#black lace trimmed shawl

[art-portraits]

The Comtesse de Cérès

Artist: Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (French, 1755–1842)

Date: 1784

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: Toledo Museum of Art, Toledo, Ohio, United States of America

Description

Hints of a lively personality shine through in this portrait of Anne Marie Thérèse de Rabaudy Montoussin, comtesse de Cérès (1759–1834). The young countess, fashionably dressed in her black lace-trimmed shawl, ostrich-plumed hat, and powdered hair, has just finished writing a letter and is folding it to send. By placing her subject in a domestic interior engaged in a private activity, Élisabeth–Louise Vigée-Le Brun displays the new taste for informal, intimate portraits. Her skill at conveying a sense of naturalness and posed spontaneity helped make her one of the most successful and famous portraitists of the 18th century.

Vigée-Le Brun came to regret her association with the comtesse, who was having an affair with French Finance Minister Charles Alexandre de Calonne. She wrote in her memoirs, “while I was painting her portrait, she did me an atrocious disservice. In her ingratiating way she asked me to lend her my horses and carriage to take her to the theater… The next morning I requested my horses for eleven o’clock. Coachman, horses, nothing had come back… I learned that [Madame de Cérès] had spent the night at the Finance Ministry…”

Because Vigée-Le Brun’s coach had been seen the Finance Minister’s home, it fed rumors that she herself was having an affair with him.

[evildilf2]

I got Adam Sandler esque emo shorts at the thrift store today when I’ve been looking for a pattern for them everywhere online #AWESOME

[faebled-stories]

In the Shadows of Fantasy

Kinkvember Day 2: Roleplay/CNC

Shin Ryujin x Male (????)

TW: Non-Con Themes (first time writing this sort of scenes.)

6.2k words

On a quiet evening in her snug apartment, the bustling world outside felt like a distant dream, imbued with an air of surreal calmness. The remnants of a vibrant day, filled with the excitement of promoting for ITZY, lingered faintly in her mind, but like a gentle tide, it was ebbing away, gradually replaced by the soothing hum of her sanctuary. After conquering the frenetic energy of rehearsals, interviews, and eager fans, Ryujin relished stepping across the threshold into her own little bubble of peace. The muted symphony of the city—a soft hum of distant honks and faintly echoing conversations—enveloped her, whispering tales of life outside while allowing her the comfort of solitude.

Her sanctuary was a refuge, a warm hug against the chill of the metropolitan hustle. As she entered her cozy space, the atmosphere exuded comfort; the soft, golden glow from carefully placed lamps created playful shadows that danced across the walls, turning the stark lines of her apartment into something softer, more inviting. The ambiance wrapped around her in layers of warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. As she sank onto her plush bed, enveloped in a knitted blanket, the remnants of the hot shower she had just indulged in lingered around her, a steamy embrace that melted away the exhaustion of her day. The warm water had worked wonders, loosening her tense muscles and leaving her in a state of relaxed bliss.

Wrapped in her silky pink pajamas—a delicate tapestry of fabric that brushed against her skin like a soft whisper—Ryujin felt a wave of relief wash over her. The delicate lace trim of her pajamas was not just an embellishment; it was a small act of indulgence, a reminder that even in a world that demanded strength and poise, the quiet luxuries of self-care were invaluable. Her long black hair, still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, had been pulled into a loose, messy bun, radiating an effortless elegance as if she were embodying the beauty of simplicity. In this personal space, Ryujin cherished the joy of authenticity, free from the public scrutiny that accompanied her life on stage.

Before fully sinking into the serene embrace of her evening rituals, Ryujin felt the familiar buzz of her phone. She reached for it, quickly thumbing through her messages. A smile tugged at her lips as she read through the lively chatter in her group chat with her bandmates. They were making plans for the night, a rare and precious opportunity to unwind amidst their demanding schedules. She quickly typed her response, crafting her words with care,

“Sorry, I can’t meet up later. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was true—she had plans, albeit not the kind that involved meeting friends for dinner or drinks. As she sent the message, a flutter of excitement coursed through her, igniting a spark of anticipation. The girls replied with understanding, their supportive words bringing a warmth to her heart. She locked her phone and tucked it beneath the comforting folds of her blanket, her pulse slowing as she glanced around her apartment. The gentle glow of candles flickered soothingly, the air thick with the aroma of serenity, a sharp contrast to the exhilarating chaos she had just left behind.

The scents of lavender and vanilla blended harmoniously, wrapping around her like an invisible shawl. A diffuser on her nightstand sent delicate puffs of lavender oil into the air, its calming properties weaving throughout the room, while a vanilla-scented candle flickered softly on the coffee table, casting moving shadows that danced playfully across the tidy space. Scattered around her were remnants of the day—magazines, photos, promotional flyers—tokens and trinkets of her fast-paced existence. Yet, in this tranquil sanctuary, they felt more like mementos of a bygone affair, whispering echoes of a vibrant life now tucked away as she embraced her present.

Ryujin let out a deep, contented sigh, surrendering fully to the plush comfort of her bed. As her mind wandered, she began to scroll through pictures from the day’s events—captured smiles and spontaneous laughter with her bandmates and the adoring fans who filled the venue with enthusiasm. The vivid memories—bright stage lights, pulsing music, and the electric energy of a crowd—swirled within her, a vibrant tapestry woven from moments of authenticity and connection. Yet, here, nestled in her softly lit living room, with the city humming a lullaby outside, she felt a reassuring sense of peace wash over her. This was her moment, a rare stillness amidst a world that rarely paused to breathe.

With her feet tucked comfortably beneath her, Ryujin relished every second of this quiet solitude. The world outside could wait; tonight, she would luxuriate in her own tranquility, enveloped by warmth, the scent of her favorite candles, and the knowledge that within the chaos of her life, she could carve out a corner meant solely for introspection and self-appreciation. Here, in her sanctuary, she could simply be Ryujin—the girl behind the stage lights, the one finding solace in the quiet power of her own company.

The tranquility of Ryujin's home was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash. The sound, akin to a gunshot, reverberated through the living room, its echoes bouncing off the walls and jolting the young idol from her peaceful reverie. The serene stillness of the dimly lit hallway before her was now a corridor of uncertainty, a pathway to an unknown danger that had so rudely intruded upon her sanctuary.

As the initial shock subsided, the pounding of heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards sent waves of dread through Ryujin's petite frame. Each thud was a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm growing louder and more insistent as the source of the disturbance drew nearer. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, pounded in sync with the advancing threat, the surge of adrenaline sharpening her senses to a painful acuity.

The darkness in the hallway seemed to deepen, and from its depths, a figure emerged—a menacing silhouette that moved with deliberate intent. Ryujin's instincts screamed for her to flee, but fear rooted her to the spot. Her attempt to cry out for help died in her throat, a silent scream that hung heavy in the air.

As the intruder drew closer, the dim light revealed his obscured features—a black ski mask concealed his identity, and his eyes, those piercing, manic eyes, gleamed with a dangerous intensity that sent shivers down Ryujin's spine. His presence was a palpable threat, a predator in her home, and she knew with a sinking certainty that her world was about to be upended.

With a roughness that took her breath away, the man seized Ryujin by the shoulders, his grip an iron vice that she couldn't break free from. He hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her frantic struggles and the blows she rained down upon his back. Her attempts to break free were met with a firm smack to her backside, a humiliating assertion of his control over her. His hands, now freed from the task of restraining her, roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement that made her blood run cold.

The journey down the hallway to her bedroom was a blur of panic and disbelief. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way to escape the nightmare that had ensnared her. But her efforts were in vain; the intruder's strength was overwhelming, and her bedroom—a space that had always been a haven—was now the stage for her terror.

Tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Ryujin's breath was knocked from her lungs. The bedframe creaked ominously under the sudden addition of weight, and she scrambled to regain her footing, to put distance between herself and the monster that loomed over her. But he was on her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the mattress with terrifying ease.

"Stop! Who are you? What are you doing?" Ryujin's voice was a tremulous whisper, laced with the kind of fear that claws at the throat and threatens to suffocate. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the air thick with the scent of her own fear and the sickening sweetness of the intruder's breath.

His response was a cruel laugh that seemed to mock her vulnerability, he silenced her attempts to scream. "Silence," he hissed, the command a low growl that filled the room and silenced the last of her protests. His hands, calloused and rough, tore at her clothing with a ferocity that left her exposed and shivering in the cool air.

Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped animal desperate for escape as she lay there, her wrists firmly ensnared in the iron grip of her captor. His hands, large and unyielding, were like manacles, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Her struggles were futile, her strength no match for the brute force that held her captive.

Tears carved rivulets down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to her terror. Her voice, once strong and defiant, was now a mere whisper as she begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her words laced with desperation. But the intruder, his eyes darkened with a lust that brooked no room for compassion, was deaf to her entreaties. He was a man possessed, his mind clouded by a perverse obsession that had consumed him whole.

"You’re mine now," he declared, his voice a guttural growl that resonated with the promise of unspeakable acts. The words hung in the air like a specter, filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. Ryujin's body trembled, not just from the chill of the room, but from the deep-seated fear that gripped her soul. She knew that her life was hanging by a thread, and that the man above her was the only one who held the power to sever it.

His breath, hot and ragged, washed over her face as he leaned in closer, his intentions clear. Ryujin felt a wave of nausea rise within her as she realized the horror that was about to unfold. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a safer place, a happier memory, but the reality of her situation was an unbreakable chain that tethered her to the present.

The intruder's hands roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement, each touch a violation, a desecration of her being. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way out, a miracle that would deliver her from this nightmare. But as she lay there, helpless and afraid, she knew that her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was to endure, to survive by any means necessary, and to hope against hope that she would live to see another day.

The roughness of his hands scraped against her soft skin, leaving a trail of dread in their wake. Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil in her mind. Each grope, each unwanted caress, sent shockwaves of revulsion through her. His touch was a violation, a harsh juxtaposition to the gentle caresses she had once known.

His fingers, unyielding and intrusive, pried at her most private sanctum, a sacred space now desecrated by his relentless, cruel exploration. The intimate touch that should have been filled with warmth and mutual desire was instead laced with a cold, brutal possessiveness. It was a reminder of her loss of control, her autonomy stripped away by force.

Ryujin felt her very essence recoil from the abomination of his touch. Her body, once a vessel of joy and pleasure, now served as a battleground, a site of abuse. With each passing moment, the vile invasion further tainted her, leaving her feeling irreparably soiled, her spirit crying out against the defilement of her temple.

In the depths of her being, Ryujin's mind railed against the horror, a silent scream reverberating through her consciousness. She clung to the fragments of her dignity, a desperate act of defiance against the physical and emotional ravaging of her person. With each heartbeat, she fought to preserve a piece of herself untouched by the brutality that surrounded her, a small flame of resistance flickering in the darkness of her ordeal.

His depraved taunts sliced through the air, each word a lash against her dignity. "God look at you getting wet, I knew you were a slut hiding as an idol," he sneered, his voice dripping with malicious glee. His words were not just spoken; they were a deliberate and cruel violation of her spirit, an attempt to strip her of her identity and reduce her to nothing more than an object of his twisted desires.

Ryujin's denials were fierce, yet they seemed to dissipate into the ether, unacknowledged and invalidated by the monster looming above her. She mustered all her strength to form coherent words through her sobs, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. "No, please, you're wrong!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the shattered remnants of her once untouchable world.

But her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears. The intruder reveled in her distress, feeding off it, his smirk growing ever wider as he watched her struggle against the nightmare he had forced upon her. With each passing moment, her torment seemed to intensify, a crescendo of emotional and psychological pain that threatened to consume her entirely.

The man who claimed to be her fan, who had morphed into her captor, traced the contours of her vulnerability with a touch that was both invasive and terrifying. With a single finger, he probed her innocence, curling it in a gesture that was as much a violation as it was a perverse display of control. Scooping the essence of her fear and arousal, he brought it to her tear-streaked face, a macabre exhibition to prove his twisted point. "See? Even when you deny it, you love it," he sneered, before indulging in the taste of her terror, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she watched, paralyzed by the moment, her struggles futile under his oppressive grip.

The chill of his words cut deeper than the physical intrusion. "I've been watching you for some time now, I even attended your fan meet," he growled into her ear, the proximity of his breath a violation in itself. "The way you spoke to me, I knew you wanted this, wanted me." His statement was a delusion, a fabrication born from his obsessive desire to possess her.

