#mature hairstyles women

[novelndcoconut]

Pure, thus Perfect For All

[aemondsbabe]

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers. 

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied. 

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it. 

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels. 

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side. 

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head. 

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now. 

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand. 

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.” 

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil. 

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise. 

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely. 

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest. 

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her. 

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you. 

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you. 

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible. 

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot. 

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning. 

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back. 

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. 

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat. 

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans. 

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin. 

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other. 

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets. 

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark. 

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm. 

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty. 

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust. 

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time. 

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine. 

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end. 

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching. 

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down. 

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –” 

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.” 

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before. 

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined. 

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side. 

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders. 

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat. 

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh. 

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw. 

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[loz-furbies]

Zelda ages based on when their games came out. Welcome to the team EoW Zelda!

Characters and design thoughts under cut:

For starters, I did a similar Zelda piece a few years ago and ran into the problem that I can't really draw anything else than anime teen girls, which is kind of a problem in a drawing where half the characters are above 20 and their age differences are the whole point. And in addition almost everyone is supposed to be royalty with very similar clothes too. But in my defense, in general it can be pretty hard to tell the ages of 25 to 40 year old anime women anyway.

I needed a reference for the body proportions in order to even get started, so I quickly thought "who is an anime woman who doesn't look like a teenager", and used Yor's character sheet for assistance. The younger characters' proportions are a little inconsistent, since I couldn't choose if I would look at realistic growth chart or go with the anime look (where teens and children are often shorter than they would be in real life) so the result is this weird hybrid.

Four Swords (December 2, 2022) & Four Swords Adventures (March 18, 2004) - Chronologically they are different Zeldas even though they use the same promo art/character design, so I used the promo art design for the original FS Zelda and drew the FSA Zelda based on her sprite. There's not much to these designs, they have very little going on in terms of story or personality to use as inspiration and their character design doesn't offer much anything original when compared to the other more well known Zeldas either. Their only distinct element is the big red hair bow, but I thought it would look too childish when they're supposed to be in their twenties here.

Minish Cap (November 4, 2004) - There's not a lot MC Zelda that I could use for inspiration. But then I remembered that a while ago I wrote about how the pointy hat Queen Ambi wears should be used more often, so I thought I should put my money where my mouth is and draw it here, since Zelda does wear a red cap for a couple seconds in MC. In general the MC Zelda and both FS Zeldas are at a little awkward age for this picture, since they're too old for youthful child designs but not really old enough for more mature queenly designs either.

Skyward Sword (November 18, 2011) - Her design is based on her concept design, which I assume is meant to be her casual look and not the ceremonial costume she wears in the game.

Ocarina of Time (November 21, 1998) - I decided that age-wise she makes the cut of when I start using updos. Why do the Zeldas have such similar canon hairstyles anyway, it was surprisingly boring to work with them. Still not sure about the curls though, my fancy dress design artbook that I used for inspiration had so many cute curly hairstyles but I couldn't really use any here because I worried the characters would become unrecognisable. But since OoT Zelda had some curls in her "sideburns" she fell victim here.

Hyrule Warriors (August 14, 2014) - HW Zelda has a distinct enough design from the other Zeldas that it gives a lot of elements to work with, though her age here limits it a little since she's too young for bikini armour. Also because HW is a spin off, I also considered including the Cadence of Hyrule Zelda, but that led to the realisation that it would have opened the doors to CDI Zelda as well. Which I guess would have been fine, but this is already a pretty wide drawing full of adults, so while a Cadence of Hyrule Zelda would have been easy to fit on the front row, I couldn't justify adding even more adults just for the CDI games. So only HW is included because I've played it and actually like it.

Zelda 1 (February 21, 1986) - The original Zelda is at an age where it's a little awkward how there's little difference between her (38 years old) and OoT Zelda (25). But I couldn't think of any anime that would help me as reference here, and I don't think she's old enough to have that "this character is getting old" wrinkle under her eye (you know the one).

Echoes of Wisdom (September 26, 2024) - I think she looks a bit too old here to be a zero-days-old newborn but work with me here.

Breath of the Wild (March 3, 2017) - She's actually at the age where her mum died, poor girl. She's very refreshing to work with since her look is so different from the other Zeldas.

A Link to the Past (November 21, 1991) & A Link between Worlds (November 22, 2013) - Originally I also had the Oracles Zelda in this since she does have a unique design, but then again I consider the Oracles Link to be the same as in aLttP which ought to apply to Zelda as well, plus the design isn't unique in any interesting way and is just a combination of the OoT & aLttP designs, so in the end I just gave the Oracles Zelda sprite's hair buns to aLbW Zelda. Overall having to use the essentially same design for both aLttP and aLbW Zelda wasn't much fun, especially when neither really offers anything notable in terms of story or personality, but at least they're pretty far apart when it comes to age.

Twilight Princess (November 19, 2006) - I haven't played her game so I don't know a lot about her (other than reading the manga which didn't give me anything to work with either) and she's also close to her canon age (?) here so she ended up looking pretty similar to her canon design.

Spirit Tracks (December 7, 2009) - This was a tough one because technically ST Zelda does have a lot of elements to her story and character that could work for a redesign, but not really for the purposes of this picture. Anything train related is more of Link's thing, and anything ghost related doesn't really fit either since she's not supposed to be a ghost at this age. And as for the Phantom, I got the impression that while she learned to appreciate it, she didn't exactly like using it, and that personality-wise she would prefer not to go on another similar adventure. So In the end I just replaced the regular armour parts many Zeldas have in their designs with the Phantom armour and used the ghost palette for the rest of her look, and I kind of like the result. Her personality looks a little out of character though but I couldn't resist the opportunity to draw this with Grandma Tetra.

Wind Waker (December 13, 2002) - I haven't played WW so I'm not sure how accurate this is, but drawing her with the pirate design definitely added some much needed variety to this picture. I really like her twirly hairstyle in canon, but I also really wanted to draw her with short hair, so it had to go. Maybe ST Zelda can style her hair in a twirl when she gets older to compensate?

The Adventure of Link (January 14, 1987) - Really don't know what happened here, not particularly happy with the end result. I prefer to draw the Zelda 2 Zelda with her sprite design because just reusing the OG Zelda design is boring, but I really should have kept it closer to that since now she's practically unrecognisable.

[eschergirls]

And after a few days break, here's the third and final part of the "Let's Draw Manga Sexy Gals" posts (here are parts one and two if you missed it).

These pages are just kind of strange: the arbitrary distinction between "anime" and "manga", apparently anime girls are all just little children compared to manga girls, the differences between male bodies and female bodies, that women apparently just vanish after age 40 (and they become space aliens as teenagers).

But my favourite is the "coke bottle" page where a) that's not what a coke bottle is shaped like, but also 2) the actual woman drawn there is the OPPOSITE of the shape they depict (which again, isn't what a coke bottle is shaped like).

The bottle they drew is wider in the hips than in the chest/shoulders, the woman they drew is wider in the shoulders than in the hips. xD

This feels like another situation where the person writing the text (or who drew that coke bottle) wasn't on the same page as the person doing the figure.

I also love "women can be depicted as four circles", that should be a meme. And the four circles woman looks kinda like a bunny.

Anyway, I hope everybody learned a lot about drawing manga sexy gals.  I know I did.

For those interested in the uncensored versions of the first 2 images, there are links in the EscherGirls.com post.

(Cover and snippets from Let's Draw Manga Sexy Gals by Heisuke Shimohara)

I've included descriptions for text readers in the images, but the longer commentary on each page is too long to fit the description boxes, so I'm including the transcription of just the text below:

Transcription of image 1:

Depicting Softness of Form - Part 1 The bottom line for drawing an attractive woman is to effectively project the softness of her body. No one likes a rock-hard body on a girl! Here are some techniquest o use for bringing out a soft form. The curves of the female form can be represented as four circles. The "coke-bottle figure", long used to describe the ideal female form, is characterized by a small waistline and rounded buttocks.

Transcription of image 2:

Differences Between the Male and Female Form - Part 1 The male and formale form exhibit several distinguishing features. These differences are often exaggerated in drawings. Generally speaking, the male form is based on an inverted triangle, while the female form is based on an upright triangle. Shown below are the three body parts that most distinguish men from women. Shoulders Give this portion some mass. (pointing at male shoulder) Make the neck thin and long. (pointing at female neck) Chest The male chest should have a square, rigid appearance while the female chest should be curved and soft. Waist and Leg Bones Straight waist (pointing at male waist) Slim down the torso for a pinched-in waistline (pointing at female waist)

Transcription of Image 3:

A comparison of Manga and Anime Characters - Part 1 There are too many differences between the two artistic styles of manga and anime to describe all of them here, but we can examine each through erotic illustratoin. Here are some examples typical of this genre.

Transcription of Image 4:

Manga: Mature facial features with realistic eyes, nose and mouth Anime: Eyes are comparatively large in relations to other features. The ears have a simple shape. Comparing Body Proportions: Always keep movement in mind. A typical anime character is designed with simple lines, making it easier to draw in action poses.

Transcription of Image 5:

Facial Differences in Women According to Age A conservative hairstyle with somewhat subdued facial features 30 to 40 years old: Sharper facial features with a more provocative hairstyle. 20 to 30 years old: This face is borderline anime style. Notice how the unnaturally large eyes extend further down the face. 10 through teens: Like an anime character, the eyes are unusually large and positioned just below the center of the face.

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Late Warring States period(475–221 BC) Traditional Clothing Hanfu Based On Based On Chu (state)Historical Artifacts

【Historical Artifact Reference】:

Late Warring States period(475–221 BC)：Two conjoined jade dancers unearthed from Jincun, Luoyang,collected by Freer Museum of Art

A similar jade dancer was also unearthed from the tomb of Haihunhou, the richest royal family member in the Han Dynasty, and was one of his treasures.

Warring States period, Eastern Zhou dynasty, 475-221 BCE,jade dancer by Freer Gallery of Art Collection.

Warring States period(475–221 BC)·Silver Head Figurine Bronze Lamp.Unearthed from the Wangcuo Tomb in Zhongshan state during the Warring States Period and collected by the Hebei Provincial Institute of Cultural Relics and Archaeology

The figurine of a man dressed as a woman holds a snake in his hand, and 3 snakes correspond to 3 lamps.

Sword of Goujian/越王勾践剑:

The Sword of Goujian (Chinese: 越王勾践剑; pinyin: Yuèwáng Gōujiàn jiàn) is a tin bronze sword, renowned for its unusual sharpness, intricate design and resistance to tarnish rarely seen in artifacts of similar age. The sword is generally attributed to Goujian, one of the last kings of Yue during the Spring and Autumn period.

In 1965, the sword was found in an ancient tomb in Hubei. It is currently in the possession of the Hubei Provincial Museum.

【Histoty Note】Late Warring States Period·Noble Women Fashion

The attire of noblewomen in the late Warring States period, as reconstructed in this collection, is based on a comprehensive examination of garments and textiles unearthed from the Chu Tomb No. 1 at Mashan, Jiangling, as well as other artifacts from the same period.

During the late Warring States period, both noble men and women favored wearing robes that were connected from top to bottom. These garments were predominantly made of gauze, silk, brocade, and satin, with silk edging. From the Chu Tomb No. 1 at Mashan, there were discoveries of robes entirely embroidered or embroidered fragments. The embroidery technique employed was known as "locked stitches," which gave the patterns a three-dimensional, lively appearance, rich in decoration.

