Designed by William Chambers (1723-96) and made by the coachmaker Samuel Butler; featuring painted panels by Giovanni Cipriani (1727-85) and richly gilded carved sculpture by the carver Joseph Wilton (1722-1803), the gilder Henry Pujolas and the metal chaser George Coyte.
Three cherubs on the roof (representing England, Ireland and Scotland) support the Imperial Crown and four tritons, one at each corner (representing Britain’s imperial power).
The body of the coach is slung by braces covered with Morocco leather with gilt buckles. The interior is lined and upholstered with velvet and satin.
Weighing almost four tonnes and requiring eight horses to pull it, it has carried every monarch to their coronation since 1821.
Manufactured by John Richards in London c.1782~1808 - serial number 161. 10 gauge smoothbore brass barrel, flintlock mechanism, sexy butt stock. One of the coach guns manufactured to equip riding shotguns protecting British mail and nobles.
At least one person has already figured it out by the tags in the last one, but this is inspired by this nice angsty and violent fic.
It’s not a scene from that, it’s just inspired or an au to that au (lol), where Flowey doesn’t give two shits about healing Papyrus up and Sans is better at finding out what’s going on. Sorry, I’m a sucker for angst.
The last part is gonna be at least twice as long so please bear with me.
Prince Harry attends a Coach Core training session at Manchester City football club on September 4, 2017.
“During his trip to visit orgainisations and projects in Manchester which work to support sections of the city’s community. Established in 2012 by The Royal Foundation, Coach Core is a year-long apprenticeship that combines formal learning and on the job training with local partner sporting bodies.”
Intriguing images for an Ian Fleming James Bond Novel Fan (i.e. me),
since the finish on this car’s passenger compartment is what Fleming
meant in “From Russia With Love” when he referred to Darko Kerim’s…
“…gleaming aristocrat of a car - an old black basketwork Rolls Royce
coupé-de-ville that Bond guessed must have been built for some
millionaire of the ’20s.”
Since it’s a 1926 Phantom 1 with a
body (passengers inside, chauffeur outside)
built for the Financial Director of Woolworths(!), this may be the very car Fleming had in mind.
Peter Sellers had a Mini with a luxurious customised interior, and a basketwork-finish exterior painted by a heraldic artist who also worked on royal coaches…
…but it’s just as likely that the pattern on the Rolls was real basketwork, either already mounted on a metal body panel or actually woven in place with tape…
…then sealed down with multiple coats of lacquer. The texture can still be clearly seen and felt, otherwise why go to all that trouble?
I’ve also seen some
commentaries suggesting that this sort of bodywork was actual wicker basketweave all the way through. It wasn’t, but the notion isn’t as silly as it sounds and not a long step from a US Woodie…
Morris Minor Traveller…
…though some wooden bodies looked much sleeker, like this 1924 Hispano-Suiza in tulip-wood.
There was a historical precedent for wicker vehicle
bodies (which had a wind-and-waterproof lining, for obvious reasons!) They were
just the thing for sidecars on early motorcycles, light and cheap, yet sturdy, resilient and
…including family size, since bikes and their road tax were (AFAIK still are) considerably cheaper than cars.
Wicker also appeared on cars, but given the difference in cost (these early runabouts were rich people’s toys) basketwork bodies tended to be more of a Statement than a Necessity…
Even when cars in general became much cheaper, some marques stayed pricey. The customer who could afford this 1929 Bugatti…
…or this 1932 Voisin…
…would have specified using basketwork for the look, not to save a few pence.
Of course there’s always room for some eccentricity. In the mid 1920s, German engineering company Hanomag made a tiny compact car, the 2/10PS (2 seat / 10 PferdStarke i.e. horsepower) which looked like an ambitious roller-skate:
They were fitted with other bodies such as delivery vans…
…or this passenger box, with the diced strip and meter that denoted a taxi…
…though occasionally taxis used the standard body and a lot more optimism.
The Hanomag was nicknamed “Kommisbrot” - Ration-Bread - since Army rye bread came out of its baking tins that shape, and as if trying to make them even more loaf-like, several were finished with super-light wicker racing shells like these…
Silly Symphony - The Grasshopper and the Ants directed by Wilfred Jackson, 1934
Set-up of a gouache on celluloid, applied on a non-matching production
background. The matted and frame piece is measured 8” x 10” featuring the Queen
Ant being carried in a royal coach by her loyal subjects.