With no regard for her well being, he forced his three longest fingers into her, cruelly exploring her depths as she fought against the invasion, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to deny him access. A swift, stinging slap to her thighs served as a harsh reminder of her helplessness, and he pinned her legs open with his knees, ensuring her resistance was crushed under his relentless assault.

His hands were unyielding, pistoning with a ferocity that ignored her pleas for mercy. The slickness of her own arousal betrayed her, fueling his relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a reminder of her captivity, each cry that tore from her throat a testament to her suffering. But Ryujin was not one to surrender easily. With a surge of adrenaline, she mustered the strength to fight back, freeing a leg and landing a kick that momentarily freed her from his grasp. The brief respite was a fleeting victory, as her attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by his longer reach and quick reflexes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" he taunted, a smirk playing at his lips. "I should have seen this coming; you were always so strong." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of admiration and malice. "But that only makes it sweeter—knowing how satisfying it’ll be when I finally reduce you to nothing but a toy." His words, dripping with twisted admiration, laid bare the sinister depths of his obsession.

The room that was once a haven of tranquility and self-expression, a scene of unfathomable horror was unfolding. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, bore witness to a transformation that would leave its occupant forever scarred. This was no longer a sanctuary; it was a site of a struggle that would test the very limits of human resilience.

The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors and personal mementos, now stood as silent sentinels to an act of domination. As the assailant's eyes swept across the room, they settled on an object that would chill the blood of any onlooker: a length of rope, its very presence an ominous harbinger of what was to come. The rope, an everyday item twisted into an instrument of torment, lay coiled and waiting—its innocent origins now a distant memory in the face of its dark new purpose.

With a grip born of malice, the assailant seized the rope, its fibers a cruel contrast to the softness of the skin it would soon bind. The victim, a soul whose light had drawn many, now found herself ensnared by the very space that once celebrated her essence. As she was dragged towards the bed, a symbol of comfort turned into an altar of suffering, the rope in the assailant's hand became a grim portent of her impending entrapment.

"What is this for? You're a kinky little bitch, huh?" he sneered, the words a vile distortion of intimacy. Ryujin's denial was written in the frantic shake of her head and the terror etched across her face. Her gaze flickered towards a drawer.

Noticing her glance, he leaned over and pulled it open, his expression twisting with dark amusement as he uncovered the hidden item. "Well, well," he murmured, lifting the rainbow-colored dildo wrapped in cloth. "Looks like you've got your secrets." His tone was laced with cruel satisfaction as he held her private joy aloft, a personal item now transformed into a weapon for her degradation.

In a swift and brutal motion, she was thrown onto the bed, the force of the action resurfacing memories of what happened just moments ago. The assailant, driven by a desire to dominate and degrade, secured her hands to the bedpost with ruthless efficiency. The rope dug into her flesh, each strand a thread in the tapestry of her suffering.

The decision to leave her legs untied was a calculated one, a means to leave her completely and utterly vulnerable. The sense of exposure was all-consuming, rendering her utterly defenseless against the violence that was to follow.

Ryujin, whose name evoked images of a fierce idol known for her strength, grace and power. Now found herself trapped in a human drama of the darkest kind. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that enveloped the room. With each desperate pull against the restraints, her unyielded spirit shone through the darkness of her situation, a beacon of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

The moment of violation arrived with a swift and violent plunge, an act that would seek to strip away her sense of self. The toy, once a source of personal enjoyment, was now an extension of her assailant's twisted desires. Its rainbow markings, a grotesque contrast to the act they were now part of, stood in stark contrast to the vibrancy they were meant to represent.

The struggle was internal as much as it was physical. I can't… not like this she thought, but her body, a finely tuned instrument honed through years of dance and performance, betrayed her. A quiet gasp slipped out, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain a composure that was being systematically dismantled. The toy filled her in a way that was impossible to ignore, its movements an unwelcome rhythm dictated by hands that had no right to touch her.

Teetering on the edge of her endurance, her mind spun in a desperate search for an anchor—a lifeline to cling to amidst the relentless onslaught. But the man, a specter of menace was unrelenting, a manifestation of her deepest fears made flesh.

With each passing second, Ryujin felt the invisible grip of inevitability tighten around her. It's too much, she realized, the thought piercing through the haze of her resistance. And just as this realization coalesced into a stark acceptance, her body tensed, betraying her final shred of resistance. A soft cry, born of a place where strength and vulnerability intertwine, escaped her lips as she let go, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

The orgasm that followed was not just a physical response; it was a shattering of the self, a detonation that rippled through every fiber of her being. For a moment, everything else vanished—erased by the pulsating, all-consuming release she had tried so hard to deny. "No, no, not like this—" she gasped, but her plea was lost in the tempest that raged within. The orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, her entire body seizing with the sudden intensity, leaving her breathless and exposed.

Her legs shook violently, her control lost to the tide of pleasure that surged through her core in overwhelming pulses. Each throb was a testament to the power of her adversary, a man who watched with a dark satisfaction etched into the harsh lines of his face. His gaze was fixed on her, a predator savoring the sight of his prey coming undone in his arms.

Ryujin's body arched into the pleasure she had tried so hard to resist, her mind too clouded with sensation to mount any further defense. Her composure, once a fortress, lay in ruins, each shudder tearing away the last remnants of her armor. She was completely vulnerable, exposed to the cruel whims of her attacker, a man who seemed to revel in the unraveling of her defenses.

With her legs trembling and the last of her resistance shattered, her orgasm wracked her until there was nothing left to give. She lay there, spent, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as the aftershocks pulsed faintly through her limbs. He held her, still reveling in the sight of his idol succumbing so completely to the moment.

The assault on her dignity continued as he began to undo his pants, letting her glimpse his hardening cock—a sight that was both repulsive and terrifying. He repeated his previous actions, dipping his fingers and letting Ryujin see just how wet she was from being handled against her will. "Just accept it, Ryujin, you're a slut, a slut who loves to be ra-" His words were cut off as a glob of saliva hit his face. Her defiance was palpable, "how dare you say such things, let me go, you freak," she tried to intimidate him despite her position.

This only made the man chuckle, a sound that was incongruously light against the gravity of the situation. He wiped the spit from his face and, without warning, he slapped her pussy and suddenly inserted his full length into her throbbing folds. A sharp gasp escaping Ryujin's lips as her body adjusted to the sudden abuse. His pace was relentless, each movement rough and mechanical, offering no reprieve from the overwhelming sensation.

"Stop… please…" Ryujin whimpered, her voice barely audible as she fought to hold on, her body bucking beneath him as she tried in vain to push him away.

"You want this," he hissed in response, his hips slamming into hers. "You knew what would happen, all those times you were up on the stage, shaking your ass with nothing but shorts that didn’t even cover your ass, you know what you were doing, don’t pretend you didn’t."

The words sent a shudder through her. In the privacy of her home, the fear took hold—would anyone even know to come help her? She should've just gone with the ITZY girls, but this was what she had wanted, a moment to herself, a chance to stay home and relax. Now, her desire for solitude had backfired, trapping her in a nightmare. Her mind rebelled against the raw brutality of it, while her body betrayed her with its responses.

"I… I don’t…" Ryujin gasped, her voice trembling as his thrusts became more punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure mixed into one confusing, intoxicating wave.

The man grunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You will take it. You’ll take everything I give you." He forcefully grabbed her hair, using it as a handle as he thrusted harder into her. If she just slightly brought her eyes down, she would be able to see the assault happening to her precious core, a sight that would haunt her long after the physical scars had healed.

Tears of frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks as Ryujin struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. Each brutal thrust tore through her, making her feel both powerless and consumed. Her body quaked with each movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought the conflicting emotions warring inside her.

"Please… stop…" Ryujin whispered again, but the plea fell on deaf ears. Her body, traitorous in its response, began to react to his touch, a warmth pooling deep within her core, betraying the turmoil of her heart and mind.

This scene, fraught with a harrowing mix of fear and arousal, is not just a moment but a narrative that underscores the intricate and often misunderstood nature of human sexuality and consent. Her voice, barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and desperation, "No… No… I can't cum like this, not again," underscores the internal conflict that many victims of sexual coercion face. The struggle within her was palpable, a conflict between the primal urges of her flesh and the clear boundaries she so desperately wanted to maintain.

Yet, her tormentor was relentless. "You can, and you will. You want it, your body craves it," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her, stirring feelings she wished would remain dormant. His words were not just a statement but a command, an assertion of control that left her feeling powerless and exposed.

The intensity of the situation was undeniable, pulling her closer to the edge despite the tears that streamed down her face. Each sob was a silent scream, a plea for mercy that went unheard. She hated how much her body had betrayed her, how it responded to the very touch that repulsed her mind. The paradox of pleasure and pain intertwined, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as his brutal thrusts reached their peak, his voice broke through in a ragged growl. “Fuck, your tight pussy is making me cum. I’m gonna fill you up so well,” he groaned, his member starting to pulsate inside her.

Panicking, Ryujin tried one last time to regain control. “Please don’t—anything but that. I’ll swallow everything, please don’t cum in me. I need to keep my job, please!” Her voice was desperate, her pleas frantic. But he ignored her, too far gone, the sound of her cries only pushing him closer to his inevitable release.

With a final, forceful slam of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. His body tensed, grunting as the rush of his climax took hold. Ryujin’s body, pushed to its breaking point, betrayed her in the worst way possible. A choked, involuntary cry escaped her lips as she felt a molten heat bubble up from her core. “No, no, no—I can’t cum like this, I can’t—OH FUCK! NO!” Her protest turned into a scream as an intense orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, her body convulsing against her will..

Every nerve was on fire, her entire being wracked with sensation as her climax overtook her. She could feel him inside her, his length pulsing, pumping one wave of release after another, spilling every drop of his cum deep into her womb. It was too much, her body buckling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

When it was over, she lay there trembling, her limbs weak and unsteady. Conflicting emotions tore at her—shame and disgust mingled with the unsettling, undeniable relief her body had experienced. She felt a profound sense of humiliation, haunted by the fact that even under such circumstances, her body had responded so intensely, climaxing harder than ever before.

Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to make sense of the chaotic swirl of sensations and the hollow feeling left behind. Finally, his movements slowed and stopped, his weight pressing heavily into her, pinning her further into the bed. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, thick with exhaustion, filling the air like an unwelcome reminder.

But then, something shifted. He slowly peeled himself away from her, his movements hesitant, as though the air had grown thick between them. She felt him exit her, and a cold breeze hit her core, leaving her to shiver and her pussy pulsing. He stood, silent, and as Ryujin looked up, she saw him reach for the mask he had been wearing. He pulled it off, the fabric falling to the floor.

Her gaze followed it, and then she looked up, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression made her heart lurch. It wasn’t anger or disgust that she felt now—it was guilt. Sympathy and regret welled up inside her, twisting her stomach.

You stood there, staring down at her with a look of conflict, your shoulders heavy as if the weight of the moment had just settled on you.

“Did you… like that?” you asked finally, your voice soft, uncertain, almost fragile.

Ryujin blinked, trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her. She had liked it, loved it even—there was no denying the raw intensity of what had just happened. The power of the orgasm had been overwhelming, consuming her entirely. But seeing the guilt in your eyes now made her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on you.

“I did,” she admitted softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket around herself for comfort. “But… I didn’t think it would be like this for you. I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes searching for understanding. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t realized that what had been a moment of intense release for her had left you feeling something much different. The realization hit her hard, and suddenly the thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “I thought I would enjoy it. But halfway through, it stopped feeling like an act. It felt… too real.” You shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryujin. Even if it’s just role-play.”

Ryujin’s heart sank as she heard the strain in your voice. The plan she had been so excited about—the one she’d been texting you earlier, coordinating in secret—suddenly felt like a misstep. She had wanted to explore this fantasy together, to push your boundaries, but now she saw how deeply it had affected you.

Seeing your troubled expression, Ryujin immediately reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t hurt me, I promise,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and reassurance. She shifted closer to you, her fingers brushing through your hair, trying to comfort you. “I trusted you completely, and you didn’t cross any lines. You gave me exactly what I wanted.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at her, but the weight of your emotions was still evident. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so real. Seeing you like that—so vulnerable—it scared me. I wasn’t sure if I should stop. I wanted to make you feel good, but then it felt like too much.”

Ryujin’s heart ached seeing the guilt and confusion in your eyes. She could sense how much you had been battling internally, pushing through the moment for her sake. Her fingers gently traced your jawline as she spoke. “I know it felt intense. I know it was a lot. But you did everything right. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay to feel unsure sometimes—it means you care, it means you’re thinking of me. And I love that about you.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath warm and steady as she tried to ease your anxiety. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “This is our time, not just my time. If it ever feels too real, or if you’re uncomfortable, we stop. That’s what the safe word is for, remember? We’re always in control together.”