The two reconstructed robes in this collection consist of an inner robe made of plain silk with striped silk edging, and an outer robe made of brocade, embroidered with phoenixes and floral patterns, with embroidered satin edging. Following the structural design of clothing found in the Mashan Chu Tomb, rectangular fabric pieces were inserted at the junction of the main body, sleeves, and lower garment of the robe. Additionally, an overlap was made at the front of the main body and the lower garment to enlarge the internal space for better wrapping around the body curves. Furthermore, the waistline of the lower garment was not horizontal but inclined upward at an angle, allowing the lower hem to naturally overlap, forming an "enter" shape, facilitating movement.

The layered edging of the collars and sleeves of both inner and outer robes creates a sense of rhythm, with the two types of brocade patterns complementing each other, resulting in a harmonious effect. Apart from the robes, a wide brocade belt was worn around the waist, fastened with jade buckle hooks, and adorned with jade pendants, presenting an elegant and noble figure.

The reconstructed hairstyle draws inspiration from artifacts such as the jade dancer from the late Warring States period unearthed at the Marquis of Haihun Tomb in Nanchang, and the jade dancer from the Warring States period unearthed at Jin Village in Luoyang. It features a fan-shaped voluminous hairdo on the crown, with curled hair falling on both sides, and braided hair gathered at the back. The Book of Songs, "Xiao Ya: Duren Shi," vividly depicts the flowing curls of noblewomen during that period. Their images of curly-haired figures in long robes were also depicted in jade artifacts and other relics, becoming emblematic artistic representations.

The maturity and richness of clothing art in the late Warring States period were unparalleled in contemporary world civilizations, far beyond imagination. It witnessed the transition of Chinese civilization into the Middle Ages. The creatively styled garments and intricate fabric patterns from the Warring States period carry the unique essence, mysterious imagination, and ultimate romanticism of that era, serving as an endless source of artistic inspiration.

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Recreation Work by : @裝束复原

Weibo 🔗：https://weibo.com/1656910125/O6cUMBa1j

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[marzipanandminutiae]

I´m struggling with a writing research question and you seem like the person to ask, so I hope you don´t mind me showing up here: do you happen to know when girls/teenagers made the transition to adult style dress (i.e. full length skirts, or at least I´m under the impression that this is the distinction)? My brain insists it´s 17ish, but of course I can´t find the reference now that I´m looking, nor any other. The story is set in the (late) victorian period.

16-17, yes! You were pretty much on the money there. this chart, printed in Harper's Bazaar in 1868, expresses the generally agreed-upon age ranges, although of course individual practice could have a 1 or 2 year margin of error

(the implication being, of course, that at 16 she would adopt the instep-length skirts of adulthood. the reason it says "2-16" is the toddlers often wore longer skirts than girls who could confidently walk. I'm not fully sure why that was, I admit, but I'm pretty sure what they mean is "this length is theoretically appropriate for girls of all ages between 2 and 16")

(and keep in mind that these are approximations and magazine ideals- I generally average it out to "knee-length when very young, calf-length when a pre-teen or young teenager." parents weren't necessarily freaking out because their 12-year-old daughter had her skirts an inch shorter than Harper's said she ought to. not everybody saw this chart; not everybody had the ability or desire to hit precisely every benchmark on the list at its assigned age. it's a good general rule of thumb, basically)

this whole "long skirts = adulthood" thing started around the 1820s-30s, of course. before then, little girls and adult women had pretty much identical hemlines. and hairstyles; see also, mid-late Victorian and Edwardian practice of putting one's hair Up as a sign of maturity around the same age as letting down skirts

[uva124]

So yeah, I finished the drawing of Asha's redesign from Wish :D, maybe I'll make some changes in the future, but I'm happy to have finished it, it should be noted that I haven't seen the movie. , so I can't give my opinion on it yet, but I found it very interesting that their fandom is mainly made up of people who rewrote or made their own version of the movie, they are all very creative and it got me out of an artistic block. that I had a few months ago, but above all I found the rewriting of @annymation which is the one I have been most hooked on, so I wanted to do some redesigns of the characters coming out of its rewriting, that's why everything that has to do with the story of this version of Asha, as well as her personality and her world on which I base my drawing are the ideas and work of this account: @annymation

I'm just making a drawing of her character and how I would design her as well as sharing part of the process I had to do to draw her because, why not?

BOARD:

The first thing I had to do was put together a table full of references that reminded me of the character and things that I would like to add to her design, so I used milanote to do it:

-Looked for some Asha's concept art and save the ones I liked the most, and add the main colors that I used in the design. -I also created notes to write down the personality of the character and some of his data to have a better guide, I did a little research and found publications that talked a lot about Asha's discarded designs and how Disney workers had put that she had tribe ancestry Amazigh on his mother's side and since his father was from the Iberian Peninsula, that's why the next thing I wanted to do is research more about their culture. -I am not an expert on this topic, nor do I belong to the cultures from which Asha has ancestry, so you can comment on any correction regarding this topic, I wanted to implement details of this culture to her design and I would really like to give a correct representation :)

HAIRSTYLE

Continuing with the theme, I saw that the hairstyles in the Amazigh culture mostly had this type of colorful decorations on their braids and dreadlocks, that's why I also posted these reference photos for Asha's hairstyle.

-Finally I decided that Asha would not have all her hair full of braids or dreadlocks, but only a few accompanied by these decorations with a great variation of colors, although it was fun to sketch the many hairstyle options that I had in mind based on these concept art and other photos that I had saved

TATTOOS:

-Another detail that I liked was giving Asha some tattoos with designs from the Amazigh culture, because I saw that it was quite common for women to get them, the tattoo on her forehead is a symbol of protection against bad influences, that's why the The middle symbol is responsible for deflecting it in the 4 directions, I also added a similar one in Asha's right hand.

ASTROLOGY AND THE SPACE:

-An important part of Asha's rewrite is her knowledge of astronomy inherited from her father, especially with the stars for obvious reasons xd, so in addition to adding constellations to her dresses, research the meaning (or something like that) of the planets. Only 3 really reminded me of the character, which were: -Mars: Symbolization of the internal conquering function of moving forward, independent, self-determined, enduring failures with new energy, courage and energy to fight for your desires. -Saturn: Maturity, effort to solidly build realistic criteria, frustrations are transformed into objectives to continue growing, critical and realistic, far from getting frustrated when an objective does not work, you strive to move forward and obtain even more resistant and solid achievements, perseverance , and tenacity (I feel like yhis it the most similar to Asha :D) -Moon: protective role, feeling very vulnerable outside your known areas, feeling of security with your ties, importance of family ties. The one that reminded me the most of Asha was Saturn, that's why I drew those Saturn-shaped earrings :).

SUITS:

I looked for references and placed some on milanote, I noticed that the concept art was mainly divided into whether the dresses have lilac colors or warm colors, I decided to draw 2 models based on the discarded designs, although at first I thought of using only one color palette lilac and bluish, I realized that the reddish colors of her dress reminded me of Mars which has certain meanings that in my opinion coincide with Asha's personality. In the end I didn't decide what wardrobe she would primarily have 😅, but I like to think that in this version of Wish, Asha would have wardrobe and hairstyle changes like in some older Disney movies.

-These are some of the concepts that I mainly used for my version of the dresses

FINAL COMMENTS:

I am satisfied with the result, it was fun to make all this, although what I researched mostly seems little, it actually cost me several hours and I did it at night, so as a funny fact the next day I was explaining all this information to my mother and I felt like I looked like that:

(Make this drawing was so funny LMAO)

(Apologies if there are errors in my writing, English is not my first language and my writing is very basic)

[evilcarmona]

Fem!Sokka AU

So, I thought a little about this AU.

(For starters, I don't speak english, so, well.. ehe)

To begin with, she is at least 19-20 years old. I would like to make her older, because I like to draw beautiful adult women, but then the plot will not work. The age of all older ATLA teenagers has been raised. The age of the younger ones does not change.

The story is the same. Initially, Sokka is a man. He probably remained the only boy in the tribe for longer. This may affect Katara, as he has been her parent figure for longer than in the canon. In general, I believe in Sokka's parental vibes.

He's also a little more mature. Responsible, strong. But still a sexist. Father said that he was the only warrior of the tribe. Then he left them and went away with other men for many years. It couldn't end well. On the other hand, living among women affects Sokka more than he thinks.

So, about after Kiyoshi Island, gaang stops at the shrine of a female warrior. This is not Kyoshi, because I don't want Aang to feel that he is indirectly to blame for the situation. In general, Sokka offends the spirit with some kind of sexist comment. The Spirit takes revenge and curses him. Sokka falls into a magic pond. Poof! He's a woman. Aang has talked to the spirit, and the spirit is ready to cast spells on the water in the pond again. But she won't do it for two years. Lol

So, Sokka can only put up with it. Saving the world is more important than a little curse. Somewhere in the background, Zuko is trying to figure out where gaang took this beautiful woman and where they put that beautiful man. Really, where did he go? (Uncle Iroh is very funny)

The fact is that during the journey, Sokka realizes that he actually feels good. He likes it. In addition, he likes to be beautiful and do hairstyles.

Besides, becoming a woman, he feels the injustice of the situation at the north Pole more acutely. Sokka understands that putting someone in a frame because of gender is unfair. He and Yue become friends. Sokka kicks Khann's ass. And he also kills Zhao before the disaster with the Moon happens. Yue deserves to live.

In the future, Sokka thinks a lot. He supports his sister and Toph more than anyone. In fact, he used to have his father's vibes. Now it's the mother's vibes. Vibes of the coolest mom in the world. She can cut off the offenders' heads with a halberd. Literally.

In fact, I have nothing to justify the halberd with. I love halberds as much as I love women in sexy dresses. A lady may have small hobbies)

Okay, maybe Sokka decided to explore more weapons. She loves her boomerang, but does not refuse to develop like a warrior. Halberd is clearly defeating bending, haha. Maybe Sokka will be given some cool nickname on the battlefield. The Moon Witch? Heh

(Somewhere far away, Hakoda and the South Pole fleet are wondering what kind of Moon Witch is this? They will be surprised)

Perhaps before they meet after Ba Sing Se, Hakoda meets someone who has met the gaang before. Someone: You have two wonderful daughters! Hakoda: What?

So Zuko comes to gaang and asks where the boy has gone. The explanation was awkward because Zuko barely had time to accept that he was bi. What does it mean that the two people who make his heart beat faster are one person?

I forgot to tell you! Just because Sokka was bewitched by a spirit doesn't mean that Sokka trusts Aunt Wu! It's a matter of pride, lol

So two years go by, and you know what? Sokka does not ask the spirit to lift the curse. He's fine as it is.

[suguruwithabow]

pics are from pinterest, dm me for credits/remove

𝗶𝗳 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗶'𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆, yuri satosugu

☆ ; female¡gojo satoru × female¡geto suguru (4,7k)

☆ ; where suguru is an illustrator and satoru is a famous yaoi manga writer.

☆ ; CW mature content , bad language , yuri satosugu , lesbian sex , rule63 , nipple stucking , oral , fingering , scissoring , idiots in love , friends/colleagues to lovers

☆ ; TW body dismorphya (might trigger an ed)

☆ ; ao3 | wattpad (eng) | wattpad (ita)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | +18 enjoy ! 🎀

Suguru likes to draw women. She likes the movements of the pencil on paper, how the dark stroke follows the fluid line of her hand and materializes the soft curve of the hips, the breast’s groove, the arch of the back.

She likes to draw showy clothes, with lace and ruffles, delicate silk bows that bloom like moonflowers at the center of the chest, on that thin boundary between what is modest and what is lewd.

