#Fashion: For the Latest in Both Men's and Women's Clothing. ...

[daadir1245]

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[mickeyswhore]

Foreign Beauty

A/N: Might get in a silly goofy mood and write a part 2, let me know if I should. 💕

Summary: After your father made you attend Oxford, you took a detour during the holidays to Birmingham and there you met Thomas Shelby, and the two of you got pulled towards one another.

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: toxic father, smut (a little bit though)

Tag: @mrkdvidal1989.

You hated your father now, he made you go to Oxford university. You wanted to only live in 

Paris and be able to just live your life and buy pretty dresses and have fun with your friends, but not now, you needed to be in a gloomy town with people that can’t even dress properly and that made you angry.

“Father, if you insist on me getting an education why not Paris? We already have a place there.” You had no idea why your father wanted you to pursue an education, it was only a matter of time until you were married off for an alliance anyway.

“You cannot be just a ditsy woman that only thinks about what’s on her body, you must feed your mind. End of discussion.” With that your father left you and you went to your room to cry.

How could he do this to you? Wasn’t enough that he was a criminal and you could never bring your friends to where he was? The fact that your mother left and he never allowed for you to have a relationship with her? Every single thing about your life was about your father, and no doubt that he wanted bragging rights to all of his associates of how he had his only daughter to attend Oxford.

If you had to do this, you wouldn’t be caught dead in British clothes. You told your father that you would get a new wardrobe with the latest Parisian fashion, if you can’t change your father’s mind, you would definitely make his wallet hurt. That was exactly what you did, went to Paris and ordered a whole new wardrobe to all of the fashion houses that you could think of. Your father was furious but didn't want to say anything, as  long as you were going to university, nothing else mattered to him.

------------------------------------------

The boat trip to Cardiff was long and dreadful, and to make things even worse it was raining in Wales, as usual. Your father’s men were waiting for you, and you had so many suitcases that it filled both cars. People in England took their time to stare at you, it always happened, you would never brag but your were a pretty woman in a pretty dress in gloomy Wales, people will stare. You got into the car and waited for your father’s men to be done with loading the cars.

The drive was boring and it was raining in most places, so you decided to take a nap. You woke up with commotion in the car and two of the men were fighting in the front of the car.

“What is happening?” You realised that the car was stopped, and the other two men were outside in the rain trying to fix it.

“Sorry, ma’am but the car broke down and we are nowhere near Oxford, we’re in Birmingham.” You saw a map pf England once and was confused, these are the men that your father employs? You took a deep breath and grabbed your umbrella and left the car, there seemed to be a pub nearby. “Wait, ma’am where you’re going?” One of the men tried to stop you but you kept walking.

“It’s cold, it’s raining and I saw a pub here. Could you please let me know when we can go?” He nodded and you kept walking towards the pub. When you entered the smell of cigars and booze hits your nostrils, and the warmth as well, it wasn’t that crowed so you simply took a booth and removed your very expensive fur coat.

You bought a drink and again all of the men and women were staring at you and you needed to get used to it. You were starting to get bored, maybe going back to the car was the best option. When you were about to leave, both doors were opened and a few men came in, they must be important since everyone got out of their way, you saw the one with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life and the man was incredibly attractive.

The man noticed you quite fast since you were the only one staring at him, quite unabashedly as well. He went to your table and sat down right in front of him, with a grin on his face, that made you smile.

“Never seen you here before.” You smiled, never having the opportunity to interact with people that weren’t from your father’s circle. “I would’ve noticed if I seen you here before, who are you love?” He seemed genuinely interested and you were basking on the attention. You said your name to the man.

“We lost our way to Oxford and the car broke down so I decided to come here and be warm with a drink. May I ask who you are?” You took a sip of your drink and the two of you couldn’t stop smiling at each other.

“I’m Thomas Shelby. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand and you shook it, and the two of you couldn’t deny that you felt something when the two of you touched. “Would you like another drink, love?” You nodded and Thomas went to get your drink, after he came back, he sat down near you.

“You’re quite forward, aren’t you Mr. Shelby?” You grinned at him and he seemed very pleased with himself.

“I have to, with a foreign beauty like yourself, someone might steal you away.” Thomas was being coy, he knew that no one would dare to talk to you with him there, but he wanted to make you feel special and also acknowledge the fact tht all of the men wanted to be with you.

“You don’t have faith that you are the most interesting?” You quickly realised that you love to tease Thomas Shelby.

“I know that I am, it simply might not be the case for you.” He wasn’t boring, you had to give him that and also confident, a man has never looked as attractive as he is now.

“Touche, Mr. Shelby.”

The two of you started talking about other things, politics mainly. But also art, and history. You were much younger than Thomas but he didn't mind it all and you loved the fact that he was older, mature and most importantly, confident.

The two of you were touching each other, his hand were on your thigh and your hand in his arm as well. The tension between the two of you was getting worse, the two of you even stopped talking just to keep looking at each other and touching each other. Thomas leaned into your ear, sending shirvers down your spine.

“Should we go somewhere more private, love?” He whispered in your ear and you only nodded, guiding him towards the bathroom.

When the two of you got there, Thomas put you against the wall and started to kiss you. His kiss was full of hunger and passion and you were more than happy to indulge him, you needed this too. Thomas started removing your dress and you removed his shirt, you were only dressed in your undergarments now, and Thomas still had his trousers. He started kissing your neck, drawing moans out of you.

Your hands went to his cock, he was painfully hard and you could tell that he was painfully hard. Thomas removed your bra without you even noticing, you felt his warm lips on your nipple, making you moan, with one of his hands Thomas started playing with your other nipple. His tongue felt like heaven on one nipple and his fingers were twisting and pulling the other, you were panting and moaning. You’ve never felt this way before, your pussy was clenching around nothing and you were so wet. The pressure on your pussy was increasing with every lick of one nipple and the pulling of the other.

“Tommy.” You whispered and a strangled moan espcaped your throat, Thomas stopped his ministrations and looked at you, he had the smugest look on his face.

“Did you just cum from me just playing with your nipples, love?” Thomas’ hands removed your panties and he started fingering you and playing with your clit. You closed your eyes from how much pleasure you were receiving but he was having none of it. “Keep your eyes on me, love.” That’s what you did, you’ve met this man a couple hours ago and he already had so much power over you. With his thumb making small circles on your clit and two fingers deep inside your pussy, Thomas wanted to make you cum as quick as he possibly could. “You look divine like this, love. I need you to cum for me. Can you do that, eh?” The noises that were being made were lewd, if you could think straight you would definitely be embarrassed by them.

As if Thomas has full control of your body, you cum again, Thomas enjoys the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers, he couldn’t wait to fuck you. Thomas was helping you ride out your second orgasm when you heard yelling coming from outside, the two of you looked at each other and out your clothes back on in a matter of seconds.

“What is going on ‘ere?” Thomas yelled, and the men that were with him fighting with your father’s men, you slapped Thomas’ men hoping they would stop assaulting your employees.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” One of father’s men asked you, clearly terrified that something happened to you.

“Of course, is the car ready?” All four of them nodded and if this wasn’t a sign for you to stop doing something you’d later regret, you don’t know what is.

You were about to leave when Thomas stopped you with a gentle pull of your arm.

“Leaving so soon, love?” He seemed almost sad that you were leaving, that made you smile.

“I’m going to Oxford university, if you want me come get me when you can.” You winked at him and he smirked at you.

He was going to get you, alright. With that, you left the pub to the car.

[lady-villain-imagines]

Tell Me I’m The Best

Tomie x wlw!Reader Drabble

I just want her y’know. Y’know?

TW for probably unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessiveness and jealousy. NSFW implied

You were sprawled in a stupidly large, comfortable bed, fluffy comforters almost devouring you. Music played softly over a radio placed on a dresser across the room, along with the soft hum of the bedrooms overhead fan slowly whirling in steady circles. The room was a mess, clothing and makeup haphazardly laying around. Several juicy gossip column magazines had been thrown around here and there. You had one such magazine in your hands, lazily reading the salacious dramatized versions of the latest love lives of the rich and famous.

You were in the room of your… well. It was hard to describe what you were. Girlfriend didn’t sound right, and lover sounded stupid. Situationship, maybe? Friends with benefits except you don’t see anyone else? There wasn’t a name for being gal pals with a creature who regularly twisted men to her will, driving them mad with desire and in turn often getting herself maimed in horrific ways.

She was a monster, countless murders were because of her. What she even was was never spoken about. You weren’t sure if even Tomie knew. You knew there were… others of her. She had been very displeased in disclosing that, as if you would run off to find another Tomie. Of course there wasn’t a chance you would ever do something stupid like that. For whatever reason she decided you would be who she let hold her at night when she was so sought after, you counted yourself as the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Not saying she didn’t have her ‘quirks’.

“You’re really reading that when I’m standing right here?” A shrill voice broke the lull, sharp and commanding. Lowering the magazine to look at the source, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen was standing at the end of the bed with her hands on her hips. There she was… Tomie. The girl of everyone’s dreams. And boy, did she look pissed.

Her perfect face scrunched up as she glared down at you. You just stared at her for a moment before using your quick thinking to deduce why she was mad (this time). Ah, of course…you hadn’t watched her the second she came back into the room and dared to look elsewhere.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to read now.” You responded sarcastically, clearly not phased by her attitude. You were used to it.

“You should be sorry. I’m standing here before you, and you don’t even look up? You’d rather have your nose buried in a stupid magazine?” She responded with a huff and a roll of her eyes. You bit back telling her it was her stupid magazine in the first place, “What could be so interesting, huh?”

After that, you were jostled as she flopped into the blankets next to you. You laughed as she had to shimmy & roll a bit to get over to you. She was wearing comfortable clothes, a simple tank top and shorts that showed off her pristine skin. It was always a wonder to you how she had no scars despite the wounds you had seen her with. She has no obvious marks on her skin besides the beauty mark near her eye. God, you loved that beauty mark. You loved all of her.

Tomie looked disdainfully at the trashy magazine before snaking her way into your arms, head on your chest as she got into a position so she could read with you as you held the magazine out for the both of you. She was cold, her hand resting on your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. You didn’t know if she did it on purpose, but she gently let the tips of her fingers slide under your shirt, just enough to rest her whole palm over your lower stomach. It gave you butterflies.

The two of you read through the magazines pages, laughing and gasping appropriately at the drama. You would both make comments (hers far crueler than yours) about people’s outfits. When it came to a page of particularly beautiful women in a fashion show, you feel Tomie’s eyes slide to you. This was definitely a test and you passed by quickly turning the page. Regardless, Tomie was tired of sharing your attention with the pictured women and she took the magazine out of your hands, propping herself up on her elbow besides you. She tossed it to join all of the other discarded items on the floor.

“Enough of those cheap girls. You don’t need to look at them when I’m here.” She was right. You looked over at her, opening up your arms a bit more to invite her further into your space. She leaned forwards, lips brushing yours. Her lipgloss smelled like cherries, her silky hair spilling towards you. Everything about her was intoxicating.

Your lips pressed into hers and she immediately sprung her trap. Sitting up, she pressed her palms against your shoulders to pin you to the mattress as she pulled away from the all too short kiss. Slinging her leg over your body, she sat on your stomach. It was a little uncomfortable but you were certainly not going to complain. After she was in position, she looked down at you triumphantly. If she was a spider, you were a willing fly walking into her web.

“There we go. Now you’re looking at me, as you should be.” Her manicured nails gently caressed your face as you were looking up at her in clear admiration. “Well? Are you going to say something or just stare at me?”

“What can I say besides what you already know?” That was a rhetorical question. You knew damn well she wanted to - needed to - hear you shower her in compliments. “That you’re gorgeous? More stunning than any of those girls in that magazine.. no, in any magazine.”

In response, Tomie hummed on top of you, her nails now grazing down your throat to run over your collar bone. It was also not missed how she lowered herself more onto you, giving a slight grind against you. That was encouragement if you’d ever had any.

“I’m so lucky to be here with you. You make my life as beautiful as you are.” You gently placed your hands on the sides of her thighs lovingly. Her lip twitched, her expression shifting minutely. She struggled hearing actual romantic sentiments. Being treated like a person and not an object of someone’s crazed obsession was a new experience she was trying to cope with. You tried to continue the sincere sweet talking,

“I mean it…I’ve never been with a girl like you-“

At the mention of other girls you had dated she snapped her hands down next to your head and got close to your face with her eyes hysterical. It had been blindingly fast, and the face she wore was chilling in an uncanny way, like it was something trying to be human but let it slip for a minute. It was small reminders like this that wouldn’t let you forget she was not human, not in the slightest.

“Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had.” Her eyes were practically pinpricks as she bore them into yours. You shivered at the intensity of it, knowing the dangers of the woman pinning you down.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

After your breathless response, she dove onto you in an aggressive kiss. Her hands had practically morphed to claws as she grasped the sides of your face, sliding up to your hair as she caught your lip in her teeth, looking you in the eyes with that same crazed gaze. You winced as blood broke the surface of your soft lip, her blunt teeth breaking the skin with ease. She slid her tongue over your lip, unabashedly tasting your blood. Letting out a soft groan, her hands tightened again before she was forcing your mouth open with her possessive tongue now rolling around yours. Grinding down onto your hips, she was much stronger than she looked. You were both getting worked up, your hands clutching her soft thighs now. Tomie unlatched herself from your face, still keeping pressure on your hips.

“Good girl. Of course I am.” She smiled proudly, smugness rolling off of her. The iron taste in your mouth of your own blood lingered as she swiped a finger over your ripped open bottom lip. She collected your blood on it & had the gall to look down at you with disgust like it was your fault. “Gross. Bleeding everywhere like that.” Despite that, she licked it off her finger anyways.

