#marilyn blouse

[ysrjune]

SCOTT BARRINGER X GIRLY!READER [ 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 @dollfilmz ]

#🌸🎀🩰

WARNING: SEXUAL THEMES @ THE END

#🩷 ENJOY ! ♡

💌 scott, like a lot of other boys at school, had a crush on you. maybe it was the way you never failed to pull off different hair styles every day, or maybe it was how nice you were to everyone. the blond only knew that he wanted to get his hands on you and make you his pretty little girlfriend. he wasn't bad with getting girls.. like at all. he's on the football team and! he's super cute!

FEBRUARY 5TH @ 8:49AM.

first period, journalism. this class was an easy A for scott. he was just a cameraman for reports on whatever the reporters wanted to talk about for their video of the week. it's not that he didn’t like to be on camera, it's more like he's just awkward and doesn't know how to act normal when he's being recorded for a report or an assignment where he needs to be on camera. luckily he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of the week since his partners Kenny and Laura decided to film their video on Monday.

"remember everybody," the teacher says, causing everyone to look back at her. "valentines day grams are on sale this week. get your partner one if you don’t know what else to buy." she smiles and walks over to her desk to take attendance. a few people around scott start talking about the $5 gift. "I heard that they're better than last year," "yeah, they are! im in ASB. it comes with a rose, love letter, chocolate and other candies." says a girl named Marilyn. scott turns back and taps the top of the computer in front of the other kids. "hey, I can buy one from you, right? since you're in ASB?" he asks.

thats where it all started between you and scott. instead of the $5 option, he chose the $15 dollar one. the only thing different from the first option was that it included a teddy bear and a gourmet cookie. when you had received your gram during 2nd period on February 14th, your friends teased you about who it was from.

“to my beautiful *name*,

everyday I see you and wish that you were in my arms. I wish that I could call you mine. I wish I could kiss your soft lips and shower you with all my affection. I'm a little shy to say this in person, so I sent you this gram. Happy Valentines day.

yours, Scott Barringer.”

that day during lunch, you went to the classroom that scott hung out in and started talking to him. It only took you a week to start going out on dates with him. he was a sweetheart and such a good guy to you. always paying for things you wanted, never not touching you (holding hands, arm around your waist) at school or wherever you went.

💌 scott LOVES watching you do your makeup. he doesn’t admit it though. on the weekends when you have something planned and you do your makeup, hes there. hes laying on his tummy on your bed, watching you apply blush and highlight to your cheeks. he watches close and carefully. and when you start doing your hair? he offers to help out. "need help with that?" he stands up from the bed and walks over to you, taking the curling iron from your hand. "I dont need the help, but you can go ahead and do it for me." you smile at him through the mirror. scott smiles back and starts curling the ends of your hair. hes done this a couple times already.. practice makes perfect.

💌 scott also loves how girly you are. skirts, tight blouses, nails and hair always done.. he would rather have a girl like that instead of one who goes out in hoodie and sweats all the time. he really likes your jewlery too. necklaces, rings, earrings.. he buys you matching diamond earrings since his ears are also pierced. they werent pierced for too long though. his dad kept bothering him about how they made him look gay, so he took them out. bit he still has his pair.

💌 (modern) scott posts you on his story a fair amount. dates, selfies you send him, videos he takes of you at school, gifts he buys.. everything like that. theres more on his close friends story since he knows there are girls out there who stalk his profile just to see who his girlfriend is. its not that he doesnt want to show you off and let everyone know who his girlfriend is, he just doesn't like when girls who like him try and stalk your profile.

💌 babe, baby, beautiful, cutie, all nicknames he calls you buy. he has you saved as 'angel face 🩷' in his phone.

💌 he likes when you put on lipstick. he loves when you kiss all over his neck and leave kiss marks. he especially likes it when you leave them places other than his neck. his chest, collarbones, arms, face, COUGH! near his 🤔.. 😊

💌 you're a little shorter than him and it makes him feel some sort of way. he doesnt really know why he likes the height difference, he just does, and so do you. everytime you walk past a mirror at a store or somewhere theres a mirror, you ask him to hug you from behind so you can snap a photo. you have one of those photos set as your profile photo on Instagram.

💌 just because you're his girlfriend doesn't mean hes not a little mean/teasing. "whats with you wearing pink all the time? too scared to try another color?" he'd say. you roll your eyes. "and whats it with you always wearing plad? you too lazy to go out and buy something different?" and just because you're his usually sweet girlfriend, doesn't mean you WONT be mean to him back.

💌 you're like his own personal cheerleader at his games. his friends always stare at you like you're doing too much, and maybe you are.. but thats your boyfriend out there winning every game for the school. how could you not smile and yell along with the other people when he caught the ball from so far away?

💌 he likes to lend you his jersey a lot. obviously only when its washed. but you bet that after he washes it, he spritz on his cologne so you smell like him. he doesn't only do that with just his jersey, he does it with his varsity jacket as well.

"you're lucky you're cute, princess." he kisses down your neck. "cause you've been pissing me off all damn day." being too teasing. whispering things to him in the middle of class where he cant do anything but hold your hand and pretend like you didnt just tell him that you wanted to go on your knees for him.

now, you were in his room on a Friday afternoon, home alone. scott lifts your skirt up and stares at your lacy white underwear. "guess you do wear something other than pink," he chuckles to himself. "God, im gonna ruin you." he whispers and kisses you through the fabric. "make you forget your own damn name."

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaas-xo @anakinca ⭐️

[pinkcannibal]

Hello! Could I request classroom sex with Marilyn and student reader? Reader couldn’t keep still in her seat and kept teasing Marilyn by spreading her legs showing her that there was nothing underneath, so Marilyn just f^cks her in readers desk with a strap? Can there also be heavy dumbification? Thank you !!

hi! so sorry for the wait <3 disclaimer reader is a student and 20. tysm for the request hope u enjoy!

-

title: private display of affection

pairings: marilyn thornhill x fem!reader, established relationship

tw/warnings: extreme dumbification/degradation, strap on usage, praise!kink, mommy!kink, soft dom!marilyn thornhill, bottom!reader, heavy subspace, fluff, smut, strap packing, classroom sex, finger sucking, deep throating

word count: 2680

requests: open!

-

The tutoring with Miss Thornhill starts when you fail your latest exam, and so discouraged and torn apart by it, you honest to god almost start crying in relief when Marilyn offers to privately tutor you. 

She said it so casually the other day, while you laid back against her front on the couch beside her fireplace, in her dorm and curled up, so warm and content in her embrace. Tutoring is a huge task, and this intense wave of love and gratitude over takes you as Marilyn suggested it. You softened as the words hit you, looking up from your position on her chest with gentle eyes.  

“You’d really do that?” 

And the other woman titled her head, fixed her glasses in confusion, like the idea she wouldn’t was absurd. “Of course, baby.” She said, so loving your skin prickled. “Your education is very important to me.” 

And you smiled, kissed the underside of her jaw and watched how she melted at the action. 

So, now you’re here, every Thursday in the conservatory as Marilyn walks you through certain sections of her Botany class curriculum. It’s basically dusk, with a blanket of fog rolling into Nevermore, and the glass roof splatters softly with rain droplets that fall down the windows slowly. 

What you struggled with in the exam was certain scientific equations, related to the chemical makeup in plants. And usually, like every other week so far, you’ve been so good for her, her good girl, pretty and patient and attentive perched up on top of your desk as Miss Thornhill teaches you.  

But there’s something about her today, right now, that makes you want to act out. How the blouse she’s wearing is slightly too small for her, straining against the other woman’s chest. How Marilyn has rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, holding a text book in her grip.  

And when she gestures with her hands as she talks, your throat goes dry at how attractive they look, how the slacks she’s wearing hug her hips and her thighs and her waist and her- 

You blush, eyes flicking down, only now noticing that Marilyn has chosen today of all days, to publicly pack.  

And your breath hitches seeing the almost unnoticeable bulge, because you know Marilyn only wears it like this if she’s feeling particularly bold, or wanting your attention. God, you think, you have it. So badly.  

Suddenly, you want to get down on your knees for her, take her in your mouth and let her dumb you down while you sit there for her, so pliant and good and doe eyed as she fucks your mouth softly. 

You choke on a whimper at the thought. And so thoroughly taken by the image of her leaning back against her desk as she talks, that you want to tease her now. You shift in your position on top of your desk, feel how wet you already are, and blush. Soaked just at the sight of Marilyn and the knowledge she’s wearing her strap.  

Whatever Miss Thornhill is saying gets lost to you, drowned out in your hazy mind as you uncross your legs, bite your lip and wait for her to notice.  

She does, and her words stutter mid-sentence as you widen your legs and push the hem of your school skirt up your thighs ever so lightly. Marilyn’s eyes darken as she tries to compose herself, walking closer to you and tilting her head. She places the book beside you, and when she speaks, you can hear how husky her voice has gotten. 

 You gasp a little as she takes your chin in her fingers, smoothing her thumb across your bottom lip. Can she see how wet you are for her? How soaked your underwear already have become?  

“Sweet girl,” Marilyn starts, a little like a warning as she sends you a chastising frown. You blush, squirming atop your desk. “None of that, I need all your attention up here, okay? Aren’t you my good girl?” 

You’re powerless to the desperate mewl that escapes, your heart beat goes erratic at the gentle degrading words and how the other woman is now between your legs, and oh god you can feel her hard length press a little to your open thighs. You can see how delighted her hazel eyes are behind her glasses at seeing you notice.  

And maybe because Marilyn teased you first, by nonchalantly wearing her strap as she taught you, you decide to reach for her belt loops, tug harshly on a petulant whine. Already, that familiar space she forces you into takes over your mind, and goosebumps start to line your skin.  

“M’ your good girl,” You slur, wet eyes flicking down to her stomach. “But you, god Mari, you’re wearing-” Your voice hitches, blushing as she urges you up to her eyes again with her fingers at your chin.  

She’s faux pouting to you as the words get stuck in your throat, like you were too dumb and blissed out already to form a proper sentence. 

“Oh, baby,” She coos. “I’m wearing what? Come on, say it.” Miss Thornhill urges, and you whimper as your hips buck a little at her tone, how she talks down to you so sweetly and lovingly.  

Marilyn then drops your chin, hands finding the inside of your thighs and smoothing over your skin in a hypnotising way, nails digging in lightly making your eyes water and chest tighten in need.  

Then she’s leaning forwards, kissing you so gently you chase her like a pathetic puppy, doe eyed and desperate when she leans back, murmuring against your lips.  

