#ofcarlisle

[princebete-archived-moved]

continued

@ofcarlisle

⟅ ⚜ Watching the other bow so graciously, it gave Adam a flutter of nerves. Is this absolutely necessary? This has to be his fate for the night? To be made a fool. Mon dieu... Could this possibly get any worse. Adam is able to feel the intense burning taking over the back of his neck. 

Wishing to walk away, as this whole ordeal was starting to seem like a considerable personal attack, the French prince returned a cordial smile to the one bowing. Immediately allowing himself to bow in answer to their call.

Wondering whether or not to excuse himself from this awkward meeting. Not with Anthony... Nothing particular there. He seemed quite pleasant for a fellow of his rank. It is rare to find any who do not exude the patronizing air. 

Much like himself, years ago...

However, this prince wishes to leave before anything else can be said at the loose lips of the queen. He must find a good reason to depart. Which is when the music, right on queue begins and doing so-does what he does best. Finds it to be a perfect place to take his leave from their small gathering.

Looking to Anthony, the blue eyes motion to him 

❝ Shall we? ❞⚜ ⟆

[princebete-archived-moved]

💀

Send 💀 for your muse to find mine unconscious.

@ofcarlisle

⟅ ⚜  Disorienting to say the least. All the long forgotten prince could think about, downing one glass after another, was the one person he would surely be condemned for thinking on. Especially in the manner of the thinking. 

Damn me.

Damn him. 

Damn 

it

 all. 

Trying to silence the thoughts that crashed down with every heavy second the grandfather clock seemed to chortle. A constant heavy reminder of his aching past, and how every action he makes reflects upon those affiliate. Even now, with each breath, he cannot ever seem to forget or overcome  the immense shame and guilt of those rarely ever mentioned years. 

With each new pour, the glass shrank Adam’s mouth, somehow bigger– the taste had long lost its burn, but the whites of somber blue eyes still remain bloodshot as if he had swallowed a burning piece of coal. 

Finally having his fill, it is far more than enough. The amount of bottles. Pitiful. 

One might mistaken this man as nothing but  a disheveled drunk– who spent his love life on the drink and simply stumbled into this royal abode. 

Attempting to stand up, Adam’s hands and arms slide across the marble of the ornate table, fingers gripping the golden trim. Highly French in it’s design. A piece that would cost the life savings of the working class of any provincial constituent.

And yet he disgracefully lays across it with the unworthy, tainted frame his birther had given him- as a means for stability in this inebriated moment. 

Accosted by the adorned leg, the other boot comes around in an attempt to catch himself, and yet the chair is in his way. 

Quickly his head meets the table’s edge. Combined with intoxication, it is a straight black after that. 

On the floor of his room, the prince lays unresponsive. The temperature nor the sounds of footsteps managed to break the prince from his slumber.. 

Only those particular servants and peoples allowed to enter the room without invitation are able to find this loathsome creature, but are far from their assigned visits. 

Leaving Adam there in his possible coma.⚜ ⟆

[xqueenofscots]

        Grovel, but do it diplomatically. Those were the haunting words Mary kept in mind as she approached the castle. Catherine had taught her well, to realise when she was in a desperate need of help but yet, never truly show it. Needless to say, however, Mary was nervous. With Protestant rebels fighting her from every corner, her return to Scotland had not been an easy one. She only dreamed of a peaceful country, not to be a tyrant and slay those rebels for their beliefs. Sadly, without alliances, her rule would not last very long.

Being announced subtly, Mary led in her travelling court of companions to meet this potential ally. Pursuing a small curtsy in front of him, a sign of respect as his guest. “ Lord Carlisle, I must thank you for seeing me on such short notice. ”

/ @ofcarlisle

[modernprxmetheus]

@ofcarlisle​

“you are welcome to bother any other individual  here,  why has your  attention   directed  itself towards me?”

[notfoul-blog]

There’s a touch of coldness upon him, in how he stands, the lacking smile... the short and simple responses.  He’s keeping his distance, wearing a front as he retains his  ‘ professional ‘  appearance.  It is  FAR  too dangerous to act so casual, Barrow is riddled with fear that expresses itself as anger upon the surface.     “ Will that be all,  SIR ? “

@ofcarlisle

[thefreshprinceofdownton]

 @ofcarlisle

Dear Mary—his pen wavered, as he debated in his customary way how much to share with his cousin. As guilty as he felt to admit it to himself, he found it easier to write to her. Whenever he wrote Lavinia from the front, he found himself trying to fill the page with platitudes, distracting her from the fact that he was risking his life every day, and purposefully leaving out any incidents that might have worried her. In truth, he viewed his dishonesty as a means of protecting her, and thus he felt no shame in his omissions. However, with Mary—he was always candid. He couldn’t speak frankly of the things he had seen or done, but he always made clear his longing for Downton, and the otherworldliness of those days before the war.

And yet, he wanted to tell someone—not just someone, he wanted to tell her—how it was nothing like what he had expected, that no measure of training could have prepared him to bury men, or rather children. In truth, he had written letters, unsent, that detailed his experiences at the front. Edited versions were mailed to Downton, but the letters that he kept tucked away in his footlocker were cathartic in a way. They were the only things that kept him sane.

“Sir?”

Matthew folded the practically blank page and tucked it away in his desk, standing up and returning the lieutenant’s salute.

“Major Rawlings requests your presence in his dugout.”

Any time that Rawlings wanted to see him usually meant only one thing—they were going over the top. He took off his jerkin and hung it on the wall, picked his cap up from his desk, and followed the messenger to his superior officer’s dugout.

Some of the other officers had already arrived, as there were chairs set up around the rather spacious dugout that doubled as their divisional briefing room. Removing his cap, Matthew took a seat in the back and waited for the presentation to begin.

[ofearls-blog]

Tag a quality blog, You’re it! Quality doesn’t means that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how many followers you have. Send this to 15 blogs who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them. :)

Ahhhh thank you, this is too sweet! You’re amazing and I hope you’re having a splendid holiday!