She draws transparent stockings that climb up the legs almost to the thigh root, which in reality would tear like tissue paper and constantly slip down the legs, but which actually stay up on paper by magic. She draws mini dresses and shorts that might not even be commercially available, too impractical to wear, she draws voluminous and extravagant hairstyles, with pigtails, curls, and shiny clips.

She draws girls with beautiful doll-like faces, with long eyelashes and heart-shaped lips, their skin is as perfect as porcelain, their eyes are large and full of wonder, or mischief. They have slender necks and wrists, thin arms, and flat bellies, their full breasts are without stretch marks, their thighs are thick and soft, never seeming too large, never fat or unwieldy.

But it's just a drawing. Suguru lowers her gaze to her legs, sitting on the metal chair in front of the café while waiting for her colleague, looks at how the flesh seems squashed against the plastic, how the hem of her jean shorts prominently marks her tanned skin. She adjusts herself, lifts her heels so her thighs appear slimmer, takes a deep breath, and returns to her drawing, forcing herself not to think about it anymore.

Suguru wishes she were one of the girls in her drawings, or one of those models she sees on Instagram. She wants to look at her reflection in shop windows and not have to remind herself to have better posture, she wants to take a selfie with her phone without using conspicuous beauty filters she doesn't recognize herself in.

Suguru likes beauty but doesn't believe she is part of it.

There’s a girl sitting a few tables ahead, talking on the phone and sipping a colorful smoothie. She is beautiful in her light red dress, her hair is perfectly straight and shiny, her skin is flawless, and her makeup highlights the harmony of her facial features. She is slim, petite, pale, the kind of girl you would hold the door open for, the kind you would offer a hand to help her down the stairs. Suguru is almost six feet tall, has strong arms, athletic legs, she doesn't seem like the kind of girl you’d want to help, or simply be kind to.

Suguru draws that girl, the sketch takes shape on the white paper, even if incomplete, it perfectly captures the moment like a photograph: a crowded café, a beautiful and ethereal girl who attracts attention effortlessly, a classic beauty Suguru could admire for hours.

«That's beautiful, Suguru, you’re really talented.» Suguru jumps and the pencil falls from her hand. The tip breaks. She immediately covers the paper with her arm and turns to look at Satoru towering over her. «You scared me to death, Satoru. It's not nice to sneak up on people.»

The moment Gojo Satoru enters the café, all eyes are on her, and who can blame them? Satoru is the most beautiful girl you will ever see in your life if you ever have the chance to meet her. She is tall, even taller than Suguru, has big blue eyes that envy the sky, white hair soft as snow that falls disorderly on her shoulders, and the most regular facial proportions Suguru has ever seen. She wouldn't even be able to draw a person more beautiful than Satoru.

She has a pretty cherry-colored gloss on her lips, quirky-shape sunglasses, and baggy jeans with a ridiculously low waist. Suguru thinks she could never wear jeans like that, Satoru always complains about getting bloated after lunch, but that doesn't stop her from dressing as she prefers. Suguru, on the other hand, always wears loose and covering clothes, she doesn't like exposing so much skin, it makes her feel watched, inadequate.

Satoru laughs, showing off a row of perfectly-straight pearly white teeth. She lifts her glasses onto her head and sits down in front of Suguru. «Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Have you ordered yet?» «No, not yet,» the girl replies, turning the page and leaving the previous sketch unfinished.

Satoru calls the waiter, they order an iced coffee for Suguru and a strawberry matcha for Satoru, who also orders a slice of chocolate cake for herself, but when she asks if Suguru wants it too, she declines the offer.

Satoru starts pulling colorful notebooks and fresh printer paper out of her bag, opens the notes app on her phone, and begins scrolling through files; she is an eclectic writer, writing on any surface available.

Once, at a business dinner, Suguru had seen her scribbling on a napkin.

«I have two new ideas to work on, a classic soft BL set in school, and then something less mainstream. I haven't talked to the editors about it yet, I wanted to hear your opinion first, I'm sure they'll let me publish the first one in a collection of five or six volumes, but I have doubts about the second one, at most they'll consent to making it a graphic novel.»

Satoru and Suguru work in the adult manga industry, Satoru is a renowned yaoi manga writer under the pen name Hikari Mugen. She has only been writing for their publishing house for a few years, but was already very active on forums and fanfiction websites with the username limitlesscribe, where she was a prolific writer during her teenage years.

Suguru is happy to work with Satoru, she likes her extroverted and lively personality, which contrasts with her own reserved and introverted nature. Satoru gives Suguru free rein on organizing the panels to draw for their mangas, on the design of many characters and on the details of the setting. In the past, in fact, she often had to work with writers who wanted to dictate everything, even the smallest details.

Satoru provides general but accurate directives about the atmosphere she wants to create in her stories. She continuously makes boards on Pinterest, searches for books, movies, and even video games that might be useful, and sends everything to Suguru, who does her best to meet her desires, generally succeeding because Satoru is very enthusiastic about her job.

However, it's also true that Satoru is a full-time job: she talks incessantly and seems to lack an off switch. Sometimes she calls Suguru in the middle of the night with a new story idea, and during work meetings, it's not uncommon for her to zone out and write outlines and plots in her notebook. Finding inspiration in everything is her gift, but it's probably also a curse for those around her.

When their orders arrive, Satoru is already explaining the plot details she has in mind to Suguru, but she gets confused, rambles, changes the subject while talking, tells Suguru about a horror movie she watched on TV a few days ago that inspired a character, explains how she tried baking chocolate chips cookies providing details, a step-by-step guide and baking times, and mentions that her neighbors had a furious fight and the wife threatened to leave the husband.

Suguru struggles a bit to keep up, but she's happy to listen. After almost three years of collaboration, she's become very adept at discerning the plot of her stories from the events of Satoru's daily life.

The first story is very simple, almost trivial, she would dare say, a BL set in a high school featuring two academic rivals who become lovers. Nothing exceptional, a lot of introspection, teenage problems, internalized homophobia, and barely hinted sexuality – nothing too explicit, considering the teenage target audience.

Suguru has to admit, though, that Satoru is great with this shit. Her mangas sell like hotcakes, top the charts, and she's considered a real institution in the field, despite being only twenty-six years old. Suguru also deserves some credit for this; her style is highly appreciated by fans of the genre, with her attention to detail and intentionally unrealistic, almost angelic, character designs.

There are two types of people in the world: those who enjoy watching the expression of a beautiful boy while he cums, and those who lie.

In short, Suguru has her own good share of fans, and various other artists claim to have been inspired by Yami-chan (her pen name) for some of their mangas.

The second story Satoru proposes is very different from the first and, as she said, if her publisher ever allows her to publish it, it will probably be at most a one-shot or perhaps a graphic novel.

The protagonists are two Champions’ League soccer players. The younger one is the best soccer player in Europe, half French, half Brazilian, handsome, talented, born into a wealthy family, and disgustingly arrogant. His love interest, on the other hand, is a South Korean guy who moved to Europe to play on the same team; he is disciplined, from humble origins, but incredibly good at soccer. It’s not hard to imagine how things will turn out.

Naturally, the second story is the most fascinating, and while they talk, Suguru starts jotting down some character design ideas to show Satoru. They search Pinterest for images of "dread braids" for the Brazilian mc’s hairstyle and need to research the roles of soccer players because neither of them knows anything about that sport.

When they’re done, the sun is almost setting, and Suguru has had enough coffee to stay awake until Christmas. They tidy up the papers scattered on the table, Suguru puts all the sketches aside and promises to start working on the drafts that very evening. Satoru offers to pay for both of their orders and, after some resistance, Suguru accepts.

Leaving the café, they walk together towards the station. Satoru doesn’t live far from there and will walk home, but she insists on accompanying Suguru because, according to her, she feels more at ease that way.

As they approach the stairs, Satoru stops and reaches out her hand. «Watch out, someone must have spilled a smoothie.» A colored stain spreads, dripping on the steps. Suguru avoids it and grabs Satoru’s hand without even thinking.

When they are finally on the platform, the train arrives sooner than expected. Suguru waves goodbye to her friend and watches her through the sliding doors.

Satoru doesn't leave. She waits for the train to depart and disappear from her sight. Suguru feels a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach but she doesn't say anything and forces herself not to think about it.

***

A week later, Suguru is sitting on the couch in Satoru’s apartment. They had worked all day and Satoru wanted to be in a place that made her feel comfortable, so Suguru ended up invading her apartment and colonizing the living room.

They had been working on the storyboard all day. Of course, their editors approved the first of Satoru's two ideas – it's a safe investment, given that that genre of manga sells like hotcakes, especially if signed with the name Hikari Mugen – while they hesitated on the second one. Satoru is preparing a vision board to try to convince their bosses that the idea could work; she even wants to turn it into a series, not just a one-shot.

«Damn, I’m exhausted.» says Satoru, stretching lazily. She had been sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table the entire time because she wanted to leave the couch to Suguru.

«Come on, Satoru, we’re almost done and the deadline is tomorrow.» the artist encourages her, though she has to admit she is also struggling to concentrate now.

«But we’ve worked all day. Let’s take a break.» complains the girl, resting her chin on Suguru's thigh, looking up at her.

«The sooner we finish, the sooner you can rest.» admonishes Suguru, who just wants to finish this work and go home for a nice warm bath.

Satoru climbs onto the couch and sprawls across Suguru like a child throwing a tantrum. Suguru doesn’t complain or push her away; in fact, there’s something comforting about feeling Satoru’s weight pressing on her, so much so that she reaches out a hand and starts gently untangling the knots in her messy wolfcut.

Satoru moans softly and wraps her arms around Suguru’s waist, her head resting on her chest. «Let’s take a nap before continuing.»

Suguru chuckles and removes her hand from Satoru’s hair. «Come on, be serious. If we stop now, we won’t want to continue later.»

Satoru doesn’t reply, only letting out a half grunt of disapproval, and takes Suguru’s sketchbook to flip through it a bit.

Among various characters they worked on together – failed initial designs, sketches for official illustrations and some manga covers – there are many other drawings unrelated to mangas.

They are mostly women, some seem to be entirely made up by Suguru, like video game characters dressed in skimpy and adorable outfits, while others appear to be real-life sketches, drawn on the subway, in the park, or at a bar.

«Wow, Suguru. You practically only draw girls.» Satoru says, not taking her eyes off the sketchbook.

«Mh?» Suguru asks, looking at her – Satoru is still half-lying on top of her. If it had been anyone else snooping through her drawings, she probably would have been angry, but since it’s only Satoru, she goes back to her work without giving it any thought. «Well, I don’t have many opportunities to draw women, so in my free time I like to keep in practice.»

Since Satoru only writes BL, Suguru doesn’t often draw female characters, and when she does, they’re usually side characters who appear very little in the manga. Before working with Satoru, she had illustrated a hentai manga, but the character design imposed for the female protagonist was so boring and trite that she ended up hating it. She doesn’t count it among her best works.

«Really? Well, I’ll write a yuri just so you can illustrate it then. Maybe set in an all-girls school, so you can draw all the female characters you want.»

Suguru chuckles again. «Thanks, that’s very kind of you, Satoru.»

«You’re welcome. Wow, this one’s beautiful! Though she’s a bit too flat-chested for my tastes.»

«Satoru!»

«What?»

«You can’t say things like that.»

«Why not?»

«Ever heard of body shaming?»

«What does that have to do with it? I didn’t say she’s ugly. I just said she’s flat; I like big boobs, it’s not a crime!»

«Gosh, you’re no better than a man.»