“Gosh, you’re just so cute when you’re so spacey for me.” She praises, smirking teasingly. You flush red across your nose. “Is my pretty girl too dumb to say she wants Mommy’s cock?” 

Fuck. You whine, tug harder on her belt loops, you can feel your wetness between your thighs now with how ruined your underwear must be. But you still nod, you still nod, confirm for her that you can’t think and can’t speak when she’s like this. 

And Marilyn lets you pull her hips forward, she groans a little at how you pathetically try and grind against her cock through her slacks and how you wrap your legs around her waist, forcing her so close that you moan throatily at feeling her hold to your hips, encourage your grinding and to control your wet heat against her hard length.  

Your skirt is bunched up and thighs trembling, you know you must look so small and submissive as you choke out around your arousal.  

“Please, fuck,” You bow forwards onto her shoulder, reach up and fist Marilyn's red hair at her neck as an anchor and sink into that space when she hisses at the feeling.  

“Want you,” You gasp, and turn your face into her neck, nibbling and mewling into her skin when Miss Thornhill digs her nails in harder to your hips in warning.

“I want you right now. I can’t wait mommy, please.” You beg, and it comes out a little teary and desperate. “Please please, I’ll be good.”  

You repeat your words in a plea, and the begging has Miss Thornhill just groaning; leaning forwards and ducking her head a little to kiss you so deeply that your fingers clench in her hair.  

And suddenly one of her hands finds your heat between your legs, making you gasp as she fingers the waistband of your underwear and softly pulls, tugs on the material in an unspoken question.  

The action is familiar and so attractive that on instinct, you buck up and obey her, helping Marilyn pull them down and completely off. She throws them on the floor, forgotten, and her tongue inside your mouth tastes so good. You pout when the other woman unfairly pulls back, taking away the addicting feeling. 

“So desperate,” She says, and you feel your stomach flip at how turned on she sounds, how Miss Thornhill moans as she slides two fingers through your heat under your skirt, feels how utterly soaked you are.  

“Fuck, and wet,” She whimpers, and you sigh into this high-pitched moan at the touch and words, how she gathers up your slick, circling your throbbing clit as you bite your lip.  

“You’re so stupid for me, aren’t you?” Marilyn coos, furrowing her brows in sympathy at your glazed over expression. “You can’t just wait until we’re back in my room, baby girl? Want me to fuck you right here?” 

You can’t speak, your tongue is heavy and numb in your mouth at how she degrades you, how sweet her voice sounds and how lovingly the insults sound from her lips. You chase the high and nod quickly, biting down so hard on your bottom lip you almost draw blood.  

“Right here, please.” You breathe out, and when you tighten your legs around her waist your breath catches in your throat as Marilyn stops teasing your clit, and instead quickly but expertly unbuckles her belt, unbuttons her slacks, and tugs the zipper down.  

Then she’s hushing you so sweetly when you moan at seeing her take out her strap from her briefs, urging you closer until her length pushes against you and you grind and tug her forwards, begging for her cock inside you. You’re almost off the edge of the desk with how eager you are, held up only by Marilyn and your legs around her. 

“God, darling,” She sighs out, enamoured at the sight of you wanting her so badly. Her lips part in unrestrained want when you desperately grab the base of the strap, sinking her tip inside of you with a groan. You’re so slick that one thrust could fill you whole, (and your eyes shining back up to her are all doe eyed and dumbed down and you see Marilyn soften at the desperation like melting wax.)  

“You have to be quiet, honey.” She says, but it falls into a surprised gasp because you whine and buck harder, take more of her strap slowly. Her hazel eyes flick down, gripping to your hips and settling your eagerness with a commanding head tilt. She hushes you, makes your throat bob on a mewl you can’t help when her hand is cupping your cheek and trying to catch your blissed out expression.  

“I love when you’re loud, baby. But right now, we can’t have that, can we?” You shake your head no, so obedient and ready to listen that Marilyn’s eyes darken.  

You can be her good student, her best student, such a good learner that she won’t ever have to question your loyalty.  

“Good girl,” She praises, and you whine a little when her two fingers prod at your bottom lip and she urges a little deeper inside of you with her strap, free hand holding to your hip as she makes it half way deep.  

And the feeling of almost being so full of her makes you shut your eyes and almost sob.  

“I need you to be so good for me and suck my fingers, honey.” Miss Thornhill says, and you nod again and whine, opening your eyes once more and parting your lips. You wrap your lips around her digits, blush and squirm and silently plead for more of her cock. You can feel the soft black of her nail polish against your tongue and your throat bobs as she starts to pump, so gently and softly that you tear up. 

Marilyn just sighs softly at the image of how fucked out you already look, as you take her up to her knuckles so well. “Just moan around them, okay? Let me do all the talking and touching. You’ve been so good listening, so just relax for Mommy, sweetheart.” 

And then you choke around her fingers on the most pathetic whine, because she bottoms out in you in one smooth, quick thrust, and you see stars behind your eyelids as you squeeze them shut and clench around her. She sets a slow pace, groaning as she hears the wet sound of her fucking into you, and you can’t breathe properly with her fingers in her mouth so you open your eyes, mewl around her digits and silently beg for her to go faster with a pleading furrow of your brows. 

Marilyn moans at the look, but has to bite her lip from being too loud. And she reads you so easily as she picks up speed and scrunches the fabric of your skirt up with her free hand at your thigh, looking down and groaning softly at how well you take her as she watches her strap disappear inside of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” She pants, looking back up and thrusting so hard and deep inside of you. The desk squeaks with her curling into you, and you know the wood is stained with your cum as you drip all over her and grab desperately to her shoulder blades and neck.  

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” She confesses, taking her fingers from your mouth, just to settle them at the column of your throat and press her thumb into your jugular. You gasp, able to breathe properly now, but when you swallow you feel her hand tight against your throat and you gush onto her cock at the feeling.  

“God, I’ve wanted to fuck you here ever since I met you.” Miss Thornhill groans, kissing you and biting to your lip. You let her inside your mouth, whimpering as she pulls back and breathes out: 

“You look so pretty taking me like this.” You gasp, climbing higher and higher, so embarrassingly close to coming you want to cry for her to slow down. But it feels so good when she talks like this.  

“Oh sweet girl,” Marilyn coos at your reaction, thrusting so deep and fast inside of you that your lips part from how overwhelmed you feel. The praise is almost too much. “I bet you’d look even better bent over, wouldn’t you? You want Mommy to take you from behind, baby?” 

Then she’s hitting that spot, making you cry out in pleasure and you know you’re being loud but you don’t fucking care, the praise and this floaty feeling and how deep Marilyn is, has you lost to the world.  

And you can't even ask for permission to come, because it washes over you so suddenly you jerk your hips and whine, falling forwards into Marilyn’s neck and panting and just gushing around her.  

You think something like ‘fuck, m-mommy, I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t stop-” leaves your lips in a throaty moan, but you aren’t sure, because Marilyn just says the sweetest praise in your ear, something that sounds like “That’s it, good girl, come all over me sweetheart.”  

And you feel her hand hike your thigh closer up her hip to angle better, and she keeps gasping “So good, keep going honey. You take me so well, my pretty baby-” and at some point nothing else exists in your mind but her, because you let her make you come again, moan her name out over and over again, not even caring how loud you are. 

And something just clicks inside of you as she lets you ride it out, talking you down and being so sweet. You’re all floaty and gone at that point, you just make this little noise, almost a whine, into Miss Thornhill’s skin when she tells you how good you were, even for such a dumb little girl.  

The rain falls harder. There are stars in your eyes and galaxies under your skin where she touches you.  

You retake your exam the next week.  

(You pass with flying colours.) 

-

[weemssapphic]

in my head (series)

Chapter Three: Be Careful

Larissa Weems x f!reader

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

words: ~3.7k, ao3 link

chapter-specific warnings: nsfw (smut) - cunnilingus (reader receiving), slight angst

chapter summary: Planning a date that isn't a date sure is stressful. Thankfully, you have Larissa to take away some of the tension.

“Y/N! What are you doing out so late?”

The familiar voice of a certain red-headed teacher halted your train of thought.

“Marilyn,” you squeaked out. “I, uh… I could ask you the same thing, you know.”

When you’d started at Nevermore, Marilyn had somewhat taken you under her wing for a few weeks, showing you around and helping you get settled. She was, aside from Larissa, one of the few people at the school whom you could truly call a friend.

She regarded you carefully, taking in your mussed hair and your kiss-swollen lips, the way your blouse was buttoned up wrong. A knowing look crossed her face, one that somehow both relieved and irked you a bit. You had a feeling she knew about your arrangement with Larissa already but, despite trusting her, you weren’t too sure how you felt about her suspicions being all but confirmed.

Mercifully, she spared you a brutal line of questioning and chose to ignore your current state. “I couldn’t sleep so I went to the library for a bit.”

“Oh, damn. Did it help calm your mind?” You hoped you didn’t sound as on edge as you felt.

“I think so, yes.” Marilyn smiled warmly, adjusting her glasses. “I was just heading back to my quarters, I’m hoping I can finally get some rest. I think it’s just been a long week.”

You laughed. “Yeah, tell me about it. I’m exhausted…” You trailed off, shuffling nervously from foot to foot, and there was a brief moment of silence.

“Y/N?” Marilyn’s smile never left her face, though she did look a bit more stern.

“Yes?”

“Just be careful.”

You furrowed your brow. What did she mean with “be careful”? You felt your jaw twitch in annoyance as you tried to smile back at Marilyn. What was she thinking? If only you could… You hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t right, going into someone’s mind like that. Especially someone you considered a friend. But it was tempting… 

Honing in your focus, you reached out feelers from your own mind into Marilyn’s, invading her thoughts despite your better judgment.

A memory, you recognized, but through Marilyn’s eyes: Larissa, standing in the quad, handing the Poe Cup trophy to Enid and Wednesday. She had a brilliant, toothy smile plastered across her face as she scanned the crowd of students and faculty cheering for the Black Cats and their win. As Larissa stepped back into the shadows to allow the girls their moment, she looked out over the crowd once again, her gaze pausing at something behind Marilyn’s shoulder. Her expression turned wistful, yearning, for just a fraction of a second, before a student came up to her and the toothy grin was back as she turned her attention to them.

Why was Marilyn thinking about Larissa after the Poe Cup? 

Marilyn gazed back at you, eyebrow quirked, head cocked. “Are you okay?”

