#Vintage Mauve

[rhanylssitagpa]

#3LippieAMonthChallenge: Vintage Mauve

Last swatch for this month’s #3LippieAMonthChallenge is the shade Vintage Mauve from Give Me Glow Cosmetics’ Sweetheart Collection. This caps this month’s pink lippies. And just like the other two lippies, I’ve had this lipstick for a few years now and it is showing no signs of being used up. It’s a mini lipstick but it contains way more than your usual mini lipstick. And because it is long…

[multihues]

Tejasvi Ganjoo

[bebemoon]

look for the name: GLENNA

@sage9991

christian dior by john galliano taupe devore cowl-neck gown

{hair & beauty} romantic makeup and knotted tresses @ antonio marras a/w 2o17

antique silver italian renaissance-revival figural panel "peruzzi" choker necklace

jean desprez "votre main" eau de parfum (released in 193o)

marc jacobs purple croc-embossed leather multi-strap "kiki" platform pumps

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue May 1970

Swedish actress Britt Ekland in a cloud of purple - djellaba in transparent veil embroidered with rains of yellow - and - white flowers; unbuttoned to show off a matching bikini. Sandcastle: Dacron and cotton. Necklace: Kenneth Lane for Laguna…. Violets for her eyes: Cool Mauve Shadow, one of the new loves from Love's Soft Eyes by Menley & James. Hairdressing, by Hugh Harrison.

L'actrice suèdoise Britt Ekland dans un nuage de violet - djellaba en voile transparent brodé de pluies de jaune - et -fleurs blanches; déboutonné pour montrer un bikini assorti. Sandcastle : Dacron et coton. Collier : Kenneth Lane pour Laguna…. Des violettes pour ses yeux : Cool Mauve Shadow, l'un des nouveaux amours de Love's Soft Eyes de Menley & James. Coiffure, par Hugh Harrison.

Patrick Lichfield vogue archive

[meisterdrucke]

The return of the flock, Laren by Anton Mauve

[angebleue2]

[lepetitdragonvert]

Contes Mauves de ma Mère-Grand

1929

Artist : Maurice Lalau

“La Fille aux Loups”

[centaursquizzical]

there was both anomalocaris and laundry iron flavored ice cream once

[postcard-from-the-past]

River scene in Mauves-sur-Huisne, Perche region of France

French vintage postcard

[chasingrainbowsforever]

2101 Mauve ~ Art Nouveau

[painasstrep]

[susoriginals]

Vintage Purple Mauve Sweater V Neck Pullover Jumper Large Only $7

[suziwest-coatcollection]

[iridessence]

so I recently got booked for a burlesque show in nola that has a really great concept— each performer does two sets. in the first one it’s a classic burlesque act (think rhinestones, big hair, glamour, often vintage), the whole shebang. But after the first set is intermission and they (the producers) set up an x pole and the second set takes the audience to the strip club. the performers are able to interpret strip club as they see fit and in fact there is a lot of overlap— many of the burlesque people I know did or still do work at the clubs, so it’s not far off from them, but maybe the crowd is a little different.

anyway, I have not done club work ever, mainly because it’s just not seemed like a gig I could get based on my body and i imagine a lot of club runners aren’t interested unless they personally find you at least somewhat fuckable. but i had an opportunity to play around with what it might be like if i could work at a club, and i still brought a little glamour to it, but mainly i went for more of an ldr stripper fantasy and well… it was a glorious time.

I wore a baby pink powder puff bra, a marabou cuff robe and a pink g-string to nail the vibes because it’s either that or like, a rose bikini i did not have or an American flag sling shot which I couldn’t stomach for a lot of reasons right now. i wanted to wear makeup that felt appropriate to both my vintage burlesque set and a strip club mood so i went with a cut-crease eye look and just changed my lip from red to pinky-mauve between sets. basically hair was the high pony in my icon, and naturally I danced to a couple ldr tracks and just felt very sexy. One of my cast mates said I was giving high-end gentlemen club stripper that the other girls secretly hate because when she comes in, she’s going to make all the money, and that gave me a good laugh.

In general, there was just so much great support from the other burlesque buddies in the crowd passing through from other shows— and a couple of them fan girled over LDR and her Americana stripper bullshit with me. Bunch of audience members also said they thought the shift between sets and moods was really cool. The producer said later that they cried because the whole show was everything they hoped for… a great night indeed.

[novulen]

being nanami’s beloved partner undoubtedly screams old love to me.

preparing meals in the swanky, spacious kitchen of his penthouse apartment, basking in the moment as soft jazz fills the space. lightheartedly clinking your half-full glasses of vintage wine before you both down the mauve liquid until there’s only about a less than a quarter left, and following after you’re overwhelmed in a drunken stupor, intoxicated by both the thickening infatuation growing between you two and the alcohol thrumming wildly through your veins.

the city twinkles with illumination, stunning as ever and the view like never before. it’s breathtaking—even outshining the stars in the night sky. while you’re occupied on taking in the scenery, you fail to notice the yearning gaze searing into the back of your neck.

soon enough, with your added consent and persistence, nanami effortlessly hoists you up onto the kitchen counter, fueled and determined to finish the night with an unforgettable orgasm.

