#Rouge Fashion Book

[lovelybeautifulsleep]

Nadine Ijewere: Luna Wu, Pan Haowen and Manami Kinoshita for Rouge Fashion Book, September 2019 (Copyright © Nadine Ijewere, 2019)

[wandixx]

Seriously chaotic fashion misadventures

I realized I posted a teaser and never really followed up on it, so here is some more of that

“Hey, Dami?”

Boy hadn’t looked up from the kittens he was bottle feeding but let out a hum indicating he listened.

“I'm thinking about trying out a more girlish style. Do you think it would suit me?”

Well, Damian had no idea but if Dani wished to give it a chance, then, well, the only proper reaction was to offer his aid.

*-*-*

“Father, I require access to your rouge gallery.”

Bruce almost choked on his breakfast when his youngest made this announcement.

Rouge gallery, as his children playfully called it, was vast collection of lipsticks, which he collected to uphold his Brucie persona. Famous playboy with head constantly in the clouds couldn’t not show up with discreet signs of scandal from time to time. And it couldn’t always be the same shade. Or scent when he choose more subtle approach and used one of his more feminine perfumes.

In all honesty, he enjoyed this.

But that’s not the point, point was that Damian wanted to use it and Bruce needed to know what disaster would fall upon him if he agreed.

“Mind telling me why, chum?”

Dick, who visited Manor for a weekend, barely stifled his laughter while Tim stared at his empty coffee mug like it personally betrayed him. Cass just wore her usual knowing and mischievous smile.

Damian shifted in his chair, hands clenching on butter knife. He was nervous and suddenly Bruce dreaded the answer he was about to hear.

“I don’t see how me sharing this information would change anything. It won’t be used to cause harm to anyone but it’s necessary in the extracurricular project I just started.”

“Dami, what project?” Dick asked, voice oozing with genuine curiosity and excitement. He was almost bouncing.

“I don’t want to disclose it.”

“Is this a hero or civilian type of deal?”

Damian didn’t look any of them in the eyes, both hands clenching on his seat as he kept shifting. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was his youngest… flustered?

“Civilian”

“Alright, great” Dick swung back with single clap, almost tripping his chair over “I think B won’t have anything against you using his rouge gallery, will he?” Man knew his oldest son well enough to recognize his ‘don’t you dare to disagree’ tone. He was confused but there wasn’t any harm so he nodded with affirmative hum.

“Thank you, Father”

Boy practically inhaled rest of his food and rushed outside. Despite all his training and all his efforts, they clearly saw his excitement. Tim pinched himself and returned to staring at his mug.

“Cass, have you seen what I’ve seen or am I overreacting?” Dick asked, barely restraining his enthusiasm. Girl nodded eagerly, shoving more crumbs into her mouth. Young man cheered, throwing his hands up.

“What have I missed?” Tim mumbled, frowning a little.

“BABY BAT HAS A CRUSH!”

Cass nodded again with wide smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Who were they? What did he know about them? Was Protocol 3r0s started? Did someone run a background check already? What could they do if they somehow hurt Damian? Was this person a risk to their identities? Oh gods, oh no.

He probably will have to do The Talk™.

He always dreaded having The Talk, with any of his kids. He felt The Talk with Damian would be even worse. Understandably so.

“Also sleep in at least three da-”

“Fuck off, dick.”

“Was this insult or-”

His children remained obvious to how much work it meant, cheering and sassing each other like they often did.

*-*-*

Damian did not know how it was possible but he lowered his guard enough to get caught.

"What are you doing?" Brown choked out after they stared at each other for a long moment.

"It does not concern you–"

"You're rummaging through my wardrobe, not many things concern me more and also, that's frickin creepy don't do it to anyone outside of the family"

She did have a point however he was not convinced it would be the correct approach if he shared his plan. Father's wards (even unofficial like Brown) tended to make assumptions and overreact based on these conjectures. Dani wasn't easy to scare off but he didn't want to check if his family would manage. They often did things thought to be impossible.

He tried to get away but the blonde stood fiercely in a door, leaving the window as the only way out. He wasn't this desperate. Yet.

Girl looked more and more angry at his silence. He had to give her some answers.

Now that he actually considered it, she could be a useful asset. She was far better versed in women's fashion and if he phrased it correctly, he wouldn't even need to bribe her. Question was, how should he phrase it?

"I have an acquaintance- I have a friend," he corrected himself "from the animal shelter I volunteer at. She mentioned wanting to try out more 'girlish style' and asked for my opinion. I wanted to see if you had any clothes that would fit her. She is smaller than me so I thought that whatever I take, it wouldn't be missed." 

Brown grinned with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth if not coming to this room in the first place. 

"Say no more, I have a plan Demon Child"

[marie-plath]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

something i noticed

A while back, I wrote this analysis reviewing how unfair the magic education system is in Twisted Wonderland. I would recommend reading that before this post, as it provides tons of context for what I’m about to talk about and add onto the discussion.

In 2-6 of the Tapis Rouge event, Vil has stylists from Luxe, a high end fashion brand, dress up Azul, Jamil, and Ace to be a part of his red carpet entourage. Once the boys come out in their new threads and makeup, Jamil and Azul, two individuals who are meticulous about details, provide some telling commentary.

According to those two, the team of stylists that helped them were mages. Azul further remarks that they were quite skilled mages and that having this kind of talent indicates a “first class brand store”. Their hair and makeup is also suggested to be done via magic, though this service is not normally performed for customers. Previously, we knew that skincare can be infused with magic (Vil does so with his own) and that magic can be used to style one’s hair (Jamil tells us in his Birthday Boy vignettes that he does his intricate hair with magic and used to take far longer with it when he lacked the precision). Idia states in book 6 that Jamil had no formal magic training before NRC, so that means Jamil was self-taught in his hair-handling magic.

… Okay but 😭 WHAT DOES THIS IMPLY ABOUT MAGIC AND CLASS??? Is it just a coincidence that the teams of stylists who staff a high class store are ALL mages? Surely not, given how uncommon mages are in the general population. The store (or maybe the brand itself?) must be going out of its way to hire them because I guess being dressed with magic is a more “luxurious” experience than the normal way. We can also guess from Azul and Jamil’s accounts that the degree of magic these staffers use requires significant skill and precision, which either means they need formal instruction or lots of practice on their own. Neither option is afforded to people with naturally low or no magic reserves at all 💀 meaning jobs like this are gated to mages only.

Now, this doesn’t inherently mean the rich and famous people who frequent these stores are also all mages (Kalim’s dad and Vil’s dad are two non-mages who are extremely wealthy and influential); the majority of them must still be regular people since humans seem to be the majority, and 90% of humans are non-mages. It also doesn’t guarantee that the Luxe stylists are paid more than a non-Luxe stylist (although I do think this is possible for a prestige brand, especially if we factor in commissions on sales).

What’s sticking out to me here is that there exists an association between magic and luxury. The reverse also appears to have some truth based on what little other lore we have; Ruggie states that there are not a lot of mages from his hometown, which could imply a history of non-mages being driven into poorer communities. It all fits together a little too well to seem coincidental… but obviously, Ruggie’s hometown is just one place and could be an outlier rather than the exemplar. We know that most non-mages must live an average lifestyle, not the extremes that Ruggie has experienced. Still, the claim that magic is typically associated with the upper class holds and it continues to be perpetuated in the lore.