You exhaled, your body relaxing a little as her words sank in. You knelt beside her on the bed, your hands resting on her thighs, drawing strength from her presence. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “You looked so caught up in it, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

Ryujin shook her head gently, her heart full of affection as she cupped your face in her hands. “You could never let me down. You did exactly what I asked of you, and you did it because you love me. That means more than anything. We tried something new together, and that’s what matters. The fact that you care enough to worry about me—that’s what makes this work.”

Your eyes filled with gratitude as you leaned into her touch, feeling the weight of your worry begin to lift. “I’m not mad,” Ryujin continued, her voice soothing as she spoke. “We don’t have to rush back into this. I know it was intense, and maybe we can try again in the future if we both feel ready. But not until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, your forehead resting against hers. “Thank you… for understanding and for being patient with me. I really didn’t like seeing you cry, even if it was part of the role-play.”

Ryujin smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know. I could feel it when you hesitated, but I also knew I was safe with you. You did everything right. It’s okay to take things slow next time. We’ll figure out what works for both of us.”

As she spoke, Ryujin wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. She could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from your body, replaced by the quiet understanding that, while you hadn’t shared the exact same feelings during the moment, your love and trust remained strong.

“I love you,” Ryujin whispered into your ear, her voice steady and full of care. “We’ll always figure this out together. Don’t carry this weight by yourself.”

You hugged her tightly, your grip firm but tender. “I love you too. I just… I want to be what you need.”

Ryujin pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with yours. “You already are. Just by being here, by talking to me like this—you’re everything I need.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Ryujin could see the relief wash over you, your shoulders relaxing as the guilt you’d been carrying finally started to dissolve.

You sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the earlier intensity now softened by the quiet hum of the room. The air, still charged with the echoes of your shared vulnerability, gradually became a sanctuary of comfort. The rhythmic thrum of Ryujin’s heartbeat under your ear anchored you, a gentle reminder that in this moment, safety and love surrounded you.

The night hadn’t unfolded as either of you expected. While it was intended to push boundaries, it ended up brushing too close to an edge that felt unsettling. But here, in the quiet aftermath, the true strength of your bond revealed itself—not in flawless moments, but in facing the imperfect ones together.

Ryujin’s hand moved with a tender steadiness, fingers threading through your hair as she held you close. Her eyes, soft with understanding and glistening with unshed emotion, searched yours. The apology she whispered carried the weight of sincerity. “I’m sorry again for making you do something you weren’t comfortable doing,” she said, her voice low and earnest. The kiss she placed on your forehead lingered like a promise, warm and reassuring. “We should always both be enjoying it, okay?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her words resonated in the space between you, washing away the remnants of doubt that had lingered in the corners of your mind. You nodded, the gesture small but full of resolve. “Okay. If it ever feels like that again, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steadying as her hand tightened over yours.

A smile broke through the lingering tension on Ryujin’s face, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she nestled closer. The room felt warmer, filled not just with the heat of bodies, but with the shared understanding that mistakes were not failures—they were lessons. The moments of discomfort were laid to rest, and in their place grew something deeper: the affirmation that your love thrived not in perfection, but in how you navigated the imperfect.

Ryujin’s embrace became your refuge as the minutes passed, her breathing synchronizing with yours in a comforting rhythm. The world outside fell away, leaving only the steady beat of two hearts, learning and loving as one. Trust, communication, and care—these were the foundations of what you had. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.

[come-away-with-me87]

Threefold Temptation

Warnings: NSFW - Smut - 18+ - MDNI

******

This one here is for @vannylen2144, who requested this prompt.  I've never written smut for a threesome before; I hope I did it justice for you, my friend :)

******

Pairings: Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead) x Fem!Reader x Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

******

You just got out of a six-year relationship with your boyfriend; he cheated on you with a close girlfriend of yours.  Your "friend" felt so badly about what happened, she admitted everything to you.  You were hurt, of course, but you somewhat felt a sense of relief. Your relationship with your boyfriend had gone sour, and subconsciously, you had been looking for an out.  Cheating was an absolute no-no in any type of relationship, so you dumped him, and cut off contact with your friend.  For the first time in six years, you were single, and you were determined to have fun with it.  Which brought you the unforeseen situation you were in tonight with your friends, Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada.  

You worked at U.A. High School as a teacher, and over time became close with the two of them.  One Friday, not too long after your breakup, Hizashi asked if you wanted to grab a drink with him and Shouta after work.  You readily agreed, thinking you would have a good time with friends, and that maybe you'd meet a handsome guy you could have some fun with.  Hizashi grinned at you, "cool, Y/N!  You deserve a night out after what you've been through lately."  You always thought Hizashi was sweet; he came across as a big goofball, but you knew he had a sweet side.  You became friends with him first.  Shouta was a tougher egg to crack, but eventually, you wiggled your way into his life, and he had accepted you as a friend.  

The work day came to an end on Friday, and you agreed to meet up with Hizashi and Shouta at the bar around 7:00pm.  You went home after work, and got a shower.  After your shower, you blow dried your hair into curly waves, and put on some makeup.  Since you were hoping for a nice makeout session tonight, you wore a short black clingy dress that showcased your curves nicely, and you opted for thigh-high stockings with a lace trim, and a pair of black heels.  You did a once-over in your full-length mirror, and thought you looked good. You grabbed your shimmery shawl, your purse and keys, and headed out the door to your car.

You arrived at the bar shortly after 7:00pm.  You knew it would be crowded based on the amount of cars in the parking lot, but it was even more packed inside than you anticipated.  You walked around the bar, and eventually spotted your dark and light haired friends sitting in a booth, to which Hizashi noticed you and waved you over.  You arrived at your booth and sat down, and took both of them in.  They were both out of their hero attire; Shouta was wearing his hair back in a ponytail, had a black v-neck long sleeve shirt on, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  And Hizashi was also wearing his hair down in a low ponytail, and had a plain white tee-shirt on.  They looked good.  As if he was reading your mind, Shouta looked you up and down, saying, "you look gorgeous tonight, Y/N."

You sat down in the booth in between Shouta and Hizashi, and the three of you ordered beers along with three shots.  "Cheers to Y/N!" Hizashi exclaimed, "who is now free from that asshole!"  "CHEERS!" you excitedly exclaimed, and the three of you clinked your shot glasses together.  The conversation flowed organically between the three of you, and you were having a lot of fun.  You had totally forgotten about your idea of making out with a random man, you were having so much fun.  As the night went on, you felt both Shouta and Hizashi getting closer to you, eventually to the point where your thighs were touching each of theirs under the booth.  You felt your face get hot; you blamed it on the alcohol.  However, deep down, you felt good being close to Shouta and Hizashi.  You suddenly had an idea.

"Hey you guys, I have beer at my place. Instead of paying for the overpriced drinks here, why don't we go have a nightcap at my place?"  They both agreed.  The three of you threw down money on the table towards the tab and left the bar to go to your place.  Once you arrived at your place, you grabbed three beers from the fridge and brought them out to the living room.  Once again, you found yourself sandwiched between Shouta and Hizashi on your couch, and they were close.  The conversation continued to flow between the three of you, when suddenly, you saw that it was close to midnight.  "Wow, time really flew tonight. I'm really glad you guys brought me out, I needed that."  Shouta and Hizashi both looked at you and smiled, then looked at each other.  In a bold move, Hizashi said, "the night doesn't have to end here, Y/N.  You mentioned at the bar that you wanted to have some fun tonight; we can make that happen for you."

Suddenly, Hizashi leaned over towards you and started kissing and sucking on your neck.  You never viewed Shouta or Hizashi in a sexual way, so you were surprised at how good his touch felt on you.  As Hizashi kissed and sucked on your neck, Shouta put his hand on your thigh below your dress, and started rubbing it back and forth.  You felt just as good from Shouta's touch as you did with Hizashi.  Suddenly, you found yourself leaning into Hizashi's kissing, and you put your hand over Shouta's hand on your thigh. You turned your head towards Hizashi, and began to kiss him passionately.  While you were kissing him, Shouta pulled your hair to the side, and began sucking on the back of your neck.

You thought this would be awkward or uncomfortable, but it felt incredible.  As you continued to kiss Hizashi, you found both of your hands trailing up both of their thighs onto the crotch of their pants; they were both already rock hard, which turned you on; having this effect on two men.  You pulled away from your kiss with Hizashi, not wanting Shouta to feel left out.  You turned towards Shouta, and began to kiss him.  Shouta cupped your cheek with his hand, while Hizashi took this opportunity to take his clothes off.  You momentarily pulled away from your kiss with Shouta, and took Hizashi in.  Despite being thin, he was very toned, and you were aroused at what you saw.  

While you were pulled away from the kiss, Hizashi took this opportunity to pull your dress up over your head, leaving you in your lacy black bra and panty set, and thigh-high stockings.  "You're so sexy, Y/N," Shouta said while rubbing his hand back and forth across your tits over your bra.  "Take off your clothes, too, Shouta," you mewled while Hizashi stood there stroking his hard cock.  You felt your mouth salivating at the sight of him fisting himself, and suddenly, you found yourself on your knees on the floor right in front of Hizashi.  You grabbed the base of his cock, and began swirling your tongue around the tip, eventually taking him to the back of your throat, to which he groaned your name.

While you bobbed up and down on Hizashi's cock, Shouta got up and started spanking your ass.  "That's a good girl, Y/N, take his cock down your throat."  After a few moments, you pulled away from Hizashi's cock, sat back down on the couch, and patted on the couch on either side of you, motioning for them to sit back down.  At this point, you got a good look at Shouta.  He was very muscular, which you never noticed under his hero outfit.  They sat back down on either side of you, and you took each of their cocks into your hands and started stroking them.  Shouta took this opportunity to unhook your bra, and both men started kissing and suckling on your tits.  You threw your head back in pleasure and started moaning at the sensation.  While they continued to play with your tits, Hizashi took his hand and reached down between your thighs and began to rub back and forth over your clothed clit.

"You're already so wet for us, baby," Hizashi exclaimed while you continued to stroke his cock.  "Let us make you feel good now."  Hizashi got up, pulled you up by your hands, and pulled your panties down your legs, leaving you in just your stockings.  "Keep those on, they're so sexy on you," he grunted.  He gently pushed you back down on the couch, put his head in between your legs, and started kissing on your inner thighs until he reached your cunt, which was throbbing.  He began to lick and suck on your clit, to which you moaned loudly.  While Hizashi went down on you, Shouta turned your head towards his and began kissing you, his tongue intertwining with yours.  You ran your hand up and down his muscular chest while you kissed.  You felt the familiar build up of an orgasm coming on, and finally, that coil burst inside of you.  

"Good girl..." Hizashi murmured against your cunt.  He got back onto the couch and sat on the other side of you, his cock glistening with precum.  You began to stroke each of their cocks again, while Shouta leaned back down to your tits and took turns suckling on each of your nipples.  Meanwhile, Hizashi resumed kissing and sucking on your neck.  "I think...ah," you squealed as Shouta gently bit down on your nipple, "I think we should take this to the bedroom."  You got up from the couch, grabbed both of them by their hands and led them into the bedroom.  You faced Shouta first, leaned towards him and started kissing him feverishly, while Hizashi came right up behind you and grabbed you by the fat of your hips, rubbing his cock up and down your ass.

Shouta pulled away from the kiss, and instructed you to lay down on the bed on your back.  You did just as he said, and in a flash, he was hovering over top of you, cock aligning with your wet entrance.  Hizashi came over to the bed and got on his knees on the side of your head.  "Turn your face towards me, Y/N. I want you to suck on my cock while Shouta fucks you senseless."  You did just as he said, as well, and Shouta asked if you were ready.  You couldn't believe you were in this situation with these two very attractive men, but somehow, it felt right.  "I'm ready."  Shouta pushed his cock inside of you, his muscular arms on either side of you, and started slowly fucking you.  As you adjusted to his size, he began to thrust in and out at a quicker pace.

You turned your head and looked up towards Hizashi, who was fisting his cock while watching Shouta fuck you.  You had him inch closer, and you grabbed his cock and took it all the way down your throat until you gagged.  Hizashi groaned at the sound of you gagging.  "That's right, choke on my cock, baby."  Both men found a steady rhythm with you; Shouta was fucking your pussy while Hizashi fucked your mouth.  While you had his cock in your mouth, Hizashi leaned over to play with your clit while Shouta thrust in and out of you.  You felt another orgasm coming on, and once again you felt that coil inside of you burst, and you came all over Shouta's cock and Hizashi's fingers. "That's a good girl," Shouta grunted; his thrusts were becoming more erratic.  You could tell he was reaching his limit soon.