«No, indeed. I like big boobs; you have big boobs, you’re so lucky. I wish mine were bigger too.»

«Your boobs are perfect just the way they are, Satoru.»

«Do you really think so?»

«Yes, you’re so slim, if your boobs were bigger, they’d be disproportionate.»

Satoru sits up, cups her breasts in her hands and starts examining them, as if to verify Suguru’s words. Suguru watches her, unable to look away; it’s true they are very close friends, but certainly not so close as to grope each other’s breasts in each other's presence. Satoru has been wearing a summer pajamas all day, white shorts and a tank top with strawberries printed on it, so thin that Suguru can see the shape of her nipples terribly clearly.

She blushes furiously and hides behind her iPad. «Get back to work, don’t overthink it.» she says to cover her embarrassment.

Luckily, Satoru is easily distracted and reaches for some papers left on the coffee table in front of them. The fact that she remained straddling Suguru’s lap, however, doesn’t help.

«Look, I’ve sketched out some ideas for the sex scene in the soccer manga. Tell me what you think and then I’ll leave you alone.»

Suguru agrees and puts aside her iPad to look at Satoru’s sketches. God, that girl has a gift for writing, but she’s completely hopeless at drawing.

«I’m sure it’s amazing, but I can’t understand anything from these drawings. God, Satoru, an elementary school kid would draw better than you.»

«Hey! How rude!» Satoru laughs, snatching the paper from her hand. «What’s not clear? It seems pretty obvious to me.»

Suguru sits up; now they’re face to face and Satoru’s knees are planted on either side of her hips.

«I can’t even tell what position they’re in in this scene.» Suguru complains, pointing to what looks more like a doodle than anything else.

«What? You're exaggerating, it's so obvious, look.» and it happens much faster than Suguru can perceive. She's pushed onto her back laying on the couch, Satoru's warm hands slipping under her thighs as she keeps her in place. If Satoru were a man, her cock would be pressing right against Suguru's entrance.

«They’re in this position. The top holds the bottom down and rubs his cock on his ass.»

«Okay! I get it now, that's enough! The demonstration is exhaustive.» Suguru exclaims as she puts her hands forward, she feels her cheeks on fire as Satoru presses against her and holds her legs open. She is so focused, taking care to best show the position she intended.

Then Satoru starts to rotate her hips, the imprint of her pussy is clearly visible through the thin fabric of her shorts and Suguru is also only wearing a pair of gym shorts.

The contact is electrifying and the drop in her stomach makes her dizzy. Even through the layers of clothing, the friction between their intimacies is so pleasant that it becomes difficult try not to move to seek her release.

Satoru is more and more concentrated, a wet spot becomes visible in the center of the imprint of her count, but she continues to drag with terrifying slowness on Suguru's most sensitive point. The girl covers her mouth with her hand, partially because it's something they shouldn't do – they're colleagues, after all –, partially because she's seriously afraid of letting out some compromising sound.

Satoru's hands leave Suguru's thighs and move to her waist. Suguru is so curvy and her waist is so supple and tight that it seems to be made to be grabbed by Satoru's hands. Her ass often does nothing but draw attention to her unreal proportions.

«God, I wish so badly I had a cock right now.» Satoru murmurs with a smirk on her lips, more to herself than to Suguru, but she can hear it anyway and her eyes widen – she wants to say she's shocked, but Satoru's words only send an electric shock straight to her lower abdomen. «I would fuck you so hard for hours.»

She leans over her. They are close, Satoru's white hair tickles Sugur’s face and her eyes look like a mirror on the sea. She smells of coconut and vanilla like her favorite body wash from Victoria's Secret and her lips are so red and inviting that Suguru has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from tasting them.

«Suguru.» she whispers, and she doesn't seem to be able to say anything else. Satoru kisses her cheek, her jaw, her cheekbones and her chin, she places a feather-light kiss on her lips and the lighter her touch the more the fire inside Suguru blazes as if fueled by gasoline. Satoru is so intoxicating that she makes her feeling sick and stuck between desire, lust and paralysis due to fear and anticipation.

They kiss slowly, but for a long time. Satoru takes her time exploring Suguru's mouth, sucking her tongue, intertwining it with hers, alternating deep make-out sessions with small pecks on her swollen lips.

«You are so beautiful, you are so beautiful.» she repeats as her hands slip under her shirt, she caresses her breasts, Suguru's tits are so big that Satoru can't squeeze them with one hand, she also finds out that they are terribly sensitive, so she kisses her neck while pinching her nipples gently.

«Satoru, Satoru.» Suguru moans. She’s melted like a candle, sweat beading on her forehead and she feels like she's going to die every time Satoru moans against her skin.

«I've waited so long for you, Suguru.» she tells her in a breath. «Can I take off your clothes?»

Suguru wants to cry, because she really doesn't feel like one of the girls she draws: she's not petite, she's not skinny, but Satoru treats her like she's made of crystal, her delicate hands draw maps that lead to unknown places. It's the first time she feels like a little doll under someone's attention, she's always been the one to take the lead in other situations, so she nods desperately.

«Yes, yes.» she tells her. Satoru takes off her shirt, interrupting their kisses only to take it off her head. She looks at her like no one has ever looked at her before, tenderly, with respect and desire. Satoru wants to devour everything, and she knows Suguru will let her do it.

She covers her boobs with her hand because she feels shy under Satoru's ethereal gaze, but the girl only becomes even sweeter, more gentle, she moves her hands away and kisses her bare chest again, until her nipples are swollen, red and shiny with saliva, and the bite marks on the flesh do not throb painfully in anticipation.

She takes off her shorts along with her underwear, exposing her wet pussy that seems so eager for attention. Suguru isn't a virgin, but she's never done it with someone keeping the lights on. She much preferred the comfort of the dim light, the certainty that no one could see her.

But now Satoru is holding her legs open, her hot breath crashes against her opening, her wetness, and Suguru feels she can come like this, simply with Satoru caressing her pearl with the fingertip of her finger.

«You like it like that?» she asks her. Suguru squirms in response, trying to meet her light touch with her movements. It's nice, but it's not enough, not even close.

When Satoru puts her lips on her cunt, Suguru sees stars. She devours her so passionately, sinking her fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs, her tongue expertly teasing Sugur's most sensitive spot, gradually increasing the speed and intensity of her lapping. When Suguru fusses, Satoru moans shaking her with the vibrations coming from the back of her throat, and when she adds a finger that slides in and out of her opening it's Suguru's turn to moan out loud.

«Satoru… oh god, Satoru!» she screams out, entwining her fingers in the girl's snow-colored hair. She gasps as she is hit by the most violent orgasm she has ever had, her sweat slides down her neck, her legs tremble and her eyes fill with tears.

Satoru gives her a cat-like look with those impossible eyes as he continues to kiss the inside of her thighs and gently lick her most sensitive spots, making her arch her back from overstimulation. Satoru, however, is stronger than she seems and, no matter how much Suguru fidgets, the writer's pale and thin arms keep her firmly in place.

«You're so cute, like a little perfect doll.» «I'm not– I'm not a little doll, Satoru.» the girl goes reaches to her starting a passionate kiss, all tongue and lips making her feel as if a cloud of crazy butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. Satoru places one hand on her jaw, the other planted on her ass as she squeezes it tight, so much so that perhaps a mark will pop up the next day.

«You can't look at me with those doe eyes and tell me you're not like a perfect little doll, Suguru.» her name sounds so melodious coming from Satoru’s mouth, everything about her is so unreal, as if it belonged to an angel. Maybe that's why Suguru feels so good, so satisfied, with the perfect smile that blooms on Satoru's lips when she calls her name, or with the longing way she has of looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.

Satoru doesn't see what Suguru sees, she doesn't find the stretch marks on her thighs disgusting, nor does she thinks her boobs are vulgar. She strokes her hips with her fingertips and tucks her dark, tousled hair behind her ears, continuing to tell her how beautiful she is.

She also takes off her own shorts, remaining completely naked, and Suguru was right about her: Satoru has the body of a supermodel. She didn't even believe that people like that existed in real life and yet apparently there they are, looking at her Suguru thinks that an angel has fallen to earth and that she has chosen to occupy her mortal days writing yaoi manga as a hobby. This is Gojo Satoru.

Satoru's pussy is covered in thin white hairs that Suguru finds incredibly adorable, everything about Satoru is honeyed and delicate – with the only exception of her personality –, which is why she is the first to make a move, rubbing her cunt against the other girl’s, and after a couple of playful thrusts it doesn't take long before the movements of their hips starts becoming more passionate.

Suguru discovers many things that night. She finds out that Gojo Satoru is hot as hell as he rolls her hips, eyes closed, cheeks red from the effort and mouth open letting out uncontrolled moans. She watches her hypnotized as she arches her back and pursues her pleasure by rubbing her clit against Suguru's. Suguru puts her hands around her waist, pulls her closer, Satoru's arms give out and she slumps against the arm of the couch, Suguru takes the lead.

It takes Satoru only three minutes to cum, but Suguru doesn't stop and doesn't even give her time to recover. Satoru squeals, but she's too weak to do anything, so she just lets Suguru fuck her like that until she comes a second time.

Suguru also finds out that Satoru likes to kiss her neck and chest, that she loves to cuddle up to her while stroking her hair and that she prefers light kisses like feathers because she finds them more intimate, more romantic, even if this seems a bit like a nonsense since she was stucking her tongue down Suguru’s throat just moments before.

«I'll think about the plot of a yuri manga.» Satoru tells her after a good half hour spent lying with their legs crossed kissing every single part of each other's bodies. «Then I’ll give the main character your appearance and I’ll fuck you every night in front of a mirror, so you can draw yourself.»

«It seems like a rather ambitious project to me. But I doubt people will like it.» «The hell? That's such a nonsense, everyone would love it. But maybe you're right, now that I think about it I hate the idea of someone else seeing you like this.»

She smiles, pressing a kiss on Suguru's lips. She blushes and looks down at their clinging bodies. She wants to stay like this a little longer.

«What do we do with tomorrow's meeting? The panels must be ready by half past nine.» the designer says, remembering the papers scattered all over the living room.

«I’ll call Tachibana and ask him to move the meeting to the afternoon. Sleep over, we'll finish working on it together tomorrow morning.»

Suguru smiles and nods, letting Satoru caress her stomach drawing imaginary shapes with her fingers, they talk about everything and nothing and then they fall asleep in the same bed, in each other's arms. For the first time they are not alone.

Fin.

[tarotwithavi]

Who's crushing on you right now?

Pick an emoji

���🍫 🍷🎯

Piles 1-2-3-4

This is an intuitive/psychic reading . So I'm just channeling energies. First I will try to channel your energy and if your energy matches the continue reading that pile and if it doesn't then it's up to you if you want to read or not. If none of the piles resonate then this reading might not be for you.

Also this is my first intuitive post haha.

Pile 1 🎸

Your energy : okay I'm getting that you're the rebel of society. You don't like how society is and just to rebel against it. Some of you might be a middle child or were neglected while growing up. I'm also getting that you like punk or grunge style and might also like or have short hair. I'm also getting that some of you much have a tattoo somewhere one your body. Y'all really like music and might be considering pursuing it.

Who's crushing on you? : okay so first things first I'm getting that most of you guys already know this person and might be talking to them and I'm also getting that you guys already know that this person likes you. I'm also getting that this person gives you mixed signals and sometimes they are very close to you and other times they are sort of distant . You might know this person from school or work place. This person is a little cold and reserved and doesn't engage with a lot of people. They like keeping their personal life a mystery and might also have trust issues. I also saw a man with a little facial hair and brown hair. They might wear face masks a lot. I am getting that you guys rarely see them smile or they just don't smile all the time. This person takes their studies and work very seriously and might be religious or have strong beliefs.