Anyway, Fellow and Rollo were right—

[yuurei20]

Dialogue Comparison: Tapis Rouge (pt3)

Original Ace: Shorter jackets like this are super stylish. It makes my legs look longer, right?

EN Ace: Short jackets like this are super stylish, right? Does this make me look taller or what?

(Characters referring to each other or themselves having long legs has been consistently removed from EN, including from Ace, Vil, and twice from people talking about Leona.)

Original Designer: It was designed to be both fashionable and dressy.

EN Designer: Our aim was to create a look that was fashionable, yet fun.

Original Ace: And Vil-senpai is talking to this amazing person so casually. EN Ace: And Vil's talking to him like they're friends that go way back.

(The nuance is identical, but the word “friend” can be sensitive at NRC and is interesting to catalogue.)

Original Vil: Knowing him, even if he can't wear it himself, taking a picture of us wearing these and sending it to him may satisfy him.

EN Vil: Knowing him, I'm sure he'll be almost as pleased just to get a picture of you wearing them.

Originally Vil says that he thinks that Rook would be satisfied by a photo of all of them in their new outfits, but on EN he does not include himself amongst the group that Rook would be pleased to receive a photo of.

“Felicity Cosmetics” has appeared in the game three times since Book 2, always with a different spelling on EN (Felicity / Félicité / Felicite) while consistent on JP.

While one of EN’s three spellings was accurate to the original game, for Tapis Rouge they chose to go with both of their two other spellings, instead: “Félicité” in dialogue and “Felicte” in titles.

Original Ace: Wow, sounds like Azul-senpai never wastes anything.

EN Ace: Wow. You must never waste a single sorcent.

(The return of the EN-exclusive currency "sorcents," first introduced in Port Fest. More here.)

[modelsof-color]

Xie Chaoyu by Felicity Ingram for Rouge Fashion Book October 2023

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Just One Sip: A Single Drop

A Single Drop: You get a simple paper cut and your vampire endless boyfriend freaks out.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material, Blood.

To Note: Vampire!Morpheus x AFAB!Reader

Prompt: Vampire Sex

Word Count: ~4.8k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The smell of aged paper and ink fills your nostrils as you walk through the towering aisles of the library. The scent mingles with the faint aroma of polished wood, creating a unique atmosphere that feels like a sanctuary. Well it is a scanctuary. You run your fingers along the spines of books, feeling the texture of leather and cloth-bound covers. Each book holds its own weight, a history bound in pages waiting to be explored.

Lucienne stands beside you, her circular glasses perched on her nose, inspecting a stack of new arrivals. "These need to go on the third shelf," she says, pointing to a section that seems miles high. Her voice is soft but carries an authority you’ve come to respect.

You nod, taking a couple of books in your arms. The leather bindings are cool against your skin as you ascend a rolling ladder. Each rung creaks under your weight, echoing through the silent library. You reach the third shelf and begin to place the books in their designated spots, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment with each one.

A distant door creaks open, and the soft murmur of Morpheus conducting business drifts into the library. The sound pulls at you, creating a distraction you can’t quite shake off. But you focus back on the task at hand.

Once the shelving is done, Lucienne hands you a stack of papers. "These need to be filed," she says without looking up from her own work. You take them to a large oak desk near a stained-glass window depicting various celestial scenes.

As you organize the paperwork, you catch sight of titles that make your heart race—requests for information on ancient rituals and spells that seem to glow with forbidden knowledge. The texture of parchment under your fingertips is rough yet inviting, promising secrets if only you dare to delve deeper.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you skim through one particularly intriguing document. The script is elegant but difficult to decipher; it’s written in a language that seems almost musical in its complexity. You trace the lines with your finger, feeling each curve and twist as if it were an intimate caress.

Lucienne's voice interrupts your reverie. "Morpheus asked for those by evening," she reminds you gently but firmly.

You nod again, hastily putting everything in order before gathering a few volumes Morpheus had requested information from. As you carry them back toward Lucienne’s desk, you can’t help but feel his presence even though he’s not physically there.

The sound of rustling pages fills your ears as Lucienne continues her own work nearby. The library's ambiance wraps around you like a comforting blanket—each sound amplified yet softened by the high ceilings and vast expanse of bookshelves.

In this realm of knowledge and secrets, every task feels like it is of the upmost importance. Certainly with Lucienne in charge. You glance at Lucienne once more; her eyes meet yours briefly before returning to her work. Often times you wondered who is really in charge, because Morpheus certainly did not rule the library.

"Oh dear," Lucienne sighs. You glance up and see her holding a stack of papers and a look of agitation on her mind. "This will take time. Y/N, would you mind taking care of these? I can finish your current work quick enough."

"Of course," you reply with a smile, rising from your seat. "What is it?"

Lucienne hands you the stack of papers, each one a different shade of aged yellow and ivory. The edges are frayed, some curling up slightly as if they’ve been read a thousand times. "These need to be filed," she says, her voice calm and steady. She’s old-fashioned that way, preferring the tangible to the digital. You take the stack from her, feeling the slight weight and the rough texture under your fingers.

You walk toward the records room, the soft sound of your footsteps on the polished wooden floor echoing in the otherwise silent library. The door creaks open as you push it gently, revealing a room filled with rows of filing cabinets that stretch up to the ceiling. The air inside is cool and carries a faint scent of must and ink.

You place the stack on a nearby table and pick up the first paper. The title is written in an elegant script: "On Dreamscapes and Their Guardians." You speak the title aloud, and with a soft whoosh, the paper lifts itself from your hand and glides toward an open drawer, slipping in perfectly.

A smile tugs at your lips as you continue this magical filing process. Each time you speak a title, you feel a small rush of satisfaction as the paper finds its place. It’s like room itself purrs. The sounds of rustling paper and soft drawer clicks fill the room as you continue filing the papers, each title a small glimpse into the world you now inhabit. As you lift another document, its title catches your eye: "The Role of Nightmares in Shaping Reality." You hesitate, curiosity gnawing at you. The script is intricate, almost mesmerizing. You read a few lines, the words painting vivid images in your mind. Nightmares aren't just frightening visions; they are tools that Morpheus uses to shape the fabric of reality itself.

You can’t help but delve deeper into the paper. It describes how nightmares are crafted, how each element is meticulously designed to evoke specific emotions and reactions. You imagine Morpheus, his slender fingers weaving threads of fear and dread, creating something both beautiful and terrifying.

A soft rustle brings you back to reality. Another paper floats up, awaiting its turn. You place the current document aside and pick up the next one: "The Significance of Dreams in Mortal Lives." This one feels more personal, like a window into the souls of those who dream. You read a passage that speaks about dreams being a reflection of desires, fears, and memories.

You glance at the drawer where it belongs, feeling a pang of empathy for the mortals whose lives are so deeply intertwined with their dreams. You file it away, wondering if any of your own dreams have been shaped by Morpheus’ hand.

The next document is thicker than the others. Its title reads: "Lucienne’s Chronicles: The History of Dream’s Realm." You hesitate before opening it, knowing that this might contain more than just dry historical facts. The first few pages detail Lucienne’s role as the guardian of this vast library, her dedication to preserving knowledge and wisdom.