Suddenly, Shouta pulled out of you, and positioned himself over your chest; he was going to come on your tits, which you found to be incredibly hot.  He started jerking himself off until he eventually did just that.  He leaned his one hand on the pillow your head was on, and groaned while he came all over your tits.  Meanwhile, you could also tell Hizashi wasn't far behind Shouta.  He clutched your head and grasped your hair with both of his hands, and continued to fuck your mouth until he finally came down your throat.  He pulled out of your mouth, and began panting heavily.  "Stick your tongue out, Y/N.  I want to see that you swallowed every last drop."  You did just as he asked, and he smiled down at you and, while still panting, leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss.  Shouta took this opportunity to get up from the bed, and went into your bathroom.  In a sweet gesture, he came back out with a warm washcloth and cleaned you up.

Both men ended up collapsing on either side of you.  Shouta fell asleep first, turning towards you and draping his arm over your belly.  You kissed him on the forehead while he slept.  Hizashi turned towards you next, smiling while he gently cupped your face and kissed you on the lips.  "That was incredible, Y/N. You're incredible," he said as he also fell into his own slumber.  You felt your own eyelids getting heavy, and before you fell asleep, you laid there and smiled, thinking you were the luckiest girl in the world right now.

******

The end.

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 35, vol. 15, 1 septembre 1894, Paris. Toilettes de soirée. Dessin de G. de Billy. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Corsage de soirée en tulle rose pointillé de jais noir, draperies croisées retenues par un corselet "guêpe” en broderie de jais. Manches ballons drapées, garnies dans le haut sur l’épaule et dans le bas d'un gros bouillonné de tulle uni et d'un volant plissé en tulle.

Evening bodice in pink tulle dotted with black jet, crossed draperies held by a "wasp" bodice in jet embroidery. Draped balloon sleeves, trimmed at the top on the shoulder and at the bottom with a large plain tulle ruffle and a pleated tulle flounce.

—

Corsage de dîner en peau de soie mais garni de plumes noires. Gros nœuds de velours noir ornant la polonaise croisée. Manches drapées. Corselet et poignets des manches brodés de jais et d’or.

Dinner bodice in peau de soie but trimmed with black feathers. Large black velvet bows adorning the crossed polonaise. Draped sleeves. Bodice and cuffs of the sleeves embroidered with jet and gold.

—

Toilette de château en veloutine abricot. Veste Louis XVI en vieille soie à ramages, fond vert mousse broché vieux tons, revers arrondis en veloutine abricot, jabots en dentelle rousse. Capeline de tulle coulissé garnie de plumes.

Apricot velvet house ensemble. Louis XVI jacket in old silk with patterns, moss green background brocaded in old tones, rounded lapels in apricot velvet, jabots in red lace. Drawstring tulle capeline trimmed with feathers.

—

Robe de dîner en liberty bleu très pâle ou vert d’eau. Le corsage drapé en spirale est garni d’entre-deux de vieux Bruges suivant le mouvement des plis. Polonaise drapée légèrement sur le côté et relevée par une ceinture avec choux. Première jupe en plissé surplis.

Dinner dress in very pale blue or sea green liberty. The spiral draped bodice is trimmed with old Bruges in between following the movement of the pleats. Polonaise draped slightly on the side and raised by a belt with choux. First skirt in surplice pleats.

—

Robe de satin aurore. Jupe plate garnie sur le côté d’un coquillé de dentelle, relevé dans le bas par un nœud de jaune nacarat. Corsage avec petits revers châle fixés à la taille par deux boucles; col de guipure, manches de panne nacarat, gros nœud sur la poitrine serré par une boucle.

Aurora satin dress. Flat skirt trimmed on the side with a lace shell, raised at the bottom by a yellow pearl bow. Bodice with small shawl lapels fixed at the waist by two buckles; guipure collar, pearl panne sleeves, large bow on the chest tightened by a buckle.

[call-me-lizbeth]

I’m very proud, and a little shy, to share my latest love project that I’ve invested weeks and weeks of my time in! This is a full mourning gown I sewed on my 1916 Singer treadle sewing machine and by hand. It was heavily inspired by the LA ghoulettes in Ghost’s Rite Here Rite Now from their LA Forum live performance. I like to think this dress looks like something that could definitely be seen within the ministry. I’ll explain the process below and the pieces that make up this incredible gown ensemble!

I made the corset first, which was made from an authentic 1903 Edwardian era corset pattern, and I used lightweight imitation feather-boning and a real metal busk piece, I’m tall, so I had to order a longer one just for me and alter the pattern a bit to adjust for my longer torso. The corset is black canvas with a skull crochet overlay! I was definitely looking to Papa IV’s costuming for inspiration there with the texture and subtle detail. It’s trimmed and lined with black lace. It reduces my waistline by a full 6 inches!

To go underneath the corset, I made an Edwardian era style ruffled chemise with black muslin cotton, layering the chest with more and more tiers of black lace and black ribbons, even the shoulders and neck are trimmed with lace.

Next I made a black petticoat using 5 yards of black cotton fabric, trimmed with black laces. After that, I made the outer skirt, which was also made of about 5 or 6 yards of fabric too, so it’s very heavy, but it has so much volume! I added a panel in the front of the skirt with a lace overlay with very subtle, tiny skulls!

I used the same skull lace in the dress’s 56 inch long sweeping black train, too! It honestly looks like it could be a black wedding dress, even though I was definitely designing this as a mourning gown. The French lace veil adds to that, and it also doubles as a shawl. It’s elaborate and elegant enough it obscures my face just enough to add mystery but won’t keep me from seeing to walk around. I’ve done a secondary headpiece that goes over the veil that features a small black skull, black jewels, and black ribbons and tulle.

Overall, this has been one of my biggest projects yet, and I’m a historical costuming seamstress. Even 1876 and 1880 style dress projects made out of corduroy did not consume as much time (and love) as this gown, so I’m very pleased with how it turned out! But I wanted to make sure I shared it with the Ghost community, where I’m sure it will be enjoyed! If I get enough feedback and likes, I will be sure to share future goth and Ghost inspired projects and creations!

Please DO NOT REPOST anywhere, please only reblog and give credit. Thank you so much, everyone! 🦇✨

[comfortabletextiles]

So I FINALLY finished the catching butterflies shawl. And this absolute ASSHOLE fought me every step of the way!

The beginning was nice enough, but when I started the beaded lace trim...

I could use any hook I had, because the hook that would catch the yarn would fit through the beads. So I had to pull a wire through, "thread" a bead on it and pull it over the yarn. And the hole was TIGHT! one time it even ripped the yarn

And fixing it was hard, because the super wash bullshit made it SO slippery. I managed, but I it won't survive forever.

Then I needed 482 beads. But could only buy 240 in the shop. AND 40 WERE MISSING.

I ordered 360 more and thought that is the end of it (it wasn't, but we are getting there)

AND THEN 4 ROWS BEFORE THE BIND OF I LOST YARN CHICKEN ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?

I was lucky I still had some of the same yarn type. So I could overdye it black and do a black border

I thought that was the last struggle. What can go wrong so close to the finishing line??

I was out of beads... AGAIN

TECHNICALLY I bought 600 beads... 482 are needed. I only managed to finish halve the picot bond of with beads. Because I'm NOT ordering more. Who ever is in charge of "Rico design" can kiss my ass.

And then I almost lost yarn chicken again. But only almost. This absolute rabid garment is done now and only needs blocking

(I can't really block it. I don't have proper blocking equipment, but maybe I'll order some now.)

I think I never was so close to rage quit a project as with this shawl.

After blocking I'll see if I keep it or gift it away. If the look of it canceles out all the frustration it is now embedded with

(at least the yarn is fucking gorgeous)

[resplendentoutfit]

Regency Fashion: The Spencer

The Spencer is a short jacket, usually with long sleeves and a high neckline. It was worn over the Regency dress,especially with the afternoon dress. The Spencer is fitted to the high-waisted bodice of gowns of the time. The Spencer was typically made from silk or wool. The jackets were made with an eye for detail; lace, button loops, braiding, fringe, and embroidery.

British • 1819–22 • Silk velvet with scalloped details trimmed in ivory lace • Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

Spencer • Silk • 1816 • Metropolitan Museum of Art

The braided fabric trim at the shoulders and cuffs is unique. The military inspired frogging on the bodice seems to have been a trend.

Here we see the frogging again as well as soutache appliqué at the cuffs of this purple and brown Spencer.

The Spencer on the left plate has short sleeves and ties in front with a broad ribbon bow. The forest green jacket has "garni de franges" – fringe trim.

This jacket is not an extant Spencer. It was created by a very talented seamstress to replicate the one worn in the film Emma. The cording details are lovely and the attached belt has a rhinestone buckle. The real stand-out, though, are the sleeves! Well done!

And because I love to squeeze in a bit of art whenever I can...

Andrew Robertson, 1777 - 1845) • Portrait of Princess Amelia of the United Kingdom (1783-1810) • 1811

It looks as if the princess has a shawl trimmed in black lace over one shoulder of her blue velvet Spencer.

[madmaudlingoes]

No idea when I last posted fiber nonsense here, but I've been knitting furiously and

Shawls, guys. Who knew?

[Image descriptions: three photographs of knitted shawls. The first fades from black to red and has a lace trim with skulls in it. The second fades from blue to green and has tiny gold beads worked into it. The third is pale yellow with a leafy lace pattern.]

[disappointed-time-traveller]

Extremely similar fashion plates from 1861 and 1862

I just wanted to share easily the coolest two fashion plates in my collection. They’re both part of the small collection that I inherited from my grandmother and I have no idea where they came from, other than that like most of the fashion history recourses I got from her they’re probably from when she studied sewing in the 1960s.

They’re two fashion plates with descriptions from one November 1861 and the other from April 1862, from the Englishwoman’s domestic magazine.

The first thing about them is that they are incredibly similar looking, similar clothing, similar colours, the same amount of figures including a child. It was probably a deliberate choice to have two very similar plates to better showcase the similarities and differences between the two years and spring and autumn fashion.

The other cool thing is that they are both mounted on paperboard and have descriptions of each one mounted on the back seemingly clipped from the original magazines (though the could be the place my grandmother got it from). I’ve transcribed the descriptions under the cut.

November 1861

DESCRIPTION OF THE COLOURED PLATE.

1st figure on the left side: The bonnet is composed of white satin, trimmed with black velvet and black and white blonde, and a bunch of flowers on each side. The mantle, which is made in a shawl shape, is composed of velvet, and trimmed with black guipure. The top of the mantle is finished off by a guipure pelerine, which is fastened behind and on the shoulders on by a handsome gimp rosettes with tassels. The large sleeve which comes to a point at the bottom, is pleated at the top of the arm under the gimp rosette and tassel. The dress consists of one of the fashionable broché silks.

2nd figure: The turned up hat is ornamented with a kind of fur trimming and long drooping feather. The paletôt fits tightly to the figure, and may be made of velvet or a thick cloth. It is trimmed with fur, and is made open in the front with revers, the sleeves being large and also trimmed with fur. Two little pockets ornament the front of the paletôt, which are also finished off by a band of fur. There are three fancy gimp buttons on each side of the body, and the waist behind is also ornamented in the same manner with two gimp buttons. The dress may be made in silk or poplin. Little girls dress: The little Tudor hat is trimmed with blue velvet and a blue feather tipped with white. The pardessus is made to fit the figure; it is trimmed with fur, and is made with a fur pelerine or cape. The dress, which is striped, is bound at the bottom with a piece of black velvet.

3rd figure: The bonnet is composed of velvet, and ornamented with a bunch of flowers on the top, feathers on either side. The cloak is made of a shoulder piece, into which the fullness is pleated; the sleeves are large, and the garment is trimmed with fur, whilst the pelerine is composed of this material. This cloak may also be made in velvet, and trimmed with chinchilla, or corded silk, trimmed with velvet, and with velvet pelerine. These cloaks are usually made so that they may be worn with or without the fur cape, according to the weather; and in this style are excessively convenient for the changeable English climate.

4th figure: The velvet bonnet is ornamented with bands of satin cut on the cross-way, and roses and lace. The long jacket is made tightly fitting to the figure, in thick corded silk and is trimmed with gimp. The back of the skirt is cut to form three large pleats behind, each of which is ornamented with handsome gimp rosette and tassels. Bright blue poplin dress, made with quite a plain skirt.