You blinked, your connection broken. “Y-yeah. Sorry.” You bit your lip and crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly unsure of yourself. “I am being careful.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t.” She smiled sympathetically. “Anyway, we should get coffee again sometime, like we used to. I’ll come by your classroom tomorrow?”

“Sure,” you nodded, forcing your lips into a smile. Marilyn squeezed your arm and wished you goodnight before turning around and heading out of sight.

~~~

Sitting in your classroom, laptop open, fingers drumming against the top of your desk, you’d never been more grateful for a planning period in your entire life. Though today’s planning had nothing to do with your lessons and everything to do with a certain overworked principal.

You had this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that Saturday had to be perfect, but nothing you came up with seemed right. Dinner would be far too formal, not to mention far too predictable. You supposed you could settle for a more casual restaurant, but something about that didn’t sit right with you either. No, Larissa deserves to be wined and dined, not taken to some crummy fast food place. You winced internally at your line of thought - there was no way Larissa would want to be wined and dined by you, anyway.

You briefly considered some sort of picnic - there was a beautiful waterfall you’d discovered on a weekend hike when you’d first moved to Jericho, having resolved to get to know the area better. Waterfalls were beautiful, romantic - and clearly far too date-like. Larissa had a rule against dating coworkers, she’d stated that loud and clear after your first night together. You weren’t about to risk crossing that boundary.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you were letting yourself get too close to Larissa. Maybe- but then there was Larissa’s smile when you’d offered to do something together outside of Nevermore… You huffed in frustration.

A knock on your classroom door pulled you out of your spiraling, and you looked up from your laptop to see Marilyn peeking her head into the room.

“Am I interrupting anything?” She smiled brightly and you shook your head ‘no’, grateful for the interruption.

“I know you have a planning period and then we both have lunch so I was wondering if you’d like to come to the Weathervane with me?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.” With one last look at the Google homepage that taunted you, waiting for you to make up your mind and make some sort of reservation for something, you closed your laptop and grabbed your purse, following Marilyn out the door and locking your classroom behind you.

~~~

On your drive into the heart of Jericho, the two of you talked about your plans for your classes that semester. You were truly excited - Outcast Neurostudies was a new subject this school year and it was, quite frankly, a long time coming. There was still a fair bit of discrimination against your type of Outcasts and this class was the first step in educating the younger generation and arming them against prejudice. Mind readers, telekinetics, empaths and the like were still seen as deceptive, being able to use their powers to subtly manipulate innocent, unsuspecting people. What bullshit. Anyone has the power to be manipulative, people simply don’t like what they can’t understand.

Marilyn found a parking spot right by the Weathervane, and the two of you entered the café. You ordered your usual, a cappuccino and a croissant, and chose a booth next to the window which allowed you to people-watch while you chatted.

The door to the Weathervane opened and you glanced up inadvertently, locking eyes with none other than Larissa. She smiled warmly and winked, heading straight for the counter to place an order. Your eyes were firmly glued to Larissa’s backside as she walked; the way her pencil skirt hugged her shapely curves; the way her hips swayed with every step, just a bit more than they usually did; the flexing of her long calves as the clicking of her heels echoed in the small establishment.

“-cross-breeding those next semester!” 

Silence.

“Y/N, are you listening?” Marilyn’s use of your name shook you back to reality and you dropped your gaze down to your coffee, blushing furiously.

“O-of course, sorry, Marilyn. I just thought of something I need to ask Principal Weems later.” 

“No worries.” Marilyn smiled in understanding, though her brow was slightly raised.

Larissa chose that moment to saunter over to your table, smiling brightly. She seemed to be in an excellent mood and it was a bit infectious, causing you to grin up at her.

“Ms. Thornhill, Ms. Y/L/N, so nice to see you here.”

“Principal Weems,” Marilyn replied. “Ms. Y/L/N was just saying she had something to ask you.”

You nearly choked on your cappuccino, both women looking at you in concern. Your cheeks blazed bright red as you stuttered out a reply. “N-no- I mean, yes! It can wait though, I wouldn’t want to take up your valuable lunch time with work matters.”

“Indeed,” Larissa’s eyes danced with mirth as she smirked down at you. “As it is, my lunch will be cut short anyway, I was just heading over to see Dr. Kinbott.”

You opened your mouth to say something but were cut off by the young barista calling out “hot chocolate to go.”

“That would be mine,” Larissa smiled again, her eyes darting briefly between you and Marilyn. “I trust you’ll be back on campus in time for your afternoon classes?”

“We wouldn’t dream of being late,” you teased, trying to cool your blush and earning yourself another smirk from the principal before she went to collect her drink and disappeared out the door with a small wave in your direction.

So Larissa Weems orders hot chocolate. Interesting. You realized there was so much you didn’t know about Larissa, so many little everyday things that simply hadn’t come up yet. The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

A silence had fallen over your table and Marilyn turned to look out the window, wincing slightly as she did so.

“You okay?” 

The redhead chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just slept wrong I think, my neck is killing me today. God, I could really use a massage.” She leaned back in her seat and took a sip of coffee as you mulled over her words.

A massage. A sort of spa day perhaps? Friends do stuff like that, you’d had several “girls trips” like that with your best friends back home. It would certainly help Larissa relax…

“Marilyn, you're a genius!” You beamed at her and she blinked back at you, frowning.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nevermind, you just gave me an idea is all.” You dismissed her question with a wave of your hand, ignoring her curious head tilt. “So you were saying something about which plants you wanted to cultivate next semester?”

“Right,” Marilyn looked genuinely excited as she continued to update you on her plans for the greenhouse and which plants she wanted to try and cross-breed with one another. You nodded along enthusiastically, your mind miles away as it drifted to your plans with Larissa.

~~~

Back in your classroom, you wasted no time in booking your “date” for Saturday. With fifteen minutes before students were to arrive, you breezed through the reviews of several spas in the area, before settling on something fancy-looking in Burlington. 

Biting your lip, you checked out your options, your eyes landing on the couples massage package. Would Larissa mind? Of course it wasn’t solely for couples. Plus, you did want to spend as much time with her as possible - so it wouldn’t be very practical to separate for the day. If anything, you could play it off as being a better value with your teacher’s salary…

With the sound of your classroom door opening and students pouring in for their lesson, you made a split-second decision and hit “book”, quickly filling in your details on the booking form before shutting your laptop and directing your attention to your waiting class.

~~~

You were just packing up your belongings, having finished your last lesson of the day and dismissed your students, when Larissa poked her head in the door. 

“Hi,” you breathed out, a smile stretching across your face as she shut the door behind her, clicking the lock before maneuvering her way over to you and leaning against your desk. 

“You said earlier you had something to talk to me about?” she purred.

You laughed, your cheeks turning slightly pink. “Uh, no, actually… I just needed an excuse as to why I was staring at your ass rather than listening to Marilyn talk about her lesson plans.”

Larissa snorted, rolling her eyes and leaning in to press her lips to yours.

“You can’t keep your eyes off me, huh?” She smirked against your lips and you let out a soft moan. “Like what you saw?”

“You have no idea,” you murmured, capturing her lips again and deepening the kiss.

“Either way,” she pulled back slightly, her smirk morphing into something softer. “I wanted to thank you for last night.”

“You don’t have to thank me for having sex with you,” you teased, your blush giving you away.

Larissa raised an eyebrow. “I just mean you were very sweet. I needed that.”

You were sure you had turned completely scarlet by now and you scratched at the back of your neck, trying to look at anything other than Larissa’s smoldering gaze. “Anytime, Larissa,” you replied softly.

Larissa hummed, nuzzling her face into your neck and nipping gently at the skin under your earlobe. “So what are we doing on Saturday?” Her voice was low and sultry, and you tried and failed to suppress a whine as her tongue soothed over the skin on your neck.

“It’s a surprise,” you said in what you hoped was a firm tone, but your voice shook traitorously.

“Well how will I know what to wear?” You could hear the playful pout in her voice.

“Just wear what you usually wear, don’t worry about it so much. If you really want to know I’ll tell you, otherwise you’ll find out on the way there.”

“Hmm… it’s fine, you can surprise me,” Larissa acquiesced. “You know, I haven’t been surprised in a long time.”

“I think you’ll be plenty surprised,” you smirked.

Larissa moaned into your ear, her hands coming to rest on your waist as she pulled you closer, attacking your neck with her lips.

“I was hoping to return the favor today,” she whispered between kisses, her lips traveling lower until they reached the top of your sternum. She looked up at you with doe eyes, a hunger burning in her blown pupils.

“You know I would never say no to that,” you groaned.

Larissa began to undo the buttons of your blouse, her lips following her fingers as she marked your chest in hues of red and purple. She unclipped your bra to gain better access to your breasts, swirling her warm tongue around each of your nipples until they had hardened.

“On the desk,” she ordered.

You hopped eagerly onto the edge of your desk, spreading your legs in anticipation.

“Someone’s eager,” Larissa mocked playfully, her hands coming to rest on your thighs. She pushed your skirt up until it was bunched around your waist, pupils dilating further as she caught sight of the wet spot on your panties.

She pulled them aside, gliding a finger through your folds and letting out a groan. “Oh, darling, you’re drenched.” Her lips met yours in a passionate kiss as she hooked her fingers around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs. She pulled away from the kiss to drag the panties off your legs and settle between your thighs, wasting no time in peppering the soft flesh of your inner thighs in kisses and hickeys. 

The heat between your legs was becoming unbearable, your clit practically pulsating, and your hand came to rest on her head, pushing her face into your cunt. She let out a low chuckle and, finally, ran her velvet tongue up your slit, circling your throbbing bundle of nerves before latching on and sucking.

You weren’t sure whose moans were the loudest, only that you were grateful that classes had ended and no one would be in this wing of the school to hear the vulgar noises spilling out of your classroom.

Larissa’s fingers found your soaked slit and teased your entrance before slipping inside. She pumped in and out of you, curling her fingers against your sweet spot as you rolled your hips in time with her thrusts.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” Larissa panted, letting out a moan as you twisted your fingers in her hair, scratching desperately at her scalp. The moan vibrated against your clit, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

“Yes, god- fuck, Larissa, I’m so close,” you whimpered, your hips bucking erratically against Larissa’s face as your thighs began to tremble.

Within seconds you were coming undone, your core tightening and then releasing as you reached your peak. Larissa lapped at your pussy as you rode her face, your juices dripping out of your center and soaking the desk beneath you.

“Good girl,” Larissa purred against your pussy, cleaning up your folds with her tongue before standing to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. You opened your mouth for her, allowing her tongue to slide against yours and moaning at the taste of yourself.