Your heartbeat quickens as you turn the page, the paper cool and slightly rough beneath your fingertips. The script is as delicate as a spider's web, and you trace the lines with utmost care, absorbing each word, each syllable. The silence of the library is profound, broken only by the occasional creak of the wooden floor or the distant hum of Lucienne's quiet mutterings as she pores over her own work.

You're so engrossed in the text that the sharp sting across your finger takes a moment to register. A line of crimson blooms along the pad of your index finger, stark against your skin. The pain is swift and sudden, a hot lance that makes you hiss in surprise. You stare at the wound, mesmerized by the way the blood wells up, thick and vibrant, before it spills over and starts to trickle down your finger. It's an oddly beautiful sight, the contrast of red against the parchment and your skin, a visceral reminder of your own mortal-like body in this realm of immortal beings.

The air shifts, the temperature dropping ever so slightly, and the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine fills your senses, a subtle announcement of Morpheus' arrival. Before you can even turn around, his presence embraces you, a tangible force that sends shivers down your spine. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and your breath hitches as you feel his cool lips against your ear.

"What have you done?" Morpheus' voice is a silken growl, his concern palpable in each word. His hand, pale and elegant, captures your injured one, fingers tracing the wound with a gentleness that does little to hide the fret and anger within his voice.

"It's nothing," you protest, trying to twist in his grasp, but he holds you firm, his grip unyielding yet not painful. "Just a paper cut."

"Just a paper cut," he echoes, his tone laced with disapproval. His thumb rubs small circles over the back of your hand, a soothing motion at odds with the tension radiating from his body. "And yet, you bleed."

Before you can offer further reassurances, he brings your injured finger to his lips, the heat of his breath a stark contrast to the coolness of his skin. His eyes never leave yours, two swirling blue eyes that hold you captive as his mouth closes over the tip of your finger.

The sensation is electric, a jolt that travels up your arm and straight to your core. His tongue flicks against the cut, lapping up the blood with slow, deliberate strokes. It's an intimate act, one that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, the pain of the paper cut forgotten in the face of Morpheus' attentions.

His lips are soft, the suction gentle yet insistent, and you can't help but moan as he continues to taste you. Each pull sends a ripple of desire through your body, igniting a fire that only he can quench.

As Morpheus pulls away from your finger, the soft pop of suction breaking is almost obscene in the quiet library. His erection presses against the small of your back, a rigid length that makes your own body ache and tremble in need. There's a primal part of you that revels in the knowledge that you've aroused him so completely with something as mundane as a paper cut.

He leans down, his breath a cool whisper against the side of your neck. The sharpness of his fangs grazes your skin, a delicate touch that sends shivers cascading down your spine. You can feel the outline of each tooth, the promise of pleasure laced with a hint of exquisite pain. Your pulse quickens under his ministrations, each beat a drumbeat against his lips. A calling to him.

Your breaths come quicker, each inhale a shuddering gasp that fills the silent room. The scent of aged paper and ink mingles with the heady aroma of your arousal and blood, creating a perfume that is uniquely yours. Addicting and ambrosial. You lean back into his embrace, your body fitting perfectly against his, as if you were made for this—for him. To him you were.

Your eyes flutter closed as his mouth moves to the curve of your shoulder, exposed by the off-the-shoulder top you're wearing. The fabric pools around your upper arms, a delicate barrier that he pushes aside with a flick of his wrist. His fangs scrape against the sensitive skin there, each pass sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

You can hear the soft rasp of his breath, the only sound in the otherwise silent library. The rustle of your clothing is loud in your ears as he shifts closer, his hands splayed possessively across your stomach. His fingers trace small, teasing circles on your skin, each touch a brand that marks you as his.

The coolness of his skin is a stark contrast to the heat that flares beneath your skin, a testament to the desire that courses through your veins. You can feel the hardness of his erect cock throb against your lower back, a silent testament to his need for you. It throbs in time with the pulse that beats between your legs, a reminder of the pleasure that awaits you both.

His lips move lower, following the line of your collarbone with single-minded focus. You tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to his questing mouth. His fangs graze the hollow of your throat, the sensation sending a fresh wave of wetness between your thighs.

"Morpheus," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. His name is a plea on your lips, a desperate entreaty for more—more of his touch, more of his kisses, more of him.

In response, his hands slide up to cup your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples into hard peaks through the fabric of your top. The sensation is both too much and not enough, leaving you aching for the feel of his bare skin against yours.

As he rolls your nipples between his fingers, a soft moan escapes your lips. The sound is swallowed by the vastness of the library, lost among the rows of books that bear silent witness to your growing passion. You grind back against him, seeking friction to ease the throbbing need that has taken root in your cunt.

His lips return to your ear, his voice a low growl that vibrates through you. "Do you feel what you do to me, beloved?" he murmurs, his breath a cool contrast to the heat that floods your body.

You feel the urgency in Morpheus' touch, a desperate edge that cuts through the quietude of the library. His hands, cool and sure, are quick to divest you of your clothing, the fabric no match for his strength. The sound of rending fabric fills the room, a harsh counterpoint to the soft moans that escape your lips.

His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your torso, a reverent touch that sends shivers coursing through your body. The cool air of the library brushes against your heated flesh, making you aware of just how much you want him. His palms skim over your ribcage, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, eliciting a gasp from you.

You arch into his touch, seeking more. His fingers find your nipples, rolling and pinching the sensitive buds until they're hard peaks. The sensation sends jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt, a reminder of the emptiness that aches to be filled by him.

Your moans echo off the high ceilings, a testament to the desire that courses through your veins. The sound of your arousal mingles with the rustle of your remaining clothes, a symphony of need that fills the room. Morpheus' breath hitches at the noise, a low growl rumbling in his chest—a primal sound that speaks of possession and pleasure.

His lips crash against yours, a bruising kiss that leaves you breathless. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting and claiming every inch. The metallic tang of your blood still lingers on his tongue, a potent reminder of the intimacy you've shared.

He grinds against you, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands roam over your exposed flesh, each touch a brand that marks you as his. With a swift motion, he spins you around to face him, his eyes ablaze with lust. He lowers his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, and you gasp as he begins to suckle, the sensation both gentle and insistent.

His fangs graze the sensitive flesh, a delicious threat that sends a fresh wave of wetness between your thighs. You whimper and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of his touch, his taste, his everything.

Morpheus obliges, his hands moving to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist, the fabric of his trousers a teasing friction against your sensitive flesh. He walks you backward until you hit the cool wooden surface of a filing cabinet, the impact causing a cascade of papers to flutter to the ground.

His mouth leaves your breasts, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. Each touch of his lips sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. More. More. More.

You feel the cool brush of his fingers against your inner thighs as he hooks them under your knees, spreading you wide for his gaze. The hunger in his eyes as he takes in the sight of your wet, trembling cunt is almost enough to send you over the edge.

His breath is unusually cool against your slick folds, a stark contrast to the heat that radiates from your throbbing cunt. You can feel the anticipation building inside you, a tight coil of desire that threatens to snap at any moment. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, holding you in place as he lowers his mouth to your cunt.