April 1862

DESCRIPTION OF THE COLOURED PLATE

1st figure on the left: The bonnet is made with drawn front violet silk, and the soft crown of embroidered white tulle. The curtain is of violet sills, edged with a puffing of tulle; the strings are of broad white ribbon, and the bandeau consists of one large rose, ornamented on each side with bunches of wheatears. The pardessus is made of unlined corded silk, with a deep cape , and is trimmed with narrow Maltese lace and two two rows of narrow black velvet. The garment is cut in slightly to the figure behind, but is straight in front. The sleeves are of deep bell shape, trimmed round the bottom with a pleating of silk. The dress is violet silk, brocaded with black, the colour of the dress exactly matching that of the bonnet.

2nd figure:

The bonnet is of white crêpe, ornamented quite at the top with a large bunch of white ostrich feathers, and the Bandeau Impératrice is composed of one rose with leaves on each side. This mantle, which is quite circular, is made of plain glacé silk, trimmed with a broad gimp, whilst the neck is ornamented with a row of gimp, finished off with a tassel fringe. The dress is of drab silk, made with one flounce at the bottom, headed by two bands of silk of the same colour.

3rd figure: -Summer Costume.- This elegant costume, which is a charming toilet for a picnic, is composed of white muslin. The dress is made with a series of narrow flounces, all edged with narrow green ribbon. The burnous, also of white muslin, is trimmed with green silk ruching, and three handsome green tassels. The hat is composed of green silk, trimmed with a full plume of white feathers. This costume may be made more useful and durable by substituting white barège for the muslin, but in all cases (to look nicely) the cloak should be composed of the same material as the dress. White grenadine or lama might be used with advantage in this toilet, and the colour of the trimmings and hat might be altered to pink or light blue, suiting the colour to the complexion of the wearer.

4th figure: -seaside costume- The Leghorn hat is bound on the upper part of the brim with black velvet, and is trimmed with a white ostrich feather. The dress and jacket illustrated in this figure are both made of the same material, either nankeen, buff piqué, or Victoria cord, the latter material being rather thinner than pique. The coat is ornamented with a braiding design in black, the pocket, revers, and cuffs being trimmed to correspond. A costume of white piqué, braided in balance, would be equally stylish.

5th figure: -little girls costume- The straw hat is bound with violet velvet, and is trimmed with two white feathers, one lying on each side of the hat. The cloak is composed of silk, and is made with three single pleats behind, attached to a neck-piece, the front being perfectly plain. No trimming whatever is required for this stylish little garment with the exception of two rows of piping round the neck-piece. Black silk is, of course, the most appropriate material for a child's mantle; our illustration is coloured violet, to add to the effect of the picture, which would have been somewhat sombre were all the figures shown with black mantles.

Full-sized paper patterns, cut out in tissue paper, tacked together and trimmed, of all the mantles illustrated in this plate, may be had of Madame Adolphe Goubaud, 248, Strand, London, W.C., at the following prices:.

[lore-o-hoe]

My All Time Favorite Outfits in LO (Part One):

(In no particular order)

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1. Episode 88: Persephone Dream Space Outfit:

Since this outfit has lived rent-free in my head it’s going first. Like since I saw it in Episode 88 my life has known no peace.

Like I can’t begin to explain the chokehold this outfit has on me.

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2. Episode 100: Persephone Frilly White Outfit:

I promise this list won’t be all Persephone filled, it’s just my bias for her sense of style 🥺✨. But I love the look here, it’s simple but cute, especially the heels and frilly socks.

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3. Episode 1: Minthe’s Lace Trimmed Bodysuit and Sheer Shawl:

Now I know we’ve all got our feelings about Minthe…

But I can definitely say that I think about this get up every once in a while.

Like the lacy bodysuit, thigh highs, and sheer shawl???? I’ll take 20 💰

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4. Episode 64: Aphrodite Fluffy White Robe and Frilled Heels:

Now you KNOW the goddess of love and beauty is going to be constantly put together and this outfit is a reminder of that. Even being home with her adorable kids isn’t going to stop the drip.

I’ll admit I’ve always wanted a robe like this

This is the official ‘Killed my husband and now I’m a wealthy widow’ get up and I can’t do anything but love it and envy ✨✨✨.

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5. Episode 119: Hera’s White Double Breasted Blazer (?) Thigh High Black Boot Combo:

Now we already know Hera is always out her with the best royal fits imaginable. So of course she’s gonna be on this list. And while she has outfit after outfit I could list, this one is one I love and would probably wear.

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6. Episode 127: Thetis’ Blue Dress/Thigh High Boots combo:

So yeah I’m not the biggest fan of Thetis but still the woman can dress! So this simple dress/boot combo is a favorite of mine.

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7. Episode 66: Hera’s Scorned Wife Dynasty Adjacent Look

Even when she’s scorned and unhappy she’s slaying this rich angry wife look. The hat, the shoulder pads, the runny mascara 👏

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8. Episode 224: Brown Overcoat/ Tan Two Piece Set from Aphrodite:

Im not sure why I’m so drawn to this one, maybe it’s the simplicity? the browns? Who knows! But to me it’s a good casual look.

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9. Episode 1: Artemis’ Black(purple?) Party Dress:

Artemis seems to fluctuate between casual, sporty, and Greek god formal, so there’s not many outfits I personally vibe with. But this dress is an absolute exception. It’s cute, it’s sparkly, what’s not to love?

10. Episode 72: Hecate’s Full Length Black Nightgown:

A lot of Hecates attire is a high class business suits that I can always appreciate but THIS. Look I’m not sure why this works so well but it absolutely does it. The sleeves, the length. It’s just so dramatic, dark, and elegant and suits a character like Hecate.

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Well that’s the list for now! Stay tuned for pt. 2!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Thirty-Three

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Head Meets Rock.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.6k

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The ferry sways gently beneath your feet, the rhythmic motion mingling with the soft hum of conversation from the other nobles around you. You glance at your reflection in the polished glass of a window, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The black gown you had bought clings to your form, the midnight silk flowing like water with every step. A black wig sits atop your head in a formal updo, its intricate curls meticulously styled to perfection.

Your fingers brush over the delicate lace trim at your neckline, and a pang of guilt pierces through you. Shanks and his crew have always been there for you, protecting you, teaching you. Sneaking away like this feels like a betrayal, but the thought of Collins consumes you. You need to confront him—to end this nightmare once and for all. By any means necessary.

You pull your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to fend off the evening chill and the gnawing uncertainty in your gut. The ferry is crowded with nobles dressed in their finest attire, their laughter and idle chatter filling the air. The smell of expensive perfumes and colognes mingles with the salty sea breeze.

A nobleman standing nearby catches your eye and offers a polite nod. You return the gesture with a demure smile, trying to blend in as much as possible. It isn't hard, etiquette in ingrained in your body, from your fingertips to the way you control your facial expressions, even how you walk.

The ferry docks with a gentle bump, and you disembark with the other nobles, your heart pounding beneath the layers of silk and lace. The grand estate looms ahead, its towering spires and opulent architecture bathed in the soft glow of twilight. The entrance is flanked by well-dressed marines, their eyes scanning the arriving guests with practiced vigilance.

As you step onto the cobblestone path leading to the entrance, you force yourself to blend in, adopting the same air of casual elegance that surrounds you. Your mind races with the details of your plan. Drug Collins and lead him to the garden at the back of the venue. Simple in theory, but each step requires precision.

Entering the estate's ballroom, you are greeted by a wave of opulence. Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings, casting shimmering light across marble floors and richly adorned walls. Nobles in extravagant gowns and tailored suits move gracefully about, intermixing with the marines of the 42nd Marine Branch, their laughter and conversation filling the air with a veneer of sophistication.

You make your way to one of the drink tables, accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter in crisp white attire. The cool glass feels reassuring in your hand as you take a sip, allowing the bubbly liquid to calm your nerves. Your eyes scan the room methodically, noting exits and entrances, as well as the lax security. After all, who would be foolish enough to attack a Marine formal event.

To your left, a grand staircase leads up to a balcony overlooking the ballroom—a potential vantage point or escape route if necessary. Large French doors open out to an expansive terrace that likely leads to the gardens where you plan to take Collins.

You catch sight of him near one corner of the room, engaged in conversation with several high-ranking Marines. His posture is relaxed, his laughter confident—completely oblivious to your presence or your intentions. He won't he recognize you. You watch him closely for a moment before shifting your gaze to another exit near where he stands. Right out to the garden.

You begin to glide through the grand ballroom, your steps purposeful yet unhurried. The gown swishes softly around your legs, its silky texture a comforting reminder of your resolve. Taking a deep breath, you set your plan into motion.

Approaching one of the marines standing near Collins, you deliberately bump into him, gasping as you pretend to stumble. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, adding a touch of distress to your voice. “I didn’t see you there.”

The marine steadies you with a firm grip on your arm. “No harm done, miss,” he says kindly. Collins’ attention is drawn to the commotion, his gaze fixing on you with immediate interest.

You sniffle delicately, dabbing at imaginary tears with a lace handkerchief. “I’m terribly embarrassed,” you murmur, glancing up at Collins through lowered lashes. “I... I caught my fiancé kissing another woman.” You bite your lip as if holding back more tears.

Collins steps forward, his demeanor shifting to one of concern and gallantry. “There’s no need to apologize,” he says smoothly, his eyes raking over you with open appreciation. “Clearly, he didn’t recognize the beauty he had.”

You offer him a timid smile, playing the part of a heartbroken noblewoman to perfection. “Thank you,” you whisper. “It’s been a dreadful evening.”

Collins smiles warmly, an air of arrogance barely masked by his feigned sympathy. “Allow me to offer you a drink,” he says, gesturing toward the refreshment table. “I insist.”

You hesitate just long enough to appear reluctant before nodding. “If it’s not too much trouble... My name is Elara," you say softly.

“Thomas Collins,” he replies with a charming smile as he leads you toward the table. “It’s an honor to meet such a lovely lady under any circumstances.”

You feign shyness as he pours you a glass of champagne and hands it to you with exaggerated gallantry. You accept it with trembling fingers, casting your gaze downward modestly.

“Please stay with us,” Collins says smoothly as he returns to his comrades, keeping you close by his side. “We couldn’t possibly leave a lady in distress.”

You allow yourself to be persuaded with a grateful nod.

Collins and the other marines surround you, their polished uniforms a stark contrast to the opulent setting of the ballroom. They continue to offer words of comfort, each phrase dripping with insincere flattery.

"You deserve so much better than him," one marine says, his eyes lingering a bit too long on your figure.

"Any man would be lucky to have you," Collins adds, his voice smooth as silk. His hand brushes against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine—not of attraction, but of sheer hatred.

You maintain your facade of distress, dabbing at your eyes with the lace handkerchief. "Thank you all for your kindness," you murmur, allowing a small, shy smile to grace your lips. The marines eat it up, their expressions softening as they continue their backhanded attempts at flirting.

As they talk, a grand dessert display is wheeled into the room, capturing everyone's attention. Towers of chocolate and spun sugar glisten under the chandelier's light, and gasps of delight ripple through the crowd. Your heart races as you seize the opportunity.

With practiced ease, you slip a small vial from the folds of your shawl. Collins turns his head momentarily to admire the extravagant dessert display. You move swiftly, pouring the contents into his drink with a steady hand. The liquid dissolves instantly, leaving no trace.

Collins turns back to you, completely unaware of what you've just done. He lifts his glass in a toast, his eyes locked onto yours. "To new beginnings," he says with a charming smile.

You clink your glass against his, forcing yourself to mirror his smile. "To new beginnings," you echo, taking a small sip while he downs his drink in one gulp.

The room buzzes with excitement over the dessert display, nobles and marines alike gathering around to admire and sample the lavish creations. You feel a strange sense of calm wash over you as you watch Collins place his empty glass on the table beside him.

"Shall we sample some of this magnificent display?" he asks, extending his arm to you.

You slip your hand through Collins' offered arm, feeling the coarse fabric of his uniform beneath your fingers. His smug smile grates on your nerves, but you force a demure expression, nodding as he leads you toward the dessert display. The scent of chocolate and spun sugar fills the air, mingling with the already overwhelming aromas of expensive perfumes.

The display is a spectacle of culinary artistry. Towers of delicate pastries rise like sugary mountains, each one adorned with intricate designs and shimmering edible pearls. A fountain of molten chocolate flows endlessly, sending cascades of rich, dark liquid down its tiers, filling the air with an irresistible aroma that mingles with the scents of caramel and vanilla.