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Pile 2🍫

Your energy : I'm getting sweetheart vibes from you like the good girl next door kind of vibes. I'm getting that you might wear your hair in braids most of the time Or have a signature hairstyle that you always do. I'm also getting that you guys might have a difficult time saying no to people. You don't want people to hate you and always try to make everyone comfortable and in between that you forget to take time for yourself. I'm also getting that you guys might like to cook.

Who's crushing on you? : I'm getting that this person might be your best friend or a good friend of yours. This is not just a small crush in fact this person is in love with you. They make you feel comfortable and you guys can share your deepest-darkest secrets with them. This person has a prettiest wide smile . Like most of their teeth can be seen when they smile. This person has a very giddy and happy energy. Omg I'm literally feeling happy out of nowhere. I'm also getting that you guys might like to do some crazy stuff together and have very fun stories to tell. I'm also getting concerts for some reason. Are you guys saving up for a concert? Or planning to go to a concert together? this person can be in relationship with someone else but it's not going to last long. They can be 3 months older or younger than you. I'm also getting that this person moved to a different place or you moved to a different place. Or you might be considering to start a business together.

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Pile 3🍷

Your energy : alright pile 3! I'm getting that you might be very connected to your dark feminine side or have a more mature approach to life then your peers. I'm also getting that women tend to see you as a competition and might also dislike you for no reason at all. People might see you as someone who's very privileged and nothing lacking in your life. You guys might like to wear bold clothes or Mostly wear dark colored clothes. You can also have pretty hands.

Who's crushing on you? : this is someone from your community or you might know them from a setting maybe they can be friends with your parents or their parents can be friends with your parents. I'm getting that this person might be a little older than you and if not older them they might be more mentally mature than you. They can have their own business or have a stable source of income. This person likes you a lot and they might text you soon. This message can be like "hey, how are you doing? " Or "I just heard something about you, are you alright? " . This person cares a lot about you . You might not care much about this person because you don't consider them a match for you or they might not be your type. This person is also very attractive and popular among the opposite gender. This person is a gentleman and they might have old fashioned ways to pursue someone. They type of guy to pay for all the things in this "split the bill" Era.

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Pile 4 🎯

Your energy : I'm getting heavy earth vibes from you especially virgo and Capricorn. Your first priority is your work and you are probably just reading this post for fun/entertainment and you might not have a thing for love right now. You guys are perfectionist and want to be the best at everything you do. You guys might also have an intimidating face or people get intimidated by you a lot. Little bit random but I'm getting that some of you may suffer from a stuffy nose from time to time.

Who's crushing on you? : this person might be a lawyer or they value rules and don't like people who don't follow them. They also hate injustice and you might know them from school/college/work. I'm also getting that this person likes you a lot and you occupy their mind. They might shutter a lot around you or they just can't get words to come out of their mouth. They feel like you are their soulmate or someone who understands them on a soul level. You guys give me academic rivals kind of vibes. This person might not show that they like you and might like to pick fights with you too. This person is also very creative and might be an artist for some of you. Might play some kind of musical instrument too. But they do feel insecure sometimes . They find you very attractive but they fear that if they express their emotions you will reject them. In short words they fear rejection and that's why they might not tell you about their feelings. They like winning at all costs and don't like it when someone is superior to them.

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[whenthegoldrays]

Something I haven't seen anyone discussing is the use of hairstyles to tell the story in Greta's "Little Women." The girls are all wearing their hair down in the flashbacks and up in the grown-up scenes. The last time Jo wears her hair down is Meg's wedding, when she's lamenting about childhood being over. The next scene in chronological order is Laurie's proposal, at which point her hair is up and she's being the mature one, refusing him and explaining why. The only times after this that we see Jo with her hair down are when she writes Laurie the letter and when he tells her he's married to Amy. It's like, for a brief moment, after losing Beth and feeling so gutted and lonely, she's reverted to childhood. But marrying Laurie would not help her to mature or be an adult, and her hair, such a tiny detail in the grand scheme of things, is a subtle indicator of this.

[dwreader]

Claudia's Hair & Growing Up

I've written previously about how Claudia's wardrobe signals a shift from her childhood self to her adult self but the most clear and obvious marker of her self-perceived adulthood is her hair. In the early 1900s, a girl was allowed to have her hair down or in a half up do until about age 17-18 or when she made her debut into society. After that, when appearing in public spaces, she would be expected to have her done up (and also wearing a hat).

As you can see in episode 4, she has her done in the typical style of a young girl in the 1910s, ornamented with a bow or some other decorative ribbon. In fact, this is one of the clearest indicators to people like Charlie and the guy at the university that she's really young even if she claims to be older. This is a childhood/early adolescent hairstyle and an adult woman would not have worn it out and about.

In the first photo above are the Romanov children with the girls between childhood and early adolescence. Below that, you have adult women in the 1910s with their hair done up and on the right wearing a large hat when out of the house.

However, an interesting shift happens in the 1920s that coincides with Claudia's coming of age and while it's not explicitly explored in the show, it likely compounded Claudia's frustration at her inert physical state. The 1920s was the beginning of VERY short hair becoming popular with women, so instead of marking your adulthood by putting your hair up, many would simply chop off their hair into a flapper bob.

But Claudia CAN'T cut her hair. It would just grow back so not only is her body in arrested development but she can't even style her hair to the adult woman trends of the era. She's not only stuck in a 14 year old's body but she's stuck with a 14 year old's hair length from the year 1917. So what does she do? After episode 5, she almost always wears her hair up especially when out in public and when she is trying to project maturity (anatonizing Lestat, buying things at the pharmacy, meeting with Tom Anderson). While she may not be able to cut her hair to match the trends of the 1930s woman, she CAN at least put her hair up like a 1917 woman. It's literally her one way of controlling her appearance beyond how she dresses.

Final note: while the show in general has pretty accurate and well developed styling choices, the one glaring exception is Antoinette. She's really not styled properly for any era she appears in and I know her looking 35 years old for 30 years is a bit of a joke in fandom but truly her hair is just NOT it. It's way too short for 1917 (needs to be updo capable!!) and kinda too long for the 20s-30s. They really just did not care about styling her accurately at all and ykw that's okay cause she doesn't really matter lmao.

Like look at these from the years 1917 and 1937 and then look at the styles I posted above of the 1910s vs. the 1930s and like????? what is going on here lady!!! You're just not trendy in any era hon.

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 7

Madelyn gasped as she felt her short hair tickling her neck as it began to lengthen, growing down past her shoulders, not stopping until it was halfway down her back. It lightened in colour as it grew, turning from its original black to a trashy shade of bleached platinum blonde. But Madelyn didn’t have time to mourn her sensible, gender-neutral hairstyle. Her childish clothes had suddenly vanished, leaving her totally naked, and she could feel a strange tingling in her breasts. She looked down at them and squealed in horror. They were expanding, her nearly flat chest ballooning outwards. She clutched at her boobs desperately, trying to stop them getting any bigger, but it was hopeless. They went from A-cup to B-cup, then C-cup, then D-cup, then double-Ds, growing larger and larger until the proud, dignified, man-hating feminist had an enormous pair of pornstar tits jutting out from her chest.

Struggling to see past her new breasts, Madelyn realised that all the hair on her body had vanished below the neck. The thatch of pubic hair she kept above her pussy, the symbol of her womanhood, had disappeared, leaving her bare as a little girl – like those traitorous patriarchal stooges who shaved away their maturity just to cater to men’s perverted tastes. She stared down at her new body in disgust. She looked like a total bimbo! And unless she won the competition, this was what she’d be stuck looking like forever. She thought about having to explain her ridiculous new stripper body to her fellow academics, and her thumb slipped anxiously back between her lips, which felt much fuller than before. Looking up, Madelyn saw her reflection in the large mirror that hung across one of the walls, and tears of anger and shame welled up in her eyes. Reflected back at her was a big-titted slut with a thumbsucking habit. She looked like everything she hated. An immature skank, at once childish and lewd. A total disgrace to women everywhere.

Abby, Becky, and Katherine looked at Madelyn with queasy expressions on their faces. On one level they thought she’d gotten off lightly – at least there was nothing overtly babyish about her new appearance – but on the other hand they knew her whorish look had been chosen by the Magician precisely because it was one that she would detest, and that thought gave them no comfort at all.

“Do you like your new look, Maddy?” the Magician asked.

Madelyn had never hated his smirk more than she did at that moment. “I wook wike a bimbo!” she shrieked. She’d yanked her thumb out of her mouth to speak, but her new plumped-up lips were enough on their own to make a mockery of her once-confident, commanding voice. She felt sick. Her mouth definitely wasn’t meant for talking anymore. DSLs, Madelyn thought in revulsion. She had dick-sucking lips. But if her lips had been enlarged, it was nothing compared to what the Magician had done to her breasts. She cupped them in her hands, feeling their weight in disbelief. Jugs. The word came into her head unbidden. She had jugs. Knockers. Melons.

“I forgot, you don’t approve of large breasts, do you Maddy?” the Magician mocked. He conjured an academic-looking paper from nowhere and opened it. Madelyn recognised it as one of the feminist journals she occasionally wrote for. “Where was it… Ah, here we are. ‘Women who fill their bodies with silicone and inflate their breasts for the sole purpose of making themselves more appealing to the male gaze are the very worst among women. They reduce themselves to objects, livestock with ridiculous, oversized udders, making a mockery not just of themselves, but of every other woman whose reputation is damaged as a result.’” The Magician looked up from the article, grinning. “How does it feel, Maddy?” he asked. “To have a pair of udders of your own?”

Madelyn glared at him furiously, but with her bimbo-blonde hair framing her face and her pouty lips wrapped around her thumb, her scowl just looked adorable – and the tears glittering in her eyes didn’t help. They threatened to spill down her cheeks, but Madelyn was desperate not to cry. She was determined not to degrade herself even further by bawling like a baby, no matter what the Magician did to her.

“Poor little thing,” the Magician cooed. “What’s the matter, honey? There’s no need to look so upset. I’m sure you’re worried that none of your ugly old pantsuits and mannish clothes will fit over your new figure, isn’t that right? Well don’t worry. I’ve taken the liberty of supplying you with a whole new wardrobe of appropriate outfits! Why don’t we get you dressed, cutiepie? You’re a gorgeous girl, Maddy, but you can’t go running around in your birthday suit all day. We’ll soon have you looking pretty as a princess!” He snapped his fingers, and Madelyn felt clothes reappear on her body at once.

She looked at herself in the mirror again and let out another squeal of dismay. Framing her face and her newly bleached blonde head was a pale pink baby bonnet, trimmed in white lace at the edges, much like the one that Katherine had chosen to wear for the challenge. She was also wearing a pastel pink frock, so puffy and frilly that it might have made her look like a two-year-old on the way to visit her grandma if it wasn’t for the fact that the outline of her enormous tits were clearly visible beneath it, her nipples poking out obscenely. The hem of her childish dress ended halfway down her perky, plumped-up rear, leaving the bulky adult nappy she was now wearing almost completely exposed. It bulged around her bottom and between her thighs, pushing her slender legs apart and contrasting ridiculously with her new ultrafeminine body. She also wore a pair of thigh-high white socks with pink bows on the top, and on her feet were two black, silver-buckled Mary-Janes. With her thumb planted in her mouth to complete the image, Madelyn looked utterly ridiculous. Staring back at her in the mirror, wide-eyed and horrified, was a voluptuous woman’s body crammed into the most babyish clothes she could possibly imagine.