The first swipe of his tongue is a revelation, a jolt of pleasure that shoots straight through your cunt. His tongue is both cool and agile, tracing the contours of your cunt with an expertise that speaks of centuries spent learning the intricacies of pleasure. And rigorous hours of practice to find what makes you writhe and scream the most. Each lap of his tongue sends a shiver of delight coursing through your veins, a symphony of sensation that leaves you gasping for breath.

Your legs tremble and shake against his mouth, the muscles quivering with the effort of holding yourself up. The sound of your ragged breathing fills the room, a testament to the pleasure that Morpheus is wringing from your body. His fangs graze your sensitive flesh, a delicate touch that sends a thrill of danger racing down your spine.

As he sucks your clit into his mouth, a low moan escapes your lips, the sound echoing off the high ceilings of the library. The sensation of his lips and tongue working in concert to bring you pleasure is almost too much to bear. Your fingers tangle in his raven hair, pulling him closer as you grind against his face, chasing the release that you know he can give you.

Your orgasm builds with each passing moment, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm your senses. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, Morpheus sends you crashing over the edge. Your body convulses, your cunt pulsating around nothing as you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

But he doesn't stop there. As the aftershocks of your climax ripple through your body, Morpheus strikes, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of your thigh. The sharp sting of pain mingles with the lingering pleasure of your orgasm, a combination that sends you spiraling into a second, more intense climax.

The sound of your own cries of ecstasy fills the room, a wild symphony that accompanies the rhythmic pulsing of your second orgasm. Your muscles clench and release, each wave of pleasure intensified by the steady pull of his mouth against your thigh.

The wet sounds of him drinking from you mingle with the slick noises of your arousal, creating a lascivious melody that echoes off the filing room’s high ceilings. Your body trembles, the sensitivity from your climax heightening every sensation. Your whimpers grow louder, a desperate soundtrack to the intimate communion between you and Morpheus.

His fingers grip your ass cheeks tighter, pinning you against the wooden cabinet as he feeds. The coolness of his skin is a stark contrast to the heat of your flushed body, the dichotomy between his otherworldly nature and your mortal frame a potent aphrodisiac. Your heart pounds in your chest, the rhythmic thudding a primal drumbeat that underscores the intensity of the moment.

His tongue laps at the wound on your thigh, soothing the sting while fanning the flames of arousal flickering in your veins. The sensation of his cool breath against your heated skin sends shivers racing down your spine, prolonging the exquisite torment of your orgasm.

As he finally pulls away, the soft, wet sound of his mouth leaving your skin is obscenely loud in the otherwise silent room. You watch, entranced, as he licks his lips, savoring the last traces of your blood. His eyes, those distant stars, hold a depth of desire that takes your breath away.

Lifted by Morpheus' powerful arms, you find yourself perched on the edge of the filing cabinet, the cool wood a stark contrast against your heated skin. As he steps between your legs, you feel the head of his cock, slick with pre-come and engorged to an almost inhuman size by your blood, nudge against your entrance. You can't help but whimper, your body trembling with anticipation and residual pleasure from your climax.

The sound of your whimpers seems to spur him on. His free hand, the one not guiding his cock through your folds, wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the coolness of his skin seeping into you, a welcome respite from the feverish heat that courses through your veins.

Then, with a single, fluid motion, he sinks into you, the sheer girth of his blood-enlarged cock stretching you almost to the point of pain. You cry out as he fills you, your body yielding to his relentless intrusion.

Morpheus captures your cry with his lips, kissing you with a ferocity that mirrors the intensity of his possession. Once again you can taste yourself on his tongue, mingling with the metallic tang of your blood—a potent reminder of the intimacies you've shared and the ones that are still to come. Eternally.

His thrusts are deliberate, each one an exquisite torture as he moves within you, his cock sliding against sensitive tissues that are still throbbing from your climax. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, your heels digging into the small of his back as you struggle to get even closer to him, to take even more of him inside you.

The wet sounds of your coupling echo off the high ceilings, a symphony of flesh on flesh, punctuated by your moans and the low, growling praises that escape Morpheus' lips between kisses.

"So beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a rumbling vibration that reverberates through your very core. "So utterly perfect."

In response, you tighten your internal muscles around his cock, earning a strangled groan from him. The hand on your waist flexes, the tips of his fingers pressing into your skin as he struggles to maintain control in the face of your slick heat and the knowledge that he is the reason for your abandon.

Your fingernails rake down his back, scoring the fabric of his shirt—a distant part of your mind marvels at the fact that he's still half-dressed, yet another reminder of the haste and intensity with which he's claimed you. The sensation of cool air rushing into the space left by his retreating body only adds to the overwhelming sensory experience, heightening the pleasure of his cock driving into you over and over again.

"Morpheus," you pant, your voice a needy plea that reverberates in the back of your throat. The sound of your own pleasure is a potent aphrodisiac, a reminder of the affect you have on him.

With Morpheus' name a whispered plea lingering on your lips, you feel the building crescendo of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away. Your body moves in rhythm with his, each stroke of his cock inside you a promise of the explosive release that awaits. You can feel your climax coiling inside you, a tight spring of sensation that's just waiting to be let loose.

Unable to hold back any longer, you drop your head back, exposing the long, elegant line of your throat in a clear invitation. Your pulse races beneath your skin, the blood thrumming through your veins a siren song that even Morpheus can't resist. You feel the cool brush of his lips against your throbbing jugular, an erotic counterpoint to the heat of his body moving against yours.

His thrusts become more insistent, a relentless rhythm that drives you higher and higher. You can hear the wet, obscene sound of your coupling, punctuated by the soft slap of his balls against your ass and the throaty moans that spill from your lips with each deep stroke. You can smell the musky scent of your arousal mingling with the faintest whiff of copper from where his fangs have drawn blood from your aching thigh. The sensory overload heightens your pleasure, drawing you ever closer to the edge.

Just as you feel the telltale flutter in your belly that heralds your orgasm, Morpheus pauses, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. You whine in frustration, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him to continue. But then you feel it—the sharp prick of his fangs piercing your skin.

The sensation is exquisite, pain and pleasure intertwined in an intoxicating mix that sends you spiraling into oblivion. As he drinks deeply, the walls of your cunt flutter around his cock and clamp down hard. You're vaguely aware of your strained cries echoing off the filing room's ceilings as your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, overwhelming in its intensity.

Morpheus groans against your neck, the sound vibrating against your skin as he swallows your blood. The rhythmic pull of his mouth on your throat sends you into another spasm of pleasure, prolonging the ecstasy of your climax. His own release follows quickly on the heels of yours, his cock pulsating inside you as he fills you with his seed. You can feel each hot, wet spurt as he empties himself into you.

As you both come down from your highs, Morpheus withdraws his fangs from your neck, licking the remaining drops of blood from your skin. The gesture is both intimate and possessive, a silent promise that he will always take care of you

You collapse against him, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your release. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your breathing slowly returns to normal. The two of you stay like that for a long moment, neither wanting to break the spell that has been cast over this secluded corner of the library.

The silence is punctuated only by the sounds of your mingled breaths and the rustle of fabric as you shift in his embrace. You can feel the slick evidence of your mutual pleasure trickling down your thighs, a delicious reminder of the passion you've just shared.