Collins' grip tightens slightly on your arm as he steers you closer to the centerpiece—a grand confectionery castle complete with turrets made of caramelized sugar and walls constructed from layers of sponge cake and buttercream. The castle is so detailed that it almost seems a shame to eat it, each component a testament to the skill and creativity of the chefs.

"Isn't it magnificent?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with pride. You nod, allowing your eyes to widen in feigned awe, masking the contempt that simmers beneath the surface.

"Truly spectacular," you reply softly, your gaze fixed on the castle. "I've never seen anything like it."

He chuckles, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Only the best for tonight's event," he says. "Please, help yourself."

You reach for a small plate and select a delicate pastry from one of the lower tiers. Its golden crust glistens under the chandelier's light, promising a burst of flavor with every bite. Collins follows suit, choosing an elaborate piece adorned with edible gold leaf, its opulence a stark contrast to the humble fare you enjoy on the pirate ship.

As he takes a bite, you watch him carefully, searching for any sign that the drug is taking effect. At first, he seems unaffected, his expression remaining as composed and confident as ever. The seconds tick by, feeling like an eternity, as you wait for the moment when his smug facade might finally crack.

Collins picks up a delicate truffle from the dessert display, its dark chocolate coating gleaming under the chandelier's light. He turns to you, his eyes narrowing with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You force a smile, willing yourself to stay calm as he holds the truffle out toward you.

"Here, try this," he says, his voice low and smooth.

You part your lips slightly, leaning forward just enough to allow him to place the truffle in your mouth. His fingers linger on your lips, the touch sending a wave of revulsion through you. The taste of rich chocolate fills your mouth, but it does nothing to mask the bile rising in your throat. You suppress a gag, maintaining your facade of demure politeness.

"Mmm, it's delicious," you manage to say once you've swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

Collins' smile widens, clearly pleased with your reaction. "I'm glad you like it," he says, his fingers brushing against your lips once more before he finally withdraws his hand. "There's plenty more where that came from."

You nod, offering another timid smile as you reach for another pastry. The act of eating feels mechanical, each bite an effort to keep up the pretense. Inside, you're screaming—every fiber of your being wants to recoil from his touch, to lash out and end this charade. But you can't afford to break character now.

Collins continues to feed you various delicacies, each touch lingering just a bit too long for comfort. You play along with the flirting, laughing softly at his jokes and responding with shy compliments of your own. The other marines watch with interest, some even joining in with their own attempts at charming you.

"You're quite the enchanting guest," one marine comments as he hands you a delicate éclair. "It's not often we have such lovely company at these events."

"Thank you," you reply softly, taking a small bite of the pastry. The sweetness is almost overwhelming, but you manage to keep your expression pleasant. You then offer the pastry to him, "oh, you must try this pastry, it is simply delightful."

Collins smirks, accepting the pastry from your hand. "If you insist," he murmurs, bringing it to his lips. You watch intently as he takes a bite, his eyes never leaving yours. For a moment, everything seems normal. The laughter of nobles and marines continues to fill the room, blending with the soft strains of music from the corner orchestra.

But then you notice it—a subtle shift in his demeanor. His brow furrows slightly, and he blinks rapidly as if trying to clear his vision. He takes another bite of the pastry but pauses halfway through, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

"Are you alright?" you ask innocently, tilting your head in concern.

Collins nods quickly, though his eyes betray a flicker of confusion. "Yes... yes, I'm fine," he replies, though his voice lacks its usual assuredness.

You continue to watch him intently as he places the half-eaten pastry back on the plate. His hand moves to his forehead as if trying to steady himself. Beads of sweat begin to form along his hairline despite the cool evening air.

You lean in closer to Collins, your expression softening into a mask of concern. “You should get some air,” you suggest gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Away from the crowd.”

Collins’ eyes light up at the prospect of being alone with you. He nods, swaying slightly. “Yes, that sounds... good,” he agrees, his voice slurred.

You guide him through the opulent ballroom, weaving between clusters of guests. His grip on your arm tightens for balance, and you can feel the heat radiating from his fevered skin. The French doors open to reveal a lush garden bathed in moonlight, its pathways lined with fragrant blooms and flickering lanterns.

The cool night air greets you both as you step outside. Collins takes a deep breath, visibly relieved by the fresh air. You lead him to a secluded bench nestled between towering rose bushes, their blossoms glowing pale in the dim light.

“Sit here,” you murmur, guiding him down onto the bench. He collapses onto it heavily, his eyes struggling to focus.

You take a seat next to him, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Collins leans toward you, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek. “Elara,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire and the lingering effects of the drug. “You’re so... beautiful.”

You smile sweetly at him, masking the storm of emotions roiling inside. Your resolve hardens like tempered steel. His hand slides down to your shoulder as he moves closer, his breath hot and feverish against your neck. You let him come closer still, your own hand sliding down beside you to grasp a smooth rock nestled in the grass, its cool surface grounding you in the moment.

“Such delicate skin,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness. “How could anyone ever let you go?” His words hang in the air like a toxic cloud, but you stay composed, knowing your chance to break free is nearing.

Your fingers tighten around the rock as his words wash over you like bile. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a cold detachment that sends a flicker of confusion through his glassy eyes.

“Collins,” you say softly, your voice devoid of warmth.

He blinks at you, puzzled by the sudden shift in your demeanor. “Elara?”

Your grip on the rock tightens until your knuckles turn white. Without warning, you swing it up and slam it into the side of his head with all your strength.

Date Published: 8/5/24

Last Edit: 8/5/24

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[violettduchess]

A/N: @dear-mrs-otome your request has taken me on quite the journey. I hope I've managed to do your Prince right and that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. 💜

Technically, this is part of my Broken Heartstrings series under the prompt: Only One Bed which I have been dying to write and was really excited to do with Silvio, demanding as he is.

Silvio x f! reader

Word Count: 5093

Of all the people to share a carriage ride back to the palace with, Silvio Ricci is the last one you would have chosen. You glance at him, sitting there across from you in the darkened carriage as it sways over the uneven country roads. His face is currently set to a sharp scowl, his impossibly blue eyes staring out the glass window. Not that he can see much. The world outside is black, streaked with shots of gray as the rain continues to fall, pelting the carriage’s roof and windows with a loud rat-a-tat-tat sound. 

Only his occasional annoyed sighs interrupt the steady drumming of the rain. You pull your thin, black silk shawl tighter around your bare shoulders, turning to stare out your own darkened window. You’ll be grateful when you reach the palace and can change out of your tightly corseted ball gown. As enchanting as it is with its ivory-colored satin and black lace trimming, you are looking forward to being able to breathe again. And bend properly. 

“Only Rhodolite would have a ball way out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

Your jaw clenches and the rolling sound of thunder echoes the irritation you feel at his snide tone.

“The Count holds this ball once a year at his country estate which is one of the most elegant–”

The Prince of Benitoite scoffs loudly. “Elegant my ass.” 

You are really beginning to question Sariel’s decree that you ride back to the palace with this pompous royal. You’re more likely to lodge your heeled shoe in his temple than make pleasant small talk. 

“Prince Silvio, do you have to be so-” You’re interrupted by another boom of thunder, this one loud enough to rattle the carriage. You hear the frightened whine of the horse over the continued sound of heavy rain. Some part of you is not surprised when it rolls to a stop. A moment later there is a rapping at the window and you lean over, opening the carriage door. A rush of wet, cold air invades the dry interior.

“The hell we stopped for?” Silvio yells above the din of the downpour.

The driver, battling the gusting wind to keep his hat on his head and the rain out of his eyes, has to yell back in order to be heard. “‘Storm has gotten too bad, your highness! We can’t keep traveling in this weather!” He glances over his shoulder, blinking against the water pelting his face.. “We passed an inn just a short ways back! We should head there for shelter!”

You expect him to argue and for a half a moment, his lips part and it looks like he might. But then the sky explodes into a sheet of white as lightning bares its teeth. Silvio’s gaze shifts from the sky back to the driver and you’re given a glimpse of a man who understands and respects the power of a storm. He nods once in affirmation.

The driver looks relieved that he won’t have to argue with the haughty prince and closes the carriage door. A moment later you feel it turn, heading back in the direction it came. You wonder whether or not you should comment on the prince’s amenability when he snorts in disgust, moving his expensive leather boots away from a puddle of water that the rain had blown onto the carriage floor.

Nope, still an ass, you think with a sigh and ride the rest of the way to the inn in silence, with only the turbulent sound of the storm echoing through the carriage.

“Whaddaya mean there’s only one room left?” Silvio’s jewelry and the many gold adornments on his ocean-blue jacket gleam in the light of the hearth fire inside the common room of the inn. “You’re talking to a Prince of Benitoite! I could buy this whole place out from under ya in a day.”

The beleaguered innkeeper crosses his burly arms, glaring at the prince from under bushy white eyebrows. 

“As I said already, Your Highness, I got one room left. You can take it or leave it.” He turns to the driver who has returned from securing the horse, safe and sound in the barn. “It’s not much, sir, but you can have a spot in front of the hearth. It’ll warm you up, dry you off.”

Silvio’s booted foot hits the wooden planks of the inn’s floor. “And your room? What if I demand to commandeer your bed?”

The innkeeper grins through his full, white beard. “You’d certainly give my wife the thrill of her life, Your Highness.”

You would laugh at the startled look on Silvio’s face but you have another pressing problem. “So I have a choice between the floor and….sharing a room with him?”

Genuinely sorry, the innkeeper nods, his gaze darting to the prince. “I apologize, my lady. Truly.”

You turn to face Silvio and his scowl. With a jangle, he snatches the room key from the counter where the innkeeper left it and marches off toward the narrow, winding staircase that leads to the second story of the inn.

You follow with one last glance at the common room.

Maybe the floor wouldn’t be that bad.

The room is at the very end of the hallway, nestled under the slanted inn roof. You notice several things right away when you step inside: There is one round glass window through which you can watch the way the rain is being flung through the night by a restless, howling wind. A small oil lamp is lit, resting on the nightstand of the lone bed. It is larger than you expected, taking up close to half of the small room. A tiny, worn table and single chair are tucked into a narrow corner. And there is absolutely nothing else in the room except a Prince of Benitoite, whose pale head almost brushes the rafters, standing in the middle with his arms crossed, glowering in disdain.

“What a dump.”

Irritation trumps politeness and you hear yourself snap at him. “You’re welcome to take your royal ass back down to the common room and sleep with the driver. Or perhaps the barn with the horses is more to your liking.”

He turns sharply, his clothing and jewelry jingling softly under the sounds of the storm. His gaze, the blue of a midsummer sky, lingers and you wonder if he’s going to snap at you for speaking to him that way. Or comment on your language. Instead he surprises you by doing neither. His lips curve into a grin and you are utterly unprepared for the way a smile changes his face. What was begrudgingly handsome transforms into blindingly beautiful. Butterflies are born, fluttering their wings in your stomach, sending up a breeze that comes out as a huff of air as you march over to the side of the bed closest to the window and sit, leaning down to undo the straps of your shoes.

He watches you, crossing his arms. “Whatcha doin’?”

You keep your back to him as you pull off one shoe and begin undoing the other. “Getting ready for bed.”

He glances at the bed with its single, quilted blanket and two pillows. Then he begins unbuttoning his dress jacket. “Fine. You can have the blanket. Maybe it’ll make the chair or floor more comfortable.”

Standing, you turn around to face him. He’s carefully removed his jacket and has folded it so all its golden ornaments are wrapped inside of it. 

“What do you mean ‘the chair or floor’? The bed is big enough for us both. I refuse to–What on earth are you doing?” You watch, brows raised as he begins tucking his jacket underneath his pillow.

“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell, one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” He steps back, satisfied that you can’t see the jacket anymore and then faces his next bothersome obstacle, the one shaking her head with her hands on her hips. Hips, he notices, that are temptingly accented by the flair of her ballgown. His gaze follows the stiff waistline up the strapless bodice where he can’t help but notice other things the gown accents. How had he not noticed your–

Your voice snaps him out of it.

“Prince or not, that’s ridiculous.” 

Aaaaaand you’re yappin’ again. He ignores your comment, kicking off his expensive leather boots in a move so casually effortless it stirs those annoying butterflies again and then with a sigh, lays down on the bed. He’s left all of his jewelry on, his golden rings and earrings and necklaces which strikes you as very uncomfortable but he seems right at home, stretching out his long limbs in a way that seems to swallow all that space the bed seemed to have at first glance.