Princess Iris was raised to be Queen. As a child, she and her best friend, Barry, would run around the palace, getting into all kinds of trouble. Then, one day, Barry told her a secret, something she promised never to tell another living soul.
Iris broke her promise, and almost overnight, Barry’s parents are gone.
Barry soon is taken in by Iris’ father, King Joseph, but their friendship is never the same again. Iris notices Barry distancing himself, but can’t seem to get through to him.
The day that her father dies, Barry comforts her.
Three weeks later, he sends a Huntsman to kill her.
Before Iris knows it, she’s a fugitive in her own kingdom, and Barry is crowning himself King. For the next four years, Iris lives on the run, ducking the King’s Guards and trying to find a way to get away.
Then, she robs a royal coach, and her fate changes forever.
On the afternoon of Monday, the 14th of May, she quit it for Compiègne, which the king and all the court had reached in the course of the morning. As she approached the town she was met by the minister, the Duc de Choiseul, and he was the precursor of Louis himself, who, accompanied by the dauphin and his daughters, and escorted by his gorgeous company of the guards of the household, had driven out to receive her. She and all her train dismounted from their carriages. Her master of the horse and her “knight of honour” took her by the hand and conducted her to the royal coach. She sunk on her knee in the performance of her respectful homage; but Louis promptly raised her up, and, having embraced her with a tenderness which gracefully combined royal dignity with paternal affection, and having addressed her in a brief speech, which was specially acceptable to her, as containing a well-timed compliment to her mother, introduced her to the dauphin; and, when they reached the palace, he also presented to her his more distant relatives, the princes and princesses of the blood, the Duc d'Orléans and his son, the Duc de Chartres, destined hereafter to prove one of the foulest and most mischievous of her enemies; the Duc de Bourbon, the Princes of Condé and Conti, and one lady whose connection with royalty was Italian rather than French, but to whom the acquaintance, commenced on this day, proved the cause of a miserable and horrible death, the beautiful Princesse de Lamballe.
Holy shit just tell me all the shit about that fantasy au holy fuck I want to know
K MY DUDE I HAVE SO MUCH BUT LIKE OK SOME BASICS N STUFF I GUESS??
Gavin is a wizard who hasn’t found his specialty, (plants, animals, necromancy, something like that yeah?) and goes out to learn everything he can so he can like find his place in the world and know what his calling is
On the way to his first town from the Wizarding College/town/learning place he meets Geoff. He’s a swindler and a roguish sorts and a half demon; very obvious from his ram horns and tinted skin. Now demons… aren’t liked at all ya feel? So he has a hard time but Gavin and him meet and it’s just an immediate “wow I love your tattoos, magic ink, right? ” and Geoff is surprised by how genuine and curious and how nice?? He is?? To him?? And they swap stories and talk and Geoff is just “this kid is too damn naive and pure, I’m gunna stick with him and make sure he isn’t killed or robbed” and bah bah bah baaaah!! Geoff joined the party!
Next is Jack, and Jacks a half giant and again? Giants aren’t that liked but mostly because…. big. And Jack is living on the outskirts of town and some punks wrecked his little hut and he’s a big sad man and Gav and Geoff come across him and he’s hesitant to accept their help but Gavin is insisting and Geoff is like “well yeah big dude you kinda look like a big ass kicked puppy” and they help him rebuild his hut back and he’s like “yo you can stay for a few days” and they hang out and Jack is inspired to come along because? There was something uplifting about these two and the stories they spun and Geoff trying to teach Gavin what magic he knows and he knows these two need him or they’re both fucked.
Ryan… Ryan is next. And he’s…. a curious case? They find him robbing/hijacking a stage coach… a royal stage coach ? And like.. he’s suave and in a whirlwind of magic and confusion everyone gets sent to the local prison and Ryan, the mysterious, magic using, strange strange man… helps them break out, not really telling much about himself but being extremely intrigued by the men with him. So much so that he supposes he might come with them to the next town…. and the next….and the next…. yunno, to help destroy the monarchy and lead a rebellion that they might have accidentally become the central part of.