Larissa didn’t pull away until she had run out of breath, resting her forehead against yours. “You, my darling, are simply irresistible,” she breathed, her warm breath tickling your face.

Your heart fluttered at her words, an unexplained warmth taking up shop in your belly that you tried your hardest to ignore. The last thing you needed was to catch feelings for your best friend. Your best friend, who had made it clear where her boundaries lie. Your best friend, who you definitely did not want to lose. 

“I have to go, I have a huge pile of paperwork that needs to get done by tomorrow,” Larissa sighed, pecking your lips before straightening up and pulling out her phone, checking her reflection in the front camera and fixing her smudged lipstick.

“Of course,” you panted, still out of breath. “Just don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

Larissa offered you a warm smile and gave your thigh a light squeeze. “It’s sweet that you worry. I’ll be fine. After all, I have this weekend to look forward to.”

With a final wink, Larissa exited your classroom, leaving you to sit on your desk, breathless and flushed, skirt still pooled around your waist.

What on earth was this woman doing to you?

~~~

Larissa’s week had passed achingly slowly as she hopped from meeting to meeting. Her only saving grace was the anticipation of getting to spend an entire day with you, free from the constraints and duties you faced in your everyday lives at Nevermore. Her thoughts had drifted during the most boring of her meetings, much more than she’d ever dare to admit, wondering what you could be planning. She didn’t really care, of course. Simply the idea of spending time with you brought forth a certain childlike giddiness (that she would never confess to).

When she awoke on Saturday morning, she could hardly stop herself from immediately jumping out of bed and starting her routine. She plucked a record from the shelf, placing it gently on the record player. The room filled with music and she hummed along as she set about brushing her teeth and dressing, choosing a sleeveless, olive green dress and laying out the matching coat on her bed. 

A short while later, she found herself sitting in front of her vanity, pinning her silvery waves into their usual updo, fingers shaking slightly as a nervous excitement bubbled in her stomach. Once she was satisfied with her hair, she turned to her makeup, going through the steps she’d done a hundred times before, hoping the little ritual would help soothe her nerves. 

Larissa frowned as she looked at herself in the mirror, eyes stopping on every crease, every wrinkle she could find, somehow all more pronounced after a stressful work week. It hit her all at once that you were quite a bit younger than her, her heart sinking in her chest. She felt as though she’d been slapped in the face. What were you doing with her? What did you see in her?

Lost in thought, she found herself itching to do something she hadn’t done in a long time - shift for the sake of shifting. Concentrating for a moment, she watched herself morph into a younger version of herself, twenty years younger. She appraised her features, the smooth skin, unmarred by time or the stress of a demanding job - the innocence she had once possessed. She knew, of course, that you couldn’t see her like this, that she would have to shift back. She had never even divulged her Outcast ability to you, preferring to keep that secret locked away from anyone at Nevermore. But she did wonder - would you prefer her this way? 

She was so absorbed in criticizing her own appearance that she didn’t hear the door to her quarters open over the sound of the record that was playing. In fact, she didn’t even hear the footsteps drawing nearer and nearer - until it was too late.

~~~

You walked the corridors to Larissa’s office with a spring in your step, knocking twice when you stopped in front of her door. 

Silence.

Perhaps she was still in her quarters, getting ready. You fished out the key she’d given you for emergencies that one time when she’d gone away for a conference and opened the door.

“Larissa?” you called out, glancing around the office. Empty.

You heard music coming from your right and noticed that the door to Larissa’s quarters stood ajar. With a bright smile, you strode over to the door and knocked, once again receiving no reply. She probably can’t hear over the music, you reasoned. 

You recognized the song as “Kind of Woman” by Stevie Nicks and suppressed a giggle at Larissa’s music taste, before slipping into her quarters. Sure, you probably could’ve just texted her that you were waiting for her, but you figured she wouldn’t mind. Even if she wasn’t dressed yet, it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen her naked before.

You padded your way through the small apartment, following the music to her bedroom.

“Hey, are you-” You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart thundering in your chest as your eyes were drawn to Larissa’s vanity.

The young woman sitting there wasn’t the woman you’d expected to see. Luscious blonde curls cascaded over her alabaster cheekbones, giving way to the soft curve of her jaw. Expressive eyebrows, plucked to perfection, arched perfectly over icy blue eyes that were now wide with shock, boring into yours through the mirror, red lips parted as her jaw went slack. 

But there was no mistaking it - the woman sitting there was Larissa.

x

[vonteasevintage]

Classy, Sassy, and a Whole Lotta Badassy! : Different Types of Pinup Styles

"I'm a pinup!"

"What kind of pinup?"

"Umm...the kind that is retro?"

This is common for those just entering their pinup journey. Yes, you are a pinup (welcome, by the way!) but what is your pinup style?

The main types of pinup style for contests are:

Classic

Rockabilly

Tiki

Cheesecake

Glamour

(And of course there are styles outside of contests - sometimes you will catch a glimpse of them, though! - including Gothabilly and Psychobilly, plus many others!)

What are the characteristics of each kind?

Classic - Classic pinup embodies the timeless elegance of the 1940s and 1950s. It's polished, glamorous, and sophisticated — think Marilyn Monroe. Clothing includes wiggle dresses, pencil skirts, and fitted tops. Solid colors or simple patterns (polka dots, stripes) are also common.

Rockabilly - Rockabilly pinup is heavily influenced by the 1950s music and subculture, particularly rock 'n' roll and rebellious fashion. It's edgy, bold, and playful. High-waisted capri pants, pencil skirts, circle skirts, halter tops, off-the-shoulder blouses, and cropped cardigans. Cat-eye sunglasses, hoop earrings, bandanas, Leather jackets, cuffed jeans, and wide belts are common accessories.

Tiki - Tiki pinup is inspired by Polynesian and Hawaiian culture, mixed with vintage 1940s and 1950s vacation style. It's exotic, vibrant, and tropical. Sarongs, Hawaiian print dresses, and wrap skirts in bold floral and tropical prints. Hibiscus flowers in the hair, shell necklaces, bamboo bracelets, wedge sandals, straw handbags, and tiki-themed jewelry are common accessories to pair.

Cheesecake - Cheesecake pinup focuses on playful, flirty, and innocent sex appeal. The term "cheesecake" comes from the idea of sweet, slightly naughty images — suggestive without being explicit. Clothing includes Swing dresses, playsuits, and short shorts. Fabric with pastel colors, polka dots, and florals are also characteristic. The vibe can be a bit over the top and 'cheesy', such as being coy and playful — lots of winking, blowing kisses, and innocent "oops" expressions.

Glamour - Glamour pinup is the elegant, sophisticated side of pinup — think Hollywood starlets of the 1940s and 1950s like Veronica Lake, Lauren Bacall, and Rita Hayworth. While cheesecake pinup was playful and girl-next-door, glamour pinup was all about seduction, mystery, and sophistication. Common attire includes form fitting dresses like wiggle dresses and evening gowns accessorized with fur stoles and opera gloves.

Most times one is told they can only be one of these types. Honestly, some days I feel like different styles depending on the mood. So, you CAN be any or all of these! What they are meaning is style wise. You try to keep it to one style type and play around within its stylings. Some things do overlap, though, so it can be tricky. There is a fine line between some that can still work. The best example of a clash of styles would be to pair converse when you're going for Old Hollywood glamour - get what I'm saying?

To sum it up:

Classic = Traditional and timeless

Rockabilly = Bold and rebellious

Cheesecake = Cute and playful with a teasing edge

Tiki = Exotic and relaxed

Glamour = High-end old Hollywood

Hope this helps clear the air and helps you find what style you're looking to unleash!

xo Bree Von Tease

[nevloveslemons]

Falling For the Saint (Clive Babineaux x Reader Insert)

Tags?: AFAB Reader, Clutzy reader, Season 1-2 ish, reader type to try and quietly eat at 4 am and end up accidentally walking up everyone, Fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, I’m giving you a name a personality, Pink haired insert (dyed,) ummmmmm I dunno let’s feel the vibe. probably many police precinct inaccuracies.

Today was going abnormally slow today, like usual. From the moment Clive hit his snooze button at 5, he decided today was going to be low key. Today somehow drained him, thinking about what whacky personality trait ‘Liv’s going to have today from trying to bring up the missing kids to his Lieutenant, from deciding what stale donut he’ll snack on for ‘lunch’ because he forgot his homemade packed lunch in the fridge somehow. (He even sat on the couch for 5 minutes just sitting.)

after getting ready and getting his holy grail; black coffee (he hate’s the stereotype of cops; donuts, plain coffee because they can’t afford the time, stiff posture, proper, despite showing many of them.) He walked into the precinct, unconsciously checking to see if everything’s under control and calm, which it was not.

In the bullpen he noticed an abundance of his fellow detectives here ON time with is unusual as his superiors aren’t as strict as they should be when it comes to being on time. He passed through the gate and saw his co-workers surrounding someone. You. He pauses, he’s never seen someone so… colourful?

You’re clad in a cat-red, maxi skirt with matching coloured beret and pumps. You had a black and white pocadot blouse with small-medium, poofy sleeves. Even your makeup was bold, bold but colourful, his mind actually went to Marilyn Monroe. Your lips were glossy and red, blush a cool rouge, your cat eyeliner and eye makeup drew him in, kin to the characters he had a crush on as a child in animation movies.

He realized after analyzing your outfit he was being creepy. He quickly snapped his head away from your being and started towards his desk. “Clive! Clive!” One of his co-workers grabbed his jacket with their fingers. He was surprised but held his strong expression, instead letting an exasperated looking face whilst raising his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “Have you met Beth?” They asked with excitement clear in their tone.

“Uh, no considering I just walked through the gates.” He answered. His tone coming out bored and annoyed, he was a tad annoyed; yes, but it was mainly just his tone/being. He wasn’t trying to sound like this. “We’ll turn your frown upside down” he couldn’t resist, he rolled his eyes. “She’s so bright honestly! A bit of a clutz; I moved in everyones mugs away from the edge of their desks, but she just got transferred from the 99th precinct!” They then pull him to the box of muffins that caught his attention. (other than you lol, if i got to- man now I want a Timmies blueberry muffin :()

“Beth brought these in as a like ‘token of appreciation?’ If we cops were doing that pretty sure we’re supposed to but, eh?”

Pumpkin-Walnut. Acquired.