Abby had to stifle a laugh, and Katherine allowed herself a smirk – she’d disliked Madelyn’s superior attitude, and obvious disdain for her profession as a model, right from the start, and as far as she was concerned, the stupid woman was getting exactly what was coming to her.

Upon seeing her new outfit, Madelyn instinctively took a step backwards, and as she did so her nipples brushed against the material of her frock dress. Immediately, a rush of pleasure pulsed through her tits, sending a delightful tingle straight down her spine and into her pussy. She had to suck hard on her thumb to supress a moan, and her pussy started getting wet inside her nappy. After the feeling passed, she looked up at the Magician in shock.

“Have you noticed how sensitive your new boobies are, baby?” he asked, chuckling. “You were so austere and sexless before, but I think keeping you constantly horny will improve your attitude towards men, don’t you think?”

Madelyn could only whine her displeasure, struggling to keep her mind clear as every slight movement she made caused her boobs to rub against the fabric of her clothes and send another bolt of ecstasy coursing through her body. She shook her head and tried to focus. She had other things to worry about. She clutched at the bulky white diaper between her legs with a fearful expression on her face. Had she been made incontinent too?!

“Don’t worry, little Maddy, you’ve still got your potty training,” the Magician soothed her, correctly interpreting her look of terror. “But I thought putting you in nappies would help prevent that naughty little no-no spot of yours leaving icky wet spots everywhere. I know how much all this is turning you on.”

Madelyn’s self-control failed. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, and she started to sniffle. She looked over at Abby, Becky, and Katherine, and seeing the looks of mingled pity and contempt on their faces, she burst into tears. She was supposed to be the one who was always in control! The tough, self-possessed woman who’d lead them out of this mess! And now she was just some stupid bimbo baby! She bawled like a little girl, destroying whatever was left of her reputation among the others.

“Awww,” the Magician cooed condescendingly. “There, there, baby.” He pulled Madelyn’s bombshell body in for a cuddle, one hand rubbing her back, the other patting her padded bottom. “It’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

Madelyn sobbed into his chest. She wanted to shove him away, to spit in the face of this evil, tyrannical patriarch… but she was too overwhelmed by her emotions, and too scared of what else he might do to her.

“Abby, Katherine, the two of you can go back to your rooms and change if you like,” the Magician said. “We’ll be meeting back in the dining room for lunch and the second vote. Becky, you’d better stay here so I can change that stinky little bottom of yours. And I think baby Maddy could do with a bit more cuddling before I send her off too.”

Madelyn continued to cry. Becky blushed, but she was pleased she’d finally be getting out of the disgusting diaper that was now hanging off her hips. Abby and Katherine hurried out of the hall and back towards their rooms – they didn’t talk all the way, still angry at each other from their last encounter alone. Katherine wrinkled her nose pointedly at the soaking wet skirt and underwear Abby was wearing, and Abby shot her a nasty look before entering her room.

Once she was inside, Abby immediately stripped off her soggy skirt and peeled her pissy underwear down her legs. She was relieved that she hadn’t lost and ended up like Madelyn, stuck looking like some ridiculous adult baby pornstar, but still… she’d come second to last again. How much longer could she keep this up? It would only take one mistake for her life to be permanently altered. She changed back into adult clothes – it seemed as though the Magician had transported her entire wardrobe from home to this room – and lay down on the bed, trying to get the imagine of the once-confident Madelyn sobbing like a babified barbie-doll out of her mind.

Sometime later, Abby left her room and headed for the dining room for lunch. The other three girls were already there – Katherine looking snooty, Becky looking embarrassed but pleased to be out of her filthy nappy at last (though the outline of her fresh one was visible under her jeans), and Madelyn sucking her thumb, teary-eyed and big-titted, looking like a mallrat bimbo who’d raided a store full of toddler clothes. The Magician was sat at the head of the table again, tucking into a steak.

Abby took a seat and helped herself to food. None of them talked, just like every other meal they’d had so far. On the one hand, they were all in this together, innocents stolen away by the Magician for his sick game, but on the other hand they all knew that only one of them could win his insane competition and avoid a terrible fate. It was hard to feel a sense of camaraderie with people they’d have to vote out, writing down their names and condemning them to a lifetime of diapers or spankings or whatever other twisted fantasies the Magician had in mind for them.

Once they were all finished with their food, the Magician got to his feet, smiling down at all of them with that horrible sparkling light in his dark eyes. “Well girls,” he said, “you know the drill.” He waved his hand and their plates vanished, to be replaced by the ballot box. “I’ll give you a few moments to talk among yourselves.” He vanished.

Abby knew she had to move quickly. Katherine would almost certainly vote for her this round, so she had to make sure neither of the others would too. She hurried over to Becky and whispered, “How about we both vote for Katherine? She’s such a stuck-up bitch! You’ve seen the way she looks at us, haven’t you? Like we’re something disgusting.”

Becky looked pathetically hopeful. “You don’t think I’m disgusting?” she asked meekly.

Abby had to stop herself laughing. Of course she thought Becky was disgusting! Who wouldn’t? She was a grown woman who still pooped her pants for God’s sake! Abby had had to put up with her stinking up every room she was in for just one day and she already wanted her kicked out of the competition – but saving her own neck took precedence at the moment, and years of cheating on her boyfriends had made her an excellent liar. “Of course not!” she said earnestly. “This isn’t your fault, Becky. It’s the Magician and his sick games. You can’t help what he’s turned you into. But Katherine doesn’t understand that. Personally, I think she deserves whatever the Magician decides to do to her.”

“What are you two talking about?” Katherine interrupted angrily, toddling over to them.

Madelyn followed, not wanting to be left out, but just the walk around the dining table was enough to leave her a wet, squirming mess. Her boobs jiggled near-constantly, and the tingling pleasure that began in her oversensitive nipples rushed straight to her twat. She gasped and moaned behind her thumb, blushing furiously.

“None of your business,” Abby told her. She turned to Madelyn. “I think we should vote for Katherine. We need to start thinking about how to get out of this mess, and we need someone like you to help with that, Miss Smith. But we don’t need her.”

Madelyn barely heard her. She was sucking her thumb enthusiastically and fighting the urge to shove one of her hands down the front of her nappy and start playing with herself. But she understood enough of what Abby had said to get the message. She looked at Katherine appraisingly.

Katherine glared back. “You’ve got to be joking. Abby is clearly the one we need to vote out! She’s a nasty, manipulative little brat. Only someone totally stupid would fall for her tricks.”

Abby opened her mouth furiously, but before any of them could say any more, the Magician reappeared in their midst, making them jump.

“It’s time, girls,” he grinned. “I hope you’re ready.” He handed a piece of paper and a crayon to each other them, and they moved away from each other to lean over the table and write down a name.

The Magician collected them up when they were done, and looked down at them. He laughed. “Three to one!” he said happily. “Oh dear! Someone’s not very popular, I see.”

Katherine’s superior look faltered slightly. She hadn’t lost. The other two must have voted for Abby as well. She was going to win the competition and wish herself back to normal, in addition to whatever else she wanted. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life waddling about like a stupid toddler. She couldn’t.

Then the Magician’s gaze fell upon her. “It looks like it’s bye-bye for little Katie,” he cooed mockingly.

Abby grinned almost as broadly as the Magician.

“No,” said Katherine, feeling her heart drop into her stomach. “NO!” She backed away as the Magician advanced on her, but she lost her balance and fell hard on her bottom.

The Magician stood over her with an evil look in his eyes. “I know the perfect penalty for you, young lady,” he said. “All that status as a model has gone straight to your head, you see. I think your fellow contestants got a sense of why you have a reputation as the most bitchy and entitled girl in the whole modelling industry, and they only got to know you for a day! But fortunately for everyone else, those days are over. The catwalk isn’t the right place for a silly little girl, Katie.” The Magician grinned sadistically. “Especially not one who can’t even dress herself!”

Katherine looked petrified. With a wave of the Magician’s hand, the elegant dress that she’d changed into after that day’s challenge vanished, to be replaced by a silly, frilly baby frock, just like the one Madelyn’s stripper body was crammed into, only pure white instead of pink. Her silk stockings and expensive heels disappeared too, replaced by ruffled socks and trainers with Velcro straps. A lacy bonnet soon framed her face, the same one she’d worn earlier that day, and an enormous baby bib came into being to tie itself around her neck. Emblazoned on the front was a cartoonish depiction of Katherine’s own face, grinning stupidly and covered in baby food, above a caption that read “Messy Little Girl”. A pacifier on the end of a cord appeared out of nowhere, clipping itself to the front of her frock in case any adults needed to soothe the fussy, overgrown baby it belonged to. Finally, her underwear began to thicken, her lacey lingerie expanding between her legs and turning white.

Katherine stared down at her new clothes, appalled. She looked absolutely ludicrous! Even worse than when she’d dressed up for the second challenge! She lifted up the hem of her toddler dress and screamed when she saw the bulky disposable diaper taped around her waist. She immediately started clawing at it, desperate to rip it off and fling it away, but the moment her fingers made contact with her nappy, they become weak and uncoordinated, and all she could do was pat feebly at the puffy white padding.

“I can’t get it off!” Katherine shrieked, panicking and starting to hyperventilate.

“Of course you can’t, sweetie,” said the Magician. “Weren’t you listening to what I said? You can’t dress yourself anymore. I’ve taken that privilege away from you permanently. Other people will decide what you wear from now on. Maybe that will teach you a little bit of humility.”

Katherine started screaming madly.

“Time for you to head home, little one!” the Magician said happily, his voice raised over the din. “I’ll leave you to your family to look after. I hear you have a sister who you’ve been very rude to for years. I’m sure she’ll take good care of you! Bye-bye, baby!”

And with a snap of his fingers, the fashion model turned screeching baby-woman disappeared off to her new life, leaving the other three ladies staring at the place where she’d vanished, her screams still echoing in their ears.

[agendabymooner]

melody || lh44 x ofc (1)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her. 

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, possible mature content (not in this chapter), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby gone romantic relationship, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, really shitty French-translated dialogue. 

Note: I have not watched Burlesque for a good while but I listen to shitloads of songs that give performer/singer/showgirl vibes??? I hope this works out lol. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. million dollar man

"you're screwed up and brilliant look like a million dollar man. so why is my heart broke?"

Felicity Vos couldn’t remember the last time she made her presence known in the principality. She lived in Monaco for years as a nobody — she was just some 24-year-old woman who hoped to get through the day before she put on her best costume and makeup for work. She only performed to put money in her pocket. Living in Monaco wasn’t cheap, after all. She did everything she could to maintain her private space, working at the lounge every night to get the biggest tips from the wealthiest people in Monaco.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she was a nobody in Monaco. Had it been for her natural beauty and the typical streetwear of the principality, she would’ve stood out already, and everyone would know that Formula One’s mysterious “lady seducer” made her return to Monaco. 

She hadn’t wanted to gather that much attention now. It was bad enough that her three nights coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. She couldn’t bear the thought of being hounded by journalists curious about her absence/being for the past two years. 

I was just a nobody, she told herself. She wasn’t even anyone’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a stable relationship with a man. 

But everyone in the F1 community knew that she was something. That was for sure. The man's popularity and their agreement pulled her away from the anonymity she craved after ending things with him.

2019

The first thing that the bartender, her friend René, had spewed out just as she finished her performance had something to do with the beehive hairstyle she sported and how it coincided with ‘Fuck Me Pumps’ by Amy Winehouse, whose iconic style included the mentioned hairstyle. 

