there is no more unethical treatment of the elephants
Gone right past "haha everything is amusing" and right into the "why am I still awake (insert flatmate here), whyyyy" part of tipsy right now, so it' just as well that I typed all this up yesterday.
Please accept some humble offerings that were mostly done during Bank Holiday weekend. It's kind of a long post.
Split into lj-cuts one (FRUKUSCAN family rot) and two (Prussia writes a romance novel, costume designs, more rot).
England is a bit too fussy in this. Please be warned.
The bits I've read of Little Lord Fauntleroy are maudlin and sentimental, although panthael_angel tells me it was one of her favourite books during her childhood...
It started from this.
And then there was this.
The saga continues. Sorry, my writing is horrible.
England is such a woman here :/
I am trying to control my colouring in preparation for finishing the giant England pic I did the outline of a while ago.
America had to go and roll in the mud in his suit afterwards. He had his frank, manly pride to think of.
Besides the variations I adapted for Alfred and Matthew, there was also a version of the Little Lord Fauntleroy suit that was worn with a kilt, and in the 1920s - 30s they were worn with shorts.
liner notes on LLF: The novel was written by Frances Hodgson Burnett, who was born in England but moved with her family to America when she was a teenager. It popularized the suit among the newly rich American middle classes, though the style was previously in use among the upper crust of British society in the 1850s, who by the 1880s (when the novel was written) had mostly moved on to sailor suits and (for older boys) Eton suits.
Here's a manlier England.
Ah, I want to draw England getting piss drunk and showing people baby pictures of his colonies/complaining about how ungrateful kids are/eventually breaking down into a sobbing, quivering mass while the other patrons at the pub sidle away uncomfortably.
Prussia inner mind theatre: y/n?
I was planning of springing a little project on prussiaxhungary (I am not even thinking of exposing this to hetalia) : 3000+ words from my flatmate, and around 8 illustrations by self with things like mocked-up book proofs, author's photo, &c. It's a 'romance novel written by Gilbert Wellschmidt', and as such is very OOC.
I don't know if people tend to take these things seriously, because it's not serious at all, but it might be taken as such due to the way it's written and I don't want to be flamed/lectured/thrown rocks at, I bruise easily. :(
Here's the... third bit, it should be. Right after Gilbo realizes the companion of his youth is now a "flower in full bloom", I think.
***
The summer night was heavy with the scent of late-blooming roses and the fairy lights of the ball seemed distant, as Gilbert led Elisaveta down the mossy path to the rose garden that was the pride of the palace gardeners. He was not a man to lightly express his emotions, but he felt that tonight, he could tell her his wish to clasp her little white hand in holy matrimony, and crimson her lovely little face with a rose of a blush.
"Gilbert."
"Yes, my sweet?" Tenderly.
"I .. I ... I have something to tell you."
She turned away into the shadows at that, and he peered into the twilight gloom to discern her emerald eyes. He caught hold of her wrist, and held it to his burning lips to drop a passionate kiss on it.
"I have something to confess to you too. I lov-"
"No! You must not, Gilbert!" Tears ran down her face like sparkling dewdrops.
"My love!"
"I ... I will be married to Lord Roderich Edelstein, a Grand Duke of Austria, come the autumn."
Gilbert stood as though shot through the heart. A strong, stoic man, he had a sensitive soul that now felt as though it had been lashed by hellfire.He clasped her to his broad chest and tightened his hold on her fragile wrists; his lips parted slowly as he said hoarsely, "But you are mine!"
"I have been promised to him by the Holy Roman Empire, who wishes to see our houses united - I cannot refuse the order. You have my love but don't ...don't you see?" And she wept delicately into her lace handkerchief, pushing him away from her.
"Gilbert. I ... I ... can no longer see you. I am weak, and I must do my duty. If we were to remain in the same fief ... I ... I ... Please, Gilbert. Leave until the wedding is over. Never see me again." And she ran, her skirts flying in the sharp wind, up and up the path back to the house where that dark bastard a dark-haired man stood impassively waiting at the door.
He stood shocked. All his dreams had shattered like glass with the loss of his light and love; bending, he picked up the pale pink blossom that had fallen from Elizaveta's hair in her teary flight.
He held it close to his lips, and vowed, "I could not tell you how I loved you so; but every breath drawn is for your sake. Even if I never see you again, you will hold my heart until the day I die, and beyond that. " And he turned on his heel, to quit the country forever. He had entered the gardens as a youth with but one wish and one dream - he left the garden a stern, white-lipped man, in whose eyes one could see the tragedies of loss and grief.
***
...IT ONLY GETS WORSE FROM HERE ON LOL
...TEXT BY panthael_angel, NOT ME
...
If you've put up with this until here, here's some costume porn to help patch the holes in your brain.
I find it funny how just about every other army in the Seven Years War tramped about the battlefield in Hessians or their equivalents, but the French army had to have their soldiers going about in what I can only describe as mid-thigh-length white spatterdashes. Well, all right, so some of the British troops had brown leather spatterdashes, and the Austrians and Prussians had black, but the point is that they were not white. Francis had to have his sparkly white. There is mud on the battlefield, Francis.
Spain's costume is not final, I had no refs for Spain and Spain is only in one scene anyway so I just made up something that looks like a matador's outfit for now.
The Haunter is not related to this, I just wanted to keep it all on the same piece of paper.
A cry goes round: "What? No Arthur?!" "Regrettably, there is no Arthur - his eyebrows have no place in this," I say, with tear in eye and lump in throat. maybe in card room omake, winning money off France and Spain, then getting drunk somehow and losing it all to the banker
Re: Prussia inner mind theatre romance novel - if anyone has time, I'd just like opinions on how to share this, or if I should share it at all. Perhaps it is too stomach-turning to be shown. m(__)m
Please accept some humble offerings that were mostly done during Bank Holiday weekend. It's kind of a long post.
