I've been thinking of DanBea for days now ... and it's @jon-withnoh 's fault honestly. anyway, uncensored version on Bluesky yall ( give me a follow there! i need more mutuals</3 )
A soft Mrs Danvers for @jon-withnoh from their fic "Was wird aus uns, wenn man ihn hängt ? // What will happen to us if they hang him ?". 💖 Hope you like it !
Raising her eyebrows curiously, she followed me to the other side of the room. I made sure the Christmas tree hid us from view before I took her hand.
“I have something for you. It is a day early, but I thought you might want to wear it for the holiday tomorrow.” I crouched down in front of the tree and extracted a small package from below its bottom branches. It was a jeweller’s box, clumsily wrapped in a red bow.
She untied the bow easily, folding the red ribbon and placing it in her pocket. I held my breath as she opened the box. Her face first blanched, then turned scarlet as she picked up the small item within. It was a silver brooch, a delicate construction of leaves twining around a single, blood-red orchid.
“Madam,” she whispered. “How?”
“They were her favourite, weren’t they?” I matched my whisper to hers, taking care that we were still hidden behind the tree. “You were forbidden from mourning her for so long, I thought you might want something to remember her by.”
It was one of the few times I had ever seen her lost for words. I took her hand again and held it gently, drawing circles in her palm with my thumb. “I’ll rejoin the others now. Take as much time as you need.”
I let go of her hand and walked towards the drinks table with as much nonchalance as I could muster. When I returned to the group with a glass of wine in my hand, I saw that Danny had left the room. My initial excitement gave way to concern, but she appeared by my side a few minutes later.
“It’s taken care of, Madam,” she said quietly, referencing some fictional errand I had sent her on.
“Thank you, Mrs Danvers.” My heart leapt as I turned to look at her. There, at the base of her throat, was the silver brooch. The firelight caught the dark shape of the orchid, breaking and twisting on it until the flower seemed almost alive, pulsating against the collar of her dress.
The corresponding snippet of text from Chapter 19 of Was Wird Aus Uns, just so we can all appreciate how awesome this art is!
I’m always thinking about clothes and clothes hold so much significance in Rebecca and I just need to say that I would redesign Danny’s costume for the musical to set her firmly in the past that she can’t let go of. Everybody else dressed for 1926, Danny dressed for 1916 or thereabouts. I don’t recall if it’s ever explicitly stated how long Maxim and Rebecca were married, but the number 10 is rattling around in my head so it’s what I’m going with. It would distance her further from reality and do some of the storytelling for her character visually. She doesn’t care for what’s new, she wants things to stay the way they were with Rebecca. So she would probably be wearing the same kind of uniform in 1926 that she would’ve been wearing when she and Rebecca first came to Manderley however many years ago.
Something along the lines of this silhouette, which isn’t terribly far off from the existing costume, but is still different. A wash dress or tub dress would simply be the most practical daily attire!
No weird hip peplum thing, and proper undergarments so that the frumpy unfitted bodice has that soft pigeon-breast shape.
There’s still quite a bit of fabric in the skirt, but rather than flaring out at the hips it falls more straight—flattened hips are in from this point on until curves start to come back into fashion later in the 1930s. Remember, fabric was rationed during WW1–and the kind of thrift that was instilled in everyone during that time, let alone someone like Mrs. Danvers, is a value that would likely stick around for awhile in rural areas like the coast where Manderley sits (as opposed to cities, where trends and goods cycle much faster), giving her more reason to keep wearing the same things: they are perfectly serviceable garments, no need to spend the time or money making replacements. That would be inefficient and wasteful.
I’m almost certain that the existing hip peplum and slouchy bodice are intentional to make the actress appear stern and frumpy, but that also doesn’t scan right for me—Mrs. Danvers would keep her clothes perfectly tailored. There’s also something to be said of the implications of an older style—even if you’re not a fashion historian, most people see an older style and immediately have some sort of association of seniority or authority (it distinguishes an older person when in contrast to newer styles) as well as a certain frumpiness or orneriness (the resolution not to change). If it’s properly tailored and has the proper support garments (girdle and brassiere at this point, maybe a bust bodice for shaping, but we’re past corsets and into flattening the hips without accentuating the natural waist), it can have the same effect and communicate more about the character’s past and motivations.
I think one of the best examples of this tactic I’ve seen in costuming is Jessica chastain’s character in crimson peak—I clocked immediately that her clothing was 15-20 years out of style, and it told me right away that the passage of time (and the refusal to accept the passage of time) was an important aspect of the story.
Anyway I’m absolutely supposed to be doing something else right now and none of the books I have in the office go past the 1890s so. This post would be better if I had access to the 1910s catalog reproductions that I have in my workshop at home.
"I thought I might have been mistaken just from reading your letters," Beatrice said pensively, "but you really have grown. You are quite changed from the person I knew you to be before."
"I know."