René told her Melody was the complete opposite of Amy Winehouse with her tattooless skin, bright blonde hair, and wide-set eyes. But Melody’s voice, René told her, was meant to sing about the men who’d fuck women over. 

Then her attention turned away from him when a server approached the speaking young adults, leaning over to tell them both about a lone man sitting on an empty booth, asking for Melody’s company as they all peered at the dimly lit corner booth. They couldn’t see if he was looking in their direction, but Felicity (Melody) could tell he was attractive. 

It wasn’t unusual for clients or audience members to request a sit-down time with the singer of the night, so Melody merely asked her coworker to serve them some drinks before walking in his direction.

His genuine smile and curiosity certainly pulled her closer if you were to ask her. She knew who he was. Lewis Hamilton. This place was Monaco, after all. What kind of a caveman would you have to be to not know who Lewis Hamilton was? Even the Neanderthals would ask for an autograph should they see him pass by.

She sat with him and asked how he was liking his stay in Monaco after the new year. In exchange, he provided answers and asked her certain questions. 

Is your name really Melody? Mmm… such an in-depth question for a stranger, don’t you think? 

Do you just sing Amy Winehouse? She was my inspiration, after all. This is how I pay tribute. Do you have a request? Perhaps I can sing it next time you visit— not that a man like you would be dead seen entering such a place.

How about you? How are you liking Monaco? Whoever said that this place was for easy living would be a liar. I get paid more than I used to, but university and rent still beg for more. 

How long have you been doing this? Four years. Singing and dancing at the same time takes a lot of practice. 

She was thankful to have been the performer to put on the middle show of the night. She hadn’t needed to worry about being the performer of the night, and her conversation with him seemed to have lasted until the end of the show. 

She expected him to not return after that night, with him leaving her two hundred euros in cash and tipping the servers the same amount— she would’ve expected him to hand this as a form of a farewell gift. 

But he offered those as a welcoming gift. Because by the next night, Melody’s eyes shifted to where he sat, only to find him leaning back against the booth seat. His head was slightly bobbing as musicians hit those 4/4 beats. He sat there while she sang beautifully, her hair teased into a beehive hairstyle, and her body wrapped around loose strings of pearls and rhinestones. 

He returned the night after that… then after… he returned for days. Apparently, Monaco had been so boring for him that he chose to spend his time listening to the beautiful voice of Melody. He later confessed that he couldn’t seem to get away from her. 

But instead of offering a date, he offered to fly her to Australia for the first round of the racing season. Fuck that. He offered to pay and give her everything— in exchange, she travels around with him during his races as a “partner.” He said it would benefit both of them if they entered this agreement. She would get the money, and he would have an increase of positivity in his image. 

Her mouth quickly slipped out the word “yes,” the next thing she knew, she was saying goodbye to her coworkers of four years. She was always welcome to perform should she decide to, and would pay her good money for her rare performances. 

Then her flat was fully paid for the next six months. Right after that, she was driven to a department store to find some clothes and bags to pack for her endless trips. She had gowns tailored and altered for her in case she needed to be in attendance for his formal and black tie events. 

She was only meant to be there as an eye candy, one that would hold hands with Lewis as he made his way down the paddock to the Mercedes garage. She had no name besides Melody. She was only Melody, and she was alright with that— she wanted to keep the privacy that she had left, after all. 

She was good at avoiding journalists and their questions about Lewis’ past relationships and his title as the Mercedes playboy. She often stayed put and kept her attention trained on him as he raced or Roscoe, who had grown dearly in her heart. She had never gone as far as sharing a conversation with his coworkers, only offering them a small smile before she walked off with a refresher in hand. The only one she seemed to have a good conversation with besides Toto Wolff was his teammate, Valtteri Bottas. But even then, she could feel his body radiate in possessiveness that she didn’t know he had. He’d always hold her close. 

He hadn’t even realized that Melody shifted from a nobody to a somebody despite not having a surname. It was quite a shame she had to embrace someone’s fame and be under scrutiny for it. 

PRESENT

“Am I seeing things, or is it really the woman who brought the glory in the Ryhtme Romantique?” Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts as she turned around and grinned, watching as René outstretched his arms. She squealed at the sight of him and jumped into his arms, earning a grunt from him as he said, “Mon dieu, ma fille, is this how Zurich and New York had treated you?” 

“This is how I greet people I miss,” Felicity exclaimed. “Not that you feel the same towards me, arsehole.” 

“Such language,” René scoffed mockingly. “I know I haven’t heard you speak like that before.” They both fell silent before laughing at the joke. She seduced like a siren, yet she swore like a sailor, René once told her. 

The 28-year-old woman waved it off, “Tell me you haven’t picked me up in Nice just so you can bring up my lack of manners? Otherwise, I’m walking away.” 

“Gah, and who’ll pick you up?” René grinned, now grabbing her suitcase and pulling it next to him. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go to Monte Carlo knowing that they’ll hound you when alone. People aren't that subtle when it comes to you.”

“That right?” Felicity asked. She'd only performed once throughout those two years of her “relationship” with a Formula One driver. She freelanced because of how much she had missed it. She remembered having to convince him to allow her to do it for once, and she swore she never craved for something more than the lounge's music and atmosphere. 

“Yes,” René answered her, “you made your character known by everyone. Everyone knew Melody, not Felicity. Melody became a household name after her one-night appearance when everyone learned about her from Formula One. Wealthy people saw talent… and yeah. Now they’re eager to spend much money just to see you.”

This helped her grow a backbone, somehow. She continued to press on the topic, “And by that…?”

“It will be a full house,” René had already placed her suitcase in the car trunk before he stood with his chest puffed out. “One hour of you and Amy Winehouse on the stage in three nights is worth my mortgage for my house in North America.” 

Felicity chuckled and shook her head, making herself comfortable in his passenger seat with the seatbelt buckle snapping. 

“So,” Felicity leaned back against her seat before turning to the man beside her, “what did I miss in Monaco?” 

“I thought you didn’t miss Monaco?” René laughed, starting up his vehicle. 

Felicity scoffed at the comment, “I missed Monaco.” 

She just didn’t miss the man that she met in the principality. After all, she would have remained as nothing if he didn’t treat her like she was the only one. She preferred her life before she met him. She liked the way of living she had in Monaco before him.

2019

She probably should have settled for less, but what should she do? It was the only dress that he liked on her. She felt she would impose the mermaid white dress with the intricate baroque style and pearl details, but his praise and encouragement told her otherwise.

Besides, with her making a bet that lasted for an entire season, she really couldn’t chicken out of it now that Lewis got his 6th world championship. She really couldn’t disappoint him like that. 

So she became the woman of the awarding night. Wrapped around her neck was a layered pearl choker, letter L carved into gold with three teardrop-shaped pearls dangling off it, much like Anne Boleyn’s. 

Unlike the first time she appeared at the paddock, she walked into the event hall with her smile dazzling the crowd— even those photographers who seemed eager to capture the moments of the couple arriving hand in hand. She didn’t feel discomfort at all, not after all those months of feeling lost in the paddock while she tried finding her way around the Mercedes area. Angela Cullen had never worked this hard to guide someone, but she never saw Melody as an obligation or responsibility. She loved the girl, in fact. 

She was known to be quiet by the drivers in the grid. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking to everyone during the entire season as she saw how most of them looked at her. Nobody even knew who the fuck she was, just her first name- her stage name. Sebastian Vettel was kind enough to walk up close and introduce himself to her as if she hadn’t known him already. He was the closest thing she had to a comfort zone that wasn’t just Bottas, talking to him here and there whenever they passed by one another in the paddock. 

If she was being honest, she felt as if nobody knew what her job entailed as “Lewis’ partner.” Sebastian understood at the very beginning what she was to the Mercedes driver but had said nothing against nor about it. She already didn’t feel comfortable with the other drivers staring, so if he was to say anything about her relationship was just another level of friendship he’d have to reach. 

The only thing that Sebastian had offered her was, “If you’d like to have a friend that isn’t just Roscoe, I’ll be at my motorhome. Feel free to stop by anytime!” 

So by the time she arrived at the awarding with Lewis, her eyes brightened at the sight of the German driver. Sebastian waved at them, making the girl wave back eagerly. 

Lewis chuckled quietly, “I didn’t know you and Seb were friends.” 

Melody giggled in the same volume, “He considers me his best friend as of this moment. I suppose that happens when you’re not being looked at or linked to Sir Lewis Hamilton.” 

“Cheeky girl,” Lewis grinned, his touch feeling familiar to her skin as he held her soft hand. Pulling her closer, Lewis greeted everyone they’d passed by. Melody merely nodded in their direction while her smile didn’t reach her ears, barely looking away from Lewis as if he was the only man she could focus on. 

She probably should have settled for less, but Lewis wanted her to shine as much as he did that night. He was a 6-time world champion, after all. If he was shining, he made sure that she was, too.

PRESENT

With her embellished leotard and shoes sparkling under the spotlight and her face coated with confidence and seductiveness, her eyes zeroed in on the men who had just walked into the intimate environment of Rythme Romantique with a sultry smile. Some of them nearly recoiled at the expression she gave them. 

“Formula One driver had reserved tables for tonight,” René told her earlier today, “some might come back tomorrow and Sunday after their race. Their managers told Lita about you and how they’ve wanted to see you perform since they learned about you from the Mercedes team.” 

It wasn’t anything fearsome if you were to ask Melody. She only offered them a welcoming (yet seductive) smile, but perhaps they considered it quite daunting and intimidating. It wasn’t as if she was inviting them to her bed. 

She supposed that it was because of the fact that they’d stepped into her turf. She was in their place once— being in the paddock and feeling out of business? Yeah, she understood what they felt. Somehow. 

“Oh my,” she purred, eyes trained on each driver as some of them visibly gulped at the sight of her. This Dolce & Gabbana did wonders on every man she had encountered at the beginning of her performance. She was only halfway through the hour, and from what she had counted— there should be about eight men who were nervous at her presence. 

Her eyes shifted from the Ken-esque man (with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face) to the pair of green eyes that stared right at her and her figure. She crouched down to get to their level seeing as she was a stage higher than them. 

She did a headcount for a moment. She could see familiar faces— but most of them were older. A grin on the man behind Ken told her that it was Daniel Ricciardo. And the man next to Ricciardo was Max Verstappen. The 2021 World Champion. 

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” she chuckled almost breathlessly, her breath softly nearing her bedazzled microphone. She stared at the green eyes ahead of her, “Première fois?” First time? 

The man nodded and replied, “Oui.” 

“Et tes amis? Ont-ils déjà été ici?” How about your friends? Have they been here before? She asked, looking at the men behind him. 

“Certains d'entre eux vivent ici,” some of them live here. The man replied. 

“Est-ce que c'est oui?” Is that a yes? Melody asked with a raised eyebrow, leaving the audience to laugh. 

“Peut-être,” maybe. Charles Leclerc shrugged with a smile. She let out a giggle for a moment before nodding.

“Bienvenu,” Welcome. Melody winked. They all found their seats, but she couldn’t find the one she was looking for as she was doing a repeated headcount. Then she remembered that the corner booth had been changed to a reserved area when she left. She could only imagine who sat there. It was a seat reserved for the man who only came to the lounge to speak with her. 

Her eyes flickered at the table before turning at the drivers, “Welcome to Rythme Romantique. I hope this show eases the tension of tomorrow’s qualifying race.” 

“And I hope you’re not offended by the end of this show,” she giggled quietly, “because I’ve had men walk out of shows because of Amy Winehouse.” 