After his brunch muffin he did a bit of paper work, some back and forth between his desk, the board, and the morgue and by time you know it. It’s lunch. Like stated, brunch muffin, Clive thinks it’s okay to make breakfast count as lunch (8-10 bfast 11-1 lunch, he had his muffin at 7 and hasn’t eaten since.) He was sitting at his desk, leaning his chin on his right hand whilst closing his eyes and not thinking… just, sitting? Then he could feel someone approach him so he eyed his eyes to see you. The Newbie.

“Hello, Detective Babineaux, I’m Elizabeth Johnson. I transferred here from the Nine-Nine and according to our Lieutenant, you’ve been put on my ‘babysitting?’” He looks at you whilst you explain your being there when he hears a rather loud, gurgle. His eyes go from yours to your stomach and back to yours, once he sees your face he notices how quickly you flushed.

“Ah, I apologize. I forgot my lunch at home and planned to have a muffin for lunch only to find them gone.” You let a small chuckle out and let your eyes wonder to anywhere but Clive’s eyes.

“I guess you and I are in the same boat, huh?” He says in hopes of settling some of your embarrassment.

“Oh! You forgot your lunch too?” Your eyes light up, seemingly forgetting about your former emotion. “Uh, yeah-“ He begins going on about what he had packed for lunch. You two talked the duration just about food. You’re not sure how, it went from your lunches and how you wish you had them to the containers their in to the spices and seasonings used. Clive doesn’t realize it but he started to smile when talking to you.

(First time writing on here…..)

[elegancehighfashion]

Marilyn Monroe x Emilio Pucci.

Marilyn used to wear heavily PUCCI's print blouses and bold colored dresses in the early 60s. Which has complemented to her time-honored glamour.

[stevenuniverse-described]

[Image Description: five digital drawings of the Diamond Authority with Quartz alter egos. Each of the Diamonds are small, like Pink.

The first drawing compiles all four into a single image. The other drawings are each Diamond invidually.

1.) Pink Diamond stands on the lefthand side, looking sad. Rose Quartz sits calmly with her eyes closed on the righthand side.

2.) White Diamond is wearing a black leotard and a white vest with a pink bow on her chest and pastel ruffles on her shoulders matching her gloves and flats. She stands upright with a beaming smile. "Rainbow Quartz" has white skin and pastel rainbow curls in a voluminous 50s style matching her sleeveless, knee-length dress with vertical stripes that is reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. She smiles with delight, her skirt moving as if she was twirling.

3.) Blue Diamond is wearing a stiff, knee-length dress with poofy sleeves made up of geometric shapes in various shades of blue over dark-blue tights. Her hair does not loop in front of her chest. Blue Diamond lowers her head as she cries. "Aqua Quartz" has cornflower blue skin and darker hair that is long and flowing. She is wearing a white toga with a light-blue sash draped over her arms. She sits delicately with her eyes closed.

4.) Yellow Diamond is wearing a sharp, militaristic coat with pointed shoulders and a sheer ruffle along the hem over dark-yellow shorts and knee-high boots. She stands stiffly at attention. "Sun Quartz" has pale-yellow skin and a short yellow mullet styled into a ponytail with spiky bangs swept forwards. She is wearing a low-cut blouse and high-waisted pants that transition into heeled boots. "Sun Quartz" is sitting with her legs crossed, grinning in a friendly way.

End Description.]

Im on that bandwagon 🚂 choo choo

Don’t have much to say abt this au yet, just a rough first pass at all the little!diamonds and their quartz alter egos, I’ve got some fun ideas for the future though,,,,,

[northlight14]

Josephine Woods

Picrew used here

Basic Information

Pronouns: she/her

Alias': “Jo” (everyone), “Rookie” (Vivian her police partner)

Relatives: unnamed parents

Affiliation: the Los Angelis Police Department

Occupation: homicide detective

Personal Information

Eye Colour: blue

Hair Colour: blonde

Height: 5,6

Gender Identity: cis woman

Sexuality: bisexual

Species: human

Relationship status: engaged to Oscar Blackwood

Status

Age: 27

Star Sign: libra

Date of Birth: September 23rd

Place of Birth: New York

Status: alive

Background Story

(This is short and brief cuz she was made solely for a one-shot)

Jo lives in a 1940’s Los Angeles (in an au where misogyny isn’t a thing for the most part for RP reasons). She was born into a middle class family and as a result was able to receive a good education. Growing up, she developed a love of jazz music, dancing, and crime novels. It was the latter that inspired her to later pursue a career into the police department and become a detective.

At some point in her life, Jo met a man named Oscar Blackwood. The two began seeing each other and just before Oscar was drafted to fight in the war, he proposed to Jo who naturally said yes. The two put their wedding planning on hold for a while and have only recently resumed it now that he is home safe.

Jo worked as a beat cop for a very long time and has only just recently become a homicide detective, her lifelong ambition. She’s very much a fresh face, however, only having worked one very easy homicide case before the one she is working on currently.

Personality

Jo for the most part comes off as a bit of an airhead, for lack of a better word. She’s very smiley, outgoing and kind, but definitely doesn’t seem the brightest. However, she certainly isn’t dumb, being very socially smart for the most part and is able to use her kindness as a way of trying to manipulate information out of people. She’s also lied once or twice on the job in order to gain possible suspects trust and to find out more. She also sometimes plays up her “dumb blonde” personality in order to make others underestimate her and therefore let their guard down. She definitely can be naive but some of it is played up.

She’s difficult to make angry, tending to view the best in people unless they’ve done something truly awful. Jo is easy to upset when she is insulted, however. She also has a habit of getting very excited on the job, even if it’s not socially appropriate such as when she finds evidence at a crime scene or sees a suspect out in public.

She also has a sassy side to her, though outright gossip and slander of others can make her uncomfortable. She can also get distracted while on the job, taking more note of how nice the decor is in a suspects home than their alibi.

Appearance

Jo’s hair reaches her shoulders and is styled in a way typical of the time and has a few beauty marks on her face. She has an hourglass figure and rosy cheeks.

To work she wears a fedora which she carries while inside, a blouse, slacks and a blazer. Outside of work she wears dressed and skirts fashionable for the time, usually in lighter colours.

She wears her engagement ring on a necklace mainly because of her job meaning she has to wear gloves a lot. In terms of her other accessories, she’s a big fan of pearls and gold. She also tends to wear red lipstick and standard 1940’s makeup. She also paints her nails red.

Trivia

She speaks with a trans-atlantic accent (or my very pathetic attempt at it that honestly just sounds like a London accent lol)

Her character is inspired by Marilyn Monroe and Elle Woods

She is a social smoker

She is Catholic (not the toxic kind) and goes to church every Sunday

Her MBTI is ESFJ

[distillerchic92]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Anthropologie Dolan Left Coast Marilyn Leopard Print Long Sleeve Blouse.

[chrome1234]

“Retro Revival: Vintage Styles Making a Comeback"

Introduction toward Retro Fashion trend

Retro style makes a important return in today's style world, capture the mind of fashion enthusiast worldwide. This trend embrace past styles while addition a modern wind create a fusion that appeal to a wide interview From catwalk to high streets, retro fashion charm and influence are patent. This article explores the allure of vintage styles, the eras moving their response, and how to include these timeless trends into modern wardrobe

The appeal of classic fashion

Classic fashion offers a private charm that modern styles sometimes lack. The eternal styles of retro pieces attract many, as they often stand for quality craftsmanship with attention to detail. Classic fashion stands out with bold patterns, rich textures, and intricate designs, as long as a cool alternative to the often minimalist and fast-produced modern fashion. This allure of nostalgia, collective with the wish for personality makes classic fashion a forceful choice for many.

Icons inspire the recovery

Fashion icon from past decades continues to inspire today’s retro revival. Figures like Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean set timeless fashion values that at rest resonate. Stylish and fashion devotee look to these legends for inspiration. Their iconic looks with a modern-day twist. The style of Audrey Hepburn's small black clothes the glamour of Marilyn Monroe's white halter dress, and the rebellious fresh of James Dean's leather cover exemplify styles that excel time and continue to power modern-day fashion.

Fashionable classic era & flapper wear

Several classic eras gain status in the current fashion scene. Each era bring unique styles and control that resonate with different aspects of modern style

The 1920s, known for the busy Twenties, begin flapper dress and art deco influence Flapper dress characterize by their loose fit, extreme and beadwork, symbolize the liberation and modernity of the era. Art deco elements, with their numerical patterns and comfortable resources add an air of style and classiness

Full skirts and hero style

The 1950s transport full skirts, nip waists, pin-up style into the fashion glossary this time is marked by its femininity and party of curve. Full skirt often in alive colors and playful pattern, epitomize the hopeful post-war era. Pin-up fashion, with its high-wasted trousers, tight sweaters, and iconic red lips, continues to weight modern casual and formal dress

Vintage Fabrics & Patterns

The 1970s donate bohemian look and bold print embody a spirit of choice and rebellion. Flow maxi dress, bell-bottoms, and eclectic pattern define this era. The bohemian style, with its emphasis on natural fabrics and earthy tones, continues to move event fashion and casual daily wear.

Vintage fashion includes distinct fabrics and patterns that define each era. These elements add character and depth to retro-inspired outfits.

Sequins & Gingham

The 1920s favor silk and sequins for attractive looks. Silk provides a luxurious feel, while tinsel add sparkle and elegance, perfect for sundown wear and particular occasion

The 1950s use gingham and polka dots for playful and feminine styles. These patterns, often seen in dress and skirts, evoke a sense of wistfulness and attraction

Vintage styles into modern

The stage paisley and psychedelic prints, addition vibrancy and courage to the fashion scene. These pattern with their intricate design and bright colors, make a speech and exude a carefree position.

Incorporate classic styles into modern wardrobe requires steadiness and creativity. Mixing vintage pieces with modern items creates an organized and modish look.

Vintage with modern accessories

A 1950 clothes pair well with modern frills likes a sleek belt or modern shoes. A 1970 blouse complement today's jeans, combination retro charm with modern comfort. This blend allows fashion fanatic to enjoy retro trend devoid of look out-of-date create a single and modified style.

Cohesive & Sustainable fashion

To create a hard look, it’s basic to equilibrium the size and ensign of period and modern piece For example, mixture a bold classic top with neutral modern floor create a sweet outfit. Cover a period skin over a simple current dress adds strength and application to the company

Classic fashion supports sustainability with promote the and recycle of clothing. Choose period reduces the demand for new creation reduce the green impact of the fashion industry. Sustainable fashion lovers find vintage shops reward knowledge as it aligns with their values and offers exclusive high-quality pieces that stand the test of time.