"Mine," Morpheus murmurs against your ear, the single word both a declaration and a vow. His voice is a low, satisfied purr that resonates with the power of the endless night. "Until the end of eternity."

With a contented sigh, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady hum of his being—a sound born from time himself. His arms tighten around you, and he nuzzles the crown of your hair.

As your breathing returns to normal, you remember the task Lucienne assigned you. Reluctantly, you lift your head from Morpheus' chest, meeting his gaze. The stars that are his eyes are soft with satisfaction, but there's a glint of mischief there, too—a clear indication that he's not quite done with you yet.

"Morpheus," you murmur, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. "Lucienne is expecting me to finish the filing."

His lips curl into a knowing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I believe Lucienne can manage without you for a while longer," he says, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine.

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can utter a single word, the world around you shifts and warps. The familiar surroundings of the library dissolve into nothingness, replaced by the opulent elegance of your private chambers.

The transition is so abrupt that you can't help but gasp, your fingers digging into the fabric of Morpheus' shirt. The room is bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the air humming with the magic that is his domain. The walls are lined with bookshelves, the tomes they hold a testament to the countless stories that have been woven throughout the ages.

Morpheus' hands roam over your body, a possessive touch that leaves a trail of fire in its wake. "You've just become quite busy," he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The words are a promise and a threat, a declaration of his intentions.

You can feel the evidence of his persistent arousal pressing against your hip, a clear indication that the night is far from over. With a swift motion, he captures your lips in a searing kiss, a silent declaration of his desire to continue exploring the depths of your passion.

As his tongue traces the contours of your mouth, you can't help but moan, the sound swallowed by his insistent kiss. Your hands move of their own accord, tugging at the remnants of his clothing, eager to feel the coolness of his skin against your own.

With a low chuckle, Morpheus breaks the kiss, his eyes ablaze with desire. "I intend to make love to you until the stars themselves grow weary," he declares, the words a vow whispered against your lips.

The promise in his voice sends a shiver of excitement up your spine. And as he guides you toward the massive four-poster bed that dominates the room, you know that you are in for a long, blissful night.

Date Published: 2/8/24

Last Edit: 2/8/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[nothing-but-flowers88]

Star Wars Timeline for the semi-modern au

Staring with The Acolyte and ending with The Rise of Skywalker

Plus a few notes at the end

The Acolyte: 1840

(132 year time skip)

The phantom menace: 1940

Attack of the clones: 1950

The Clone Wars: 1950-1953

Revenge of the Sith: 1953

The Bad Batch: 1953-1967?(time skip final episode)

JEDI Fallen Order: 1958

SOLO: 1959-1962

Kenobi Series: 1963

JEDI Survivor: 1963

Rebels: 1967-1972

Andor S1: 1967-1972

Rouge One: 1972

A New Hope: 1972

The Empire Strikes Back: 1975

Return of the Jedi: 1976

The Mandalorian S1-2: 1981

The Book of Boba Fett: 1981-1983

The Mandalorian S3: 1983

Ahsoka: 1983

(Time Skip)

The Force Awakens: 2006

The Last Jedi: 2006

The Rise of Skywalker: 2007

Some Notes

•I chose 1972 as the main year since that’s when the watergate scandal happened and it fits with Star Wars evil government theme

•I love The Mandalorian show being the introduction to the 80s

•Rebels starting in the 60s works cause Thrawn would wear those 60s blazers and turtlenecks and governor Pryce already has that mod fashion bob

•I’m obsessed with early 2000s sequel era. Like Mall goth Kylo Ren and jerk preppy Hux being rivals at First Order university to impress headmaster Snoke is perfect

•Also 50s Bad Batch, leather jacket ‘greaser’ Hunter! Sleek black turtleneck Crosshair!

•The Acolyte being set in 1840 it could have a pretty cool old west theme to it

•Ezra Bridger was stranded in 1972 and came back in 1983, wondering why no one likes his hippie look

[deke-rivers-1957]

Scott’s Search For Love

It's night time and my friend Tom comes into my lab.

“Hey Scott. How's it goin?”

“I've been better.”

“Listen you gotta crash soon buddy. You’ve been up too long.”

“I know, I just didn't want to be alone tonight.”

“I know how you feel. C’mon and let’s talk about it.”

I decide it’s best not to argue so I follow Tom to the front room.

“Well I’m ready to hear ya out.”

“It's hard to start because I can't quite define it. Maybe it's just some kind of restlessness, a feeling of needing something more…or maybe it's just a problem that I have with women.”

“Oh I get it. You’re still sore about your marriage with Dianne falling apart.”

“Yeah. I keep thinking how much of a fool she made out of me, but I still think of the beginning, when it was fresh and young. I still can smell that little perfume she used to wear.”

“So why’s that making you hole up in the lab now?”

“I don’t know. I'm not sure if it's Dianne or the restlessness, or just the realization that I've been a fool. I want to do something more than what I'm doing. I don’t know, I just feel like something's missing in my life.”

Tom immediately stands up off the couch.

“What you need is to be thrown out of your comfort zone. Dancing girls as far as the eye can see. The Moulin Rouge.”

“Okay, okay. I guess I could use some fun. Let's go.”

“Great! I’ll get the car. Don’t worry about changing.”

I can’t even argue with him as Tom drives me to a place open all night and looks like an old fashioned saloon.

“This is the place?”

“Just wait till you get inside. Va va voom. In about 5 minutes a swinging little number’s gonna be coming your way. Fiery New York girl who doesn’t mince words. And boy does she like to take charge.”

“How are you so sure? I never exactly had women throwing themselves at me.”

Tom sits down at a table and I sit down on the other side.

“Now don’t get sore with me but I already called ahead of time and booked you with the crown jewel of these ladies.”

“You really wanted me to come here and be with this girl?”

“I always try to give you the best old buddy.”

All I can do is sigh since Tom does mean well. Even before I married Dianne he would try to get me dates with women he met.

“Well I guess I'll take a chance on her then. Maybe if I take your suggestion for once I might get at least a nice conversation.”

“There you go. At least you’re doing something.”

Some guys come up to our table and look right at me.

“Hey Tom who’s this dough boy?”

“That better not of been a crack about my weight.”

One of the guys gets in my face.

“And what if it was.”

I stand up and try to stare them down. Lack of sleep’s really affecting my judgement.

“You better knock it off.”

Things get ugly. Just as I'm about to get punched in the face I hear a commanding woman’s voice.

"Hey! There ain’t gonna be any fighting in this joint."

The guy steps back. Everyone turns to see who’s talking. Tom whispers to me.

"That’s Carmen."

She comes up to the group of guys.

"You oughta mind your own business when it comes to newcomers. If you don’t like it you can leave."

They scurry away.

"We’re sorry ma’am."

She turns to look at us and my heart skips a beat. I think I'm preparing myself to possibly have my heart broken.

"Hey Tom is this your friend Scott? You are new aren’t you."

"Yeah, I've never been here before."

"Well I’ll show you to my room. Follow me."

"Okay."

I get up and follow her. My heart's beating so fast I can barely breathe.

“This is it.”

I take a look into the room as she goes in

"This is uh…not quite what I imagined."

