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azullumi · 5 months ago

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"it's you hiding in limelight" ; aventurine

requested by anon — “can you do or already done pre-relationship aventurine headcanons? like what is he like before and how he warms up” premise — it takes a lot for him to trust someone. it’s a gentle and steady process; the fire burns slowly between you and him, and despite the uncertainty whether the flame is going to burn out or consume him in the end, he lets the warmth seep through the cracks of his soul. content tags and warnings — pairing: gender-neutral reader w/ aventurine | pre-relationship, fluff, a little word vomit, not proofread | wc: 0.7k ; headcanons

note from me — i was so conflicted while writing this,, and it doesn't help that i'm trying to figure out if my cat is pregnant or just fat...

It’s not easy to make AVENTURINE warm up.

He doesn’t trust anyone easily, seeing relationships as superficial, as something that is simply a give-and-take thing, a bet, a deal. He has quite a one-way view on relationships, only seeing it as something that would be beneficial to him—it’s not like he knows how to maintain such relationships either. He thinks that showering them with gifts, no matter how expensive, would make them stay, a key to securing loyalty and affection.

So when he finds himself slowly being drawn to you, being at ease whenever you’re around, as he initiates small talks and silly bets, he wouldn’t know how to break it down from there. You’re just so warm and easy to talk to, it’s comforting (like a gentle breeze). He simply keeps everyone at arm’s length, maintaining a careful distance, and yet, like a living paradox, he can feel intimately close at times to you—it’s his subtle flirting, consistent compliments, and often lingering touches.

He is hesitant in all of his bones, hard to grasp, complex and distant, but if you reach even for a little, he’ll let you hold him in your hands. He’s confusing; the thread of his words and actions are intertwined with each other but you can never find the meaning of it. It’s a heavy needlepoint of embroidery that can never be finished, a small part missing from the piece and you could never figure out what it is that you’re lacking. It’s not easy to tell if he sees you only as a friend or something more than that.

You need to be patient and persistent with him, understanding that he himself struggles with the idea of vulnerability; he fears that opening up to pain and disappointment, leaving him on his own in the end. However, over time, he eventually lowers his guard and allows himself to trust you, finding solace in your presence. When the two of you first met, his shoulders were always tense and he kept his emotions guarded behind a mask, but now, he lets go of what he carries even if it’s just for a bit, as long as it’s you he is with.

You can feel the distance closing in, the fine-drawn line of vulnerability and wariness seaming into one. You can almost touch the vanishing point between you and him, intertwining with each other, and you don’t fail to recognize the subtle shift in his actions, in his gestures, in everything about him and all that you knew.

It may be a small and mundane thing but his tendency to shower his “friends” with expensive gifts and asking to choose among which one that they would like—albeit he also does to you on some occasions—all contrasts with the simplicity of the tokens he gives you. He reserves a different kind of gesture for you, one that is laced with thoughtfulness and sincerity rather than the utter value of the gift itself.

Probably brought a bracelet one time and told you of it, but didn’t mention that it has a pair, a matching one, which he bought for himself (and never wore). He has it hidden in his drawers, amidst his precious items, only to take out from time to time to stare at it. It’s a secret he’ll forever take to his grave.

Your constant reassurance, gentleness, and kindness breaks down his defenses, the mask crumbling into unrecognizable pieces. He didn’t think he would trust someone this much, nor would he ever harbor such soft feelings—velveted affections, sweet sounds of laughter, benign words that buries itself in his chest, finding solitude in one another’s presence, basking in the warmth of it all.

Oh, to have someone see him beyond the walls he built, it scares him in some way—when you have forever listened to the chorus of condemns orchestrated by your mind, you’ll only think that you’re unlovable to anyone, that’s how it was for him, and yet to you, it comes easy as if he’s simply tangled threads that only needs to be unraveled carefully and gently. He didn’t know nor did he ever think that you'd see stars on his scars when he laid himself bare for you to see the marks that dusted his skin.

Aventurine feels like he could drown in the feeling. It’s a gentle tide that crawls to the shore and drags him along with the warm currents (the smell of blood is replaced with the taste of salt on his lips); a tender fire that burns slowly, and despite the uncertainty whether the flame is going to burn out or consume him, he’ll let the light in.

GRAH DRUM ROLLS PLEASE IM ANNOUNCING THE PRESENCE OF THE OUTSTANDING AND AMAZING FELI @dr-felitas (sometimes i type in your old user and wonder why it's not popping out and then i just go oh!) anyways, this is for you my fellow dry-talker npc,, i honestly find it cute that we're starting to adopt each other's mannerisms or texting language or pattern cause like i only started saying "right!?" (when i agree on something) because of you (back then i only say real or just nothing at all :D) and i think i began to use some of your vocabulary 😭. and somehow my ability to understand and read through typos are getting better all thanks to you 🔥🔥🔥 the world will end first before you even get to spell that word properly jkjk i love you with all of your typos, incoherent words, stupid autocorrect mwamwamwa (i say as if im im not the same) !! anyways you are a light in my life and you're one of the reasons why i still continue to pick up the pen and write !! you've been of great help and inspiration in my writings <33 without you, i probably wouldn't be able to get through the hell hole of last month, thank you. ily lots mwaa !!