Vintage Culture & Influence

 

Pop culture significantly influences the resurgence of classic fashion. TV shows and movies set in past decades inspire fashion trends; bring retro styles to the head.

Cycle like "Mad Men" and "Stranger clothes" highlight the timeless appeal of classic fashion. "Mad Men," set in the 1960 showcases sharp suits, tailored dresses, and classic accessories, inspiring recovery in mid-century modern fashion. "Stranger clothes" set in the 1980s, brings back bold colors, high-wasted jeans, and graphic tees, appealing to both reminiscence and modern tastes.

Industry & Retro Revival

The fashion commerce embraces the retro recovery with enthusiasm. Designers create collections inspired by vintage styles, reinterpreting classic looks with modern fabrics and technique

Reissue  Iconic Pieces

Fashion houses reissue iconic pieces from their archives, representative the endure influence of past fashion eras. Brands like Chanel, Dior, and Gucci delve into their histories, reviving designs that continue to resonate with today’s audiences. This trend tourist attractions the cyclical nature of fashion and the eternal of well-crafted clothes

  Vintage Styles &Influence  

Celebrities play a crucial role in popularizing vintage fashion. Many stars choose vintage pieces for red carpet events, sparking interest and setting trends.

Celebrities' fashion choices, such as wearing vintage gowns at high-profile events, garner media attention and inspire fans. Star like Emma Watson, Zen day  and Harry Styles often incorporate vintage elements into their wardrobes, showcasing the versatility and elegance of retro fashion. Their influence helps bring vintage fashion to a broader audience, making it available and desirable.

Tips for Vintage store

Store for vintage items requires patience and a keen eye. Here are some tips for finding quality vintage pieces:

Explore thrift stores and vintage boutiques offer unique finds. These places often carry a wide range of vintage clothing, from everyday wear to special occasion pieces. It's important to take your time and thoroughly browse in the course of the racks to discover hidden charms

Utilize online marketplaces & Check the situation of items

 

Online marketplaces, like Easy and eBay, provide a vast selection of vintage clothes from around the world. These platforms allow you to search for exact items or styles, creation it easier to find what you're look for. Sense reviews and examination the seller ratings can ensure a upbeat shops experience.

When shops for vintage clothes, examination the situation of items is vital. Look for symbols of wear and tear, such as hole, stain or lost button. Some imperfection can be easily repair, but it's necessary to charge whether the piece is value the venture

Consider Alterations for a Perfect Fit

Alteration might be basic to realize a perfect fit. Vintage volume often differs from modern volume so have a tailor regulate the garment can make sure it fits well. Easy adjustment like delightful in seam or reduction hems, can make an important variation in how the piece look and feel

Vintage clothes & Gentle wash

Caring for vintage clothing preserves its longevity and charm. Proper maintenance ensures these pieces remain in excellent condition for years to come. Gentle wash is essential for preserve the fabric honesty. Hand wash or with a slight cycle with mild detergent is a lot optional Proper storage. Such as with pad hangers and keeping garments away from direct sunlight, prevents break and departure

[hewiebrisentineqey511]

Why Pointed Toe Heels Are a Must-Have Staple in Every Fashionista's Closet

Why Pointed Toe Heels Are a Must-Have Staple in Every Fashionista's Closet

The History of Pointed Toe Heels

The history of the high-heeled shoe dates back to the 10th century, but the pointed toe heel as we know it today gained popularity in the 1950s. Fashion icons like Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe helped cement their status as a symbol of elegance and sophistication. Over the years, the design has evolved, but the core appeal remains the same.

Versatility and Style

One of the main reasons pointed toe heels are so beloved is their versatility. Whether you're dressing up for a formal event or adding a touch of sophistication to a casual outfit, these heels are a perfect choice. They come in various styles, from classic pumps to slingbacks and even boots, making them suitable for any occasion.

"Pointed toe heels are the epitome of elegance and versatility. They can effortlessly elevate any outfit, making them a must-have in every woman's wardrobe." - Fashion Expert

Why Every Fashionista Needs Pointed Toe Heels

Are you wondering why pointed toe heels are considered a must-have? Here are some compelling reasons:

Elongates the Legs: The pointed toe design creates an illusion of longer legs, adding a touch of grace to your silhouette.

Timeless Appeal: Unlike some fashion trends that come and go, pointed toe heels have a timeless appeal that never goes out of style.

Versatility: These heels can be paired with a wide range of outfits, from jeans and a blazer to a cocktail dress.

Variety of Designs: From stiletto heels to kitten heels, there is a pointed toe heel for every preference and occasion.

How to Style Pointed Toe Heels

Styling pointed toe heels is easier than you might think. Here are some tips to help you make the most of this versatile footwear:

For a Casual Look: Pair your pointed toe heels with skinny jeans and a chic blouse. Add a statement necklace for a touch of glamour.

For a Professional Look: Combine pointed toe heels with tailored pants and a blazer. This outfit exudes confidence and sophistication.

For a Night Out: Opt for a little black dress and pointed toe heels. Add some bold accessories to complete the look.

For a Formal Event: Choose a floor-length gown and pointed toe heels. The heels will add elegance and ensure you stand out.

Product Spotlight: Air-Touch Foam Pumps

Conclusion

In conclusion, pointed toe heels are more than just a fashion statement; they are a versatile and timeless addition to any wardrobe. Whether you're attending a formal event or simply want to elevate your everyday look, these heels are a perfect choice. With their ability to elongate the legs and add a touch of sophistication to any outfit, it's no wonder they are a favorite among fashionistas worldwide.

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[kryschristreasures]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Boston Proper Pink Blouse Top Women's Size XL Marilyn Cowl Neck Career Casual.

[elegancehighfashion]

La très belle Marilyn Monroe portant une blouse Pucci dans le début des années 60.

[whileiamdying]

The Reluctant Star

By David Denby August 19, 2013

Joseph L. Mankiewicz, who wrote and directed “The Barefoot Contessa” (1954), a bitter fable about the movie business, gave the picture’s star one of the most craftily prepared entrances in the history of cinema. The setting is a night club in Madrid. A dancer named Maria Vargas is performing, but Mankiewicz shows us only the reactions of the crowd: the men rapt and ravenous; the women irritable. As Vargas finishes her act and goes backstage, three men from Hollywood arrive to meet her. She refuses to come out, but Harry Dawes, a down-on-his-luck writer and director (Humphrey Bogart), barges into her dressing room, where he notices her bare feet below a drawn curtain; she is embracing her lover. Dawes teases her, and, enraged, she yanks the curtain aside. Then, at last, we see her: Ava Gardner, with her thick black hair, bowed lips, cleft chin, and green eyes, wearing a scarlet necklace that matches her lipstick, and a white peasant blouse pulled off one shoulder. Admiration struggles against disbelief: how could anyone look that good?

First glimpses of Gardner were often designed to stun. When she was young, she was the most beautiful woman in the movies, more beautiful than Elizabeth Taylor or Marilyn Monroe—both of whom were better actresses. Monroe, despite her stern tutelage by Lee Strasberg and Arthur Miller, brought humor to much of what she did. Taylor had a driving ambition that led her to focus relentlessly on a part. In “The Barefoot Contessa,” after that startling entrance, Gardner looks lost during most of the movie, though it’s not really her fault. Maria Vargas, who quickly becomes a Hollywood star, is supposed to be an earthy proletarian from the Madrid slums, yet she speaks perfect English and carries herself haughtily. She goes to bed with working-class men, but you never get more than a glance at that side of her life, so her imperious manner, combined with the soulful palaver that Mankiewicz wrote for her, comes off as a humorless imposture. Mankiewicz finally lets us see Maria dance—a provocative Americanized flamenco—but, except for that moment, the part is nearly unplayable. So were many of Gardner’s roles. Her career stretched from the early nineteen-forties to the mid-eighties, but Hollywood rarely knew what to do with her, and she didn’t care enough, she said, to work it out for herself.

What Gardner could play—and did play successfully, in a few films—was a stylized version of herself. Her talent was for directness and pungency, for sexual longing and wrathful regret. She tried to live on her own terms, and her independent temperament is one of the most memorable things about her. She avoided the casting couch, but had the kind of freewheeling sex life that had always been available to powerful men. Before she was thirty, she had been married to Mickey Rooney, Artie Shaw, and Frank Sinatra; she slept with many of her leading men and, occasionally, like Maria Vargas leaving a little something for the poor, with crew members. She drank and she liked to brawl, and for long stretches she withdrew from the movie colony to live in Spain, whose flamenco-and-bullfighting popular culture never struck her as a cliché. She was a Hemingway type of woman; she often drank with the writer, and even played Lady Brett in “The Sun Also Rises” (1957), but the movie built around her was miscast and tedious. Through all this, she attained what few Hollywood actresses can: a distinctive personal voice. In conversation, she was blunt, profane, and often searingly intelligent.

Gardner died in 1990, at the age of sixty-seven, but her voice comes alive in a new book, “Ava Gardner: The Secret Conversations” (Simon & Schuster). In 1988, retired and partially paralyzed by strokes, Gardner was living in the Knightsbridge section of London. Running out of money, she approached Peter Evans, an English journalist who had written biographies of Aristotle Onassis and Brigitte Bardot, and asked his help with a memoir. She told him, “I either write the book or sell the jewels. And I’m kinda sentimental about the jewels.” They worked in a haphazard fashion. She would drink late, and then call him. (“Were you sleeping, honey?” she asked, at three in the morning. “I miss Frank. He was a bastard. But Jesus I miss him.”) Evans took notes and, in the morning, turned them into orderly speech. Soon, he began meeting with Gardner in her flat, where, on his first visit, she greeted him wearing a bath towel.

Eventually, they settled into long conversations, but there was a problem: Gardner’s natural candor struggled against her fear of violating confidences. She and Sinatra, her last husband, had been divorced for thirty years, but they were still close. She gave Evans juicy material—high times and low “in the feathers,” in Hollywood clubs and restaurants, and on movie sets all over the world—then angrily shut down. “Why can’t we settle for what I pretend to remember?” she said. At times, the project was just too much. “I’m so fucking tired of being Ava Gardner,” she told him at one point.

Evans worked with her fitfully for months and, from time to time, gave her pages to read. Then, apparently, she had second thoughts, because Evans’s text suddenly halts. In a brief epilogue to the book, Ed Victor, Evans’s literary agent, tells what he thinks happened. It seems that Sinatra disliked Evans and thought that Gardner was revealing too much to him, so he may have ended the collaboration by giving her the equivalent of what she would have been paid for the memoir.

