maladies of the dead.

[yellowjonquils-blog]

Well okay, I only owe two replies.

Feel free to reply, ladies and gents.

[tommiler]

[yellowjonquils-blog]

PSA.

Keep reading

[yellowjonquils-blog]

PSA.

Keep reading

[withoutsiin-archive-blog]

no— she truly hasn’t done it before, though there’s no way to prove that. but TRUST is meant to be earned, yes ?? she can’t just give the gentleman her word && expect him to believe that she’s a cent of honesty in her. no, that runs further than mere words.

“ i haven’t done it. i hope never to do so, because to do such a thing— it’s not only hurting others, but it’s tainting your own soul, by hurting someone in such a way. ”

a quick shake of her head: she must ( && quickly ) expel such cruel thoughts from her mind !! it’s but an explanation, but lucy feels a great guilt settling over her shoulders at thoughts of it.

[yellowjonquils-blog]

Ah, Dorian knows many things about tainted souls. Well, his own soul, and he can’t be expected to know more than his own.  ‘Why not? Do you not think that there is some thrill in it? In watching the light drain from the eyes of another? Not necessarily in death, but something else? I’m unsure how to explain at the moment,’ he says. He’s had too much to drink and he’s not really sure what he’s saying, he’s not sure what he’s getting at.  ‘It’s interesting.’

[maestrodartea]

leonardo could not help but laugh. no money was exchanged for the testing of his machine, no. the poor child volunteered. leonardo hardly believed that he would ever see him again. all the same he felt it was worth it.                              “He chose it, I am afraid. No compensation necessary!”                                                                        madman. he was called that often.                                                                        and sometimes it struck a nerve.              he was not mad simply because he dreamt              of the future and attempted to make it the              present. no. he was simply… a visionary.                                                   grinning, the artist led dorian through                                                  the streets of florence to his home and                                                  place of work.

                    “Welcome to my home.”       and with that, he pushed the door to his       workshop open, wide and unashamed of       the chaos that lay inside.

[yellowjonquils-blog]

Dorian allows himself to be led away through the streets of Florence. His shoes kick up the dust on the cobblestones and it seems to him that every city with any heat has dusty floors, why that is he’s not sure. There’s never any dust in London, there is mud and there is dirt and water, but there is never dust – eliminated as soon as it it spotted, he knows. He demands it of his staff. Perhaps he should allow it to settle. There is chaos inside this workshop, there is papers and wood and the smell of passion and genius and it makes Dorian, almost, salivate. Lovely.  ‘A flying machine would not fit in this workshop. If you lied to me to bring me here, you needn’t have – I’d have come anyway.’

[yellowjonquils-blog]

PSA.

So, I’m unsure if many of you have heard, but I have recently had a baby (nearly two weeks ago now) and obviously that takes up a lot of my time and energy, meaning that things are going to be slow. My replies will be slow, but they will still be coming for all the threads I’ve already got going – and I will have replied to them all tonight, if I miss you out, tell me!

As for NEW threads, I’m going to need help with them – you will probably have to write the starter unless I’ve got a specific idea.

[holmescouture-archive]

“Interested parties, to START. A business is only as successful as the clients make it, after all. Admittedly, fashionable LADIES will always be in need of the newest undergarments, but I have a keen interest in offering a highly discrete line of services for ALTERNATIVE clients. I was told you would be a safe party to discuss this with? Perhaps even act as a LIAISON for those who may not be able to walk into my London shop under disguised pretenses.” After all, a man without a wife could hardly walk into a corsetier shop without arousing suspicion. “I also hear you keep a certain type of company. The type that might be interested in what I have to offer.”

[yellowjonquils-blog]

‘I would not worry about interested parties, I am unsure of how much you have heard but I am in no doubt that you have heard something. The aristocracy loves to gossip. The alternatives, I would think, would be much easier for me to procure for you, ladies of note are not best done with me – they are corrupted by association!’  And at this he laughs. He laughs because it’s true and he finds it hilarious. Hilarious that the women would be so tarnished and that the men still seek him out, he is still talk of the town, talked of by those who are his friends and those who only think they are.  ‘A liaison, too, I suppose I could do. Perhaps you would be open to expanding to out-calls, at it were, I come to you first and you come out for the fittings. Hotels, probably, best for that.’