Even with her weight leaning on you, and you clearly trying to grind against her as well, she just sat there for a moment looking down at you. Her hair was perfect still, not a strand out of place.

“You’re the best I’ve had, too.” Tomie admitted. It was a rare genuine moment from her. Without letting you process that one (AKA say more sappy shit that made her feel something) she leaned forwards again to lock her intense eyes with you. She smiled and it was off, a little too smooth, too wide, to be normal. It morphed into a wolfish grin as her breath brushed against your mouth.

“And I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon.”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Helmeppo in a relationship

warning : fluff

Info : Okay this is just a quick little thing because I had time last night to write it. Helmeppo has a little hold on me if I'm being honest.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~

°As spoilt and stuck-up as he is, as soon as he realises that his heart is not interested in his money and respects him, he is blown away. He is completely in love with you and has fallen for you.

°Of course, things could go the other way and his girlfriend could be rich and become the duo together with him. The glittering rich duo with the influence of parents and a questionable taste in fashion. But even these two would find each other in their love of clothes and gems and looks, and that would be the end of it.

°But the introduction was different and it was more of a different relationship a relationship between a less rich person and a helmepoo who was sure that such a thing would never happen.

°The blond daddy's boy will shower you with gifts from the moment his heart falls for you. A gesture he is convinced will win everyone over. Because he has seen it from his father and his father's men. An image which unfortunately is not always true. But as grateful as you are to him, it is something new for him to learn that gifts are not everything to you.

°His father had learned to get women around with his status and gifts. But in your relationship it's the little gestures like holding hands and the little kisses between and during his shifts that touched him. That made your heart beat and his beat.

°It was the warmth in each other's cheeks instead of an expensive necklace that you thought was only given on special days. But when it comes to special days in the form of birthdays, he can't help but give you one or the other expensive gift.

°While you in return showed him the little pleasures of the world whether it was a picnic in the middle of one of the navy decks when you were alone. A dance on one of the islands you were stationed on or a night out at the bar. The advantages of the world that seemed almost banal and uncluttered to the blond in his life. He had never respected them until now when his heart showed him the right way. The way to love.

°These were things that were relatively new to the blond but were accepted more and more with a roll of the eyes and a grin. He puffed out his cheeks and almost snottily closed his eyes when you gave him a kiss as a thank you. ,,No problem, I mean as your boyfriend, well it's my duty," he murmured and a small smirk crept onto his lips. But after you kissed him he would return it proudly.

°Of course, there would be problems, not least because of his arrogance and pride. Sometimes it gets so bad that Coby and Garp intervene and pull you apart. A short break in which you both calm down and then have a long conversation.

°A conversation in which it's not always easy, especially the blond one who often doesn't see the need to apologise. But at the latest when he shows up days later with a bunch of flowers and apologises, you know he means it.

°Every couple has their fights but since your hearts have fallen for each other. His senses and his becoming more than just the stuck-up daddy's boy, you just fit together. A relationship in which one had to learn more than the other what it means not to be defined by one's parents or background.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[evenfall-au]

A Moment With You

Rating: M TWs: Alcohol Mention Prompt for Frans Monthly August: [Rain] Word Count: 3,982

Cross posted to Ao3 here!

@frans-monthly

They say life is a party, a gala, that you should enjoy it before time passes by and before you know it the party’s over. At least that was what Frisk had been told since the early days of her childhood.

So then why wasn’t she having fun?

There were swaths of men and women both human and monster alike conversing and laughing together at whatever jest had been made or topic given. It was plain to see many were enjoying themselves simply basking in shared company. 

But Frisk stood aside, awkwardly nursing what remained of her lemon juice as her gaze panned the intricate lounge with barely a pause. Sans had departed some time ago with a regent of whom Frisk didn’t know concerning business that involved the new market place opening up just at the rim of Asgore’s dukedom, leaving her completely and utterly alone.

Not to say there weren’t people attending that Frisk didn’t know, in fact she knew quite a few, but they all seemed otherwise preoccupied with people she didn’t know. For example: she’d tried to join in on a conversation the Duchess Raitha from the neighboring dukedom had been a part of but she’d quickly found herself disinterested when they’d began discussing the latest fashion from across the sea.

Frisk loved clothing as much as the next person, but for tonight she couldn’t bring herself to find a draw in the topic. Frisk was used to attending Gala’s and Balls, but this was her first soiree and as much as she’d have loved to relax and make a good impression she was finding it wasn’t the most…exciting. Sans of course fit into the atmosphere as easily as he did every event they attended, if anything this particular type of gathering was right up his alley with amused and calm games of cards and low droned music playing gracefully from a piano somewhere in the far corner.

But not Frisk’s.

She felt very much out of place.

And exceedingly bored.

“Ma’dam De Nocturné,” Frisk jolted at the sudden voice, not expecting a server to have approached her. His smile was amused but warm as he continued, “Forgive me but you seem to be out of drink. Would you care for another?” 

A quick glance down proved his words to her surprise. A bit startled still and now slightly embarrassed she forced a smile. “Um, yes I would appreciate that. Another lemon juice if you would?”

“Oh I am afraid we are out of fruit my lady.” The way Frisk’s expression dropped must’ve broken his heart as he frowned in one instant before smiling hopefully in the next. “But if I may? You’re looking a tad uneasy, a Mint Julep should help to prevent the vapours. It’s rather delicious as well as refreshing.”

A Mint Julep? 

Frisk wasn’t one to indulge in drinking often, an odd glass of wine for supper maybe but that was very rare and often with a meal. She didn’t partake of it for tonics nor social gatherings as she’d seen her mother or similar ladies of her class do. Frisk had seen what too much alcohol could do to a person’s inhibitions.

However, she was kind of  thirsty now that the server had mentioned it…and surely only one couldn’t hurt. It would be a treat truthfully. Her lemon juice had been refreshing but a bit bland, and she’d heard that Mint Juleps were typically very flavorful, even sweet. Not to mention the lounge was slightly stuffy from the warm summer heat outside even at this late hour.

“I suppose…” She murmured. “Just one wouldn’t hurt.” 

The way the server seemed to light up and grin at her agreement— probably excited that he’d managed to have a smooth conversation and give significant input with a noblewoman, Frisk thought sadly—brought a smile to her own face as he began to mix the drink from the trolley beside him. 

The moment he handed the drink to her and it touched her lips Frisk immediately knew it was too much. It was far too sweet, caused her skin to immediately flush with heat, and burned!

She tried to hide her coughs behind her hand but even still it barely did a thing to hide the racket of her lungs as several guests glanced curiously in her direction. Frisk closed her eyes tight and did her best to control the reflex, forced her wheezes to become long drawn out sighs and deep breaths as she silently counted to ten. Once she felt confident she could speak again she handed the drink back to the man who looked as if he was struggling to contain his own laughter while she did her best to look anywhere but at the whole of the room. 

“I think wine will be just fine!” She squeaked. 

He didn’t say a word as he handed her the new glass, simply bowed and made a suspiciously quick exit, maybe to avoid the second hand embarrassment Frisk currently felt or to perhaps avoid any possible retribution for having inadvertently made a noblewoman look foolish. Though she suspected it was more so he could finally break down in his humor with how his shoulders shook.

She took a wary sip, and let out a small sigh. Much better! It was mellow with just a hint of grape, and most of all didn’t make her feel as if she’d swallowed a hot coal. Frisk dared a quick glance around and caught the abruptness with how quickly those still watching turned away.

She was starting to really dislike soirees.

Frisk kept to herself, and to her drink. At least she tried too. At some point midway into her glass an exclusive selection of wines were brought out to be pursued for purchase, with free drinks being offered for sampling. Surprised and a little excited to finally have a social activity she could participate in, Frisk was rather quick to join as the names and companies were listed off while sips were taken. Opinions were given and Frisk listened with mild interest until she began to listen wholeheartedly with vivid interest upon her fourth glass. 

The room was warm and she felt as if her feet were trying to balance on the deck of a ship, but Frisk honestly didn’t care as she giggled to herself at something Lord Lional said regarding the new spirits tax coming into effect. The golden hue of her eyes were locked on his mustache, watching fascinated as the curled corners wiggled with every word he spoke and the tilted with every slight change in expression.

It was as if he had a really cute fuzzy white caterpillar on his face.

She had the wildest urge to touch it.

“partial to the bordeaux?” A deep husky tone whispered in her ear. 

Frisk didn’t bother turning away from the sight before her, she’d know that voice anywhere with the way it made her heart skip, and waved her hand around behind her to grasp Sans’ before tilting her head back and speaking in what she was sure was a small whisper. “If you watch closely you’ll see it move!”

Sans was silent as his eyelights panned from Frisk’s face to where she was staring transfixed.

Lord Lional’s mustache did a little jig as he finished off his glass of wine.

Frisk giggled.

Sans’ grin widened as he chuckled along with her. “amusing as watching an old man’s hair wiggle about is, how about we step out for a sec?”

Frisk shivered as she felt the back of his gloved knuckle brush the back of her neck just under the locks of her hair, the soft satin a blessed coolness against the heat that only seemed to climb with Sans’ sudden closeness. 

His breath ran hot over the shell of her ear, fevered. “get a quick bite to eat?”

Grinning and heart racing she tossed back the last of her drink, causing Sans’ sockets to widen and go full ovaled as she sat the empty glass aside and eagerly took his already captured hand in both of hers. “Yes, please take me away from here.”

Frisk thought she saw a flare of blue cross his cheekbones but if it had it was gone quicker than she could blink. His sockets lidded and his grin turned sly as he turned and began to expertly weave them through the fringes of the group, out the side glass doors and onto the crescent shaped veranda, just off to the side beneath the overhang where they couldn’t be seen. 

Once outside her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized it’d been raining, but the coolness it offered was more than welcome as she held her hand out to catch a few of the stray droplets.

Sans watched her with a quiet calmness as Frisk laughed at a drop falling onto her dress before stepping back, a blush tinting her features in a rosier hue at the wetness that should have been expected. 

She was clearly inebriated, tipsy at the least.

It was adorable.

“tasted more than one wine i take it?”

Frisk looked as if she’d been caught stealing from the proverbial cookie jar as she tucked her hands against her chest and bit her lip. She averted her eyes as she timidly responded, “...A few.”

“hm.”

“Are you upset?” Sans was surprised at the sudden worry in her eyes.

“no, you’re a grown woman. you’re free to indulge in what you choose. i just find it humerus when i see someone tipsy for the first time.” He winked.

"I'm not tipsy!" She defended as his pun flew right over her head.

"clearly." He agreed.

"I'm not!" Frisk crossed her arms as she cutely puffed out her cheeks, before quickly deflating. "Okay, I am a little tipsy."

Sans' grin curled higher at the corners.

She frowned at him curiously. “Have you never been tipsy?”

He didn’t know what to say.

In his long life Sans had never felt the need to drown his sorrows or find happiness at the bottom of a bottle. He’d had curiosities sure, he’d indulged in some of the more unsavory practices that humanity and monster both had had to offer once or twice, to his own regret. 

But getting drunk?

He’d never managed it. He had stopped trying when he’d cleared out an entire tavern all by himself and then had compensated the man for his loss in revenue. Well, the supposed loss after what Sans had given him initially. Sans had felt at most a little warm, but that was it.

He hadn’t been particularly disappointed or anything though. Having watched countlessly as men and women alike celebrated and wept, Sans hadn’t felt a sense of loss. He may not have known what it was like to be under the influence of alcohol but that didn’t mean he didn’t find others enjoying it any less amusing or entertaining to watch.

As far as he could tell it was a harmless habit anyway, in moderation at least.

So he simply said, “nope.”

“Oh.” Frisk seemed just as lost at how to respond. "So…if you drink from me you won't be affected?"

It was true that things could affect the blood when the host had consumed something or partook of a substance. It was why hobbyist hunters often mixed in ingredients to foul the blood supplies when able. But Sans had had his fair share of drunkards on his plate and he’d never been afflicted in such a manner before, so he found the question rather silly. 

But then again, it was Frisk who was asking.

The image she conjured of him sinking his fangs into her skin with the promise of her blood, combined with the inquisitiveness of her intellect made his soul thrum wildly in his ribs as the urge to feed narrowed his focus into a heated glance. Sans chuckled as he moved closer, his azul gaze pulsing with a fiery intensity that left Frisk breathless as she instinctively backed into the wall behind her, but also caused her to reach out and place her hands upon his chest as he pinned her in place with a forearm beside her head.

Slowly he reached up and twined a lock of her hair around his finger, twirled it as if it was the most fascinating thing to have ever caught his attention as he savored her stuttered breath and the rapid beat of her heart echoing in his acoustics.

Frisk shivered as his gaze met hers, tone low, teasing.

"why don't we find out?"

The world faded: the cool night air ceased to be and the sound of the rain was little more than a muffled note as Frisk watched her hair gently slide free of his touch, and felt his hand softly graze past to cup the back of her jaw—enticing, guiding her head up as his skull moved closer that the proximity caused goose pimples along her arms and the feeling of static of a touch just on the precipice of contact.

"Sans…" She whispered, helpless, wanting.

His thumb stroked tenderly over the swell of her cheek, right before he bit down.

Fire seared through Frisk’s veins as her nerves sang with euphoria, toes curling as all she could do was cling to his coat in an attempt to stay upright as her knees buckled. It was rough how she dug her hands into his lapels, desperate the way his hold on her shifted and his hands tangled in the fabric of her gown at her waist and cupped the other side of her throat as he used the press of his body to support her.