"What? Were you expecting this to look like a seedy motel room?"

"Well…yeah. I mean it's late and it's…you know."

"Listen. Just because I get paid for favors doesn’t mean I don’t have standards."

I feel slightly embarrassed about my faux pas.

"Oh no, no, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply that. I wasn't expecting your room to be this elegant as I didn't think you ladies lived here."

"Good now get on the bed."

"Okay."

I do as she says since I'm in enough trouble. As soon as I lay down on the bed I feel the fatigue hit me.

"Hey Scott."

"Yeah?"

She sits down in a chair and starts smoking a cigarette.

"You want a smoke?"

A part of me kind of wants to say yes. But only a small part so I push it down.

"No thank you. I don’t smoke. Or drink."

"Boy are you different."

I wince inside. This isn't looking good at all. I'm so out of my comfort zone I don't even know what she's going to do to me.

"This probably sounds like a dumb question, but…what're we doing in here?"

"Tom paid me to be with you for an hour. You can do anything you want with me."

There's something about paying a woman to do "favors" that doesn't sit well with me. I know Tom wants to help but I'm just not that type of guy.

"I'm not sure I want anything. I really just wanted to come here and have some fun and get out of a rut I'm in. Tom was telling me getting away from my comfort zone would do me some good. He wanted me to meet you because he said you'd be good for me."

"And he’s right. When patrons feel stuck in their sex life they come to me because I help them figure out what they want."

"Oh. What exactly do you think I'd want then?"

Carmen looks at me long enough to make me feel a panic attack coming on.

"First off why do you look like a drowned rat who hasn’t had so much as straw to sleep in and a piece of cheese to eat? I'm amazed Tom would bring you here when everyone can see the bags under your eyes. What do you have insomnia or something?"

At first I feel hurt because I took it as an insult. Then I start to understand that Carmen's saying this out of concern. I'm a little touched by that.

"Uh, I haven't been sleeping very well lately. I've been in a pretty deep depression. I don’t think being called a dough boy helped things."

"I heard that. It hurt you that much?"

Maybe it's because I'm just exhausted but I feel myself opening up to her and tell her things I haven't told any woman.

"Well I’ve already got low self-esteem about my weight as it is. And it seems like my money is more popular than I am being Duster Heyward's son who just sits in a lab all day. Outside of that I’m just…. fat. And unattractive."

"And says who?"

"Everyone. No one’s found me attractive. Not even the girls I’ve dated. Oh sure they never outright said I was fat and unattractive but they weren't exactly affectionate with me either. I’ve only been in one serious relationship to the point of marriage, but she just wanted my money. She didn't seem to care about me when I worked one too many nights in the lab or when I felt discouraged about a project. Even when I would take a break and try to give her all of my affection I just. Never got the same amount of that affection back. We ended up getting a divorce and she quickly went onto someone more fit. And not as ugly."

I can't help but feel myself spiral. I cover my face because of how overwhelmed I am.

"Hey. Let me speak for myself before you lump me in with everyone."

I take a deep breath and look at Carmen.

"Okay, sorry. Go ahead."

"Good. Undo your shirt."

At first I just look at her since I’m nervous about this but I do as she says. I just don't think this will end well.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Carmen gets out of her chair and puts out her cigarette. The way she's looking at me makes me think I'm going to be in for a horrible time.

“Now hold still.”

I close my eyes so I don't see what she does when I feel her hand on my stomach. I wasn't expecting that since it's quite gentle. Her touch sends slight tingles through my body.

"Jeez are you constipated or stressed? Your stomach feels hard as a rock."

I have to laugh a little at that because it's true.

"I guess I’m both. I do tend to tense up when I feel stressed."

I try my best to relax as she rubs my stomach. It surprisingly isn't as hard as I thought it'd be since this is starting to feel nice.

"See you ain’t as bad as you think you are."

I open my eyes after not realizing I closed them.

"Yeah? You don’t think I look too fat?"

“Nah. Your stomach’s soft but it doesn’t droop over your belt.”

I let out a sigh of relief.

"So what’s your request?"

"Okay. I need a nap and well.. can I…lay my head on your lap? I’d like…. My head rubbed."

"Yeah. It ain’t a big deal."

"Oh okay."

I sit up and move a little closer to Carmen so that I can lay my head on her lap. I wasn't expecting her to say yes that quickly. I guess she's used to having weird requests like this.

"How long do you wanna nap?"

"I’ll say 30 minutes should be fine."

"Alright I’ll set a timer."

I watch her set a timer and feel her rubbing my head. It's the type of head rub that makes me realize just how stressed I really was. But now it's all just... floating away.

Time Skip

"Ok time's up.

I hear the timer go off and slowly open my eyes. That nap definitely helped me feel better. I almost don't even want to get off her lap because of how nice this was.

"Mmmm…"

"How was that?"

I decide it's best to sit up and look at her as I stretch.

"A lot better than a regular pillow. I’m not even kidding."

"I can tell. All you need is some cheese and you'd be a happy rat."

Maybe it's the way she says it but I can't help but chuckle. It never comes off as her putting me down but as a way to help me not feel so bad about myself. There's something about her that makes just want to take a chance in asking this.

"There is another thing I would like to do."

"Oh yeah?"

"Okay… I’d like to uh… go on a date. When you’re not you know doing all this."

"Alright I’m free from noon to 4."

"Oh. You really mean that?"

"I don't say anything unless I mean it. But just so you know I don't do any off the clock favors."

I can't help but blush from that. It does feel nice that even though she works like this, she still has standards where there's no pressure to "perform" with her.

"Oh, okay, okay. You won’t need to worry about that. I just don’t… really do that right away."

"Ok."

I'm still amazed that I really just asked a woman I just met out on a proper date. This is new and different for me that I'm a little worried about being too desperate.

"So, does that mean you’ll go out with me?"

"Sure where do you plan on going?"

“Well uh. You like Italian food?”

“Honey I am Italian. That would be perfect.”

This is turning out better than I thought. Carmen might actually be interested in talking with me outside of just her job.

"Great. What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"12:15 on Thursday."

"Okay 12:15. You know, I wasn’t expecting you to say yes to this."

"I wasn't expecting to have a patron wanting more than my typical favors so we're even."

She looks up at the clock.

"You should probably fix yourself up since it's close to an hour."

"Oh. Yeah."

I get off the bed and button my shirt up again. Maybe she has a special type of mirror but when I start to fix up my hair I could swear I actually look better.

"Thank you for letting me nap. I can’t wait to see you again on Thursday."

"I’m glad you had a good time."

"It was better than I was expecting. I guess I’ll be going now. I’ll see you Thursday. Have a good rest of your night."

"You too."

I wave as I leave her room. Tom must have had a good time too because he comes up to me with a smile on his face.

"What did I tell you Scott. You look great. Carmen fixed you right up."

"Yeah. You were right. She did fix me right up. I do feel pretty good actually. We’re going on a date Thursday."

We start going outside to the car.

"A date? Now that’s something to write home about."

"I know. I never thought she would agree to it in a million years. Plus it’s a real date. We’re going out for Italian."

“Excellent choice. You learn a lot about a woman just by where they agree to go on a date. Italian can mean anything and doesn't always require a checkbook.”