Best to get ready and go to sleep immediately. 

With that thought, you realize something-and the raucous storm outside has nothing on the roar of panic flooding your body.

Your ivory and black ball gown is beautiful. And you were laced into this beautiful ivory and black ball gown by a trusted female servant. Laced into it wearing nothing but a pair of soft silken drawers which stop mid-thigh. 

You consider trying to sleep in the gown. No. You wouldn’t be able to move. It’s too tight at the waist and chest and too voluminous in the skirt. 

Which means…..you turn slowly to see Silvio has rolled over, his back to you. Great. He’s gone to sleep already.

You clear your throat. 

No response. 

You do it again louder. 

He doesn’t move.

“Silvio!”

His name does it. “The fuck you want, lady?!” He’s rolled halfway around, glaring at you over his shoulder.

“I….” This hurts to admit and you wish you were in the room with anyone else. “I can’t undo my gown.”

“So sleep in it,” he says, each word drawn out slowly like he’s talking to a small child. He mutters something in the language of Benitoite you can just tell is rude and insulting.

You grit your teeth. He starts to roll back over.

“I can’t. It’s too tight to sleep in and the skirt is big.”

Outside the thunder rolls, low and foreboding. Silence swallows the room and you know your cheeks are warm. Maybe he won’t notice in the dim light.

He jangles as he pushes himself up now, hair pale as moonlight falling across his forehead and cheek as he tilts his head. And then slowly, oh so slowly, he grins in a way that corkscrews a blaze of heat right through you.

“So lemme make sure I got this. You’re askin’ me to undress you?”

You steel yourself. “And to give me your shirt.”

That wipes the grin right off his face. “Whaddaya mean ‘give you my shirt’? Do you know-”

“I’m sure it’s more expensive than all the buildings in Rhodolite but I am going to sleep in that bed and I am not going to do it in just my undergarment!”

Your tone is firm, much more confident than you actually feel. Again the thunder outside is the only sound as he stares, those cobalt blue eyes fixed on you with the intensity and depth of a storm-tossed ocean.

“Please.” It comes out small, a tiny crack in the wall of confidence you’ve been presenting him with. The word has slipped out, unbidden and the heat in your face feels unbearable. Have you lost your mind, asking him to do this? “N-Nevermind, I’ll-”

Your stammering drops off as he stands, his elegant fingers reaching under soft white ruffles to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He does not meet your gaze and you wonder if that darkness in his face is a blush to match your own. Then the white shirt is off and he’s standing before you, his upper body surprisingly sculpted and shockingly bare. His necklaces lay against his fair skin and there is something so intimate about the sight your breath catches.

“So the lady likes what she sees.” Dragging your gaze away from all the exposed skin and corded muscle, you see that grin has returned to those lips and you draw a quick breath, spinning around and presenting him with your back (which happens to conveniently hide a blush so fierce it must be glowing.)

“Just get on with it.” 

The wooden floorboards creak underfoot as he crosses to where you are standing. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this close to him before. You didn’t dance together at the ball and as far as you can remember the only time you’ve ever touched was when you first met and he offered you his hand, a sharp thrust in your direction that felt more like he was going to stab you with an invisible dagger than an introduction.

But now he is so close you can smell his cologne, something unexpectedly soft that vaguely reminds you of the sea on a dark, clear night. Your body is electric with an awareness that ripples across your skin with every inhale and exhale he makes. Outside, the rain is endless, the thunder unflagging. But their sounds are drowned out by the sudden pounding of your heart, by the beat of a thousand butterfly wings sending your blood rushing through your veins like the current of a wild river. He begins pulling on the satin bow of your gown, undoing the careful knot.

“The laces can be tricky,” you say just to say something, anything. Is that really your voice, so breathy and soft?

You realize your mistake instantly because he answers you and his voice is right by your ear, curling around the shell of it.

“I got more than enough experience with knots,” he murmurs.

“Because of all the people you’ve bedded,” you mutter. Why did you say that? And why does the thought of Silvio in bed with anyone make your fingers curl into your palms?

He’s released the knot and begins loosening the stays, tucking those nimble fingers underneath each crisscross and tugging, not roughly as you would have imagined but with precision, loosening each section deliberately, skillfully.

“Because I’m a sailor,” he says matter-of-factly, surprising you yet again. He tugs again and the bodice of your gown suddenly slips, sending you scrambling to keep the whole thing up. He leans closer still, his lips mere centimeters from your ear. “And because of all the people I’ve bedded.” He’s undone your gown but you’re being wrapped up again, this time in his silken, serpentine words..

Your heart leaps in your chest and you stumble away, holding up your dress with both arms, swallowing against the unexplainable tightness in your throat.

“Your shirt.” You hold the ivory satin to your chest with one arm and hold out your free hand, palm up. He practically strolls back to the bed (how he manages to do that in such a small space is a mystery), picks up his shirt and with a shameless grin, throws it at you.

You don’t reach for it with both hands as he may have hoped, instead catching it one-handed and there is a flash of something in his eyes. Disappointment? Admiration? Both?

“Turn around.” 

He lifts his hand, jeweled rings on nearly every finger and covers his eyes. 

“Silvio.” Consternation swells his name. It looks like he’s peeking.

“What? I ain’t lookin’!”

There is too much running wildly through your mind, too many blurry thoughts twisting in incomprehensible circles to worry about whether or not the man is going to sneak a look at you or not. You turn your back to him and let your gown drop to the floor with a whoosh.

He didn’t plan to look. But the rings on his fingers don’t allow him to hold them together completely and when your dress makes that sound, his eyes open of their own accord and through the narrow space between his fingers he catches a glimpse of your naked back. The curve of your hip and dip of your waist. The shapely line of your legs. 

The thunder rumbles a warning and he quickly closes his eyes again, alarmed at the sharp, hot pang of want slicing its way through his body. You? No. He doesn’t want–

One blue eye slowly opens, this time without any excuse. You’re wearing his shirt. It falls to the back of your knees and somehow looks better than any dress ever would. There is a tension slowly winding its way across his neck, his shoulders, a tightening in his gut at the sight. And then you turn, buttoning the final few buttons and his mouth goes dry at the fleeting glimpse of your décolleté. . 

What the fuck…..He forces his eyes closed again, his jaw clenched against the swift desire you unknowingly provoked.

You scramble towards the bed and dive under the blanket, pulling it up and over your chest.

“Okay,” you murmur. “You can look now.”

He mumbles something that sounds like “Finally”, his voice oddly hoarse, as he lays back down but on top of the covers. 

“You can get under the covers. You’ll get cold if–”

“I’m fine, lady,” he snaps, a dog snarling at the hand offering it a pet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have no shirt on and it’s not all that warm in here. You’ll get sick.”

“I don’t get sick,” he says haughtily and for a moment, your exasperation overrules the awkwardness. 

“Fine. Whatever you say.” You pointedly roll away from him, trying to ignore how soft his shirt is, how good it smells, how comforting it is against your skin as the world outside rages with wind and water.

“This bed sucks.” His voice is rough, irritated. You glance over your shoulder. He’s laying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring at the slanted wooden beams of the ceiling. Despite the bareness of his upper body, it’s his profile that captures your attention. The fall of his pale hair. The slant of his cheekbones. The straight, aristocratic nose. His perfectly sculpted lips. A sudden, wild thought bursts through the chaos of your mind: what would they feel like on your lips? On your skin?

Outside the thunder booms, a furious sound so powerful it shakes the window, like a giant quaking the earth with its powerful steps. A small cry of surprise and trepidation escapes you.

He turns his head. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

You roll onto your back, not wanting to face the window and the darkness outside. An uncontrollable shiver rolls through you and you tug the covers up, closer to your chin.

“Rhodolite doesn’t have storms like this often." Your heart is hammering because of the deafening clap of thunder, right? It has nothing to do with the preposterous thoughts spinning like coins through your head just before. 

“Benitoite does.” He returns his gaze to the dark wooden beams above. “Be grateful you’re not on the deck of a ship durin’ a storm like this.”

You glance at the window, illuminated by a burst of lightning and then turn, rolling completely away from it to face him. 

“What was it like?”

Silvio glances at you, then quickly back to the ceiling. “This little rain shower’s got nothin’ on a storm that crept up on us while we were out to sea, sailin’ back from Tanzanite…..”

He speaks and you listen, each word a small fairy light blinking into existence, leading you down a path, away from the storm outside the small guesthouse in the middle of the Rhodolite countryside, and into the eye of a hurricane. One that rocks the carrack Silvio is on, homeward bound from far-away Tanzanite. 

He paints the picture so well, his voice low, blending in with the unrelenting barrage of rain on the darkened window pane. You can see him in your mind’s eye, soaked through, swallowing salt water and his fear as he clings to wet, stinging ropes, his boots sliding across the slick deck. Men’s shouts fade into the roar of the wind. A body is plucked from the ship and tossed like a ragdoll through the howling wind, lost forever to the churning, briny depths. The ocean is enraged, a wild beast bucking and kicking blindly. The ship groans and tilts, battered by the winds, tossed by the wild waves. Silvio’s vision is blurred as he seeks out the helmsman, valiantly still at the massive wooden wheel and makes his way across the dangerously open deck. A wall of water slams into him and he knows if he doesn’t fight, he will be washed out to sea. Dogged determination fills him. Out here he isn’t a prince, fighting for his father’s approval, fighting to be seen as someone worthy. Out here in the elements he is a man, fighting for his very survival, all his gold and jewels and titles worn down to nothing by the wild storm, like mighty mountains that have been reduced to pebbles by the persistence of rain over centuries. He roars in the face of the wind and the rain, clawing his way up to the petrified helmsman. “Insieme!!” Together.. His ringed fingers wrap around the wooden handles, between those of the helmsman. Their gazes meet and as lightning blanches the sky, they both turn with all their might……

“The sea claimed four men that night. Ain’t small, the price of lovin’ her.” He trails off, the experience slowly fading back into the mist of his memory. His blue eyes, darker and softer than you’ve ever seen them, blink as he returns to the small room at the top of the inn and the woman lying next to him.

You’re still on your side, facing him, your gaze held completely at attention by his face, his voice. His story not only distracted you from the storm outside, but had pulled you in, had you inching closer, heart hammering in your chest as you hung on every word. 

But he’s run out of words, that barrier now gone, and there is nothing between you. Just your gaze locked with his, your chest rising and falling as you stare into those azure depths, wondering if the tempest outside will be what causes you to helplessly fall into all that blue, another voyager lost in the ocean of his eyes.

You may be balancing on attraction’s razor-thin edge, but he is no better off. All he can think about is the softness in your expression, the part of your lips, and how he wants nothing more than to capture them and steal the taste of your mouth for himself, hoard it along with the other treasures he already has of you from tonight. The line of your bare back, the light in your eyes, the whisper of your breathing. Just a few centimeters and he would touch you. A few more and he could-

A loud clap of thunder breaks the moment, snapping it in two. You jump, shaken from the hold his gaze had on you, a loud gasp escaping your throat. He jerks back, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were. There is a faint flush across his cheekbones as he runs a hand through his soft, silvery hair.

“Stop bein’ such a baby. I just told ya how this is nothin’.”

That imperious tone feels like an affront after hearing him speak so softly before. You pull away as if stung and then gather yourself together so he won’t see the glimmer of hurt in your eyes.

“I’m not a baby. I was just startled and–” The way he’s tilting his head, a derisive smirk on his lips sends a flare of annoyance through you. “You know what? Just forget it.” Angrily you roll away from him, yanking the covers up over your shoulder. You don’t see the flash of disappointment in his eyes, the way his fingers reflexively uncurled when you turned away, his body knowing what it wants long before his mind. 

You don’t see how long his gaze lingers on you before he finally forces himself to look away.

Sleep does not find you. You lay there as the oil lamp sputters out and the room is filled with dark shadows that scatter briefly when bright bursts of lightning illuminate the sky, a sky that continues to rampage with gusts of wind and cries of thunder.

Every single inch of you is aware of how close he is. You feel when he shifts his body, the movement disturbing the bedding. You’re still wrapped in the softness of his shirt, surrounded by his scent. And now you can hear the even sounds of his breathing. 

Taking a chance, you glance over your shoulder.

He’s asleep on his side, still facing you, his pillow tucked between his arm and his head. You should turn away and continue your battle with wakefulness. You should stop staring at the locks of argent hair across his forehead. The curve of his arm. The graceful line of his torso.

Outside the thunder rolls. Your heart echoes its tremor.

