously offended with one another. But why poison? Why not pistols at dawn?
Traditional dueling had been outlawed in the UK in 1819, though the United States was slower and less consistent in banning it. More important, though, is that a poison duel was the (dramatic, hypothetical) choice if one party was physically unfit to duel or if one party was seen as being beneath the other in status and honor.
Drebber has been established as wealthy (his gold ornaments), penny-pinching (his other clothes and his choice of lodging), and uncouth to the point of casually sexually assaulting his landlady's innocent daughter. Either the murderer is a man with standards who sees Drebber as beneath him, or Drebber is a snob who sees the murderer as beneath him.
Since we still don't have an explanation for the wedding ring, I'm right there in the smoking lounge with 1880s readers in speculating that Drebber assaulted, coerced, or otherwise harmed a young woman that the murderer cared about. Sister? Sweetheart? We've already got a brother-avenges-sister pair in the story: is this foreshadowing?
But how? I have so many questions!
Holmes characterizes our murderer as "a shrewd and desperate man.... [who can] change his name, and vanish in an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great city." This feels like the build-up to having a little vehmgericht conspiracy as a treat, but that red herring is swiftly pickled.
(The steel handcuffs with springs that Holmes touts are an improvement over the D-shaped cuffs in use at the time.)
The murderer is...
...a taxi driver?
But taxi drivers in London had been licensed since the mid-1600s and had been required to demonstrate "the knowledge" of London streets for 15-20 years by the time of the story! Taxi driver was not a job that a person could fake with the same readiness as picking up a ladder and passing as a laborer.
It's a great job for being invisible on the streets of London, since cabs were everywhere. Unlicensed cabs probably operated, but not for long. How had the murderer come by a cab to drive? I have so many questions!
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📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2023 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #4
🎤 Can you believe we’ve had four weeks already of amazing creations!! We certainly can’t! We hope you’re enjoying the music and music inspired drarry.
There’s about one and a half weeks of works left to post, so buckle up for the final countdown! 🎶
As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:
Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️
And here for the YouTube playlist.
Please enjoy this week’s entries below the cut:
🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶
📻 anywhere with you [Gen, Digital Art]
🎵 Song Prompt: Anywhere With You by Maggie Rogers
🎵 Summary:
I'll go anywhere, anywhere with you.
🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶
📻 Weapons of Massive Consumption [E, 38,634]
🎵 Song Prompt: The Fear by Lily Allen
🎵 Summary:
Eight years after the war, Harry Potter lives a life of hedonism: raging parties, huge impulse purchases, and seemingly no worries.
But it's Draco Malfoy—former Death Eater, lover of blueberry muffins, and bane of coffee shop workers—who starts to wonder if it's all a front, if something's actually terribly wrong with him. Why else would Potter ask Draco, of all fucking people, to write his biography?
📻 Bonne Foi, Draco Malfoy [E, 19,390]
🎵 Song Prompt: So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings by Squirrel Flower
🎵 Summary:
Sanctimonia Vincet Semper: The Malfoy Legacy Inheritance Ritual must be undertaken by an heir pure of blood and strong of will. He will lend his body, his magic, and his mind to the Estate, and thus control the direction of the next generation of powerful Malfoy magicks. He and the Estate will both be made stronger by the ritual.
-from the journals of Septimus Malfoy, 1820
At twenty-five, Draco Malfoy has to return to England to do something about the Manor, and Harry Potter won’t leave him alone. His years-old crush on Potter is reignited over repairs, mermaid lemonades, and pocket owl messages.
📻 The Wedding Shed [E, 2,057]
🎵 Song Prompt: 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies' by Panic! at the Disco
🎵 Summary:
One would consider the day his best friend got married to be an occasion where he did not have to show any sort of poise. But apparently, Ronald Weasley thoroughly misjudged the entire situation.
📻 LA, Who Am I To Love You? [E, 42,525]
🎵 Song Prompt: Venice Bitch by Lana del Rey
🎵 Summary:
Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.
📻 All I Think About [T, 4,429]
🎵 Song Prompt: Heat Waves by Glass Animals
🎵 Summary:
Sometimes all it takes is one perfect late summer night in June.