[ronmanmob]

‘Anova wha’ precisely, Dorian?’ The question was a polite one; the use of the young man’s name purely down to Ron’s enjoyment of its sound and how much he felt it suited the look of him. ‘Tell me y’preference. I’ll pick up y’tab. Been t’Cambridge m’self. Lovely place, even f’th’ less educated man. Beau’iful campus there…Little rivah…’  Ruminating fondly on his brief visit to the university town, Ron took a little sip of his gin and tonic and eyed his companion thoughtfully. His obvious comfort, even boredom, with their surroundings and the wider company they were keeping made him wonder at the circles he traveled in. Ronnie Kray wasn’t the only name in the room by a good way. He’d rubbed shoulders with at least two gents from the American Mafia since arriving, and had clapped eyes on another couple of villains from his neck of the woods as he did his rounds too. 

Fine company for him, but for Dorian?

‘Ow y’ear ov this gatherin?’

[yellowjonquils-blog]

‘An Old Fashioned, if you wouldn’t mind,’ he replies. He doesn’t need this man to pick up the tab, or to even buy a single drink, but he supposes that Ron has just as much money as he does, only he supposes that Ron has had to work for that money, be it by calloused hands or by sharper wit. He’s not sure which yet. ‘I’m very well known in certain circles and I should be whispered about if I don’t show my face in them at least once a year, they’d imagine I’d kicked the bucket, no doubt. I’d have them on me like crows – aristocrats have no sense of decency, really. I didn’t hear of the gathering, I was invited. Obligated, really.’ Dorian laughs.  ‘What about you? Are you the illustrious host, or just another unfortunate bystander? My apologies if it’s the former.’

[captiivelark-blog]

With great caution , Johanna followed the guest , as it was POINTLESS to stay there and watch the judge with no one accompanying him. She saw enough of her guardian as it was. 

Certainly , there was no chance of her being CAUGHT - on the matter of sneaking about and escaping places Turpin wished to KEEP her , Johanna was quite an expert , and ( according to HERSELF ) her methods of doing so were foolproof. Which was why the bird’s heart swelled so full with alarm and SKIPPED several thuds as the unfamiliar man called out to her. 

He saw her. How could this be? Taking in consideration that Turpin’s thundering and FORCEFUL footsteps were not approaching Johanna’s way in fury , she could assume that her guardian remained BLIND to her presence elsewhere than her chambers. Yet this man had gotten glance of Judge Turpin’s often-talked about ward , who GREETED the people of the world from behind the glass of her window , and had not said a word to the girl’s FATHER about it. The rose could only pray her absence from her BEDROOM would go unspoken to the judge when the visitor returned to the man in the other room. 

‘ Spying ‘ - the word created a sour taste in Johanna’s mouth. The notion seemed far too conniving and MALEVOLENT than the ward’s innocent intentions. Though she pondered NOT replying to the stranger’s call momentarily , Johanna recognized it would be useless as he already knew her to be THERE.

“ I wasn’t spying , “ Johanna protested quietly from her CURRENT location without revealing where THAT was. “ I don’t like that word. It’s dreadfully boring spending EACH hour hidden away in my chambers - I wanted to know WHO it was my father was meeting today. “

[yellowjonquils-blog]

‘And yet,’ he replies to the empty room. ‘Hiding and watching is spying, I believe the very definition of the word – furtive observation, and if what you are doing is not furtive then I don’t know what is.’  How strange it is to speak to the darkness, but this time knowing that there is something, someone, there to listen, to respond, it makes his other interactions with the night seem positively useless. He is to be spoiled now, with replies. A small smile comes to his face. He wonders how it must be, to be locked away like she it. The entirety of London knows the story of Johanna, where indeed there is a story to know, a small smirk and he moves his hands to his chest. ‘Well, if you choose to come out of hiding, worry not that I will tell your father. I don’t much care for him, myself, he’s too serious, too stern, in fact a little boring, too. How dull it must be for you.’ Dorian Gray knows just what this girl looks like, he has seen her at the window and, if truth be told, she is why he is here, longing to catch a glance of her in the flesh. Longing for the flesh, to give her the very apple to bite with his own hands. That would be beautiful. ‘But I shan’t force you to do anything.’

[fuckyeahcostumedramas]

Colin Firth & Ben Barnes in ‘Dorian Gray’ (2009).

                  “Truly?” the fact that this man wanted to see his flying machine… well that meant he wasn’t boring, didn’t it?                                                                               he grinned and stood as well,                                                                               a wide cocky smile on his lips.                                   “Come! My studio is not far!”           where leonardo kept the thing. and this, he           felt, would solidify the idea that he was not           a boring artist. he was an inventor as well.                                                                  “I’ve flown a child among the                                                                          clouds with it.”