Split into lj-cuts one (FRUKUSCAN family rot) and two (Prussia writes a romance novel, costume designs, more rot).
England is a bit too fussy in this. Please be warned.
The bits I've read of Little Lord Fauntleroy are maudlin and sentimental, although panthael_angel tells me it was one of her favourite books during her childhood...
It started from this.
And then there was this.
The saga continues. Sorry, my writing is horrible.
England is such a woman here :/
I am trying to control my colouring in preparation for finishing the giant England pic I did the outline of a while ago.
America had to go and roll in the mud in his suit afterwards. He had his frank, manly pride to think of.
Besides the variations I adapted for Alfred and Matthew, there was also a version of the Little Lord Fauntleroy suit that was worn with a kilt, and in the 1920s - 30s they were worn with shorts.
liner notes on LLF: The novel was written by Frances Hodgson Burnett, who was born in England but moved with her family to America when she was a teenager. It popularized the suit among the newly rich American middle classes, though the style was previously in use among the upper crust of British society in the 1850s, who by the 1880s (when the novel was written) had mostly moved on to sailor suits and (for older boys) Eton suits.
Here's a manlier England.
Ah, I want to draw England getting piss drunk and showing people baby pictures of his colonies/complaining about how ungrateful kids are/eventually breaking down into a sobbing, quivering mass while the other patrons at the pub sidle away uncomfortably.
Prussia inner mind theatre: y/n?
I was planning of springing a little project on prussiaxhungary (I am not even thinking of exposing this to hetalia) : 3000+ words from my flatmate, and around 8 illustrations by self with things like mocked-up book proofs, author's photo, &c. It's a 'romance novel written by Gilbert Wellschmidt', and as such is very OOC.
I don't know if people tend to take these things seriously, because it's not serious at all, but it might be taken as such due to the way it's written and I don't want to be flamed/lectured/thrown rocks at, I bruise easily. :(
Here's the... third bit, it should be. Right after Gilbo realizes the companion of his youth is now a "flower in full bloom", I think.
***
The summer night was heavy with the scent of late-blooming roses and the fairy lights of the ball seemed distant, as Gilbert led Elisaveta down the mossy path to the rose garden that was the pride of the palace gardeners. He was not a man to lightly express his emotions, but he felt that tonight, he could tell her his wish to clasp her little white hand in holy matrimony, and crimson her lovely little face with a rose of a blush.
"Gilbert."
"Yes, my sweet?" Tenderly.
"I .. I ... I have something to tell you."
She turned away into the shadows at that, and he peered into the twilight gloom to discern her emerald eyes. He caught hold of her wrist, and held it to his burning lips to drop a passionate kiss on it.
"I have something to confess to you too. I lov-"
"No! You must not, Gilbert!" Tears ran down her face like sparkling dewdrops.
"My love!"
"I ... I will be married to Lord Roderich Edelstein, a Grand Duke of Austria, come the autumn."
Gilbert stood as though shot through the heart. A strong, stoic man, he had a sensitive soul that now felt as though it had been lashed by hellfire.He clasped her to his broad chest and tightened his hold on her fragile wrists; his lips parted slowly as he said hoarsely, "But you are mine!"
"I have been promised to him by the Holy Roman Empire, who wishes to see our houses united - I cannot refuse the order. You have my love but don't ...don't you see?" And she wept delicately into her lace handkerchief, pushing him away from her.
"Gilbert. I ... I ... can no longer see you. I am weak, and I must do my duty. If we were to remain in the same fief ... I ... I ... Please, Gilbert. Leave until the wedding is over. Never see me again." And she ran, her skirts flying in the sharp wind, up and up the path back to the house where that dark bastard a dark-haired man stood impassively waiting at the door.
He stood shocked. All his dreams had shattered like glass with the loss of his light and love; bending, he picked up the pale pink blossom that had fallen from Elizaveta's hair in her teary flight.
He held it close to his lips, and vowed, "I could not tell you how I loved you so; but every breath drawn is for your sake. Even if I never see you again, you will hold my heart until the day I die, and beyond that. " And he turned on his heel, to quit the country forever. He had entered the gardens as a youth with but one wish and one dream - he left the garden a stern, white-lipped man, in whose eyes one could see the tragedies of loss and grief.
***
...IT ONLY GETS WORSE FROM HERE ON LOL
...TEXT BY panthael_angel, NOT ME
...
If you've put up with this until here, here's some costume porn to help patch the holes in your brain.
I find it funny how just about every other army in the Seven Years War tramped about the battlefield in Hessians or their equivalents, but the French army had to have their soldiers going about in what I can only describe as mid-thigh-length white spatterdashes. Well, all right, so some of the British troops had brown leather spatterdashes, and the Austrians and Prussians had black, but the point is that they were not white. Francis had to have his sparkly white. There is mud on the battlefield, Francis.
Spain's costume is not final, I had no refs for Spain and Spain is only in one scene anyway so I just made up something that looks like a matador's outfit for now.
The Haunter is not related to this, I just wanted to keep it all on the same piece of paper.
A cry goes round: "What? No Arthur?!" "Regrettably, there is no Arthur - his eyebrows have no place in this," I say, with tear in eye and lump in throat. maybe in card room omake, winning money off France and Spain, then getting drunk somehow and losing it all to the banker
Re: Prussia inner mind theatre romance novel - if anyone has time, I'd just like opinions on how to share this, or if I should share it at all. Perhaps it is too stomach-turning to be shown. m(__)m