You do eventually turn away from him but find yourself very slowly inching your way backwards, moving towards him until your body is touching his, the blanket still between you. Despite the coolness of the room, he has stayed on top of it. There is an almost palpable relief in the feeling of his form, the solidness of his body. The storm feels less angry, less destructive. Being this close to him feels right in a way you don’t want to explore, a nebulous thing on the horizon of your heart that you want to keep at bay. 

And then he shifts in his sleep, throwing his arm around you and pulls you even closer against him.

You’re grateful he’s asleep or else the sudden galloping of your heart would surely wake him. It takes several breaths to calm the storm of butterflies in your chest, kicked up by your heart’s sudden racing. They settle down, wings still opening and closing at the feel of his strong arm, the curve of his body around yours. But there is also something warm slowly washing over you. A cocoon, a safe haven where you can finally close your eyes, finally feel the storm’s energy not as an enemy but as a companion, accompanying you as you drift off to sleep at last.

Silvio feels the way your body relaxes, the tension seeping from your muscles as you fall asleep, soft and trusting in his embrace.

If you only knew he has been awake throughout.

He stays awake for a long time, loath to move even a centimeter, feeling the warmth of your body through the blanket and listening to the sound of the rain.

Epilogue:

“Get up, lady. I need my shirt back.”

That voice falls into the still waters of sleep, hooking itself into your consciousness and drags you slowly to the surface.

Sleepily you push yourself up, raising a hand against the bright beam of sunlight spilling into the room.

Pushing your tousled hair out of your face, you find the Prince of Benitoite standing beside the bed, his jacket flung over his bare shoulder, one hand on his hip as he stares down at you. “Let’s go. We’re gettin’ out of this dump. Driver’s already waitin’.” 

Irritation rears its little horned head and your eyes narrow.

“Good morning to you too.”

He ignores that and stretches out his hand. “My shirt.”

And we’re back to this. You sigh.

“Go wait outside the door.”

He regards you a moment and then turns on his boot heel and leaves the room. With a grimace you climb out of the warm bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floor until you’re by the entrance. As quickly as you can, you unbutton his white shirt and then stick your hand out the door with it dangling from two fingers.

He mutters something that you cut off with a slam, eyes closing for a moment as you catch your breath.

Did last night really happen? Was he….kind? And….warm? Did you really sleep in his arms?

A bang on the door jerks you out of your thoughts. “Move it or lose it!”

Oh for fuck’s sake. “Go already! I’ll be there!”

Somehow you are able to wrangle yourself back into your ball gown. Tying the back is tricky but you manage to get it closed enough to avoid any indecency. A quick re-pinning of your hair and buckling of your shoes and you're making your way down the wooden staircase. The innkeeper is at the counter, smiling through his fuzzy white beard in greeting.

“Morning, my lady,” he calls cheerfully. 

The door to the inn is open and you can see the driver loading a few things back onto the carriage. Silvio is already inside.

“Thank you again for your hospitality, sir. I’m afraid I don’t have any coin for our stay, but I’ll be sure to return as soon as possible to pay-”

The older man shakes his head, waving you to a stop with his hand. “Oh no, no need for that my lady. Your…er…roommate already took care of it.”

You’re unable to hold back the surprise in your voice as you glance at the carriage and then back to the innkeeper. “He did?”

His eyes gleam as he reaches into the pocket of his worn vest and again, shock squeezes a silent gasp from your lips. In his work-worn, calloused hand, he’s holding two of Silvio’s bejeweled rings. His words from last night flash through your mind.

—“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” –

The innkeep is oblivious to your stunned expression. “These’ll pay for any damage the storm caused and then some. I told that young man, he's welcome here anytime.”

You finally find your voice. “I….I’m glad to hear that. Thank you again.”

He bids you farewell as you walk outside into the startlingly bright sunlight. The smell of petrichor fills the air, the ground still damp as you walk towards the carriage.

The hazy feeling of something born in the fury of the storm….

Something nameless.

Something undeniable.

Something Silvio has awoken.

….is rising on delicate butterfly wings, inching its way closer to the realm of your heart. 

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[himalia-aesthetics]

Whimsical Gothic Aesthetic

The Whimsigoth aesthetic isn’t quite goth or quite bohemian, but blends together aspects of each. This aesthetic was conjured out of the 70s, 80s, and 90s with witchy influences showcased in a plethora of movies and television shows. Free spirited individuals with interests in astrology or witchcraft may feel called to this aesthetic. 

Visuals:

Stained Glass 

The Night Sky

Well Worn Rugs 

Brass/Gold Candle holders 

Velvet 

The Moon

Black Cats

Crystals 

Vining Plants 

The Sun

Candles

Antique Rings 

Cozy Fireplaces

The Stars

Key Colors:

Black

Emerald Green

Gold

Deep Blue

Burnt Orange

Silver

Ruby Red

Purple

Bronze

Dark Teal

Yellow

Clothing:

Tops:

Corsets 

Tank Tops 

Flowing Long Sleeves

Blouses

Mesh Tops (Long/Short Sleeves) 

Velvet Tops (Long/Short Sleeves)

Lace/Lace Trimmed Tops (Long/Short Sleeves)

Bottoms:

Skirts 

Trousers 

Jeans 

Corduroy (Trousers/Skirts)

One Pieces:

Dresses

Jumpsuits 

Bodysuits 

Overalls

Outerwear:

Cardigans 

Leather jackets 

Fur Trimmed Coats

Shawls

Shoes:

Doc Marten Boots

Platform Boots

High Heel Boots

Doc Marten Loafers

Platform sandals 

Accessories:

Layered Necklaces 

Metal Belts 

Vintage/Antique Rings

Bracelets 

Dangle Earrings 

Beauty:

Dark Lipstick 

Eyeliner 

Mascara

Media/Music:

Movies:

The Craft 

Practical Magic

Coraline 

Halloweentown

Labyrinth

Alice in Wonderland 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 

The Corpse BrideW

Edward Scissorhands 

Hocus Pocus 

Shows:

Charmed

Sabrina the Teenage Witch 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Twin Peaks 

The Owl House

The Vampire Diaries

Playlists:

Whimsigothic by nataile

Whimsigothic by buffn

90s Ethereal Whimsigothic by Teleglam Sam 

90s Witch by linnett

YouTube:

Let’s Explore the Whimsigothic Aesthetic Origins, Breakdown, Outfits, Analysis by beepworld

Styling Whimsigoth Outfits with me | Talking About Thrifting by Amber Triana 

Is Whisigoth the 90s Witchy Bohemian Reborn by Teresa’s Chaotic Corner

Style Analysis: FairyGrunge and Whimsigoth by Dion the Taurus 

Authors:

Holly Black 

Kate Pentecost

Emily X.R. Pan

Adalyn Grace

Hobbies/Activities:

Studying Astrology 

Reading 

Painting 

Collecting Crystals 

Tarot Reading 

Thrift Shopping

Aromatherapy 

Gardening 

Listening to Music

Spellwork 

Related Aesthetics:

Bohemian 

Fairycore

Renaissance 

Witchcore 

Gothic 

Cottagecore

[ssweeterthanfiction]

The grammys; 1978

Billy had seen her on the carpet earlier, and she looked stunning. Wearing a sparkling light purple maxi dress with a matching shawl in a darker purple shade draped over her shoulders, and her hair in an elegant updo, she outshined everyone on the carpet.

The papers had been calling her the “pop princess” and with her recent wind of fame, she was living up to her name. With her hit single, “Read Your Mind” hitting no. 1 on the billboard charts. She was finally getting everything she had worked for and deserved. And she really deserved it. After a tumultuous relationship with Billy Dunne, the frontman of Daisy Jones and The Six, she needed this.

Well, it wasn’t much of a relationship. He could hook up with as many girls as he wanted to, but she could never be with anyone but him because she was “his” girl. Between the girls, the drinking, the drugs, she finally had enough and disappeared from his life for 3 months.

And when she did come back, it was in the form of a radio station announcing her new album “Midnight’s Regrets.”

Billy was livid. She just disappeared, she never called, never left messages, she was just gone. And now she comes out with an album?

Bullshit.

What sucked most, the album was actually amazing. Debuting at number one, she was basking in the glory. And after the nominations for the grammy’s were announced…Billy wasn’t…happy to say the least. Sure, being nominated for record of the year was great and all, but he really wanted album of the year. But that honor would go to Midnight’s Regrets. As well as song of the year and best new artist. So while Billy’s band got 1 nomination, she got 3 nominations.

And now here they were, walking the red carpet. So close yet so far.

It was rumored that she was supposed to be performing, but she hadn’t confirmed anything to the media. But as the night went on, as everyone exited the carpet, they were seated, as groups and artists received their awards and gave acceptance speeches, Billy kept glancing back at her. They hadn’t spoken since she left him. Everytime he looked back at her, he was reminded about what he lost. He was reminded at how he would tell her she was replaceable, how she was like every other girl.

As the ceremony broke for commercials, Billy decided he was going to at least attempt to talk to her. But as he walked to her table, she was gone. After looking around for a few seconds, he decided to just go back to his table. There was some work going on the main stage but he payed no mind to it. But right as the ceremony went back on air, and once the host announced the next performer, that’s when Billy found out the rumors about her performance were true.

There she was, dancing, spinning and singing the lyrics to Read Your Mind on stage. The song was obviously about the so called “relationship” she had with Billy. With the mixture of her snarky lyrics and her attitude, she had the audience in the palm of her hand. And her outfit. Oh god her outfit. In a pink mini satin dress that had black lace trimmings as well as platform white gogo boots, she stole the show.

Billy could swear that she would look at him from the stage. And when she did, it was like she was singing the song directly at him. He couldn’t help but smirk as she stared him down as she hit her high note. Sure, she was singing about how he treated her badly, but after a “talk” with her after her performance, he was sure that her next album would be full of love songs, maybe even a song that featured the six.

check out the full billy fic here :)

(omg first time i have the confidence to write something and post it!! anyways ik it isn’t the best but i swear the next one will be better 🙏 anyways got super inspired by mrsnancywheeler and her little posts abt billy so yea :) live laugh love billy dunne)

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée no. 46, 12 novembre 1865, Paris. Toilettes des Magasin du Louvre, 164 Rue de Rivoli. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Toilette de théâtre. Robe en poult-de-soie jaune d'or; le bas de la jupe est garni avec des entre-deux en dentelle noire composés de médaillons ovales, traversés perpendiculairement de distance en distance par des médaillions de même forme, mais plus grands, qui unissent les deux entre-deux et les dépassent; grand bournous (sp?) en dentelle noire. Chapeau composé de bandes de velours blanc, alternant avec des bouillonnés en crêpe rouge; brides rouges.

Theatre ensemble. Dress in golden yellow poult-de-silk; the bottom of the skirt is trimmed with black lace entre-deux composed of oval medallions, crossed perpendicularly at intervals by medallions of the same shape, but larger, which unite the two entre-deux and exceed them; large shawl in black lace. Hat composed of bands of white velvet, alternating with bouillonnés in red crepe; red straps.

—

Première robe en poult de soie blanc, bordée avec un étroit volant tuyauté, surmonté d'un dessin composé de trèfles exécutés en lacet d'or. Robe en velours bleu clair, bordée avec une frange de chenille bleue, mélangée de boules en or; cette robe est relevée devant et sur les côtés, et fixée sur la première robe par des cordelières bleues et or, formant un large trèfle terminé par des glands; corsage décolleté en poult de soie blanc, garni d'une broderie en tulle blanc; corselet en velours bleu, boutonné devant avec trois boutons d'or, encadré avec une corde bleue et or; manches courtes, bouillonnées en tulle. Coiffure antique avec diadème et bandelettes en or chaînette en or, retenant au cou une croix d'or. Gants blancs à quatre boutons (très-longs par conséquent).

First dress in white poult-de-soie, edged with a narrow piped flounce, topped with a design composed of trefoils executed in gold lace. Dress in light blue velvet, edged with a fringe of blue chenille, mixed with gold balls; this dress is raised in front and on the sides, and fixed on the first dress by blue and gold cords, forming a large clover finished with tassels; low-cut bodice in white poult-de-soie, trimmed with white tulle embroidery; blue velvet bodice, buttoned in front with three gold buttons, framed with a blue and gold cord; short sleeves, bubbled in tulle. Antique hairstyle with tiara and gold bands, gold chain, holding a gold cross at the neck. White gloves with four buttons (very long consequently).

—

Dernière remarque. La robe de velours forme une longue queue par derrière.

Last remark. The velvet dress forms a long tail at the back.