📻 Put It On Your Face Boy [E, 3,380]
🎵 Song Prompt: 'Daddy AF' by 'Slayyyter'
🎵 Summary:
Harry watches as Draco's hips sway to the beat. He sips his muggle bourbon and imagines the noises they would make if Harry had Draco's legs draped over his shoulders. With liquid courage flowing through his veins, Harry slammed the drink down on the bar and wove his way through the crowd towards the northern star that had been calling his name for years.
📻 What We Left Behind [E, 32,815]
🎵 Song Prompt: The Day We Caught The Train by Ocean Colour Scene
🎵 Summary:
Harry's recovering from an injury. Malfoy's recovering from heartbreak.
Beaten down and bruised, Harry takes up Malfoy's offer to stay at his secluded seaside cottage in Dorset. It'll be good to get away from it all. It's only for a few days, and it's only so he can heal. Nothing else.
Digging up past feelings will only make matters worse, and besides, Malfoy doesn't feel the same way. Does he?
📻 Nothing But You On My Mind [M, 29,404]
🎵 Song Prompt: Crazy English Summer by Faithless
🎵 Summary:
Potter has been in Australia on an internship for almost a year, and Draco cannot wait for him to get back home. They'll finally have a chance to talk about their feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong?
Loads, as it turns out.
🎶 H/D Wireless Podfic 🎶
📻 [Podfic] remember me [T, 2:50:44]
🖋️ Original author: hupsoonheng
🎵 Song Prompt: Remember Me from Coco
🎵 Summary:
On a chilly day in October, Draco kisses Harry goodbye before he goes on yet another dangerous, undercover mission with the Aurors.
And then Harry doesn't come back.
Only Draco believes that Harry isn't dead, and pours himself into finding his husband despite his friends' pleas to move on and grieve properly. What he finds at the end of that work, though, is not at all what he wanted.
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idk if this is good i just wrote it and didn’t edit it IDK MAN IDK WHAT THIS IS i hope you enjoy it tho xo
rowaelin // 1820 words
It wasn’t the first time Aelin had cursed her socialite lifestyle, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last, but she really hated that a full camera crew was filming every second of Aedion and Lysandra’s wedding tonight.
Not because she didn’t want the event well documented. This footage would immortalize their love for each other in a beautiful way and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would never be able to watch it back and not shed a healthy amount of tears. If anything, she was grateful for that aspect of how chaotic their lives tended to be. What she wasn’t looking forward to seeing was Rowan Whitethorn’s face sneaking in and out of frame while he enjoyed the party.
Aelin could deal with everything this night threw at her, but she hated that she kept catching glimpses of the top of his silver head over everyone else’s, or that he looked unfairly delicious in a dark, forest green tuxedo that fit his frame perfectly. She hated the feeling of his gaze on her when she wasn’t looking, and she especially hated when they made eye contact from opposite sides of the dance floor.
The option to disappear completely wasn’t on the table. As maid of honor, she had duties to fulfill and knew there would be a million and one rumors about her having a falling out with Lys or Aedion. Though they laughed about all that outrageously ridiculous gossip, she refused to have that trump the day that was solely about them.
So instead of trying to make herself blend into the background or hiding in the bathroom, she had taken to being keenly aware of where Rowan was at all times so that she could easily avoid bumping into him and having to talk to him at all. So far, through the ceremony and the first leg of the reception, it was a success. Her shitty relationship drama wasn’t going to muddy up the wedding, especially when Rowan and Aedion had only recently began to speak after two years of radio silence on Aedion’s part.
Their breakup had been very public. More than one episode of the reality show that followed the scandalous lives of Orynth’s elite had featured her crying over everything she and Rowan had lost. Though she never watched the show unless she was feeling sentimental, she especially avoided the clips from that part of her life. It was a chapter she had slammed shut, and she refused to look back on any of it. Not yet, anyway.
Truthfully, Aelin didn’t like thinking about it because she always tried to look back on it with rose colored lenses. There were many nights that she lay awake, watching her ceiling fan spin in spirals while trying to avoid a mental one of her own.
It wasn’t that anything truly terrible had been the reason for their breakup. Rowan’s career simply took off and, in the process of a blooming music career, their relationship had taken the backseat. He got too busy, long distance was hard, and they had grown apart.
Except she didn’t feel like she was the one that drifted away. Even with oceans between them, she made her best efforts to show up when it mattered to him, to talk to him as much as she could despite a busy schedule of her own. And then one night while they lay in bed on a rare weekend he had free to visit her in Orynth, she’d whispered the words that shattered her heart and crushed her soul: I can’t do this anymore.