Michael is next and Michael is a fucking mess. Raised by magic bears, a feral boy with a magic sword that he never uses and a majestic bearskin cape made from an evil bear he defeated and he scares the absolute shit out of the current gang, to a point where they just?? Are like wtf?? And then… then Gavin, in their panic just realized… this boy… he tiny? Freckles?? Cute bear ears?? He actually stops and tries to talk to him and Michael is confused by this man and he’s just?? Wtf is this thin, scared man trying to do trying to ask why his ears are so fluffy? What the fuck? Michale joins through pure curiosity and because he likes to fight and will fight and honestly his reasoning is deeper than this but I have…. not enough speech capacity to explain not in narrative form
Jeremy is.. a knight. A good Knight. A knight who does his best to track down Ryan Haywood and his gang, a main in the revolution against the king. And when he finds him? Honestly he’s surprised what he finds. A gentle Giant, a wizard with dreams of grandeur, a half demon with a drinking habit and a soft heart, a bear with a noble purpose, and a King of Old . And he’s stunned with learning so much of what he’d thought he knew was wrong. And what does he do? He joins them. Becoming their knight, their friend, their companion, and a part of the family.
I hope this is a good start but I have a lot on this and I don’t even know where to begin because I haven’t written anything since I was like 15 and I really kinda wanna write this in fanfiction form too?? With drawings and stuff ??
This is so long
Cullen’s family and friends gather with Cullen and Essa at their newly (and finally) finished home. 3.5k post-game fluff.
After I completed my (mostly) canon longfic Acts of Reclamation I was given a prompt with Sera, Cullen x Essa, anniversaries, and reunions. So have Cullen, his family and friends gathering for Summerday. Sera and Cullen are a friendship that feature heavily in the work and one of my favorites. I hope I managed the right balance of fluff and “where are they now”. This falls three years after trespasser. I will warn you, if you’re reading or interested in reading the longfic, there are a few spoilers.
Champions Rest, as everyone
called Cullen and Essa’s home when neither was in earshot to take umbrage, was
more than a single home. The main house—recently and finally finished only
after the barn, the stable, the chapel, and Fin’s cottage—was a rambling stone
structure of limestone and quartz that shimmered in the sun not unlike
Clifton’s chantry. Windows shone in near excess, some clear as water, others
stained with images of Andraste and her mabari. Sera thought it fitting that
Cullen would live in a chantry, but for all that the outside looked like a holy
place, the inside bore a striking resemblance to a well laid out tavern.
The ground floor—which Sera
thought would have been murder to heat without a fire mage in residence—was
large and mostly open around the central hearth. Half the house was given to
the great room, where wide tables and long benches crowded the perimeter walls,
enough room for all their company and then some. Not that so many had managed
to gather since Essa disbanded the Inquisition, but they were all—finally—nearly
Cozy chairs were grouped closer
to the hearth. One was even big enough for Bull. He was tipped back in it now, Essa
perched on one wide chair arm, feet across his lap. They had been laughing
earlier, but now her eyes were darker than his grey skin and she was chewing on
her lip. They hadn’t seen each other since the Exalted Council. Past time, Sera
“He understands in ways I can’t,”
Cullen said, tread so light Sera cursed him as he stepped out of the small
office he and Essa shared. It was tucked into one corner of the main floor,
more windows than walls, and filled with books. Sera had slipped a wedge of
parchment under one leg of their desk just that morning for old time’s sake. She, Dagna, and Cole had a pool going on how long it would take them to notice.
“What’s that?” Sera asked,
knowing, but also knowing Cullen needed to say it.
“About a loss not regretted.” He
touched his left eye lightly, then his left arm, nodded back to Essa and Bull.
“Worth it,” Sera said in a
reasonable approximation of Essa. “They both say it, don’t they? Mealy stare
just darin’ you to say it wasn’t.”
Cullen’s laugh was a surprise to
both of them and she grinned.
“Yes.” He reached up to rub the
back of his neck with one hand. “Exactly.”
The great room was a field of pale-stained wood and firelight, laughter a somewhat brighter glow. The Chargers
had settled in at one of the tables. Not everyone of course. Time and distance
wore on, but Dalish, Rocky, and Grim spent most of their time in Ferelden, and
it hadn’t been too hard for them to make it in for the holiday. Krem and Cari
had come from Jader, having spent the last year in Kirkwall tending Essa’s
estate. Sera watched Krem drop a kiss on Cari’s cheek as he passed her a deck
of cards. Her graceful hands made a dance of dealing. Even in her fine dress,
she was as much a Charger as any of them. Prin and Erik were among them. They fit as if they had always been.
Essa had her band of mercenaries. Funny, Sera thought, how life turned and turned.
“It was though,” she shrugged.
“Worth it I mean. Your wife—“ She broke off giggling. “Still
not used to that.”
“It’s been five years!” Cullen