“we’re not even halfway done with dinner yet, kento,” you tease, kissing the corner of his lips and feeling your heart swell when he reciprocates the action. it had never crossed your mind once—the idea that nanami kento could be all yours was simply too hard to believe. and yet even as you’re here, feeling his love resonate through you to the point you think it even grazes your soul, this feels all too good to be true.

“mhm, might as well have my dinner early then?” nanami quirks an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. your reaction doesn’t fail to amuse him, a cute little yelp stiffed by a quiet chuckle which he’d trade the world for simply to hear again.

you lean in close, tugging him down by the collar of his shirt, your lips ghosting over his. “you’re insatiable.”

“you’ve made me this way,” he mouths, sinking to his knees and parting your thighs, ever insistent on ending the day with a memorable climax.

this may or may not js be word vomit😊

divider by @/cafekitsune

[aether-starlight]

You’re the Fish

Pairing: Rafayel x Grumpy!Reader

Warnings: None. Kinda enemies to lovers vibe.

Summary: Rafayel texts you to come over for an emergency. His concept of it is vastly different from yours.

Word count: 700 words.

You didn’t bother to keep the door from slamming in your wake, sprinting into the room to find Rafayel sitting on the floor, brush in hand.

“Do you ever check your phone?” You seethed, brushing a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear.

He didn’t even bother to look at you, enraptured on the canvas before him.

“Not really, but I’ve been known to answer faster to texts starting with ‘baby’ or ‘sweetness’, even.”

“How about pompous prick?”

Rafayel sent you one of those infuriating smiles, unfazed as ever.

“Ooh, someone’s prickly. Rough day at work, Miss Bodyguard?”

“For one: I’m not your bodyguard.” You kneeled by his side and snatched the brush out of his hand. “Second: where exactly is the emergency in this situation?”

Rafayel raised a languid brow.

“Can’t you see?” He gestured at the painting before him, splattered with hues of citrine and turquoise. “It’s a mess.”

It looked like something out of a museum.

Your stare became deadly, words slowly spelled out as you asked: “You made me rush to the outskirts of the city, breaking who knows how many speed limits…for a painting?”

Rafayel’s mirthful gaze withered. Something almost embarrassed crept into his features as his eyes darted between you and the painting.

“Well, I…you see—“

“I thought a Wanderer was kicking your ass!” You exploded.

By that point, he was almost pouting.

“They wouldn’t be kicking my ass, per se.”

You faked solemnity, shaking your head.

“Of course not, maybe just gravely injuring or maiming, nothing too extreme.”

Finally, both of you settled into silence.

He was now looking at his hands, half-mindedly rubbing at the spots of paint coloring his knuckles and the sides of his palms.

Beneath the warm light of the vintage lamp beside the canvas, part of his initial bravado seemed to wane.

The circles beneath the mauve of his eyes became clearer, his hair less of its usual perfect styling.

You sighed, and felt yourself soften. Stress bled out of your body, allowing your shoulders to relax, easing the line at your brow.

“Why am I here, Rafayel? The real reason.”

“Does there have to be a reason?” He asked, petulant as a child.

“Isn’t there always?”

Rafayel brightened, leaning his body closer to yours.

“You see, this reminds me of a story, of a man who was adamant on catching one very specific fish. So obsessed in fact, that when he finally caught it, he had to let it go.“

Your brows furrowed, attempting to stay in the line of his erratic storytelling, all moving hands and vivid intonation.

Rafayel was like that in a way. You soon discovered that your best shot at deciphering how he felt was inside fantasy.

Stories and narratives weren’t just entertainment for him, they were a window to his heart and mind.

The weather would never just be the weather, just like a story was never just a story.

“Am I the fish or the man in this metaphor?”

Rafayel’s gaze was half hidden by long eyelashes.

“Guess. I’d like you to be one, but you’re the other.”

“Maybe I’m none.”

“You are no fun.”

“And you are impractical.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Whatever you say, Miss Bodyguard.”

You observed him for a second, following the light curve at the corners of his lips, and the tired tilt of his shoulders.

“Rafayel.”

“Hm?”

When his gaze met yours there was something unguarded about it.

“You don’t have to catch me.” You cradled one of his hands in yours, returning the brush to its rightful owner. “Just tell me you want to hang out next time.”

Some of his usual flirty self returned at that.

“We’d be up to no good, I would hope.”

You shook your head, a traitorous smile blooming on your face, and if Rafayel felt his heart stutter at it, he would attribute it to exhaustion.

“You’re incorrigible.”

You gave the painting one last look and had to do a double take.

The once abstract shapes were now connecting into something more, soul peeking out from the impeccable technique.

“Rafayel, is that my face?!”