She whimpered.

Sans grunted.

His vision spun even as his sockets remained closed, basking in the taste of her as the warm ruby flow of her life danced across his senses and made his soul roil with a primal hunger that bordered insanity. Only the fleeting brush of her hair and the tug of his coat kept him in check as he drank with a fervor that would never be satisfied, that would never have enough of Frisk. A hot throb ricocheted through his bones as her blood joined with his magic, leaving him dizzy as the need to consume and take slowly died down into a low contented simmer.

Gently, Sans forced himself to let go and sealed the fresh mark he’d left upon her delicate skin with a slow lavishing brush of his conjured tongue. He was abuzz with energy, magic crackling with powerful overflow as it was every time he ever fed from his darling bride.

He frowned.

…’Darling’?

Slowly Sans pulled back to gaze at Frisk, his mind struggling to wrap around the sudden, almost dopey, surge of affection he felt towards her and went silent.

She was panting, hair a mess as a pretty blush played across her cheeks despite him just feeding from her. It reminded him of something cute, like a pretty pink peony in fresh bloom to greet the spring. The world tilted slightly and Sans had to blink and give a quick shake of his skull to clear it.

Weird, odd. Bizarrely he felt as if he could taste lemon on the back of his tongue. A hint of mint that didn’t sit well with the citrus and made him grimace.

For the life of him he couldn’t understand what was going on.

“Sans?” Frisk asked, voice pitchy and rasping.

He couldn’t help grinning at hearing it. “yeah?”

“Are you…alright?” She whispered.

His eyelights were wobbly around the edges, and the blues a faintly lighter shade than normal.

"yeah."

Frisk stared at him and then giggled, making his grin go crooked. He wondered what it would take to get her to break into laughter, she always had the most enchanting laugh.

"Sans?"

"yeah?" The way her lips curved was cute. How the tiny little things pursed out even cuter as he continued to stare at them.

"I think my blood did affect you."

He blinked slowly as her words registered and chuckled as it explained the rash emotional shift he was experiencing and the unbridled fascination he had with the subtle changes in her expression. Had her eyes always been so bright? So deep that he felt as if he could wallow in their depths for hours?

"yeah."

"Is that all you can say?" Frisk teased as she covered her mouth with a hand to hide her amusement.

That wasn't fair. He wanted to see her smile. With a frown he reached up to remove the offending limb and then kept it prisoner in his so she couldn't steal the sight away again. He loved how soft her hand was, but then again all of her was soft, always squishy and warm.

Both her eyebrows rose.

His eyelights flared bright. "...nah."

Frisk couldn't help blushing again. 

Oh no, she thought, he was too cute! Sans and cute in the same sentence left her speechless, and more than a little bit curious as she cast a mischievous glance out at the rain before zeroing back in on her husband.

With a wiggle that had Sans momentarily widening his sockets she slipped out of his hold and rushed behind him to the top of the steps that led down into the front yard. She paused as she stared out before speaking. "I'll be honest: the night has been dull thus far."

He frowned, concerned, and went to say something as he turned to face her but Frisk quickly held a hand out to him with an incline of her head.

“Dance with me, please?”

Sans looked out at the downpour with a squint, recalling something about Papyrus…and clothes? He also took note of the wet grass and waterlogged animal shaped bushes lining the perimeter. They were really creepy looking in the dark and left a disturbing shiver down his spine. 

But the second his eyelights flickered back over to Frisk he froze.

She looked so hopeful, her eyes as wide as saucers.

He couldn’t bring himself to say no to her, not only was she too adorable for this world but he also felt guilty hearing she’d not had fun as he thought she would, it left a bad taste in his mouth and made his soul stutter with disappointment, so instead Sans smiled warmly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and took her hand before spinning them both right into the rain.

The second her laughter echoed out like the chime of a thousand pearly bells Sans felt his head spin with giddy delight. His gaze was solely on her as they moved without rhythm but in time all the same, a chaos of uncoordinated footsteps and random patterns that somehow flowed well together. They danced, to no music or chorus, only to the tune of their joy. There were dips, spins, twirls.

A moment where they stopped and went still as they tried to catch their breath.

A moment where their eyes met with equal red and blue flaring across cheeks. 

Water soaked her gown and hair, ran down the planes of her face leaving shimmering trials of light in their wake. In that exact moment Frisk was the most stunning vision Sans had ever seen in the entire millennia that he’d spent alive, and if he’d had a heart rather than a soul, he was sure it would have stopped.

Just as soaked as she was, Sans' eyelights hazed around the edges as they lit the space between them with an ethereal glow that turned the water racing along his skull and bones a soft mesmerizing cyan. In that same moment Sans was the world and more, there was no one else. 

They were both so sure that if they’d met under different circumstances, if they’d met with different existences, that they’d have still fallen for each other just as hard and just as passionately as they had now.

“I love you.” She whispered.

Sans’s hands slowly framed her face as he pressed their foreheads together. “heh same, love.”

They connected, lips and teeth, and they stood there lost in the rain.

Lost in each other.

~~

Sans had to grit his teeth to prevent the groan escaping his throat as he adjusted the cloth on his skull yet again.  Frisk was sound asleep in his lap and the last thing he wanted was to disturb her, not if she would feel an ounce as bad as he currently felt upon waking.

The feeding…had not gone as he’d expected, at all. 

What was supposed to be a quick indulgence, albeit a much desired one, had turned into another revelation and shock to his system. Once more Frisk had baffled him with the unknown effects her blood could have on him by not only accomplishing what no other including himself had done–gotten him intoxicated--but also by how she’d somehow managed to extract them from the soiree and get them both back home when he could barely recall what happened after biting her at all.

Was this what being inebriated meant? Did people really enjoy this and seek it out? His magic was pounding in his skull and through his joints like a violent tambourine, and the cloth soaked with raw healing magic barely helped to ease the ache he could feel radiating in the voids of his sockets. 

An interesting side note in Sans’ rambling thoughts was the explanation of how exactly this had happened. All that he could scratch together in his current state was the possibility of their bond combined with the intent that had been shared between them when he bit Frisk had heightened his magic’s receptiveness to what had been coursing through her blood stream. Sending him right over the edge as if his soul had been directly soaked in a jar of brandy, rather than experiencing a second hand breakdown as his soul absorbed it after the initial deterioration consumption normally caused when eating. 

But that was just a theory as of now.

Sans did learn one thing at least; he detested getting drunk.

Never again.

Frisk shifted against him and he gently adjusted his arm to hold her better. Once she settled Sans glanced over at the crystal decanter he kept on the desk and bottle of sherry tucked away behind it that he’d locked inside of a clear glass box the second he’d gained coherency.

Drunkenness was also far more dangerous than he realized. 

Frisk had convinced him so easily into doing something like dancing in the rain when in his right mind he would’ve refused on the basis of Frisk catching a cold and Papyrus getting upset (as he was when they got home) over the new clothing he’d sown them for the occasion being ruined. Not to mention his spotty memory when such a thing was of vital importance to a monster in his position.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine Frisk going through the same thing, and it made his soul twist.

Anyone could make a foolish suggestion to her, anyone could take advantage, and she’d be powerless to refuse them. He’d foolishly left her alone not knowing better the depths alcohol could affect an individual having only ever witnessed it. He’d been smug, too confident that what he’d seen was a phenomena he’d never experience and therefore not worthy of his caution. 

There wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened tonight if he had anything to say about it. No more soirees where wine tasting was on the list of activities with even the slightest possibility that Frisk would be unattended. 

The guilt sat heavy in his chest as his skull gave another thunderous pound.

Frisk’s beautiful smile surrounded by droplets flashed across his vision.

Never again, he vowed.

[arlo-rose]

My ramblings about On the Brink of Scientific Discovery and fashion history

I’m very very normal about both Brink and historical fashion, so I decided to go down a research rabbit hole of what the characters would realistically be wearing in this fic, and it just kinda spiraled from there. I’m not in any way a professional or super qualified, I just think historical fashion is neat. I’m also not a writer so I apologize if any pacing or formatting in this is weird.

(WARNING, VERY LONG POST)

(Seriously I’m gonna go into detail about a lot of the characters and my reasoning for why they’d wear that, and sometimes background on the clothes themselves if it’s really interesting)

Disclaimer: a lot of the fable characters, and therefore the characters in Brink, are nonbinary or otherwise don’t fully conform to one gender, and while Brink takes some liberties with historical accuracy so these characters can live openly as they are, I’m still going to sometimes refer to the clothing as “men’s clothing” and “women’s clothing” because that’s how it was categorized in the period. 

“On the Brink of Scientific Discovery”(by ConnorsNotHere on Ao3) is a Victorian gothic/cosmic horror AU of FableSMP that takes place in 1889. Brink and its sequels do a decent amount of globe-traveling, but most of the characters are from and live in England. However, a lot of them have connections to or are from places like France, the US, etc. By this time in history there’s(very generally) not drastic differences between the fashions of America and western Europe, so while I’m gonna try to find things as accurate as possible to what I think the characters would wear, I’m also not going to be overly picky about if say, a specific suit is from England or America.

What were the clothes like then?

In 1889 we are coming off of the second bustle period, so skirts still had a lot of fullness in the back, however, they were starting to transition into the more “trumpet shaped” skirts of the 1890s. Bodices and sleeves were both still very fitted, and sleeves are starting to get a little bit of a puff on top, rather than the smoother, more rounded styles of previous decades. In the 1880s more tailored, menswear-inspired clothing also started to gain popularity for women, so you’ll start to see jackets and bodices that resemble menswear more than in previous decades.

Year to year men’s clothing doesn’t change a drastic amount, but there are still a lot of things characteristic of the 1880s. Suit jackets were often buttoned very high up, sometimes to the point where you were barely able to see the shirt and tie. When the jackets were left open, it was actually quite fashionable to have bolder, more colorful waistcoats, which were often beautifully patterned.

However, not every person dresses like the latest fashion plates, and this photo is a good example of people who are still fashionable, but also just normal people and not wearing anything overly fancy. The entirety of the Fable Society has a decent amount of wealth, so they would be able to afford fashionable, good quality clothing, however, they still wouldn’t be dressing in their best, fanciest clothes every day, especially if it’s not practical for their job.

This is a photo of some teenage boys from 1889. This gives a really good idea of what characters like Athena, Easton, and Jamie would be wearing when they’re not wearing more casual or practical things.(side note, I really like the suit on the left I would 100% wear that)

Individual Characters

I’m not going to go into detail about *every single one* of the characters in Brink, as that would get repetitive and excessively long after a while, but I wanted to talk about a lot of them still.

Momboo

I want to start with Momboo cause in my opinion she would probably be the most fashionable(to the period's standards) of the Fable Society, and I had a lot of fun looking for things I think she would wear. Lots of pretty trims, ruffles, and florals were very popular at the time so there was a lot to choose from. While I can see her enjoying fancier clothing a lot of the time, she also loves to garden and care for the plants on her estate, so obviously she would wear different clothes for that, something with darker colors and less elaborate decorations so it would be easier to wash when it got dirty. There honestly isn’t much super unique going on with her clothing, it’s just very pretty so I wanted to talk about it first.

(That green and pink dress on the right is one of my favorites that I found the entire time I was researching for this, it’s so pretty) (also these 2 fashion plates give me such world sisters vibes, I like them a lot)

More pretty pink dresses :Athenafire:

Sherbert

In the 1880s there wasn’t yet standardized protection or uniform for chemists and people working with more dangerous compounds, and in pictures I’ve seen they just seem to be wearing normal(if slightly more casual) clothes with maybe an apron over them. In Brink neither Sherbert nor Easton wear any protection in their lab out of pure “well nothing bad has happened yet”(which I’m sure will be great for their health and will never have any adverse effects later in life /s) which is actually pretty accurate to chemists of the time.

(I had a really hard time dating this photo, it’s probably closer to the 1870s but still gives really good examples of protection used by chemists in their labs)

It was pretty difficult to find pictures of chemists in the clothing they would wear while working, but I did find a lot of really cool pictures of chemistry labs that are really interesting to look at.

A really fun detail that I realized when I was researching things for Sherbert(that was probably accidental but I still like it) is that Sherbert’s jacket is often described as being very long and having a large collar that is often turned up. This actually wasn’t a very common style for overcoats in the last couple years of the 1880s, *however* it was a lot more common just a couple years beforehand, so I like to think of Sherbert’s jacket in Brink as being something they’ve held onto for a while either out of practicality or just because they like it.

Caspian

One of my favorite details about Caspian’s clothing in Brink is that even when he’s given new clothing from the other characters after he’s rescued, he still wears his old blue jacket from when he was traveling around the world in the mid/late 1810s, looking for a way to bring back the lady of the world. To me It’s a really cool detail, and if Brink was in a visual medium rather than written, it would be such a cool way to show the audience that Caspian doesn’t quite belong, and has been in the End for a lot longer than the characters think.

During and slightly before the regency period(1811-1820), men’s fashion went through a massive shift from the elaborately embroidered and patterned fashions of the 1700s to a more toned down and subtle style(and contrary to popular belief, Beau Brummell was not the sole reason this change happened, he just became the face of popular trends that were already happening, but that could be its own whole rant). The most common type of men’s coat in this era was called a dress coat or a tailcoat, which was cut high in the front with long “tails” in the back, and large high collars.

I’m not sure if I really like this style of coat personally, but I think it’s really interesting that the men’s coats from this era are so different from what all the other characters would be wearing in the story.