In any case, shortly thereafter, she started over with two ghostwriters, Alan Burgess and Kenneth Turan. The book, “My Story,” which is amusing but somewhat cautious, came out a few months after her death. Then, in 2006, the biographer Lee Server published “Ava Gardner: Love Is Nothing,” a chronicle of Gardner’s life that tells every tale of her wildest moments. Finally, in 2009, with the permission of Gardner’s executors, Evans began turning his transcripts into a book, but he died in 2012, before he could finish. The manuscript, twice abandoned, turns out to be a bristling look at Hollywood attitudes and sexual manners in the pre-feminist period, when a woman could hold her own only by giving up as much as she took.

Ava Gardner’s “discovery” story rivals Lana Turner’s visit to the soda fountain. Gardner was born in 1922, in Grabtown, North Carolina, and she grew up poor. Her father was an unsuccessful farmer who became a sharecropper; her mother ran boarding houses. In the spring of 1941, when Gardner was eighteen and enrolled in a secretarial course, she visited her older sister, Bappie, who was living in New York. Bappie’s husband, a photographer named Larry Tarr, made a portrait of Gardner. Wearing a print dress and a straw hat, she looks like the prettiest girl at the county fair. Tarr put the picture in the window of his studio, where an office boy from Loews, M-G-M’s parent company in New York, saw it and, hoping for a date with Gardner, presented himself to Tarr’s receptionist as an M-G-M employee. He never got the date, but the portrait made it into the right hands, and, in short order, M-G-M gave Gardner a screen test, followed by a seven-year contract, starting at fifty dollars a week.

A publicist named Greg Morrison was on hand when Gardner arrived in Los Angeles. More than forty years later, he summed up the moment in a note to Peter Evans:

She’s 17 or 18 with one pair of shoes, cardboard suitcase, leaving everybody in her life to enter the MGM University. They teach her to walk, talk, sit, sleep, shave her legs, shake hands, kiss, smile, eat, pray. Her ass is great, fine tits, short but good legs, great shoulders, thin hips, fix the toes, do the hair—clean it, but don’t touch the face. Everybody and every camera is drawn to that face. The town is jammed with pretty, but not like that—the eyes, the mouth, are from another world. She becomes the “armpiece du jour,” learns what they want. Learns how to do it without giving her soul away, and learns everything but how to Act. In her whole shitkicking, barefoot life she never really learned to pretend, nor did poverty give her much humor, certainly none about herself.

It’s the voice of Old Hollywood in its purest form: cruel yet sympathetic, and shrewd. The studio “educated” her, as Morrison described, and for five years put her mostly in walk-on roles. Her first big part came in “Whistle Stop” (1946), in which, violating the Hays Code, she gave George Raft an ardent, openmouthed kiss. The scene caught the attention of John Huston, and within months she had a role in “The Killers,” a noirish adaptation of the Hemingway story, which Huston co-wrote (uncredited) with Anthony Veiller. It’s not a major role, but Gardner, crooning at a piano in a black gown that displays her famous shoulders, is so devastating that you understand immediately why Burt Lancaster’s vulnerable, defeated boxer, from the moment he looks at her, doesn’t stand a chance. Despair and death follow.

After “The Killers,” Gardner might have remained a seething sex goddess. Many of the previous generation of female stars—Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Crawford—were high-strung, demanding women who put together long and productive careers. But Hollywood in the forties and fifties wanted something else; it wanted young women who were low-strung and sultry. Lana Turner, Veronica Lake, Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe, Kim Novak, and, in even more exaggerated form, Yvonne De Carlo, Jane Russell, and Jayne Mansfield were as much projections of male fantasies as living women. But it’s hard, perhaps impossible, to survive as someone else’s fantasy. Pulled this way and that by the culture’s erotic dreams and by the gray light of reality—“Men go to bed with Gilda,” Rita Hayworth grimly noted, and “they wake up with me”—many of those women had difficult lives, and some had careers cut short by alcohol or illness.

Gardner was too sharp-tempered to play slow-witted girls, as Lana Turner and Kim Novak did (though she didn’t play intellectuals, either), and too proud to be constantly available and yielding in her roles, as Hayworth and Monroe were. Gardner went in a different direction. The studio removed all traces of her North Carolina drawl, and, with her collaboration, managed to turn a bright, feisty woman into a hollow beauty. She played refined types with boring elocutionary precision—not only Maria Vargas but the demigoddess Pandora, in Albert Lewin’s preposterous, art-conscious “Pandora and the Flying Dutchman” (1951). She played Guinevere, listlessly, in “Knights of the Round Table” (1953), and what Hollywood saw as semi-exotics: the biracial Julie in the remake of “Show Boat” (1951); an Anglo-Indian clutching at Stewart Granger in “Bhowani Junction” (1956); and, in “The Naked Maja” (1958), Goya’s model. “I never played a woman who was smarter than me,” she told Evans, which was both a boast and a lament.

She might have helped herself if she had fought for better roles. But that wasn’t her fight. A key to her resistance may be suggested by remarks she made to Evans as she recalled her happiness in being loved—“possessed,” as she put it—by her father:

To be possessed when you are a child is just a wonderful feeling. It makes you feel safe. It makes you feel loved. But later if anyone tried to possess me—oh boy, I was out of there. That was something Frank never understood. He just couldn’t deal with it, and I couldn’t explain it to him. Probably because I couldn’t understand it myself.

Her father died in 1938, when she was fifteen, and it’s possible that after losing him she struggled to hang on to her selfhood so strongly that she couldn’t completely give herself over to a musical genius, much less to a fictional character.

She liked the fast times, the soft Hollywood nights filled with swing bands and torch singers. In 1942, at nineteen, she married her first lover, Mickey Rooney, who was at that time an enormous box-office draw for M-G-M as the wholesome Andy Hardy. Rooney would take her to the Cocoanut Grove, where Tommy Dorsey’s band played, and abandon her for hours while he sat in on drums. “That’s where I learned to drink, I mean to drink seriously—not just the Beachcomber’s zombies,” she said, “although they were damn lethal, too, but real grown-up-girls’ drinks.” Rooney was unfaithful, dishonest, and self-righteous—it was still a time when men were astonished, even hurt, when women refused to accept the lies they told them. Gardner left him after a year, but they had frequent, bittersweet reunions before the divorce came through. “It’s a lonely business fucking someone you no longer love,” she told Evans. “Especially a husband.”

After an interlude in 1943 with Howard Hughes, who continued to pursue her for the next twenty years, Gardner met the bandleader Artie Shaw. She revered Shaw for his erudition (he was a great reader), and married him in 1945. Shaw gave her books, but even when she read them he brutally insulted her ignorance. When they socialized with the likes of S. J. Perelman, William Saroyan, and John O’Hara, she told Evans, “Artie said all I had to do was keep my mouth shut, sit at their feet, and absorb their wit and wisdom. But if I kicked off my shoes and curled my feet up on the couch, he’d go bananas. ‘You’re not in the fucking tobacco fields now,’ he’d scream.”

She was able to distill the good times and the bad and also express what she knew of life—what she felt of desire and desperation—in two extraordinary performances. The first was in “Mogambo” (1953), a remake of Victor Fleming’s “Red Dust” (1932), one of the most openly sexual films of the pre-Code era. In Fleming’s movie, set on a rubber plantation in Southeast Asia, Jean Harlow, barely clothed at times, fights a proper married lady, played by Mary Astor, for Clark Gable’s affections. Two decades later, John Ford set and filmed the story in East Africa, with Gable, still hanging in there, as a big-game trapper with a camp in Kenya. This time, he is fought over by Gardner, playing a stranded American showgirl, and the flawless Grace Kelly, cast as a demure married Englishwoman who is highly attracted to him. Kelly is very good, but it’s Gardner’s movie. Outfitted in tightly belted safari slacks, her body is shaped like a Martini glass. She’s completely at ease, even joyous, as she cavorts among the tents, plays with a baby elephant, tosses a snake out of her bed, and teases and vamps her way into Gable’s arms. Gardner isn’t raucously funny, like Harlow, but she’s more womanly, and more grievously wounded, her eyes flashing, when Gable rejects her for Kelly. She fights her way back, of course, and bags the hunter. Gardner received her only Oscar nomination for the performance, but she said she was relieved when she didn’t win—she wasn’t eager to take herself more seriously.

Sinatra accompanied her to Africa. When they started their affair, three years earlier, in 1949, the bobby-soxer adulation of the war years was dying out; it was the beginning of the Sinatra Troubles. He and Gardner played lawlessly together, maybe as a way of fending off his despair. She told Evans:

We went for a drive in the desert and a little woo-poo. We really tied one on. We started shooting up a little town—Indio, I think it was; I don’t know where the hell we were—with a couple of .38s Frank kept in the vanity compartment. We were both cockeyed. We shot out streetlights, store windows. God knows how we got away with it. I guess Frank knew somebody! Somebody with a badge. He usually did.

By the time they married, in 1951, Sinatra’s career had almost completely stalled, his voice frayed from a hemorrhage of the vocal cords. Gardner stuck by him, often selflessly, as he tried to regain his footing. As a married couple, however, they were hapless. Reporters pursued them everywhere, playing them off against each other, and Sinatra flew into rages, which only encouraged the press. Each accused the other of infidelity and of putting career before marriage. During the shooting of “Mogambo,” they hurled pots and pans at night, causing Gable and Kelly to poke their heads out of their tents to find out what was going on. To Gardner’s relief, Sinatra went back to the States to audition for the role of Maggio, in “From Here to Eternity.” He got the part, and it relaunched his career. They didn’t divorce until 1957, but the marriage was over, and she escaped to Spain and the company of writers and matadors. Emissaries from Hollywood had to prove their mettle by drinking and clubbing with her for nights on end before she would talk business.

Much of what she knew of romantic failure shows up in her other great performance. In John Huston’s adaptation of the Tennessee Williams play “The Night of the Iguana” (1964), she plays Maxine, the widowed owner of a ramshackle hotel on Mexico’s Pacific Coast. Gardner was in her early forties, and her face and her body had thickened, but, in a loose-fitting poncho, her tangled hair pulled back tight, except for a few stray tendrils, she was volatile and ripe. The Southern drawl that M-G-M had made her drop returned in alternating shades of malice and kindness. Again, she is fighting for a man—Richard Burton’s alcoholic defrocked minister—who is drawn to an honorable, well-bred woman, played by Deborah Kerr. (Maxine is not strictly honorable; she frolics with a couple of beach boys from time to time.) Burton’s fretful drunk and Gardner’s Maxine, needy and fragile, offer each other touching consolation. “I really brought that broad to life,” she told Evans, and she didn’t have to pretend much to do it. The performance makes you think of the actress she could have been if she had played other Williams heroines, or had persuaded her writer friends to fashion roles around her own remarkable self. But we’ll have to settle for a few performances and for Evans’s book, in which a journeyman writer and an often regretful star made a small monument for themselves in the largely forgotten wastes of Hollywood’s corrupt but enticing history. ♦

Published in the print edition of the August 26, 2013, issue.