It was all too hard, too much. It felt as though they had gone from being madly in love and bordering on obsessed with each other to struggling to hold a conversation. Rowan was often exhausted from long days of travel, rehearsals, or shows. Aelin worked hard, long days between filming the show and working on her designs for the next season.
Rowan had tried to fight her on the breakup, insisting that things would get better, but neither of them could figure out the when and the how. He had begged, made promises that she knew he couldn’t keep, and swore up and down, left and right, that he would be better and more present. But after months of drifting, she couldn’t see the shore anymore. By the time she said it out loud, there was nothing he could say or do that would fix it. Aelin had made up her mind and waited until she couldn’t handle it anymore. And then she just… shut down.
It had caused a big falling out with their friend group. A few had been on his side, a few on hers. Aedion was blindly loyal to Aelin and cut ties with Rowan almost immediately after watching her slowly crumble from heartbreak. It had only been three months ago when he’d tentatively asked her how she would feel if Rowan was at the wedding.
“Aedion, it’s not about me. You used to be best friends. If you want him there, then he should be there,” she told him, squeezing his hands as she spoke. Aelin had even told him early on he should invite Rowan, something he had shot down at the time. But as time went on Aelin could see it was bothering him. That getting married without his best friend since he could walk at least in the room would leave a single piece of happiness missing on the best day of his life. Of course she had insisted he be invited. It wasn’t about her, that was the truth.
But seeing him had been more painful than she had anticipated, even five years later, and she was tired of knowing where he was in the room at any given millisecond. As she had the thought, their eyes locked across the dancefloor and she quickly turned to find anything else to do than be caught in a staring contest with the love of her life. Instead of walking away, though, she slammed into the hard body of her cousin.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He teased, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. Aelin conjured up one of her infamous mischievous smirks as she gestured toward the open bar.
“Where else?”
“The dance floor. You owe me a dance.” At those words, her heart softened and she patted his cheek, taking his arm and allowing him to pull her into the center of their dancing friends. A slow song that sounded vaguely familiar drifted through the speakers as they fell into a relaxed carriage, Aedion leading them in slow circles.
“Our mothers are probably weeping over this,” she joked, eyes scanning the crowd once more to where Evalin and Aerin stood arm and arm with their husbands. The matriarchs had their phones already pointed to the cousins and deep laughter rumbled from Aedion’s chest. Aelin stuck her tongue out toward the two women, her mother shooting her a flat look over the top of her phone before she let herself be swept back into the moment with the man who was so much like a brother to her. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”
“I think you’re going to take that back in about ten seconds.” As Aelin’s brows wrinkled in confusion, Aedion spun her around and– let go of her hand that was quickly caught by someone else.
The easy, relaxed posture she had with Aedion disappeared almost immediately as she scowled at him over her shoulder. He mouthed an apology, one that she mentally flushed down the toilet, and turned around to stare at the bowtie tied around Rowan’s neck.
There was no need to look up to know it was him. Aelin knew the callouses that scarred his fingers and palms, knew his warm smell of pine and snow. Her entire body was rigid while he led her in a slow dance as the song played on. Everyone around them had definitely clocked the encounter, and Aelin caught Lys smacking Aedion’s shoulder while he held his hands up defensively.
The worst part about the entire thing was how badly she wanted to relax into his body, his touch. She wanted the hand that rested on her side to slip to her exposed lower back and hold her closer. It made her want to cry, but she exhaled slowly and willed her emotions to simmer instead of breaking the dam she had so carefully built around anything that had to do with Rowan.
“I’m sorry for ambushing you,” he finally said, his thumb soothingly stroking soft circles over the bare skin of her ribs.
“I doubt that,” she replied, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. Rowan’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. Aelin frowned.
“I’m a little sorry,” he amended, eyes sparkling in the low, twinkling lights that surrounded them. Aelin didn’t say anything, shifting her eyes to the dark green fabric of his suit instead of the piercing green of his eyes. It maybe made her a shitty dance partner, but she couldn’t get her body to relax. Every muscle was stiff, even her fingers where they rest on his arm. Her nails were pressed into the skin of his hand where he held it, but it didn’t seem enough to push him away. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Maybe you should have told me that more often before,” she quipped, unable to keep her mouth shut. Typical.