(Don’t pay attention to why his hand is in his pants here, I have no idea why but a lot of men in fashion plates from this era are posed like this)

Rae

Rae’s research comes before most things in his life, including staying up to date with the latest fashions. However, in fable, Rae really likes fancier clothing so I think it’d be fun to have Brink!Rae also really like good clothes. Rae also does a lot of traveling and working outside at archeological sites, and so most of the time would be wearing more practical things.(though in the 1800s this still means he would often wear a full suit, just one made of different materials and not as fancy)

I really like this painting and I can definitely see brink Rae wearing something like this when at his home(or at least when not traveling or working in the field), I like the super dark blue/almost black of the suit and whatever he’s wearing on his neck is really pretty(I can’t actually tell what that is specifically but I like it)

Haley

I can see Haley wearing pretty fashionable clothing, but probably more subtle and practical designs than Momboo, and she would wear things in more subtle colors, but she would still have an overall pretty feminine style.

I wish I could have found more purple or gray dresses to use as examples for her, but I don’t think those colors were very common, at least in the fashion plates I was looking at. I was able to find some really pretty darker navy dresses though, which I think fits really well too. I don’t have a ton to say with her either but pretty dresses>>>

Jamie

Connor has talked about Jamie’s clothes in Brink before so I’ll keep this one shorter, but Jamie is the only person in the main Brink cast who regularly wears sweaters, which was a deliberate choice. At the time sweaters were associated with college students, working class people, and people who had very physical jobs, such as sailors. Sweaters were considered extremely casual and people outside of those groups didn’t really wear them often, but as Jamie is an orphan who was later adopted onto a very large farm, it makes sense that they would wear one often and feel more comfortable in one.

Ocie

I think Ocie is the character I’m taking the most liberties with when it comes to historical accuracy, mostly cause she is described in some scenes as wearing a naval jacket, and as it was only men wearing those, I couldn’t find anything completely accurate to what she was wearing. I can definitely picture how her jacket would look though. I picture it as being mostly in the men’s style, just cut more like a woman’s jacket of the time. 

During the 1880s some popular styles of women’s fashion started to become more tailored and more resemble menswear, especially in jackets and some bodices, so it was pretty easy to find menswear inspired women’s jackets that I think fit pretty well.

Riding habits(outfits for horse riding) have also been very inspired by menswear for hundreds of years, and I can see ocie wearing something similar as her jacket.

this image is very crunchy and slightly too early for brink (1886), but give a good idea of menswear inspired womenswear from the late 1880s

Other than her jacket I actually found some blue dresses I think fit Ocie really well.

The blue dress on the right is probably more fancy than Brink!Ocie would realistically be wearing, but it fits her so well I had to put it in, and I just think it’s really pretty.

And this is what actual navy captain’s uniforms like around the 1880s(it was really hard to reliably date these but they’re from approximately then) 

Galahad

Contrary to the popular image of the brave lone wolf cowboy who lived a life of courageous freedom, a majority of old west cowboys were actually very poor and rarely owned even the horse they were riding, which usually belonged to the man who owned the cattle they were herding. Obviously there were exceptions to this, including Galahad in Brink, but I think it’s interesting to see how much the fantasy of the old west has changed the image of the cowboy in America.(I highly recommend checking out Kaz Rowe’s video on YouTube, “Exploring the Queer History of the Old West… Yehaw”, its a really fascinating video on the old west as a whole, and honestly just check out Kaz Rowe’s channel in general, it’s so good)

There was no one uniform way cowboys looked, as they had to adapt to a ton of different climates depending on where they were working. Galahad travels often but he stays in the southwest, which makes their wide brimmed hat very practical, and he also wears a serape, a type of colorful wool shawl that’s draped around your shoulders. A serape isn’t the same as a poncho because a poncho has a hole for your head in the middle, while a serape doesn’t.

The variety of clothing cowboys wore in the old west is really fascinating to me, because even though fashion and style was pretty low on the priority list compared to things like their work and getting their next meal, these people still valued what they wore and took pride in it, and the variation of it is so cool to see in photos.

Athena

Throughout Brink, Athena wears both suits and dresses depending on their environment and what they are doing at the time, but I want to use this section to talk a lot about Victorian mourning wear, cause that’s what Athena is wearing for the end of Brink and a large portion of On the Edge of Worlds Unknown.

In the Victorian era, mourning was a very serious practice with many many rules that depended on gender, class, time period, and closeness to the deceased. While Victorian mourning clothes existed and were widely worn before the death of Queen Victoria’s husband Prince Albert in 1861, the fact that she wore mourning clothes for the rest of her life skyrocketed their popularity and made mourning wear a social requirement. 

Depending on how you knew the deceased you could be in mourning anywhere from a few months to several years, and some(usually widows) chose to be in mourning for the rest of their lives. The exact time you should be in mourning varied greatly, and was often a source of anxiety for the mourners as coming out of mourning “too soon” could be a social death sentence for some.

As mourning practices became longer and more complex, different stages of mourning started to become common. During full mourning, you would wear only black, dresses were usually less ornamented, and close family of the deceased would very rarely take visitors or go in public. During half mourning, black was still the predominant color but some purple, white, or gray was also allowed, and the close family of the deceased was allowed to venture out in public a little more.

As dress styles and silhouettes started to change more rapidly starting in the 1870s, It became more impractical to buy or make a new fashionable mourning dress every year just in case someone died, and extravagant mourning practices started to become less common, though mourning dress was still a requirement for a few decades afterwards.

WWI was the final thing that ended mourning wear as a common practice, as so many people lost loved ones that practically everyone would have been in mourning if it was still a social requirement, and many people who’d lost sons or husbands simply wore a black armband to symbolize their mourning.

The one plate that started this whole thing

The one fashion plate that started me down this entire research rabbit hole was this plate from 1851 that I think just works so so well for Brink!Isla, and it lines up with the timeline too, cause as long as Brink keeps the timeline relatively the same for the Morningstar family, 1851 would be right before all of the god drama starts happening with her. I wanted to include her as a kind of honorable mention to the rest of the character breakdowns, cause that blue dress it so pretty and fits so well for her, and it’s what started me down the path of “what would all the other brink characters be wearing?”

If I got any details or information wrong please let me know and I’ll correct it! 

If ya’ll have made it this far in the post, thanks so much for reading. This has been a project for me since like July for a while now, and I’m so glad I finally got it finished and out here! It was so cool doing all the research for this, and turning all of my semi-coherent bullet points into something that would actually be comprehensible was a lot harder than I thought, my hat goes off to anyone who writes things ever.

Most of the fashion plates I put in here are from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Libraries, as well as Mark Hartley(bygonewhimsy) and Melinda Kovács on Pinterest, but a lot of the plates and portraits were just things I had in my camera roll so I unfortunately don’t have sources for all of them.

[sorte-de-vida]

@brittunculii sent: setting prompts: within a quiet corridor of a castle during a lavish ball - historical, for Arthur !

As much as João could not stand king Charles II, there was a certain affection he held for his wife that drew him to this party with little complaints. Not to mention, João rarely turned down any opportunity to go to sea, and similarly to this, rarely denied himself the chance to sail to England.

He's worn his finest: deep green, silver silk embroidery. While he knows that the darkened cloth is not the most fashionable in these parts, he's certainly one of the finest dressed of the upper class here, even in spite of this— a fact he can thank his eastern trade routes for. My, how the ladies of the ball fawned over him: his accent, his looks, his worldliness, his exotic flair to his outfits, his full luscious hair. João would die before he wore a wig, regardless of what the so-called 'fashion' said. Those men with wigs simply wanted what he had naturally.

What an utter menace João had been tonight as well. Giving and taking away in the same breath. He'd saved Charles earlier from the vulture-like women who'd been hounding him, but in the same breath he'd caused fury when he'd whispered to him an invitation to join him on the dancefloor, or perhaps later. He'd narrowly avoided a dagger to the gut, not that being stabbed would have done more than excite him.

Arthur too had not been spared, a night of stolen glances as he danced with woman after woman, had even reached across the Englishman on this last partner to connect his hand with hers, not without a subtle drag of his fingers across the other man's pale skin. It was calculated, something that could appear accidental to anyone but themselves, but infuriating when he then flits away with yet another beautiful noble.

It doesn't escape his notice when Arthur slips away from the ballroom, and with this last dance, João excuses himself from his latest dance partner with a dip of his upper body, and a kiss to her knuckles.

An utter gentleman he'd been— though surely the two Englishmen would have spat at the rest of the room's agreement on such a statement, and with good reason (João however would vehemently deny such arguments against his character. He had and was a gentleman, the other two were simply jealous.)

He takes a glass of wine from a passing servant, sucking the liquid down in one breath and setting it back atop the serving tray before he exits swiftly from the room, the direction he'd watched Arthur slink out of earlier; with his twisted expression and tight shoulders. Perhaps he had been pushing things just a smidge too far, teasing him all night, spending most of the evening on the dance floor with only the most beautiful of the women. He'd been quite inattentive to his host in every regard other than perhaps his eyes— deep hazel gaze consistently drawn back to the Englishman over the heads and shoulders of others.

It doesn't take him very long to find the other man, tucked away in this small corner of the castle's labyrinth-like halls. Here it is quiet, the party laughter and chatter a soft buzz and the music muffled and gentle. He leans against the cavernous open doorway, ankle hooking his other as he leans his shoulder against the cool stone, eyes taking in his form. He looks quite relaxed, almost sleepy, but they both know it to only be a rouse. That in spite of this lax exterior, he would be ready to move in a moments notice_ not that he thought himself in need of such a thing.

"Boa noite," he greets lowly, a slow grin spreading across his face like a wild fox, sly and calculating. "Have you been waiting for me for long?" The deep baritone is practically purred to him, though João is accurately aware of how long he'd been here his long dark lashes bat slowly at the blonde, as the woman had been doing to João all night— yet there's no denying that this was the most interest he'd genuinely showed in anyone all night.

[unwokeswag]

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[skyingglitty]

Skying Glitty: Redefining Fashion for the Modern World

In today’s fast-paced digital age, the way we approach fashion has drastically changed. Online shopping platforms have revolutionized how we discover, purchase, and engage with the latest trends. At the forefront of this transformation is Skying Glitty, a dynamic fashion Ecommerce brand that has quickly gained recognition for its bold, innovative approach to style, sustainability, and customer experience.

The Birth of Skying Glitty: A Vision for Trendsetting Fashion

Skying Glitty was founded with a clear vision: to offer fashion enthusiasts a destination where they can find the latest, trendsetting styles without compromising on quality or sustainability. The brand was born from a desire to fuse fashion-forward designs with eco-conscious production practices, providing consumers with both the styles they crave and the ethical choices they value. With an ever-growing customer base, Skying Glitty has proven itself as a key player in the fashion Ecommerce world, catering to a global audience with diverse tastes and preferences.

Products That Speak to Style and Substance

At the core of Skying Glitty’s mission is its dedication to offering high-quality products that resonate with the modern consumer. The brand’s collection features a wide variety of clothing and accessories that appeal to both men and women, ranging from everyday basics to bold statement pieces. Whether you're looking for casual wear, chic evening outfits, or accessories that elevate your wardrobe, Skying Glitty has something for every occasion.

But what truly sets Skying Glitty apart is its commitment to sustainability. The company uses eco-friendly materials and ethical production practices to ensure that its fashion offerings align with the growing demand for sustainable choices. From recycled fabrics to environmentally conscious packaging, Skying Glitty is dedicated to reducing its carbon footprint while continuing to provide cutting-edge designs.

A Seamless Shopping Experience

In addition to its impressive product lineup, Skying Glitty prides itself on delivering an unparalleled shopping experience. The company’s website is designed with the user in mind, offering a seamless, intuitive interface that makes browsing and purchasing a breeze. Customers can enjoy a fast, reliable shopping process, with secure payment options and real-time tracking for all orders.

Skying Glitty’s customer support team is equally committed to excellence, providing personalized assistance to ensure that every shopper feels valued. Whether you have questions about sizing, product availability, or shipping details, the support team is always ready to help, offering a level of service that rivals even the largest global brands.

Fashion with a Purpose: Embracing Sustainability

In an industry that is often criticized for its environmental impact, Skying Glitty is a brand that stands out for its commitment to sustainability. The fashion industry is one of the world’s largest polluters, but Skying Glitty is determined to be part of the solution rather than the problem. By adopting sustainable production practices and using eco-friendly materials, the company is helping to pave the way for a greener, more responsible fashion future.

Skying Glitty also believes in transparency. The brand is open about its sustainability efforts and encourages its customers to make informed choices. From the fabrics used in its products to the methods employed in manufacturing, Skying Glitty ensures that every step of its process is as eco-conscious as possible.

Staying Ahead of the Trends

One of Skying Glitty’s key strengths is its ability to stay ahead of the fashion curve. The brand continually monitors global fashion trends and works with a talented team of designers to create collections that reflect the latest styles. Whether it’s bold colors, unique prints, or innovative silhouettes, Skying Glitty is always on the cutting edge, ensuring that its customers have access to the freshest fashion trends as soon as they emerge.

At Skying Glitty, fashion is not just about keeping up with the latest trends—it's about setting them. The brand’s creative team is constantly experimenting with new ideas, pushing the boundaries of fashion to create pieces that stand out from the crowd.

Fast and Reliable Shipping

Skying Glitty understands the excitement of receiving a new fashion find, which is why the company strives to provide fast and reliable shipping options. Whether you’re shopping domestically or internationally, Skying Glitty ensures that your order arrives quickly and in perfect condition. The brand’s global reach means that customers from all over the world can experience the style and quality that Skying Glitty has to offer.