I realize he's right. Carmen could've suggested a more expensive place but she didn't. She's actually very easygoing and didn't make me feel like I needed to do anything to impress her.

"That's true. I didn't want to make it too fancy but I still want to take her somewhere nice."

"Well you're spoiled for choice with Italian places."

Tom gets in the car.

"Now let’s go home and get some sleep. 1 am just ain’t like it used to be."

"Yeah. A good nap on that nice cushion of hers really did me good but I'm still a little tired."

"Cushion? You don't mean her-"

I start to blush as I buckle my seatbelt. Of course Tom would think that since I did make it sound a little dirty.

"No, no I would never do that. Trust me. I meant her lap."

Tom laughs as he starts driving me home. I feel like I should explain what happened.

"I really opened to her about myself. She told me to unbutton my shirt because I said I wasn’t attractive and that everyone felt I was fat. I never had my stomach rubbed like that before."

"Not even with Dianne?"

"Oh. No. Dianne never really touched my stomach. Not like how Carmen touched it. You know. She probably did it because I was her patron."

Tom shakes his head.

"Nah those stomach rubs were real, pal."

"How do you know that?"

"There are many women that work there. My personal favorite’s Lady Marmalade. She told me a lot about how they operate. These women can tell what a newbie likes just by who they book."

"What? Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. Carmen’s bread and butter are men who can’t get it up. Psychology is a big part of the process. You over think things involving romance. That’s another thing they pick up on. Her bluntness eliminates that problem since she'd never do anything she didn't feel comfortable doing."

I admit that Tom's experience with these women is very useful.

"Yeah, she definitely is blunt. That I could tell. But that’ll mean she’ll tell me about my chances of a second date by the time we get the check right?"

"Definitely."

I start to feel a tad more confident about the date now that I talk through this.

"Well, if you’re right, at least I’ll know where I stand by the end of the date."

“You will.”

Once we get home we try to walk inside without waking up my Pa.

"Night, Tom."

"Night buddy."

As soon I get inside my room something just feels off. Or at least off compared to the dark hole I've been in.

“Is this hope? I think I feel good.”

I sit down on my bed then look at my reflection in the mirror. I notice that I no longer look as nervous, scared, or stressed out. I think back at the recent memory of lying on Carmen’s lap and her rubbing my stomach and then my head. It was the right decision to go.

“Now if only this date can be as good.”

I change into my pajamas then lay my head down on the pillows. I've been so restless for so long but now I'm actually looking forward to something in the near future. I can finally sleep peacefully now.

Tagging: @atleastpleasetelephone, @xanatenshi, @eapep, @jhoneybees, @hooked-on-elvis,

@vintagepresley, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @peaceloveelvis, @urbeatlemaniac, @samcro-redwood-originals,

@iloveelvis2, @kittyyaponia, @thetaoofzoe, @tupelomiss, @lustnhim,

@lucy114505, @sissylittlefeather, @rktismylife-blog, @wildhorseinkansas, @pomtherine,

@freudianslumber, @smokeymountainboy, @thelonelyheart, @be-my-ally, @whositmcwhatsit.

[radioactive-metal]

absolutely bananas headcanon about why Aurora Legion and Illuminae files are in the same universe

ok… so like, I’m almost sure of this, because of that one plague that’s mentioned in both books, lystergia or something. So, you may ask, “But Mr. Metal what about [fold/aliens/spaceships]” and I say shut your mouth please I’m getting there:

The Fold: they just…. Stopped using it. They decided it was too dangerous after the rahaam because of rouge spores or some shit and also annoying that realistically your most veteran combat crews are like 25 years old generally (looking at you aurora legion) so they started using wormholes instead. Much cleaner, no weird ancient aliens leaving their old glassware around, no psychosis, just good old fashioned giving space time a good wedgie. This is why the Alexander has a big bugger off wormhole in its belly, and has low ranking crew that have like, spouses and kids.

why no aliens? Because Kerenza is like, 10000 people tops and most of them are dead, and it’s in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. You can’t take much family along, so I would bet against beretreskans (even fin talks about needed connections) and I just don’t think the syldrathi would work on a shitty little backwater for a human company. It’s just… not in their nature.

governments: is it that big of a stretch to assume terragov did a big rebrand after it turns out their intelligence wing is full of fun guys? (I know very funny you can shoot me later) also the other governments aren’t mentioned because like… why would they be? Nobody knew what was going on until after the events of the book, so why would they be mentioned?

the ships: I forgot what I wanted to say here but something something still have marines something something.

AI, AKA AIDAN you cannot kill people: is it that much of a stretch to assume that AIs can go from little crazy pocket pad sized giga brain intelligences to city sized “I can calculate all of space time to rip holes in it” Uberbrain in like 150-200 years?

more to come maybe but I need sleep to regain energy to scream at more maybe tommorow.

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Ikemen Sengoku OC Juliet

Ikemen Sengoku Original Character

Name : Juliet

Pairing : Kennyo 

Background : She was born and raised in a scottish family of antique dealers in Corsica, moved to Scotland, but one day during a raging storm her whole house got caught in the tornado and swirled back in time ending up in Siberia whereas she got lost in the wind and fell in Japan.

She and Mai fell on the same place and are thus taken both as lucky charms from Nobunaga but whereas Mai manage to earn the trust of the other retainers, Juliet resemblance to Kicho and Westerner habit did nothing but make her stand out amidst everyone arising the suspicion to be a spy of his.

In this mess she still managed to befriend someone and grow fond of a certain fallen monk that treated her, despite his gruff exterior, with kindness.

Personality : She is bubbly, warm, friendly, a girl who thrives in making other people laugh, desiring nothing more than to make them at ease with her.

She flaunts confidence, even when she feels anything but, doing her best to support and compliment people's talents’, despite not seeing her own, deep down she deals with a lot of insecurities about her worth and beauty but never shows them to anyone.

She is extremely wary of getting close with people, for this she prefers to play the role of the entertainer, to listen rather than to talk revealing but few things about herself.

Kind at heart she does her best to help everyone around, but could get extremely upset if someone will turn down not so politely her help, resigned as she is to being friendless she didn’t get her hopes up for anyone but find comfort in talking with some of the retainers that befriended her.

She loves to read and culture herself in subjects she has an interest in, like history and fashion history along with legends and folklore, she is also open to discover new cultures and religions as much as she could.

She hates mockery of any kind, having been the object of such, and thus will stand up for anyone who is teased, she is honest and loyal and once gained her trust, hardship on its own, it's hard to get on her bad side, she prefers to ignore all together the kind of people she hates.

Hates : Ignorance, Bigotry, Arrogance, Snobbishness, Injustice, Hypocrisy, Shallowness

Likes : Kindness, Animals, especially cats, Books, Arts

Ethnicity : Scottish from french ancestry

Race : Caucasian 

Languages : English, French, Japanese (imbues in her through the time travel wrap)

Hobby : Reading, especially romance novels, Writing, Cooking, Playing with animals

Favourite food : Sweets, Strawberries, Raspberries, Chocolate

Note : She dislike eating in public and if she had to do so she will eat the lesser she could, eat to her heart’s content only when alone or in company of people she has trust in

Favorite drink: Fruity teas or water

Friends : Ranmaru Mitsunari Masamune Yoshimoto Shingen Kicho

Not Friends : Keiji Motonari

Love Language : Touches and quality time.