“I should have.” Surprise must have flashed on her face, because he nodded, letting out a sigh. “I should have done a lot of things that I didn’t do, that I stopped doing. I should have tried harder.”
“I don’t want to rehash our old bullshit at Aedion’s wedding,” she said tightly, jaw clenching over every word he said. “Time and place, Rowan. I know you were never good at that, but–”
“I’m sorry.” Aelin stilled at his words, something about hearing them now threatening to break down every wall she had built where he was concerned. “For all of it, Fireheart. You deserved better than what I gave you that last year. You deserve more than that. I was young and stupid, and I’m sorry. I never meant–”
“It’s a little late for all of that, Rowan.” Aelin pulled her hand from his and stumbled out of his arms, catching the bicep of a college friend of her cousin’s to steady herself. She wouldn’t fall, not with the way Rowan had immediately caught her hips to keep that from happening.
“Ace–” He started, but she shoved his hands off of her and held up her hand to stop him.
Without another glance over her shoulder, Aelin gathered the bottom of her gown in her fist and disappeared from the dance floor with a burning hole in her heart.
#writing#my writing#rowaelin#fanfic#tog fanfic#rowan whitethorn#aelin galathynius#slow dancing in a burning room#sdinabr#aelin ashryver galathynius#aedion ashryver#lysandra#wedding#second chance romance#second chance au#socialite au#reality show au#tog#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfic#fanfiction#tog fic
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Ketubbah from Casale Monferrato, 1772
Celebrating the marriage of Meir ben Johanan Solomon (known as Jonah Zalman) and Zipporah bat Simeon Hayyim Levi Morello on Friday, 1 Adar II 5532 (March 6, 1772).
This exquisitely decorated marriage contract records the wedding of members of two of the most important families in the Piedmontese town of Casale Monferrato. The groom, Emilio Meir Vitta Zalman (1756-1820), was the scion of a prominent family of landowners and bankers. He was a lay member of Napoleon’s Sanhedrin, and his son, Giuseppe Raffaele Vitta, was made a baron in 1855 for his contribution to the nation in assisting soldiers wounded in the Crimean War.
The document is lavishly decorated with a richly colored floral border within which cupids frolic. The family emblems of the groom and bride adorn the ketubbah and appear in ovals at the top right and left of the document. The tapered shape of the parchment’s lower portion is a characteristic feature of ketubbot from Casale Monferrato and gives the document the appearance of a shield. The small but active Italian Jewish community of Casale Monferrato is well known for its synagogue, an architectural jewel of baroque magnificence, as well as for the production of beautiful ceremonial objects. Surprisingly, however, fewer than a dozen decorated ketubbot from seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Casale Monferrato survive, and the present marriage contract is a rare, splendid example of the manner in which the Jews of Piedmont would celebrate their joyous occasions.
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A rare group of Chinese Export porcelain Green "Quaker Farmer" tea and coffee wares
1800-1810
Including a drum form teapot, helmet-form creamer, covered sugar bowl and five coffee cups with four saucers.
The original owners of this service were likely Luke Wistar Morris (1768-1830) and his second wife, Ann Pancoast Morris (1764-1858), and thence by descent to the present owners. Luke was a brother of Israel Wistar Morris and brother-in-law to Mary Hollingsworth Morris (see note below)
Note and Literature
By tradition, the pattern source for the “Quaker Farmer“ or “Cow China” pattern was a 7 ½ in. x 2 ¾ in. graphite and ink wash sketch by Mary Hollingsworth Morris (1776-1820), wife of Israel Wistar Morris (1778-1870), an investor in the China trade, of Philadelphia. The drawing purportedly accompanied Mary’s brother, Henry Hollingsworth, a supercargo for the shipping firm of Willing & Francis, to China. It is thought that Mary’s inspiration was a Dutch source or the Hollingsworth family Philadelphia-area farm “Greenhill.”
Very few pieces of Quaker Farmer in green enamel have survived; black, sepia and grisaille being the most common color enamels used with the pattern. It has been suggested, by the late dealer Elinor Gordon, and others that the ship carrying the unique green enamel Quaker Farmer service, ordered for the 1803 wedding of Elizabeth Jeffries (1783-1867) and Samuel Shipley (1777-1848), sank in the Delaware River and was salvaged some years later.
Freeman’s
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