Fashion for Everyone

One of the core values at Skying Glitty is inclusivity. The brand believes that fashion should be accessible to everyone, regardless of size, style, or location. This inclusive approach is reflected in its diverse range of products, which cater to different body types, fashion preferences, and budgets. Skying Glitty’s goal is to ensure that every customer can find something that makes them feel confident and stylish.

The Future of Skying Glitty

As Skying Glitty continues to grow, the brand remains committed to its founding principles of quality, sustainability, and innovation. The future holds exciting possibilities, with plans to expand its product offerings, enhance its customer experience, and further its sustainability initiatives. By staying true to its core values, Skying Glitty is poised to remain a leading force in the fashion industry for years to come.

In conclusion, Skying Glitty is more than just an online fashion store—it’s a brand with a purpose. Combining the latest fashion trends with a strong commitment to sustainability and customer satisfaction, Skying Glitty is redefining what it means to shop for fashion in the modern world. Whether you're looking for the latest styles, eco-conscious options, or a seamless shopping experience, Skying Glitty is the go-to destination for fashion lovers everywhere.

[firstchoicecreation]

First choice creation The world of Fashion and Decorative items

First Choice Creation is an emerging e-commerce company specializing in fashion collections and home decor items. With a commitment to providing high-quality products at affordable prices, First Choice Creation aims to cater to diverse consumer needs, ensuring that style and comfort are accessible to everyone.

Fashion Collection

First Choice Creation offers a wide range of apparel for men, women, and children. The collection includes trendy clothing items such as:

Women’s Apparel: From elegant A-line kurtas to casual tops, the women's collection is designed to blend comfort with contemporary styles.

Men’s Clothing: A variety of shirts, t-shirts, and trousers that cater to both casual and formal occasions.

Children’s Wear: Fun and stylish clothing options for kids, including dresses, hoodies, and traditional outfits.

The focus on quality ensures that each piece is made with durable materials, making them suitable for everyday wear. Moreover, the affordable pricing allows customers to refresh their wardrobes without breaking the bank.

Home Decor Items

In addition to fashion, First Choice Creation also offers a selection of home decor products. These items are designed to enhance the aesthetic appeal of living spaces while remaining budget-friendly. The collection includes:

Decorative Accessories: Unique pieces that add character to any room.

Textiles: High-quality curtains, cushions, and throws that combine functionality with style.

Wall Art: A variety of artworks that can transform blank walls into vibrant focal points.

By focusing on both fashion and home decor, First Choice Creation provides a holistic shopping experience for customers looking to elevate their personal style and living spaces.

Conclusion

First Choice Creation stands out in the e-commerce landscape by prioritizing quality, affordability, and customer satisfaction. Whether you're looking for the latest fashion trends or stylish home decor, First Choice Creation is dedicated to being your go-to destination for all your shopping needs. With a user-friendly online platform, shopping has never been easier or more enjoyable.

[quinn-borel]

If you're still looking for prompts, would you be willing to write a bit more on how Aymeric talked Quinn into wearing the infamous Chastity Hat for mass? XDDD. (Sorry--it's just so funny!)

Quinn loved Aymeric, that was an undeniable truth.  She cared for him, stood by his side, and supported all of his endeavors with a warm smile and words of encouragement.  Some would say that small facets of her personality had changed to accommodate her new life with him, such as curbing her drinking and no longer philandering about with other men and women.  She was a woman wholly devoted to him, just as he was devoted to her.

Again, to stress: she was devoted to him...not his religion.

“You have got to be kidding me.” she stated rather firmly, “No.  I love you, but that’s a bit much.”

“Dear, it’s not as bad as it looks, I promise you this.”

They both stood in their now-shared bedchamber as the steward of the house brought in the newly-spun garments for the new lady of the house to wear.  It was the latest fashion–an Ishgardian-woven gown with soft fluff around the neck and breast region with long sleeves and little to no train.  A typical dress worn by ladies around Ishgard, and certainly not foreign to Quinn’s personal wardrobe since her arrival in the city.  What irked her was the demanded fashion from the Holy See…

A tall cone-shaped hat with white cloth jutting out of the tip and over the sides, fashioned to cover her hair and only allowing her facial features and ears to show.  It was the utmost show of modesty, both the steward and her husband explained.

“I don’t give a shite if it’s for ‘modesty’…” Quinn went on, “I’m no woman of the cloth–this is absolutely unnecessary for an ‘outsider’ like me to wear.”

“My dear, you’re not the only one who will be wearing this, mind you.” Aymeric said as his lips twitched, trying not to smile, “It’s the appropriate attire to wear to Mass.  By Halonic doctrine, all those presenting as feminine should wear-”

“You’re excusing this!?” she turned to him, sharp on her heels, “Aymeric, you–by the Gods I see that look in your eyes.  You think this is amusing.”

He let out a laugh, unable to conceal it much longer.  Truly, he had never seen someone so apprehensive towards a dress code.  Quinn crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, to which Aymeric immediately straightened up,

“Forgive me, my darling. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“Quinn, please.” he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, “You’ve trialed much in your days as the Warrior of Light.  You can handle seventy minutes with a…cone on your head-”

“Even you think it’s silly.” she pointed out, “Imagine if you had to wear it.”

“I had to wear a chainmail coif that covered my ears when I was a Temple Knight.” Aymeric reminded her, “Now that was uncomfortable.”

Quinn sighed as she rolled her eyes.  There was no winning the argument with him.  She quickly grabbed the hat and dress from the steward and dismissed him.  Aymeric ran his fingers through his hair, still trying not to laugh too much.

“I’m doing this for you.” she grumbled.  Aymeric smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, arms gently wrapping around her to hold her,

“And it means the world to me, dear.  My beautiful wife (cone and all) by my side during Mass? What more could I ask for?”

“Now you think buttering me up with honeyed words is going to make me less irritated by this thing?”

“It was worth a try.” he released her and went back to his wardrobe, “We should hurry, lest we be late.”

Quinn stared at the hat, trying to make heads or tails on how to put it on.  As apprehensive as she was to wear it, she knew deep down how much it meant to her husband.  As the Lord Speaker, Aymeric had a reputation to uphold as a beacon of hope for this people, which meant that everything he did was under scrutiny.  And by extension, everything his wife did was under scrutiny as well.  While he wasn’t close to being a man of the cloth, he was still a man of Ishgard’s faith and attended Mass on the regular.  Having Quinn as his wife, she was expected to attend with him–the main excuse for early on in their bonding was her work in Mor Dhona.  However, as time went on the excuse faded and she had no choice but to attend whether she was a Halone worshipper or not.  At first, she didn’t mind the thought–she would simply play the part and meditate during prayer.  Everything else would fall into place.  What she wasn’t prepared for was the fashion doctrine…

After a few minutes of deliberation, Quinn turned to Aymeric with the hat snugly fit on her head.  To make light of it, she posed for him–hand on on hip with the other running down her thigh,

“How do I look?  Sexy, right?”

He balked at the display before letting out another cackle of laugher.  Quinn’s eye twitched slightly and her head tilted awkwardly from the extra weight.

“I could take you right now.” he said with a smirk, “…But in all seriousness, it doesn’t look that bad.”

“I feel like my entire equilibrium is thrown off.”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” he chuckled, “…Thank you, Quinn.”

Her gaze softened towards him–maybe the hat wasn’t all that bad.  It made him laugh, it made him smile, and it was her taking part in his culture.  Their culture, now that she was bound to Ishgard.

She did it for him, and that was just another way she showed her devotion.  

[aquietlifesblog]

Hungry Eyes (Dio x F!Reader) 5/6

He’d met Lord Pendleton before—he’d come once to visit the Joestar estate. The man took one look at Dio and decided he wasn’t worth acknowledging.

Your features may have been darker, but you carried his face.

OR

Dio Brando knows what it's like to be hungry, to reach for more in life. He can use your ambition to destroy the man who slighted him and discard you just as easily.

He never planned to like you.

Read the Full Story on AO3

Note: This chapter contains implied sexual content and characters being weirdos.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 5: Like the Sun Loves the Earth

He woke in the dark, his back flush against the lining of the casket. He clawed at the velvet and the metal all around him but would find no reprieve there; the overwhelming force of the ocean weighed the casket shut. He had no choice but to wait.

He slept for years at a time of time, only waking when the casket shook or a ship ported overheated, and during those years he dreamed. His weary mind conjured images of life: his father, Jonathan, George Joestar, and you. He dreamt of power, of wealth, of women and men. And he dreamt of the world he'd find outside his prison. And in those quiet moments, when he felt as though time itself stood still, he allowed himself to dream of his Mother. 

'Dio, no matter what happens, live nobly and with pride. If you do that, you'll surely be able to go to Heaven.' 

His Mother spoke of Heaven often, as though it was the only thing that mattered. 

'Was it worth it,' he wondered, 'was her suffering in life worth the heaven she sought so desperately?' Her generous heart earned her nothing but scorn, suffering, and an early grave. His neighbors laughed at her, the woman who gave away what little food or clothing she had to others.

'There are others less fortunate than we are, Dio. Charity is a good thing.'  She would say, and it was nothing short of cruelty. He hated her for taking even the smallest luxuries away from him.

Did she find the heaven she sought so desperately? And it not, would her demeanor have changed had she known her fate from the beginning? Would she still have endured Dario's abuse? Still have given away their food and money? Or would she have been a wicked woman, one who prioritized happiness and pleasure? 

And what of Jonathan? Had he known his fate, he may not have been so foolish.

And what of you? It was Dio who stoked the fires of your rage. He was happy to watch your resentment grow and fester, eager to place the poison in your hand, and he smiled as you committed the ultimate sin.

He used to think he molded you, that you were Galatea come to life beneath his skillful hand. But was that truly the case? Would you have taken the same path regardless? What was it that brought you both together? Fate? Gravity? Divine Providence? 

Those were the thoughts that kept him going, that kept his hunger at bay. 

And when a fishing boat happened upon his casket and pulled it up from the depths of the ocean deep, it was those thoughts that brought him back to you. 

The year was 1983.

Months passed and Dio became accustomed to the world he'd woken up to; he acquired clothes in the latest fashions, visited the library, and indulged himself with men, women, and those who found themselves in between. He claimed their lives, of course,  and took whatever money they possessed before moving on to another. Dio moved slowly through the Canary Islands before traveling north to Morocco (where he proceeded to do the same things). In Agadir, a city famous for its beautiful resorts, he himself found a wealthy lover. The man was handsome, with smooth skin and deep brown eyes, and more than eager to spend a month with Dio in his arms. He lived like a king. And as he did so, Dio plotted his next move. 

He could feel you. From the moment he woke above the surface of the water, Dio knew you were alive. Your pull on his psyche was a siren's song, a low pitch that beckoned him closer.

'All in due time,' He thought. He would find you when the time was right.  Because Dio's body was rejecting him. No matter how much blood he took, his left side felt weaker and the scar around his neck refused to fade. So for days, he toyed with new methods of hypnosis and charm—just in case.

He had half the resort under his control by the time he discovered the most measure: flesh buds. By implanting a bit of his flesh into another's brain, Dio found he could manipulate their minds and kill them just as quickly. That is how he 'convinced' his hoard of lovers to give their lives and funds to him, DIO. 

He had a new casket made, new clothes tailored, and custom jewelry fitted for his trip to England. The paved country roads were unfamiliar to him then, but Dio knew which way to go.

***

Your siren song led him to an extravagant gate and the car could go no further. The driver his lover hired began to sweat, but Dio felt no need to kill him. He was exactly where he needed to be. 

He sensed a community through the fog and slipped through the gate to find large houses, each evenly spaced with neutral-colored shingles. It was quiet, though people still walked the streets at night, greeting one another with placid smiles stretched across their faces. They had no worries, felt no fear, and each and every one of them was dressed in shades of black and red.

'Cute.' 

Your house, he figured, was the one that stood alone—a massive brick structure surrounded by a thicket of trees. So he took the only path available to him and slipped into your house through a window near the balcony. The halls were lined with dark red runners, and a grand marble staircase lead him to your open door.

There was a maid in your chamber, a pretty girl with dark curls and thick lashes. She stood before you at the foot of the bed, her tawny skin flushed with heat, her hair impossibly glossy. She gazed upon your face with such fanatical devotion, Dio thought the girl would faint. As such, she failed to notice his intrusion—but you did.

You said nothing of his presence there, choosing instead to nudge the young man at your feet. Like the maid, he was quite beautiful—with skin and eyes that glistened by your candle's golden glow. You'd taken their blood just moments before his arrival, and though it seemed that was all you'd done, their expressions bordered on erotic.

"Go on now," you told them both. They obeyed your words without question, but their disappointment was clear. They wanted your attention, in whatever form it came. So neither you nor Dio spoke a word till the door shut with a soft click.

"You've done well for yourself," he said, taking note of the expensive art and the ornate shelves that lined the walls. 

"What do you want?" 

"Such a look—a far cry from the adoring gaze you once offered me. You looked much like that young maid, in fact, like a priestess eager to pour libations for her God." You said nothing as Dio moved forward, stepping into the flickering light. "By the way, how did you manage to escape my influence? I thought you were dead, killed in the street by some hamon-wielding monk. Yet here you are—alive, with a town of simpering sycophants willing to slit their throats at your command." 

"Did you mourn for me, Dio?" You asked, the beginning of a song in your voice. You leaned back, pushing your weight to a single arm as he continued his approach. 

"But of course," he lied. Though he did feel a sense of loss without your presence, his growing hunger and isolation were far more pressing concerns. "After all, you are my most treasured friend." Slowly, Dio reached forward and brushed his thumb across your cheek. 

You were the same. 