Appearance :  She has a fair complexion, wavy black hair of medium height, with left side tuft on her forehead, and some ringlets that fall on her shoulders. 

Her eyes are tourmaline green, a little upward nose and rosy lips.

She is of short stature, busty with an hourglass figure, she likes to valorise with her dresses back in her homeland, now she is in Japan she is frustrated at the clothes she had to wear.

Style : She didn’t use hairclips of any sort leaving her hair loose around her shoulder, except for one, a gift from Kennyo, that she wore on special occasions where she gives out of her way to do her makeup and paint her lips rouge.

Clothes : Her kimono of choice is usually in bold, darker colours, like greens or reds, and decorated with flowery themes of similar shades, worn with a pair of chandelier golden earrings.

Western habits : She refuses to straighten her wavy hair, as some maids suggested, and brings her boucles with pride, all the while wearing her old undergarments, and some new ones exactly like the ones Mai sewed for her, under her kimono.

Undergarments such as drawers, regency corset and chemise, along knee long white socks tied with a ribbon and dark ballerinas.

She prefers to sit on a chair but if forced to sit on cushions she will cross her legs rather than curl them underneath her.

She sometimes cooks for herself recreating familiar flavours the best she could with the ingredients available.

Company : She bonds with Masamune over cooking, he is the only one brave enough to eat what she has cooked for him along with Mitsunari, receiving compliments for it.

She loves helping out Mitsunari, reordering the books or even talking with Ranmaru.

Even though she is wary of the city at first she likes from time to time to go strolling during errands eager to meet Yoshimoto and learn more about arts.

The person though she can’t help but desire to meet each time she wander into town is Kennyo, his gruff exterior and sometimes harsh words can’t conceal his kind heart from her prying eyes and before they knew they grew quite fond of spending time together, be it strolling through the forest or leisurely chatting over a piping hot tea and a warm meal.

Relationship chart

Tagging some mutuals that may be interested in seeing it hope not to bother 🙈👉👈

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 @william-rex

@writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather

@moonstruckmelancholic @lichtluv

@rjthirsty @ike-garden2024

@jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @oda-princess @rkmaru @ikeprinces-stuff

[bitter69uk]

“If you live in a big city, lunchtime is among the choicest hours for people-watching - for what the photographer Charles H Traub refers to as “the passing parade of the street.” Between 1977 and 1980, Traub held two jobs that left him smack in the middle of the midday urban bustle. As the chairman of the photography department at Columbia College, he’d take his Rolleiflex SL66 camera out onto Chicago’s Loop and take pictures of strangers; later, as the director of the Light Gallery, in New York City, he did the same around Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Seventh Street, “the centre of the world.” His resulting portraits - which also include subjects in Paris, Miami, and other cities - present lunchtime characters like species of butterfly in an entomologist’s shadow box. Traub captures his human specimens in blunt closeup, their personalities fixed to the page in extravagant, often merciless, detail. There are freckled little kids and rouged old biddies, elegant fashionistas and prim gentlemen …”

/ From “Lunchtime Portraits: The Passing Parade” by The New Yorker, September 2015 /   

Born 80 years ago today (6 April 1945): inspired street photographer Charles H Traub. Pictured: one of his lunchtime portraits of a subject with a fiercely original fashion sense. These photos are compiled in the 2015 book Lunchtime.

[bananacakepie]

Based on this post about style in different Shadowhunter Chronicles, my opinion on personal aesthetics for The Wicked Powers

Ty: Wizard locked in a tower to study. Books and dust and long robes, useful gadgets and too many pockets. Overgrown plants and fraying ends and soft fabrics.

Ash: Fairy prince (yeah, i know its basic, but it works well). Woodsy/fantasy design, luxurious fabrics, clever patters, and intricate accessories.

Kit: The denim jacket stays on. Slow transition from shadowhunter gear - streamlined, armored, dark - to faerie fashion - uniquely detailed, light and airy, and colorful. Really nice hiking boots.

Dru: Runnaway princess vibes, dramatically ripped long skirts, precious necklaces, torn pages of notes and books. Bare feet, hidden daggers, silk hiding steel.

Livvy: Transparent and ghostly, a cold breeze, and floating hair. Slowing growing colder and more transparent as the lines of her face fade, and the color starts to dim.

Jaime: Inked skin, clothes stiched up with mismatched thread, sharp blades, and a sharper smile. Unbalanced, bright and dangerous. A rouge adventurer, who knows exactly where he wants to go.

[szigetingy]

Giovanni Boldini (Italian, 1842-1931) ~ La Femme en Rouge [The Woman in Red]. – Boldini was renowned as a colorist and technician, and his works are considered very much Parisian. He had an exclusive contract with the eminent art dealer Adolphe Goupil, and for him produced small, brightly colored 18th century costume pieces that were popular with his Parisian clientele. He painted society portraits as he developed a reputation for his dazzling, elegant depictions of the fashionable women, executed with bold, fluid brushstrokes. His exuberance, vivacity and frank sensuousness won him the title of “Master of Swish.” (NégyArt, Szingy Books), Németh György Pin

[modelsof-color]

Luna Wu , Pan Haowen & Manami Kinoshita by Nadine Ijewere for Rouge Fashion Book - September 2019

[donfantasmaa]

Perfumes Inspired by Phantom of The Opera

I’ve compiled a list of perfumes relating to POTO. My criteria was based on three things:

Things that can be interpreted as direct references to the book or ALW musical

Perfumes that could realistically have been worn by actual characters

Vibes

I am sorry that a lot of these quite expensive, I personally only own them in my dreams.

Erik:

Black Phantom - By Killian

This one is self explanatory. It’s a sweet and boozey coffee scent

Angel - Mulger

Also self explanatory. Both a well loved and a well hated perfume, there’s a good change you already own this

Death and Decay - Lush

To smell like Erik’s hands of course

Dead Sexy - Tokyo Milk

You know why. Woody vanilla scent

Christine:

Everything & Nothing - Tokyo Milk

“Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…”

1889 Moulin Rouge - Histoires de Parfums

Not the right year but this is the ultimate Belle Époque Parisian performer scent. It’s a powdery makeup-y smell, probably what backstage at the Garnier smells like.

Wedding Bouquet - Floris

All those flowers Erik bought for the wedding

Lily of the Valley - Floris

Made in 1847, this realistically could’ve been worn by Christine, and I think it suits her well. It’s a fresh citrusy floral, with violet, rose, jasmine, ylang ylang and ofc lily of the valley

Raoul:

Acqua di Colonia - Santa Maria Novella

Created in 1533 in one of the oldest perfumeries in the world in Florence, a fashionable and worldly gent like Raoul might’ve worn this.

Insolence - Guerlain

“INSOLENT BOY!!”

Beach Walk - Maison-Martin-Margiela

Raoul running into the sea to fetch the red scarf

Under the Stars - Maison-Martin-Margiela

Where Raoul and Christine kiss and everything goes wrong

As a bonus, here’s one that reminds me of the fanfic By Starlight by wheel_of_fish because it’s my fav:

Clandestine Clara - Penhaligon’s