[aiciglobal]

Coquette: From innocence to seduction

The latest trend and also Iconic Style is Revolutionizing Runways and has captivated fashion enthusiasts with its sultry elegance and timeless allure.

With its blend of sophistication and playfulness, Coquette has become the go-to style for those who want to make a bold statement while embracing their feminine charm.

Which is The Origins of Coquette? The term "coquette" hails from the French word, meaning a flirtatious or seductive woman. This trend draws inspiration from the coquettes of the past, who effortlessly combined sensuality and grace. Coquette has taken these elements and infused them into modern fashion, creating a look that exudes confidence and allure.

The Key Elements of Coquette

1. Lace, a central element of Coquette fashion, adds a touch of romance and mystery to outfits. It can be used as overlays, trimmings, or as full garments, creating a delicate and sensual appeal.

2. Sheer Fabrics play a crucial role in Coquette fashion, allowing for a subtle yet provocative display of femininity. From ethereal chiffon to delicate tulle, these fabrics create a sense of stimulating allure by offering glimpses of skin.

3. Intricate Detailing, such as embroidery, beading, or ruffles. These details add depth and visual interest to garments, making them stand out.

4. Dainty and Delicate Elements, such as bows, ruffles, and pastel colors. These elements contribute to the playful and flirtatious attitude associated with the Coquette aesthetic.

5. Vintage-Inspired Clothing Coquette fashion draws inspiration from different eras, including Victorian and Rococo fashion. Vintage-inspired clothing, such as high-waist skirts, lace blouses, and ribbon details, are key components of the Coquette trend.

6. Feminine Accessories play a crucial role in completing the Coquette look. Dainty and delicate jewelry, such as pearl necklaces, adds a touch of sparkle without overpowering the overall aesthetic. Ballet flats, Mary Janes, and lace-up heels are popular footwear choices that enhance the romantic and feminine vibe.

Coquette fashion revolves around these key elements that work together to create an alluring and feminine silhouette that is both elegant and seductive.

Coquette has found a place in the hearts of many fashion-forward celebrities. Hollywood icons like Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe were pioneers of the Coquette style, effortlessly combining elegance with a hint of seduction.

Modern-day celebrities like Blake Lively, Emma Watson, and Lily Collins are often seen embracing the Coquette trend, proving that it transcends time and remains a symbol of timeless femininity.

It's important to note that the Coquette trend has evolved and been interpreted differently by individuals, incorporating various elements from different styles and eras. The trend emphasizes a playful and flirtatious attitude while embracing elegance and femininity.

Are you ready to be part of the Coquette team?

Join AICI today and give wings to your Image Consulting Business. 

To know more write us at: vpmarketing@aici.orgOur website: www.aici.org

[lizzygrantarchives]

Index Magazine, fall 2008

I'm waiting at Alice's Tea Cup, a café on the Upper East Side, when Lizzy Grant saunters up. She's wearing skintight black pants, a vintage floral blouse and a red letterman’s jacket. Her bright blonde hair is piled on top of her head and her eyes are rimmed with sooty eyeliner. If we were in a movie, her entrance would be scored with a vamp, the bass line revving to announce the arrival of an enchanting young ingénue.

But since we're not in a film, she's scored her own entrance with her CD Kill Kill. Produced by David Kahne (Regina Spektor, Sublime, Paul McCartney), the music is lush and cinematic, with strings, Wurlitzers, and electric guitars, recalling 50s-era Americana both sonically and thematically. The mix is anchored by Lizzy's voice, which twists between a smoky gravel and a breathy Marilyn coo as she wails about the timeless ache of love in a modern world.

Her EP, also titled Kill Kill, is out October 21 with a full length LP due in February ‘09. Over coffee, we discussed her music, her trailer home, and Tiger Beat.

You describe your music as Hawaiian glam metal and surf noir. How did you come to those descriptions?

At first I didn't know why I liked the “Hawaiian and glam,” idea but as I started listening to more artists I like, it made sense. There was just something about the look of Hawaii and then I started thinking more about Elvis and I couldn't believe how many Hawaiian references there were in his work. And the glam came from an old boyfriend, who was very handsome. He said that his music was glam, so I copied him. And then I started to look at other glam-y artists and movies-- you know, like “Velvet Goldmine,” and I thought, this is what I've always wanted to do. I'm very into a drag queen world-- anything showy and gold.

And what about metal?

The same boyfriend taught me all about Van Halen and Poison, and he called them metal bands. As soon as I heard them, I thought, “these are my people!” And then it was all that I listened to, so... When I met with all the big record labels, they didn't like the term “metal” at all, because admittedly the music doesn't sound like metal. But, it is influenced by men who like metal.

And surf noir is the similar to the Elvis references?

Surf noir is one of those two word phrases that came together for me. I was listening to a lot of Beach Boys and watching a lot of movies and I just felt like what I wanted to be was something “surf noir.” But then I started searching for the words together, and there is a movement called surf noir, but it’s a style of cinema… I couldn't buy Surfnoir.com.

So the EP has three songs-- any plans to release a full CD?

Yes, when I recorded with Davey [David Kahne], we recorded 13 songs. So I was never expecting to release an EP, but when iTunes came to us, and became fervent supporters and said, “put out anything and we'll give you the artist's spotlight.” We decided, okay, we'll just put out an EP, which was released on October 21.

The instrumentation is very theatrical and I was wondering what sort of process you used in writing those parts. Was it collaborative?

Before we started, we spent three weeks with really thorough emails back and forth-- I really liked the sound I had and I wanted to make sure to keep it. I told Davey that I wanted to sound like black and white, and I wanted it to sound famous and like Coney Island and like a sad party. And he wrote back, “I can do that! I understand that perfectly.”

How do you feel about how it came out?

I am pleased. The funny thing is, if it was exactly the way I wanted, then I would say that I am completely pleased, but because it's different than I expected, I'll be pleased if many other people like it too. I feel like a shithead saying that...but I hope it gets some kind of recognition just so that I can move on and do some different things.

What type of things would you move on to?

I always expect that once I do something, I'm going be able to transition into this better life, like maybe move somewhere else or get to know more people. Ideally, I would like to move back to a little part of New Jersey or Coney Island and have people to work with on little projects like music videos, because I do much better in a box. Performing is really, really hard for me, so I would just like to have more people and more money to do more sexy projects.

Sexy projects!

Yes, I just want to have something to do all the time-- and it's easier to do when people think you're great.

Where do you see a record like this being played?

That's a good question. I was sure that I knew, but I've been wrong. For instance, I've been singing recently at private parties for young Wall Street, and not so young Wall Street, and I'm surprised that they like the music. I guess that's not really a demographic though is it?

A recently unemployed demographic, but...

[Laughs] And I started singing at places in my hometown like the American Legion, and the friends I have here-- biker guy transplants from small towns. So maybe them too?

I thought it was really interesting that you use a lot of very feminine cultural signifiers with references to Daddy figures and pinup styles. At the same time, it feels modern because the narrator of the songs is very clearly the one in control. Do I understand it correctly?

I think you do. I guess my songs started being songs that I liked when I stopped being nervous about the content. I do like singing about “Daddy” and “baby”-- “Daddy” being the man and me being the “girl.” I didn't know that that had been such a prevalent theme in the Fifties, but now that I’ve listened to more music from that era, I see that it is. And I’m very relieved, because I don't want it to seem like I have a complex! But it's something I can't get over. I want to have a life where there's just one man in it, and I haven't found that.

But then in the song “Gramma Blue Ribbon Sparkler,” it seems your grandma is telling you that there will be one guy, and you respond that you want to be “the whole world's girl.”

That's funny. I mean, that was the last song we recorded and I already had the choruses, and I got to write the verses while I was living in a trailer in New Jersey. The best part of it was the light rail that ran from the Park to Hoboken. I wrote the verses on that, back and forth, because that’s the best view of the city. I think that was one of my happiest times, and I think that makes for happiness in the verses. And I remember telling my grandma, “I wish I could meet someone.” And she said, “When I was young, we didn't have the chance or the choice to try and see a lot of people-- you had to meet a man and that was kind of it-- but don't be afraid to meet everybody.” And I thought, you're the first person in my family who's ever made me feel like it’s okay to want to try and find the right thing.

Were you living in a trailer when you were making the record?

Yes. And I know how that sounds. But the fact is that I always thought it was a dream. It was the first place that was mine. And the people-- it's a real community. People decorate their homes.

Speaking of embellishment, it seems like style is very important to you and you have a very cohesive package in music and your look.

Well, wanting to have a defined life and a defined world to live in has been a lifelong ambition and desire for me, but it has changed a lot. Which is fine.

Now, it's very retro-inspired but modern, similar to the music.

A lot of the songs on this record came about because I didn't have a lot of exposure to all things cool, but now that I do, I just realize that I fit in perfectly. So I plan on just gratefully incorporating more of it.

Sounds very organic.

Yes, though now that I have been exposed to more, it's getting harder. I don't want it to feel like I'm copying anyone.

Did you ever read Tiger Beat magazine?

Tiger Beat? Like Jonathan Taylor Thomas?

Exactly! They always do quizzes about things people like, so I thought it would be fun to give you a little Tiger Beat style test!

Cool! That's a big deal.

Three things you always have with you.

Three things I always have with me… [rummages around in her bag and pulls out items.] A sparkle notebook. Lip liner. Cayenne pepper.

Cayenne pepper! Why?

When I get nervous, I put Cayenne pepper on my lips. It calms me down.

Best pickup line ever used.

It was something like, “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” I didn't get it at first and I was like, well no, but that's very nice.

Most embarrassing song on my iPod or generic MP3 player.

I would say a self-help audio-book.

Favorite food.

Coffee. And pie.

If you could kiss any celebrity, who would it be?

Oh that's good. Antony. From Antony and the Johnsons.

Describe yourself in three words.

Confused. Floral. And ah, odd?

I was expecting Hawaiian glam metal.

Oh, that too!

Originally published on indexmagazine.com.