The entire world changed around him, moving on its destined path, yet you remained the same—the sole constant in his life. There might have been some comfort there, had he allowed it to be. But instead, Dio took note of your behavior: the defiant gaze you fixed him with, your refusal to answer his question, and your preparation to attack, and thought he should put you in your place. 

So when the air around him grew colder, so much so that frost formed around his fingers. He twisted the flesh beneath his hair to form the bud he needed. His hair shifted and gathered, twisting together like a needle. He'd infect you quickly, like a snake in a burrow.

'Wat a waste,' He thought, 'I always admired her spirit.' 

But then he saw your body disappear—no, you didn't vanish—you turned your body into mist and appeared behind him. He dared you to move closer, to attack him from behind, to make the choice to possess you easy—

But the attack never came. 

"You've acquired the power of a Stone Mask," he spoke, turning to meet the smug expression in your eyes. 

"Say I did, what does it matter to you?" It was clear you had no intention to fight him, that your little display was just that: a demonstration of your newfound strength.

Instead, you found a seat at a table near the mantlepiece, a table set for two. 

Dio scoffed at your antics, though his curiosity outweighed his annoyance.

"Jonathan's accursed associate destroyed the sole mask in my possession. Are you saying there are more?" Your shelves were filled with odds and ends, countless antiques, and expensive-looking jewelry, yet there was no mask in sight. 

"The masks were destroyed long ago," you waved a hand dismissively, "the Speedwagon Foundation made sure of that." 

'Speedwagon?'  Dio thought, watching you lift your glass kettle and tilt it just so. A warm red liquid flowed freely from the sprout and into the cup that sat before you.

"And yet you came to possess one? How advantageous." Dio didn't sit, but he did stand down. His hair resumed its typical shape, the flesh bud he prepared melted back into his body, and he tapped his nail, long and sharp, against the back of the hair facing opposite your own. He supposed it was meant for him, that you felt him approaching from far across the sea. 

"It was all I could do to purge myself of you. Though it seems my peace was temporary—as you've managed to slither your way into my home." You took a long drink, draining your entire cup. "I'll ask you this once more, Dio. What do you want?" All traces of humor left your voice as your eyes narrowed down into a glare that could pierce a lesser man. 

"You wound me, my friend." He placed a hand flat against his chest, over the place where his heart should beat. "Have you not opened your door to those far more lowly than me?" 

"You would be a wolf amongst my flock." 

"Thus saith the ravening wolf."

The corners of your mouth lifted in a movement so slight, anyone else might have missed it. You moved to fill your cup again and he let his gaze drop lower, to the delicate chain clasped around your neck and the ruby pendant that sat there. It matched the shade of the gown you wore and most of your antique furnishings. It was the color of the cult outside as well. 

Red, he thought, the color he chose for you all those years ago.

He could have laughed. 

"I am but a simple shepherd," you said, with all the false humility you could muster.

He scoffed.

"I never claimed to be a prophet," you continued, "nor do I seek to be their God. Their reverence is welcome, but I demand nothing short of secrecy.  I'm not like you." 

Ah, there it was; the vitriol he long knew was coming. Like an adult child unable to forgive the punishments she received as a girl, you let your anger fester and boil—but Dio would not be guilted.

"You say that you are different, yet that is far from the case. You may not have stolen their will completely, but you've done something far more terrifying: you've presented your 'flock' with the illusion of choice."

It was your turn to scoff then,  but he continued talking. "They give you their blood in offering, lay their bodies at your feet, and include you in their prayers at night not because they love you, no. But because you've made them dependent. You may not call yourself their God but you've taken the place of one. You've trapped these people in a delusion, one where you've led them to the promised land, where their every whim is met so long as they fall to their knees before you. What happens to the ones who disobey, I wonder? The ones you have no use for? I've noticed no sick, nor elderly amongst those you claim to care for. Why is that?"

You were no shepherd, but a wolf the same as he.

"I may have forced my will upon you that night, but the choice between me and a life of poverty would not have yielded a different result—so turns the wheel of fate." 

"...fate?" You stood, and the table shook as though it felt your rage. "You believe it was my fate to be enslaved to you? To have become this?" You stood before him, forced to tilt your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes flashed red, but it was then you seemed to notice how much bigger he was,  how much more of him there was. But despite your surprise, you never stopped glaring.

And he smirked.

Those were the eyes, he thought, the same eyes that intrigued him all those years ago: Angry. Prideful. Beautiful. Hungry. 

"Did you not find the freedom you sought so badly? Are you not powerful? Wealthy? So concerned are you with the setbacks that you fail to consider what even a child might grasp. Had I not made you better you would have wasted away, spent the whole of your life on your knees scrubbing filth from your father's floor!"

Your hands curled into fists, and the temperature of the room dropped again but you didn't attack. Dio stared back at you, secure in his superiority, he looked down upon you with sharp, narrow eyes. 

The silence between you was a tangible thing, heavy and frozen in the air.

"You're incorrigible," you said eventually, falling back into your chair with a loud, undignified thump. Predictably, your resolve was nothing compared to his own. He knew you would falter. "Is that what you truly believe? Or are you simply going on about nothing?" 

Dio looked down his nose at you. You'd tested his patience enough as it is, and he hoped you'd understand without lecture. He rolled his eyes but decided to explain himself. Because you, of all people, should understand him. 

So Dio sat across from you, poured himself a cup (though it was no longer hot,) and explained his ideologies.

***

Dawn appeared behind your heavy velvet curtains, but he continued to converse with you. You argued, of course, and even doubted his mental facilities ("you spent far too much time in isolation")—but when understanding fully dawned upon you, you looked as though you had something more to say.

"What is it?" 

"...the Speedwagon Foundation I told you about… I've embedded spies amongst them— call it self-preservation." You moved the conversation down to the library at some point after noon. The room had no exterior windows, but the doors were adorned with stained glass paneling. You sat beside him on a chaise, glass of wine swirling in hand. "They've reported a number of strange occurrences. There may be something that could help you obtain heaven." 

"Something?" Amused, rather than offended, Dio pressed for more. He moved closer to you on the chaise, sliding over till your bodies touched.  "Tell me, what is it that you know?" 

You shrugged and looked away nonchalantly.

"It's just as I said." 

"Then," he began, sucking air through his teeth—his patience only spread so thin. "Perhaps you could provide me with an example." 

"The Red Stone of Aja," you continued, swirling around your wine. "Though all of my sources relegated it to a myth, not particularly worthy of mention." 

You took a drink, and Dio placed a hand against your thigh. You opted for trousers that day, red ones with flared bottoms that, otherwise, left little to the imagination. (You mentioned something about the 1970s and different trends in style when you put them on that morning, but he stopped paying attention the moment he laid his eyes upon you.) 

"Surely there must be something else to it." You leaned away from him,  removing his hand from your person as you placed your glass beside his on the table. There was a book already open there, something by some American playwright. 

"It's said to grant extraordinary power to its wielder. The details weren't specific, but it's believed to have been destroyed during the second great war."

"Is that so?" he leaned closer. "Tell me more."

"The Speedwagon Foundation heavily redacted records during that era so my knowledge isn't particularly insightful. But there was this group, the Pillar Men, said to be the originators of the Stone Masks. They weren't quite vampires but rather something...more. However, all four were eventually defeated by the hand of Joseph Joestar, so if the stone truly did exist and could do all that it was rumored, I can't imagine how such beings could lose to a mere man." 

The mention of another Joestar disturbed him, but that wasn't important now. He would deal with the last of their line if the situation deemed it necessary. 

"Perhaps it is merely a fable," he said, taking his glass from the table. "But I find it worth looking into." 

***

He traveled the world, meeting all manner of fascinating people with fascinating stories. He found others to imbue with his flesh buds and acquired more influence and wealth.

And when he tired of traveling, he returned to you.

Sometimes you spoke at length for hours, long into the day. You'd recommend books for him to read, films to view, and art to study, and you'd occasionally show him reports sent by your spies in the Speedwagon Foundation, now on the search for the Red Stone of Aja.

And on other days you wouldn't speak at all. You'd simply occupy the same space, content to pursue your own interests. 

And other days, days that gradually increased in frequency, he'd take you to bed.

It took a bit of seduction on his part: clever words, subtle touches, and quiet whispers in the darkness of the night. But when he succeeded, when you finally succumbed to the pleasure of his touch, he took you with surprising vigor.

He could, and had, seduced many into his bed with little more than a sideways glance. But you weren't swayed so easily. And something about that excited him—you excited him. 

You always had. Though you weren't his first lover by any means, you were the only one who understood his true nature.

The others had been cautious experiments, youthful indulgence, a way to pass the time. He'd shown those people what they wanted to see and told them what they wanted to hear. To them, he was a curious student, a suave noble, a troublemaker looking for a bit of fun.

But to you he was Dio. You saw who he was, who he truly was, and wanted him anyway. 

'I…I've always wondered if…'

That was the exact moment he knew you were his, that you wanted to stay with him. Neither of you spoke of love or marriage, as he could never offer those things to a woman of your station. (And he never much cared for those things besides.) So instead, you spoke of the future and created a plan where you could remain together, where you would be his. 

You were still his, he realized when he told you the truth about his body and you seemed intrigued as opposed to disgusted. 

"This is the body of Jonathan Joestar? Erina's husband?" You asked, sitting close to him on a sofa in the parlor. 

He laughed. You had no significant relationship with Jonathan, but Erina was your sister, the one who lived the life you so desired. You hated Erina, but she earned your respect as well. 

"The very same." He smirked, admiring the twisted curiosity that overtook your features when he moved his finger down the curve of your neck. Your eyes met. 

The hands that once hurt you weren't the ones that touched you then, and he supposed you found relief in that. You'd slowly opened up to his seductions, secure in the fact that you were once again 'friends,' but there was something else there then, a more pressing matter, something that unearthed your darkest impulses: the need to take what belonged to her and fulfill some twisted form of justice. 

"Why his?" You asked, your voice strained. 

"Why do you think?"

No one else would ever understand. 

So when he took your hand and led you to your bed later that night,  for the first time in nearly 100 years, he took you as any man would take the woman he...the woman who excited him, intrigued him, shared his sense of wicked curiosity, fueled his hunger and belonged to him.

He took you the same way he'd take any such person who elicited such emotions from him: with such vigor and passion it broke your bed in two.

"You may as well order several more," he mused, lounging shirtless on a sofa as malcontented servants carried the mess away. The envy in their eyes was palpable.

"That was antique," you chided, though you couldn't hide the smile that darkened your cheeks and bloomed across your face like a flower. 

You were his.

***

The year was 1986 and he found himself a home in Egypt. Because there lived a woman called Enya,  a terrible who possessed several magical arrows. These arrows had the power to grant certain individuals with abilities, which is how he acquired his stand, The World, along with another power Enya called Hermit Purple, the stand of Jonathan's body.

Unlike The World, Jonathan's stand was weak—but it came with a useful ability to divine information. He would use it to locate those with the potential to gain stands in his travels and bring them to his side (though it seemed stand users were drawn together anyway, as if by gravity.)

***

Dio traveled far and wide gathering wealth, influence, and an abundance of lovers.  He took his pleasure wherever he wanted and sometimes,  when he found a particularly wicked woman to indulge himself with, Dio didn't consume them. Because as ideals of Heaven became more concrete and he began to realize what it was he truly needed: a friend. He needed someone he trusted above all others.

Perhaps a child could help him obtain heaven.

Dio toyed with the idea of making a child with you, but he doubted a union between two vampires could result in the creation of life. Had it been possible, you would have already conceived. 

Still, there would be no need for a child if he knew for certain he could use you. You would be the easy choice, the safe choice. But you were too similar to himself, unable to control your urges. Anger, frustration, desire—you felt each of those emotions fiercely. He needed someone with no interest in power, fame, wealth, or sex. 

Despite that, he decided to make his way to England to imbue you with a stand. 

If gravity brought stand users together, he reasoned, then it stands to reason those with potential are drawn together as well, and there was no one he felt drawn to more than you. 

***

"I was hoping you'd return."

Your servants scurried about the hall, though a stopped to few gawked at him, swooning as they peeked behind pillars and doors. A pair of handsome muscular men were busy moving a piano in the parlor and you called yourself 'supervising.' He rolled his eyes. 

"Did you? It seems as though you're preoccupied." He scowled. 

You tilted your head, and he hated how quickly your neck drew his gaze.

"We'll, it isn't as though you left me with a way to contact you. If you had a telephone, I would have called." 

"I'll be sure to procure one expeditiously. " He walked around you, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you roughly to his side. At the same time, one of the men looked toward you for approval after having set the piano near the corner of the room.  

"That's fine," he dismissed the man, waving them away before you could speak. "Go." 

The men furrowed their brows in confusion, unsure what to do. You were their mistress, their Goddess, yet each of your servants came to understand that he was the same type of being as you.

"Leave it there for now," you sighed a long-suffering sigh, and the men left in a hurry. "You don't get to tell my people what to do," you huffed, but Dio didn't care. The sight of you ogling those workers was irritating enough—was in no mood to be lectured.

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?" He asked. Dio released you from his hold, folded his arms, and leaned back against a marble pillar. 

"I hoped you could tell me what this thing is." The atmosphere in the room shifted, as though another person was brought into being. He sensed the change before he saw it— your stand.

It stood as a ghostly presence behind you, the very nature of your soul. But how? 

"When did you acquire a stand?" He eyed the tall feminine figure warily. Its 'skin' was a deep shade of purple, but the rest of it, the scant 'armor' molded to its body, was gold. Red hearts adorned its chest, hands, and forehead, each of which glowed, as though to indicate utility. It wore a sort of belt, one fashioned like a cuff that clung to its waist from behind. There were four packs affixed to it, each with a letter and tube that connected to the back of its shiny gold helmet. CMYK, the packs read together. He had no idea what that meant. 