I was very comfortable next to her on the settee. Her closeness did not bother me, in fact, I welcomed it. I had gone too long with only one person for company. It felt entirely natural that my head should come to her shoulder; that her hand, after brushing a loose thread off my dressing gown, should come to rest just above my knee.
"Before it all came apart," I said, "when we had just met... I often wished that we could be closer."
"So did I."
"But even before... I thought myself so very inferior I could not have confided in you. And then when they found her, when Maxim – well after that it was impossible." I drew back for a moment to find her looking at me. Her face was soft, so much easier to read than her brother's. There was no difficulty in taking her hand and raising it to my lips, in pressing a kiss into her open palm. "I do not think that way now."
Tiny Beatrich snippet for you all. I have one hook for a Beatrich fic and this is it. Is this something you'd want to read more of?
Dialogue prompt! "Why are you here?" "I need to see you."
Whatever pairing you'd like <3
“Why are you here?” The door had only opened a crack. Danny’s eyes behind it were narrow, suspicious.
“I needed to see you.”
Danny’s face grew hard. She made to close the door, but Beatrice surged forward and wedged her foot into the crack between door and doorframe.
“Please.” For good measure, she wrapped her hand around the side of the door. Let Danny break her fingers if she dared. “I came alone.”
“You could have drawn him here.”
“He hasn’t left his room in days. He won’t even know I was gone.”
It was another minute or so before Danny opened the door. She stared at Beatrice, her expression unchanged. Finally, she stood back. Beatrice stepped into the room. She knew her curiosity was showing on her face. She had never set foot inside Rebecca’s flat before. It was a miracle she had even been able to find out the address. The corridor she had stepped into was more plain than she had expected. When she followed Danny into the kitchen, she found it equally unassuming. Only one door led off from it, firmly closed.
“Is she in there?” Beatrice asked. She took a step towards the door, but Danny beat her to it, barring the way. Up close, Beatrice could hear her breathing, quick and shallow. She was worried.
“She’s asleep,” Danny said softly. Her hand came to Beatrice’s arm, gripping her sleeve. “She hadn’t slept in days. Please. Leave her be.”
Beatrice closed her eyes, opened them again, and tried to ignore the burning sensation deep in her chest. “I should hate you for it. For everything you’ve done to my family.”
Danny snorted. “He deserved it. He deserved everything he got and more.”
Beatrice wrenched her arm free. Her fingertips were numb and cold. “And what about me? Did I deserve this?” She jerked her head towards the bedroom door. “Did she?”
Danny’s face twitched. “She made a choice. She wanted to be free of him. I freed her.”
“And what kind of freedom is this? A life on the run? A life in poverty?”
“A life in companionship,” Danny snarled. “A life lived in the utmost certainty that no man will ever harm her again.”
Beatrice shook her head, blinking away tears. She felt ill. “I was sorry for you, you know. You chose her over me, and yet all these months I grieved your grief, mourned your loss. Now I know I needn’t have bothered. You seem to have found a worthy replacement.”
Finally, Rebecca’s maid turned, eyes widening with surprise when she realised who had followed her into the narrow servants’ passage. Danvers bowed her head.
“Mrs Lacy. How can I help?”
The question stopped her short. She had not thought beyond catching up with Danvers. Though if she was being honest with herself, she had not thought at all.
“I… I wanted to speak with you for a moment. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Emboldened, Beatrice took a step towards her. Danvers was wearing her usual uniform, her hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. In the rush of the evening’s festivities, a few strands of hair had come loose and were now tucked behind Danvers’ ear. Beatrice had never seen anything more lovely.
“I wanted to thank you for your help the other night,” Beatrice said. There was a slight tremor in her voice. “If I could, I would try and steal you away, but Rebecca would never forgive me.”
“Mrs Lacy…”
“It’s alright.” Beatrice gave her a slight smile. “I won’t come between the two of you. Only…”
She glanced up and down the shadowy corridor. They were alone. Beatrice raised her hand to Danvers’ face, cupping it gently around her jaw. Even in the low light, she could see Danvers’ face flush. She leaned in slowly, carefully, bracing herself for the moment Danvers would push her away. The moment did not come.
Beatrice kissed her, gasping when Danvers’ hand came to her waist, pulling her in. She drew out the kiss as long as she could, pressed closed to Danvers in the dark corridor, her muscles tense. If anyone were to walk in — if anyone saw… With a strangled sound of longing, Beatrice pulled back.
“I needed to do that,” she whispered. “Just this once.”
The 2020 movie is bad but we can all agree that Danny throwing herself in the sea was something that probably went through her mind at least once in all versions, right?
characters that lose the most important person to them and are devastated by having to live in a world without them and get stuck in a futile time loop that turns them crueler and crueler and more and more fervently obsessed with the person they initially lost because they just want a world where that person is alive and are initially written off as heartless before the sickening realization that their devotion is so painfully human. you will always be dear to me.
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