chloe. 21. split between norwich and lincolnshire. history student
I like medieval history and modernist literature

porphyrogenneta:

byzantine history + text posts

a-luxury-fantasy:

Lily Donaldson at Alexander McQueen Fall/Winter 2008

mylittlebigbluebox:

George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence
21st October 1449 - 18th February 1478 Isabel Neville, Duchess of Clarence
5th September 1451 - 22nd December 1476

shoelust:

Dolce & Gabbana Window Pump

englishsnow:

{ snow day }

robbiekays:

incantation;; instrumentals that conjure magic, folds in gowns, and spellbinding fantasies [[listen]]

ladies who should be playing mythical head bitches in charge | ROSE BYRNE as ISABELLA OF FRANCE, the wife of edward ii and mother of edward iii, renowned for her beauty and political finesse, who deposed her husband and was named the she-wolf of france.

Hugh Despenser hangs from a great height with his entrails falling out, and his cries can be heard for miles. She touches her handkerchief to her nose, to block out the stench of burning flesh, but also to hide her smile. I am a queen, she thinks and tilts her head. I come from the royal blood of France, I am a queen and my mother was a queen and I am made from the flesh of conquerors. Kings may love and kings may forget - as the world allows them these trivial delights - but queens must always have the crown in mind, lest they become mere puppets. Queens must always have a taste for blood. She touches her tongue to her teeth, and thinks, burn.

The Queen’s day began with the great curtains of her bed being drawn back by her ladies. Elizabeth was not, as she said of herself, a ‘morning person’. Sometimes she rose early in order to be ready to grant an audience at eight o’clock, but more usually she was still in bed while the rest of her household went about their duties, lighting fires and sweeping the chambers. (…) Elizabeth rarely dressed immediately but, clothed in her ‘night stuff’, would be served breakfast in her Bedchamber – manchet bread, meat, pottage, ale or wine – before taking a fast walk in her privy garden. She was an ‘inveterate walker’ whatever the weather. She generally walked with a ‘stately gait’, unless she wanted to ‘catch a heat in the cold morning’ or wander through her gardens for pleasure and recreation. Sometimes she might walk accompanied by her ladies, but very often she preferred to be alone, with her guards at a careful distance. On other occasions she would begin the day sitting in her nightgown, reading by the window in her Bedchamber. [The Queen’s Bed - Anna Whitelock]

She was like a fire, a burning bush, and the candle flames about her head were silver leaves; or again, the glass was green water, and she a mermaid, slung with pearls, a siren in a cave, singing so that oarsmen leant from their boats and fell down, down to embrace her; so dark, so bright, so hard, so soft, was she, so astonishingly seductive that it was a thousand pities that there was no one there to put it in plain English, and say outright “Damn it, Madam, you are loveliness incarnate,” which was the truth.

— Virginia Woolf, Orlando (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)

jeannepompadour:

Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland by John Singer Sargent, 1904

You grow ravenous. You run fevers. You know exhilarations. You can’t sleep at night, because your beast-creature ideas want out and turn you in your bed. It is a grand way to live.

— Ray Bradbury (via likeafieldmouse)
RF