[yellowjonquils-blog]

Any would be interested in seeing a flying machine, he supposes that even the Queen of England would have made the trip to Florence if this thing is what he says it is. A smile comes to his face because Leonardo’s enthusiasm is, well, contagious, and who is he to deny the other man his opportunity to show off? ‘Oh, what poor soul needed money so badly that they would sacrifice their child to the inventions of a, hm, madman?’ he asks. There is a little smirk on his lips as his eyes move down to the ivory-topped cane. The little elephant looks up at Leonardo with its glittering, emerald eyes, trunk twinkling ruby in the sunlight, and it tells Dorian to go just as much as he wants to go. 

[yellowjonquils-blog]

@holmescouture There is something erotic in the high collars of men in days past (of his current dandies), nowadays they sit low on the throat, a simple knot keeping material together. A little lacklustre if one were to ask Dorian Gray – and it is rather often that young men do. He is happy to give them his advice. And yet he is no expert, he is not a professional, not like the young fellow Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes – a name heard only in certain circles – and his new business. Dorian is interested. ‘Tell me more, Mr. Holmes, about this business of yours. What do you need?’

[yellowjonquils-blog]

@basilisms Crystal glasses tinkle as they clink against one another, the champagne fizzes with each tap, protesting its being disturbed, and the laughter as crystal as the glasses. Pretty women with pretty faces, fresh perfumes – the older they get the heavier these scents, to mask the breath, the age. He takes it all in his stride however, kissing the wrinkled hand of wealthy women, letting his eyes rake over the young ones, feeling the burn of the eyes of boys and the breath of suspicion of their fathers. All very amusing, all lots of fun. Ever the gentleman. He excuses himself from present company and crosses the room, eyes on the table of champagne bottles – some open, some closed – and food. There he stands for a moment, shoving a little canape into his mouth as he fills his glass again. Really, someone ought to be doing it for him, but Dorian Gray knows a little about satisfying his own wants. He knows about slumming it. It is then that he catches a man a the door, a familiar profile, a familiar head of hair. And over he goes. ‘Dear Basil, fancy seeing you here, I should imagine it’s been quite some time since you showed your face, hm? You look like you haven’t seen the sun in over a year.’ Dorian, on the other hand, has, a golden glow to his skin.

[rpvisualosities]

[ronmanmob]

‘Dorian…’ The man’s name was spoken through an appreciative rumble. ‘Tha’s a name made t’be purred, tha is. Refined, like y’self, I think. One f’night time joy rides round Cambridge ‘n Oxford, are yah? Fast cars ‘n fine wines? Or are y’more ov a spirits man?’

The observation was kindly meant; not a slight by any means. This Mister Gray simply seemed to be a gentleman who had the opportunity to sample life’s finer things, and had come back with rather a taste for them.

‘As t’me, Ron’s best f’quick reference. Bu’ I shan’t ‘old it against y’if Ronnie slips out, by th’by.’

[yellowjonquils-blog]

‘Something like that, I imagine. You’d be right in thinking that I’ve been to Cambridge and Oxford,’ he replies. He can’t claim to actually have studied there, certainly not his kind of thing. In fact he’s never been to university in a full-time capacity, he doesn’t really have to. He’s got money. What difference does it make? He is what the boys of Eton, Harrow, and Oxbridge, all dream of having.  And yet. His lips purse and pout for a moment, he finishes his drink and he puts the glass down on a table. He could already do with another, he’d even take something stronger, but he reckons that it’s not best to lose ones head around Ronald Kray. At least not right away.  Dorian is known in these parts, to an extent, he’s seen in the East End more often than not, there to sample the delicacies. Whitechapel to Soho. ‘Fine wines, champagnes, spirits, one can’t be picky in this day and age. As long as the company is worth the time spent on it the drinks are of little consequence. ––– And speaking of. I could do with another.’

[ronmanmob]

‘Anonymity’s nevah been a preference a’mine’ Ron said, offering the hand he’d first used to catch the comely gent’s attention for a shake. ‘Full name’s Ronald Kray, b’yah welcome  t’shorten tha’ t’Ron or Ronnie if eiva’ ov them roll off th’tongue easier.’ Glancing at his new acquaintance’s old crowd, Ron sniffed shortly. They were nothing like his kind of people.

‘Ope I ain’t stolen y’away from a rivetin’ conversation there, mistah..?’ 

[yellowjonquils-blog]

‘Gray. Dorian Gray. And no, far from it, in fact. There’s nothing I hate more than the prattling of old aristocrats. They think they’re endlessly interesting and, in fact, tend to talk about little more than buttons, or whatever it was.’ At this point Dorian has turned away from the red-nosed old man, and he’s facing this other fellow. This new one. This one with the tie up at his throat and a little twitch in his eye. He wonders, a little smirk on his face, just how easily Ronnie would toll off the tongue. He’s heard things. Interesting things. ‘Which would you prefer; Ron, Ronnie or Ronald?’