"So you can see it then? Is that what it's called, a stand?" 

"When?" He pressed. 

"Around three or four months ago," you dismissed his impatience with a wave of your hand. "I was bathing when she suddenly appeared beside me. None of my servants could see her so I knew either I'd gone mad, or you'd done something to me again." 

"I see…" Did your stand appear when his had? The blood he gave you still flowed through your veins, but was such a trivial connection enough to grant you stand abilities? And if that's true, what of Jonathan's descendants? He decided he would allow them to live, to carry on with their pathetic lives so long as none stepped forward to oppose him. But if they possessed stands as well, they may prove to be annoying. 

"What abilities does your stand possess?" 

"She shows me memories," you explained. "We'll, 'show' isn't exactly accurate. I watch the events unfold as though I'm there. I've been able to speak and interact with everything around me, but once it's over no one I've tested it on remembers a thing. They say that I've helped them re-live certain events but can't speak of my involvement." 

"And how long can you function within these 'memories'?" 

"No more than a minute or so." 

He nodded. An interesting ability, but not particularly useful in combat. It was well suited for espionage, however, and Dio could always use more spies. Perhaps if you trained, you could walk amongst memories for a longer period of time.

"Have you observed any particular weaknesses, a short-range perhaps?" 

"Weakness? Well…hm." You tilted your head to the side and Dio's eyes followed suit.  "Although I'm seeing memories, anything that would present danger to me in the real world continues to be of danger. I hoped I could use it to see the sun again, but I was nearly burned to a crisp. The ill effects persisted even after I returned to consciousness." 

"So if you find yourself in a perilous situation, the danger it presents is real?" 

"That's what it seems... And there's something else as well: I can take things." You gestured toward your stand and the heart on its chest began to glow. It made a sound reminiscent of an office printer as its arms extended outward.

Dio cringed at the grating noise and opened his mouth to complain, but stopped once he realized what was going on. Bit by bit, a rotary telephone began to appear. The process was slow and jerky, but once it finished, your stand placed the object in your hands, wires, and all.

"What a curious ability." He began, pushing himself from the pillar. Your stand made no movement as he circled around it. "The objects you take from these 'memories,' are they functional?"

"As far as I'm aware. That piano was taken from my butler's memory and it plays just as it should." 

"I assume larger objects take far more time to retrieve?" 

"That's exactly right." 

"And what occurs when the items are removed from these memories?" 

"That I'm not entirely sure of myself," you confessed. "Nothing about their memories seems to change, though they'd have no way of knowing whether or not something was missing from their memory."  

"...say,” he said after a while, “why don't you use your stand on me?" 

"You want me traversing through your memories?" You folded your arms and your stand did the same. Amusing. 

"And why not? We grew up together, did we not? Why don't you go back to the day I took the mask from Jonathan? There's something I'd like to see."

"The Stone Mask? Dio…I don't know what might happen if you forget it. I'm not sure if I could even put it back if you can't-" 

"I won't forget." He waved his hand impatiently. "The mask is integral to the person I am, so don't concern yourself with such trivial things—just do it." 

“Fine.” 

He didn’t know what it was he had expected—he certainly didn’t believe your stand attack would involve blowing kisses. But the heart that appeared from this action shot out like a laser that burned into his skull and the next thing he knew, he was angry...

...so angry, both at himself and that damnable father of his. He shouldn't have used the same method, but he had been so certain it would work! Why, why did Dario Brando write his symptoms in that letter? Even now, that man continued to haunt him. Sharing the same blood as that man brought Dio nothing but disgust. 

Something needed to be done. 

Jonathan left for London, where he hoped to find evidence of Dio's misdeeds. Thus, Dio had no choice but to break the lock of Jonathan's study and take a knife to the drawer.

The study was neat, yet sparsely decorated. There was a portrait of his Mother on the mantlepiece. He'd never met the woman, but he assumed she was a simple-minded fool like her husband and son. Books ranging from etiquette, archeology, and even law, lined the shelves of the bookcase. Dio scoffed. There was nothing there of interest—nothing of true literary merit, nothing remotely thought-provoking, and, certainly nothing salacious.

'So predictable and boring,' he thought. 'Much like Jonathan himself.'

Dio jimmied the lock, opened the drawer with no problem, and grinned as he took the mask into his hand. 

"Seven years ago this mask reacted to my blood," he recalled, flipping through the pages of Jonathan's research. He'd drawn the mask in detail, taken notes on its functions, and theorized about its history. "If the bones pierce his brain it will look as though he died from his own research. The investigation will be closed." This was the answer, this is what he should have done in the first place; Jonathan's death would be a perfect crime, one with no evidence left behind!

Though, as he turned to leave the room and prepare his own coach to London,  he saw something hiding in the shadows. 

"Whose there! Is it you, Jojo?" No. It couldn't be; he confirmed Jonathan's departure himself!

"Do you always monologue to yourself while scheming? How very cute." You stepped out from the shadows and Dio scoffed indignantly. 

"You. What on earth are you doing here?" Had something happened? You didn't seem hurt. In fact, you looked...more attractive to him somehow, though he shook those thoughts away. He didn't have time for you, so he narrowed his eyes, wrinkled his nose, and gave you a once-over. "And what exactly are you wearing?" 

"You'll understand when you're older," you say, appearing before him at blinding speed. "For now, I need to borrow this." You took hold of the mask, and as you did, your stand's hand appeared above your own. 

"Don't you dare! You have no idea-" You were gone before he finished. You simply vanished.

And just like that, Dio began to regain his sense of self...

...No longer was he at the Joestar Manor. He wasn't standing on deep green floors, and the room no longer smelt of cedar. Instead, he was where he started; standing right in front of you. Your stand made that noise again, that horrible printing sound and he finally turned to look at you. You were watching him closely, concern etched across your features. 

Dio blinked, his memories seemed to splice themselves back together, and a few moments later, your stand held the mask for you to take.

"Here." You gave it to him without protest.

Dio held the mask between his hands, testing its weight, and texture. Was something like this truly created from his memory? Or was there something else at play? 

He lifted one arm, clenched his fist tight enough to break the skin, and allowed his blood to drip across the surface of the mask. It shook for just a moment before the bone spikes released.

"My friend," he stepped forward, bringing his own stand forward. "We have much to discuss in regard to our future…”

***

Déjà Vu was a powerful stand.  Though limited by its short range, it had far more potential than you seemed to realize. With training, he expected you to produce items quicker, remain within memories for much longer, and learn to extract organic life. 

You accomplished 2 of those things. For some reason, when it came to organic life, you could only take things in parts—leaves instead of a plant, a finger instead of a body.

'A shame,' he thought, 'But useful for her own purposes.' 

So, once he figured you could grasp the concepts on your own, Dio left to continue his travels. He took to gathering more powerful stand users to serve as his assassins or eyes around the globe. Though a spare few, those with stands he had no use for, he sent to you. He even called you on the telephone to confirm their arrival.

You nagged him, of course, saying something about unexpected arrivals and love-sick fools following you around like puppies. He could only laugh. 

"Allow them to assist you; one can never have too many friends." 

Speaking of which, Dio eventually found the friend he needed: a young priest named Enrico Pucci. He was polite and soft-spoken, but his resolve was unwavering. You would have a special place in heaven, but Pucci would help him get there. 

However, Pucci didn't come with him to Egypt (at least not to stay.) Much like you he had his own affairs, and that suited Dio just fine.

He stayed in America for quite some time, as Pucci's company was enjoyable. They spoke of many things like religion, philosophy, and art. Dio once asked his opinion on false prophets and how certain types of people came to lead cults. Pucci had many opinions on the matter and Dio was eager to introduce you both someday. 

"My other friend is similar to myself, though she thinks herself different, kinder perhaps. Despite these delusions, I do hope you can be friends as well"  He said, working on his model ship. 

"You're quite fond of her, aren't you?" Pucci smiled behind his hand. "This is the third time you've mentioned her unprompted today." 

"Is that so? I suppose you're just easy to talk to." He seemed pleased at that, happy to be useful in any way.

Pucci wasn't like the others, he wasn't a servant motivated by lust or greed. No, Pucci loved him as he loved God, and that was what Dio needed. 

"You haven't yet answered my question." 

"Yes, I am very fond of her indeed." Pucci had another question, but he decided not to ask; everyone deserved their secrets and it would be rude of him to pry.

Dio was thankful for that decision because he knew what that question was. 

'Do you love her?' 

And the answer was yes. Dio loved you as the Sun loves the Earth.

***

When Dio returned to his own mansion, he was greeted at the door by Terrance D'Arby, a handsome man with a curious hobby. 

Enya was there as well, as usual.  She was quite sprightly for a woman of her age and was quick to appear underfoot.

"Was your trip abroad a success, Lord DIO?" He ignored her.

With so much on his mind, Dio wanted nothing more than to be alone, so he used The World's ability to reach the top of the stairs undisturbed.

Vanilla Ice was exactly where he left him, guarding his door. Despite the man's stoic disposition, Vanilla Ice's endless devotion brought to mind the piety of your supplicants. He would do anything for Dio, anything at all. 

"Lord DIO." Vanilla Ice was quick to bow, falling to a single knee, his fist anchored to the floor. 

"You may go now," Dio told him, brushing a hand across his favorite servant's cheek. It was the faintest touch, the barest hint of affection, yet to Vanilla Ice his touch was an endless feast. "Though try not to wander, I may be in need of your services later." Vanilla Ice nodded once, his expression rarely changed but Dio learned to read the subtle hints. He was excited when he shut the door. 

The room itself had no windows, lines of books adorned the walls and a large golden mirror stood across from the bed. Most important, however, was the mask and arrow mounted on the wall. His gaze drifted toward them, as if by instinct. Those were his most prized possession, worth more than anything in the world. 

He moved toward his desk with a hum, pulled out a chair, and unlocked the drawer where his diary was kept. 

It is a curious coincidence,  he wrote,  that those I count amongst my friends possess stands that affect memory. Though, as I shared with Pucci last we spoke, I believe that her ability may stretch beyond that. 

From her account, the memories she enters include events far beyond what her opponent could know with any certainty. Simply stated, I believe her stand may use a person's memory as a means to fully reconstruct a moment in time. This reconstruction exists within the mind of her opponent, functioning separately from the rest of the world. Pucci suggested the space be referred to as a 'pocket dimension.' 

If this is the case, her stand's resemblance to my own may be a result of its influence over time in addition to our similar natures. 

Could those with deeper connections possess similar stands? I've heard many speak of 'soul mates,' but what does that truly mean?

***

One day in 1988, Dio called you on the telephone. A maid picked up on the fourth ring and brought the phone to you quickly. 

"Mister DIO wishes you speak with you, my lady." He heard a whisper on the other side.

"Yes?" 

"No 'hello' for me? I'm wounded."

"My deepest apologies,  Lord Dio, how might I serve you from my humble corner of the world?" You mocked. He smiled but decided to get to the point quickly. 

"The Joestars are aware of my existence," he confessed, "Joseph Joestar has a stand similar to my Hermit Purple and has used that in an attempt to divine my presence. Though he and his associate, Muhammad Avdol, have yet to figure out I am in Egypt, it's only a matter of time." 

"And what happens when they arrive?"

"Concerned for Erina’s descendants, are you?" An easy smirk eased its way across his elegant features. "Worry not, they will be disposed of quickly. Though I may spare Joseph, albeit temporarily." 

"Feeling merciful Lord Dio? Please don't worry yourself on my behalf; Erina’s family is of little consequence to me.  I have little desire to participate in your blood feud." 

"Well, my pet, I'm sure you've come to realize that your aging nephew may be the only living person to have witnessed the power of the Red Stone. You may find it pertinent to access his memories using Déjà Vu."

The Stone would mean little once he gained the ultimate stand, but his heaven plan was not yet complete. Still, stone's power may still be of use to him and, at the very least, he could ensure no one else could wield its power against him.

"You make a compelling point," you reply after a moment. "What would you have me do?" 

"You will find me in Egypt. I will let you know when the time arrives."

Nevertheless, mere months after that conversation occurred,  Dio received a report: Holly Kujo, the first child of Joseph Joestar, fell ill. She was too weak-willed to handle the emergence of her own stand—it was killing her.

From there unfolded a series of unfortunate events that culminated in his complete annihilation. The time for you to go to Eygpt never arrived. 

And in 1989, Jotaro Kujo stood in his room, read his diary, and burned it to a crisp. There was a box inside the drawer where he found the diary. He might have had Star Platinum smash it to pieces had it not already been opened.

'Carless.' He thought though it didn't seem like Dio to leave such a thing unguarded. 

There were two things inside the box: a small, leather-bound Bible and a gaudy gold ring with a ruby at the center. Jotaro didn't know the significance of either, so he left them for the Speedwagon Foundation to figure out. He has more important things to worry about.

Dio mentioned having friends. Though he doubted either would be more troublesome than Dio himself, he would hunt the world over for anyone who threatened his family and friends...

| Next Chapter

[divinekangaroo]

in your latest fic, tommy and lizzie have an exchange after he falls deliberately into the bath about the clothes he’ll wear home, and he mentions a specific outfit of hers. Now i know people had fewer clothes back then, but he had to have been paying attention to notice even the color of the shoes she wore. What’s your reasoning, for this, considering he was married and obvi into Grace at the time? Or even just your opinion on Tommy and Graves relationship and how lizzie fits into that?

I was wondering how people would read that line! Long post warning!