“What kind of fuckery are we?” She sang, her hips swaying as she gestured at the drivers with her gemstone-covered gloves, “Nowadays, you don’t mean dick to me.”

Her blonde hair swung as she looked toward the corner booth, “I might let you make it up to me.” 

“Who’s playing Saturday?” She winked at the drivers, hearing as the men cheered and pointed at themselves. “One of you better get a pole this time.” 

“Mr. Destiny, nine and 14. Nobody stands in between me and my man. 'Cause it's me and Mr. Jones…” 

“Me and Mr. Jones…” 

The live band had put on an end to the song and her show, every man and woman standing to applaud her. She took a deep breath before letting out a sultry smile, taking in her audience's applause and whistles. Her painted lips puckered up, and she blew a kiss to the audience, her foot picking up the fur coat that she discarded at the beginning of her show to put it on. She offered the drivers one more ‘good luck’ before walking off and heading to the bar. 

She hadn’t felt this good about performing at the Monaco Lounge since the last time she appeared in 2020. That extravagant entertainment hall at Hotel Ritz didn’t make her as happy as it should have. The richest of the richest gave her the attention and money she dreamt of when she became an adult, but something about this place made her… happier. Or rather, better about herself. 

Sharing a conversation with René hadn’t lasted long enough when a new server walked up to them to let the two know about the guest in the corner booth. 

René looked at Felicity with worry as he said, “You really don’t have to go, City.” 

“No, no,” Felicity waved off his concern, “he paid to speak and see me. I can’t really disappoint Lita now, can’t I?” 

“You’d really let your heart break like that again?” René asked her, “What if he’s actually got a girl this time?” 

Felicity merely stared at him, indifference written all over her face. Quite a facade, her face covered. René sighed exasperatedly, “Alright. I’ll get you the rum and coke. Felicity, you can back out anytime.”

“I know,” Felicity nodded, adjusting her corset with a sigh. “I’ll walk out if I want to. He lost me once, and I’ll make sure he knows he can lose me again.” 

No amount of alcohol could make her feel as relaxed as she wanted, so she settled for one glass of rum and coke only. There were a lot of things that could have happened within two years, and that didn’t exclude him. 

But god, his face remained as young as it was four years ago. It didn’t age as the years went on. 

She sat across him, the marble table the only thing separating them. He watched as she made herself as comfortable as she could be. She could tell that a smile threatened to show on his face, keeping his composure as much as an ex-lover could when they met their former flame for the first time in years. 

“Lewis,” she nodded curtly, her eyes trained on him before it shifted to the server who dropped off her drink and his. Felicity offered the server a grateful smile before it disappeared just as the younger woman left the booth.

He grabbed his drink and spoke, “Mel.”

She nearly winced at the nickname. Nobody called her Mel but him.

“When did you fly back?” Lewis Hamilton was known for many things - and being civil to anyone was one of them. She remembered how he always had to keep a straight face in the same room as his former best friend. Nico Rosberg had a fairly long history with him that ended poorly, so for him to show indifference? It was a Lewis Hamilton signature. It didn’t surprise her that he’d ask this as if he hadn’t broken their agreement long before she did. 

“Just earlier today,” Felicity answered, her voice was equally indifferent. “I flew to Nice and was picked up. I couldn’t miss the ride at the French Riviera.”

“You’ve always liked the scenery,” Lewis chuckled, sipping his drink before setting it on the table. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded.

“Like you always did,” Lewis continued, not even caring about the small expression that eventually fell off as he spoke.

“Hm, really?” Felicity almost scoffed with a shake of her head. “Last time we were together, I wasn’t even allowed to be near a stage.”

“You were with me,” Lewis pointed out, “flying worldwide. As you wanted and had agreed on.”

“I had to get drunk enough to get up the bar counter and sing my arse off just so you’d have no control of it,” Felicity reminisced, grinning at herself when she recalled the moment. 

Silverstone GP afterparty, the year 2020. She wasn’t as drunk as he was, but she grew enough backbone to ask for a microphone and Christina Aguilera’s Candyman on the bar’s speakers – max volume. She remembered her feet moving like they were all swing dancing and being hoisted off the bar counter by Daniel Ricciardo while they all drank and her voice hit the falsetto. The drivers were rather impressed regardless of the amount of alcohol they consumed. Lewis wasn’t as impressed as the others. He’d seen it before. He hadn’t appreciated how easily she made friends with the men around her – so seeing her shy away from them the next race was a win for him. 

“I couldn’t stop you even if I did,” Lewis laughed as if it was a normal conversation. “Everyone’s way into it.”

Felicity almost laughed at his face. He stopped her when she agreed to become his company, practically handing her her year’s worth of rent and salary just as she nodded. He stopped her rhythm from flowing, but she allowed it as she wanted to live an easier life. One where she didn’t have to be taunted by her family’s constant words of discouragement. It turned out that being someone’s pretty young thing wasn’t as easy if you fell for the unattached man. 

He leaned back, observing the sight before him before asking, “Did Switzerland and America treat you right?”

Her head shot up at the question before asking in return, “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, please,” Lewis answered genuinely. He hadn’t expected to last an hour in the bar, let alone thirty minutes in the same booth as her. He could remember how his lack of commitment and false confessions destroyed her, and he wasn’t sure he could see her in that place anymore. But he stayed in his seat, watching as she practically inhaled her spiked drink before she settled it on the table. 

Crossing her legs, she wrapped her coat tightly around her body as the temperature at the booth decreased. She replied, “I was more than surprised that you found someone who could immediately fly me to another country just so I can sing far from the principality.” 

Felicity could remember the email sent to her by some management in Zurich and New York. They were interested in meeting with her because of a recommendation from a musician who had seen her perform more than twice. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Lewis’ doing. She had ended whatever it was a week before the email was sent, so it was his doing. But rather than fuming at the thought that he was more than willing to send her away from Monaco, she immediately contacted them and took whatever they had to offer. 

“I lived here for four years,” she scoffed, “before I even met you. This was my home. I can’t even consider my flat in New York as such.”

“What’s your plan then?” Lewis asked. “Are you planning to return to Monaco then?”

“And return to this lounge? Where most drivers would probably frequent in when they learn that Melody’s back in town?” Felicity snorted, “I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” He asked, “You love this place.”

“I do,” she stood up, noticing how his eyes became more cautious as she cleared her throat, “I am tired of the chasing I had to do, though. It’s not always me who has to work on it. Sometimes, they have to chase the woman, too. It’s not a one-way street for me anymore. Good luck tomorrow–”

“Wait,” her goosebumps rose when she felt his hand touching her skin, turning back when he pulled on her wrist as she watched him stand. He pulled out an envelope, leaving the package in her hand as she gripped it lightly. Lewis nearly stammered, “Invite whoever you want.”

“I’m not going, Hamilton,” she couldn’t even shove it back to him as he held her wrist, squeezing it lightly as a sign of plea. Just be there tomorrow. And Sunday.

“It’ll only be two days,” his voice might’ve shown nothing of desperation, but his eyes pleaded with her. “Two days of racing and your shows.”

She sighed exasperatedly. She was already exhausted from having to pretend that this was okay. She really hadn’t wanted to see him. But this was Monaco, and this weekend was the principality’s race weekend, so she could have at least prepared herself mentally.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she muttered before pulling away from him as she walked out of the booth with a murmur of, “Good night.” 

She was certain that this jetlag of hers wouldn’t wear out. Not when this weekend was a case of clusterfuck that was going to leave her restless. She wasn’t excited to know what would come her way at the very end of this week.

PS. what did you think? Send me an ask!

[warwickroyals]

re: recent posts, how has irene’s hair changed through the years?

I fucking love it when anons know what to ask me because how did you know I had an entire timeline dedicated to Irene's hair and how it evolved over the decades.

The 1960s - Introduction to Society, Marriage

When Irene first married Louis her hair was long and she had bangs. She really liked Pattie Boyd and that's who she imitated, although with a lot less volume. It was a very "youthful" look for her. She accessorized with headbands, flowers, and pigtails. It was fitting considering she was eighteen.

The 1970s - Early Married Life

Irene ditched the bangs after she got married. In the 1970s her hair was the longest it had ever been and she was experimenting with all sorts of crazy up-dos and high-volume styles. She never liked the bouffant, though, since that was her mother-in-law's style and she was still quite young Her hair was very similar to Queen Paola of Belgium. On less formal occasions she probably just wore a ponytail.

The 1980s - Maturity and Motherhood

So, Irene cut her hair to just above shoulder length in the early 1980s. She was thirty by this point so her hair, while still trendy, was getting a bit more functional. She had a shaggy bob for the better part of this decade. No more huge up-dos or girly accessories but she didn't ditch the volume. She was inspired by the type of hair you saw on Dynasty (she fucking loved Dynasty).

The 1990s - Stability

In the early 1990s, Irene's hair got even shorter with the same amount of volume, but as the decade went on she settled into something more sleek, finally leaving behind these high-effort, voluminous looks. By the time the nineties rolled around, she's not really trying to set new trends anymore, she's being overshadowed by younger women in the family. By 1998, she's rarely trying to make a statement with her hair.

The 2000s and onwards

Once she hit her 50s Irene settled on one final hairstyle and has stuck with it for the past 28 years. She might get a haircut every so often, but she's perfectly having just one, functional hairstyle. Her current hair reminds me of Jane Pauley.

[kacakacafall]

I finally finished them! Nyo America in 1920s-1950s fashion! More specifically, in suits, so those are the looks that I think she would have when being in workplaces.

I rarely draw full-body images, turns out the thing that would persuade me to draw more of them is historical costumes Lol, and the biggest thing that makes me want to draw this set is actually Nyo America's hair. Her curly hair just resembles soooooo much with those hairstyles between the 1920s and 1950s, which also goes along with historical costumes during those times so well.

and a bonus one:

another version of 1940s Nyo America, I originally thought the costumes would suit her very well, turns out that she looks either like a school girl wearing school uniform, or a teenager who tried to put on her mother's clothes Lol, which makes sense, since fashion during those time periods are generally designed for older women, so she is still a bit too young(at least physically) to wear them.

individual drawing and related rants below:

1920s style is very distinctive, it didn't suit her body type, but the young and energetic vibe definitely goes along well with her. I actually don't think Emily was a flapper during the 1920s, she resembled the independent part of a flapper, but I think she was too workaholic to spend much time having fun Lol 1920s America is such an interesting topic to explore, in terms of Hetalia fan art/fanfiction.

1930s, all I remember before is the great depression and Hollywood glamour stuff, but no one told me that women's suits were soooo handsome and dashing during that time period?? I feel like she walked from an old movie when drawing the clothes. It somewhat felt gloomy and serious, which I feel implied the atmosphere of the 1930s, since the great depression was there.

When I looked for references and general information about 1940s fashion, it is said that during that time period, clothes designs were added with a military uniform style touch, and I definitely felt that when drawing this. It feels like an interesting hybrid of 1930s and 1950s styles, not as distinctive and striking as those two, but still has its own elements and beautiful styles.

The 1950s, it is said that it was a time period when American design started to stand on its own, which may explain why I felt that she is so in her element in this look, even if she looks 10 years older than her actual physical age Lol, She looks very mature when wearing like this, but not in a forced way, which really resemble the American 1950s history, since she was becoming a user power at that time.

Overall, I really enjoyed drawing those, it is always super interesting to explore what would Hetalia characters wear during different time periods(with various hairstyles). I may never draw the exact canon design of Nyo America, but I really like the design of her relatively short and curly hair, which really resembles the fashion trends from the 1920s to the 1950s.