I wrote it in to convey an amalgam of the following:

Tommy is highly observant of small details when they're important to him and for reasons below, Lizzie's appearance is important to him

Tommy likes looking at pretty women who dress well irrespective of his marriage

Tommy pays intimate attention to fashion because appearance is how to craft the first layer of illusion as to who you are - Tommy likes to think he is all across impression management. (He also pays attention to Ada's lipstick and what it means. And he bought Polly lipstick in New York, suggesting his combination of detail orientation, observation of women and fashion awareness, he can even pick the right tone of lipstick. (I also headcanon he planned and organised the entire wedding, because Grace only ever talks about the Institute - that wedding in my mind was 100% Tommy going full dictator mode over ever micro detail)

Lizzie's slowly increasing confidence and glow-up over time in his office has been giving him the warm fuzzies to know 1) she's becoming the woman he always saw in her somewhat gauche youthfulness, and 2) he enabled her glow up/confidence and therefore he owns it/her/another beautiful, valuable thing, and 3) her looks reflect on him and his rank/status when other men interact with her in her role as his secretary, where she might be the first impression someone has of Tommy Shelby Managing Director. In combination these three mean he pays attention to Lizzie's appearance as representative of *him*, irrespective of any sexual attraction/his marriage vows.

Tommy is comfortable expressing criticism (don't like the burgundy) but is very uncomfortable with giving complements (i do like it when you wear the green). These throwaway lines are Tommy using subtext to give complements - Lizzie looks great in green and he remembers that. Lizzie is usually oblivious to subtext.

Tommy is unconcerned that Lizzie might be one to two inches taller than him in normal heels but PARTICULARLY does not like the burgundy because they make her four inches taller than him, so he notices them as he would a nemesis walking into his office, eyes narrowed and glaring at them as they go past. Also, in Ch 3 of the melting point of gold, I wrote a reminiscence of her wearing them while they were having sex over his desk in the old days, and they put her too high for him to penetrate at the right angle. So he remembers them for all the wrong reasons. XD

So what does this mean that all of the above observations happened during a time he was married to Grace? I feel that being married and in love and him choosing to behave monogamously doesn't turn off all the thinking and feeling that might occur around other women. Given he would have been around Lizzie at least 5 days a week, all of this is like a background process in his mind. He doesn't act on it while he's with Grace. But now that she's passed away and thanks to Tatiana, he knows he can't do what he wants to do (be abstinent in grief similar to fasting in grief), so that background process throws all that recorded data up into the foreground.

While Grace was alive, I don't think Grace would have picked up on anything overly heated between Tommy and Lizzie, in part because both Tommy and Lizzie turned off any sexual part of their relationship well before Epsom, but also because of how rigorously Tommy would have divided his lives and functions and kept Grace separate; the suggestion that he'd probably encouraged Grace's 'obsession' with the Institute project and all its little details so she didn't have the time to focus on his. Grace did start to break down those walls at their wedding but that didn't have time to unravel before her death.

Lizzie and Grace probably would have spoken together in Tommy's office or over the phone whilst arranging/coordinating matters around Tommy's schedule, but Grace would have treated Lizzie sort of like Mary ('staff'). Lizzie would have been professional about it as best she could -- noting that given most of Tommy's business structure is family, there's that very strong layer of unprofessionalism and also clique-formation/status jockeying that would have had Lizzie set her mental hierarchy as Tommy at the top, Polly next, then Ada, then Arthur, then John, and only then Grace, Linda and Esme. Plus the complexity that if one of them is given a specific order or a specific remit by Tommy, then in that field only do they speak 'as' Tommy and leap up the hierarchy. But any slighting of or friction with Grace wouldn't have been because of past sex with Tommy, it would be because of family hierarchy and the fluidity of how that might flex in response to Tommy's delegation of authority within limited spheres to those family members. Like, I can see a very specific scenario where Tommy disappears into the night to do something highly illegal and Grace is trying to insist Lizzie gives her information on where Tommy is, and Lizzie protects Tommy and frustrates Grace.

Lizzie also wouldn't have acted to try to start something with Tommy either. I have very strong headcanons on Lizzie's fetishising of marriage as a fallen woman very much unlikely to ever marry, and Tommy and Grace were like a sweeping textbook fairy tale; as much as Lizzie wishes it were her, she and Tommy never quite fit into the fairy tale. Lizzie quietly and secretly idolises Grace x Tommy *together* as creating this untouchable romantic story. Lizzie also knows what's said about the kind of woman who breaks up those kinds of marriages in both stories and real life, and she's not going there again on top of her prostitution history. (Lizzie's jealousy of May is something entirely different at a different stage of life/relationship.)

If Grace had lived, I do think Tommy would have eventually been adulterous but without any particular intimacy, and because of that he probably never would have gone back to Lizzie for sex as his conscious effort at risk management, because of their working intimacy and past history. However, he would have merrily continued entertaining himself with maybe-libidinous-but-definitely-possessive thoughts of Lizzie which would have come out in non-sexual ways, similar to the rest of his immediate family.

[katyspersonal]

Hey there, do you have an opinion or idea as to why Maria wears masculine clothes?

Oh well! The thing is, I have SEVERAL ideas, yet I haven't picked the "official" one yet. This is a reoccurring problem with me writin because 'just choosing what I like' doesn't work all that well, since my liking is based on the logic and other things, but... This is Bloodborne, soooo. :)

Regardless of the idea, there are two factors that cannot be neglected and should be considered in any:

1: Maria's Hunter attire is fashioned after male version of Cainhurst Knight clothes! Their clothes have male and female variant, and hers repeats the male variant, so she does present masculine as a Hunter.

2: Gehrman CARED about Maria. No objectification or being a creep on her (mmm what a day to THANK a certain localization team for making it hard... /s), he felt so warm towards her that the feeling alone made Doll cry tears of joy!

So, here are some possible explanations as to why as a Hunter Maria is dressed masculine, but Doll is wearing a dress!

1) Maria's clothes aren't even 'masculine'.

Basically? There is a possibility that she wasn't inspired by the Knights, but rather the Knights were inspired by her! I think that before Gehrman introduced new hunter practices and ways to craft weapons, they were warriors in that heavy golden armour with shields and big swords/spears, that proven to be very ineffective against agile beasts:

So maybe Maria was the first to adopt new ways of fighting, with lighter clothes and different weapon, and the first Knights had more or less modest clothes? The red Knight clothes elaborate with jewellery we are seeing now could be the latest developed style, and it were specifically the women in Cainhurst that developed a more pomp and pretty style on their own! Men were alright styling their clothes after hers just fancier!

2) Gehrman did not take femininity seriously, and regretted it a lot.

Maria idealised Gehrman pretty much (and Japanese original even uses a word that could be interpreted as a crush for her senpai, hahah)! So maybe he on the contrary was someone not thinking someone looking all cute and feminine could be a good fighter (the whole "don't break your nail, princess" stuff you know). And as result, Maria was trying to appear more masculine to impress him, and Doll reflects the part of her, or even 'former self' that he unintentionally took away from her due to having too much (bad) influence on her. He had very intense warmth and care put into both creating Doll's clothes and caring for Maria's hair ornament, and wished that the Doll would feel the "gentle encouragement", however that did not happen (until we DO give her the hair ornament). For me, it very obviously reads as his desperation to bring back that... cute, sweet girl looking at him all starry-eyed and loving him, as if none of this happened - not her becoming cruel hunter, not her becoming disappointed in herself AND him, not her dying...

This is from retranslation document ( x ). You can probably remember that Fishing Hamlet priest curses Byrgenwerth, and Gehrman does mention Willem in his sleepy call to free him? I interpret it as Maria not only regretting Hamlet massacre, but also not being aware of its true purpose... For all we know, it could have been Gehrman who stole OoK for Willem hoping Maria wasn't looking at him rummaging through a dead sea mom :') So there is a big chance that she did actually get disappointed in him a lot!

So what does it have to do with the dress and cute bonnet? Well, maybe that was her style, at least outside of the hunt, and Gehrman clings to what she was like before he led her on the bad path with the hunt and murder. Japanese media likes themes of 'woman tries to appear masculine in male-dominated field to be taken more seriously' for some reason! Here I think her idealising him was the more big factor, though.

3) She simply presents both masculine and feminine, depending. No bigger story about it.

I talked about it a bit more in this reblog ( x ), but TLDR; I personally concluded female Knights were relying way more on blood magic, whereas male Knights relied more on skill and/or regular force! Sort of both genetical and traditional dispersion created by years of practices dating back in matriarchial Pthumery Ihyll! And, you know...

Cainhurst also appears to be skewed in regards to genders (basically Girls Better TM), and I can see Maria developing her own perception of gender roles given she grew in such environment! As result, she could identify as warrior more with masculine idea of them she internalised - warriors relying less on blood, plus not flexing any superiority. But mostly blood. But as a civilian, she could be fully comfortable with her feminine side!

So you have this person of different facets, placing different values and personal experiences in different roles she performs in life! So essentially Gehrman did... nothing extraordinary? He simply represented the 'civil' side of her, not the 'warrior' side of her! Makes sense since she discarded her weapons and likely never wanted to be associated with the hunt ever again for the rest of her life (that didn't last long... oof...).

4) Her image was distorted but for men in GENERAL, not for Gehrman.

This idea, I kid you NOT, I literally only discovered today, and only after seeing this ask. Hmmm, well, what can I say...?

dshdsffd No no no but hear me out!!!

Since we find Hunter's Bone item (that is Maria's) on the grave (that is Maria's), AND Doll in "real" version of abandoned Hunter's Workshop from which Hunter's Dream originated, we can conclude Doll was created before the Dream.

So what if... the look of the Doll was not taylored for Gehrman's preference for a "cute housewife", but with the image of what hunters would want in mind? I'd expect majority of hunters expected to join and leave the Dream being just... you know, typical aged, jaded, tortured het cis men. And what would be the most comforting and soothing thing to return to from sights of blood and hunt and pain for an average hetero male? Well, most likely, actually a house-wiveish woman willing to listen to them and to comfort them! After all, Doll is there for 'you hunters', not for Gehrman specifically.

For all we know, it could have been Laurence's idea to fashion (or REfashion) the Doll like this to begin with, and Gehrman just went 'as you say King' because he has no balls fdhhdsf The point is! It is very possible they were preparing how the Dream will operate in advance. I mean, even in Byrgenwerth there is a note about Laurence and his Moon Presence... So the Doll could have been made with this in mind.

This option is a hard one to keep together because it opens SUB-options! Gehrman was feeling strong focus creating Doll's clothes, but also warmth. Not guilt or something. So was Doll originally dressed up more masculine (albeit not like a hunter) but then redesigned (it would HAVE to be Laurence and I will DIE on this hill)? Was Doll created for the Dream to BEGIN with? And in that case - could it been that Gehrman had a 'confirmation' that Maria would be okay with being of service even after death? I could absolutely picture Laurence lying to Gehrman - something something he was still communicating with her before her su1cide, something something she wanted him to know she'd be happy to be of service even in death no matter what she'd have to wear, something something she hated what SHE did, not hunters as a concept thus she'd gladly soothe them and her presentation is a very small price for this...

...Or, well, maybe we could spare poor Laurence being a manipulator just once and say that Maria actually felt this way and there was a solid base she'd love to help and in the end hated herself but not Gehrman. I can see her as someone being willing to comfort and even sacrifice rather than insist on teaching some simple minded male hunters the importance of gender non-conformity, ahaha. She has gentle and caring side, and patients wanted to hold her hand within the horrors they were facing.

Possibly could be supported by this detail - maybe this picture featured herself and Gehrman (and third person?) and she took it to remember him as she just wanted to stay in Clocktower for good?

_______

Sooooo yeah. Honestly, all my ideas stand on the fact that FromSoft are not some inconsistent writers that would make mistakes! They do not hit me as people that would write a sad old man that cared about his student so deeply (albeit too late)... only to imply he did not even respect her masculinity and got absorbed in the dreams of her being his housewife. And... yeahhhhh... He never mentions Maria. He seems to be way more focused on Laurence, especially in cut dialogue, actually...

I am personally more biased towards 2nd option, as it reveals the full drama potential! However? 4th is also surprisingly good. Won't lie, if fandoms were organised spaces with several defined groups and there were Fandom Councils tasked to come up with diplomatic solutions to satisfy every side, 4th option would've been the best compromise. It leaves Gehrman's fans happy, it leaves people who prefer GNC Maria happy, it still allows certain type of fans to have their "man bad woman good" fix but now at the expense of abstract unprogressive victorian men rather than the well-written loveable characters, it clicks with both Gehrmaria and Gehrmaurence, it just... doesn't miss anything. Like, this is THE solution that is respectful to all characters AND all wishes.

Honestly, only today I questioned whether I've been exaggerating Gehrman's grief and depth of the feelings all along because... well, he is clearly more interested in Laurence. xD If anything, if his intend was to create an "ideal partner", how much you wanna bet he'd create ideal HUSBAND instead? x)

At this rate I am just waiting where the balance will shift - 2nd or 4th. Not trying to downvote other two, especially since 3rd can be utilised to back 4th up as to explain how Maria could've formed masculine leaning! And 4th is tempting because it can make Gehrman just a liiiiitle less guilty... I know it isn't like me to want to spare the character from the angst, but now that I think of it, if he had SUCH a regret - he'd mentioned Maria at least once? So 4th is more reasonable as to explain that his loss was more quiet and bitter, still with the 'he ruined her' hunch but with way less resentment and guilt evenly dispersed between Gehrman and Maria rather than severely shifted on his side. But 2nd option is... it is SO sad? It is soooo sad. >:3

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