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lacewise · 1 year ago

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One of the most interesting things to me is the reason I can (usually) tell point de gaze and Alençon needle lace apart is not because of the difference in stitches (which there *are*)—but the difference in designs. Alençon frequently uses a cohesive pattern featuring one, maybe two, types of motifs. Point de gaze tends to value ‘fineness’ or ‘opulence’ over ‘cohesion’. I’m somewhat curious how that would’ve impacted point de gaze’s development if it had more time to evolve (it’s heyday only lasted a couple decades).

(There was a third point de gaze example but I couldn’t figure out how to describe it)

#needle lace #needlepoint lace #needlework #antique needle lace #needle lace discussion

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five-rivers · 8 months ago

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Season of the Skies

I started playing a game called Sky: Children of the Light recently, and although this isn't a crossover, it's definitely inspired by the vibes of that. It's a cute game!

Also, based on the feedback I got on AO3, there seems to be a significant overlap between the Phandom and Sky: Cotl players? Is that the case?

Reality had broken a month ago, and Danny was having the time of his life.

He leaped lightly from rooftop to treetop and back again, gravity a dreamy afterthought. The tiles and bark were rough beneath his bare feet, but not so rough he regretted not wearing shoes. His impacts shook loose pollen, glitter, and a few stray petals, but did the trees no harm. On the roofs he was silent, and no one came out to yell at him, but the window glass chimed with flashes of light.

The colors around him were bright and soft. Easy to look at, easy to fall into. The sky above was marbled with dawn-colored clouds and stars caught among distant nebulae. Light and color were some of the first things to break, and Danny wasn't sorry to see light pollution go. Most Everything glowed, now, and stargazing would have been terrible if eyes still worked the same way.

At his next jump, this one taking him up a good ten feet, the feather-soft edge of the shawl he was wearing flared out behind him, brushing his arms. The shawl was huge on him. An old project of his great-grandmother's, it had been made with the typical Fenton girth in mind. Honestly, it fit him more like a cape than a shawl, but he liked it that way.

He landed safely and straightened the cape. His dad’s needlepoint hobby had been inherited from her, so the dark blue fabric was covered in fine embroidery, lace, and tiny glass beads in shades of clear, pale blue, and white. Great Grandma Fenton hadn't been into ghosts the same way the current Fentons were, but she'd been into something, so the patterns were strange. Icicles, snowflakes, stars, clouds, and trees competed with lightning, runes and sigils, and strange, spirit-like creatures.

“Hey!” shouted someone from the street below. “Hey, Fentwerp! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Ah. Dash. Charming. Danny leaned over the edge of the roof. “What does it look like I'm doing?” he asked agreeably.

“Getting your dumb nerd self killed is what it looks like,” said Dash, glowering up at Danny, his face turning red.

There. See. That's what Danny didn't understand. No one else seemed willing to experiment with how the world was now. They were all operating under the old rules, or, worse, looking for ways to fix things, as if the new world wasn't better than the old.

Sure, it had been scary the first few days. The suddenness. The uncertainty. The way systems they had relied on for so long had stuttered or failed outright. Danny knew people had been hurt, that, in some places, they were still getting hurt. He had been one of those people, having been in the hospital when the change rippled through the world, a result of an equipment malfunction in his parents’ lab.

Maybe his opinion would be different if he was still getting hurt. But as it was… why would he ever want to go back to how things were? Why would he want to leave this world, where the colors were soft and bright, and the light sang? Why would he want to leave this world where the air itself seemed to bear him up? Where the possibilities seemed limitless?

There was so much more potential for good, with the world as it was than as it had been. So much less potential for harm. This was a more finished version of the world. All the rough edges were gone, and filled with wonder. He could feel it.

“Get down here!” demanded Dash, when Danny didn't respond.

“No,” said Danny.

“Get down here or else.”

“Or else what?” asked Danny, genuinely curious. Dash couldn't get up here. No one else could, as far as Danny knew. They hadn't taken the time to work out the new rules for gravity.

Dash clenched his hands into fists, then stooped to grab a fairly large rock. Danny, seeing no reason to just let Dash throw it at him, left.

“Hey!” shouted Dash. “Hey! Freakton! Get back here!”

Names like that were a lot less distressing when the people using them had no power to hurt you.

Danny continued on his path upwards, touching on higher and higher buildings. It was tough to get the proper amount of momentum to make some of his jumps, especially since he'd stopped to talk to Dash, but he managed to make all of them, and soon he was standing on top of the tallest building in Amity Park.

In the center of the roof was a small tree, a sapling. It hadn't been there the first time Danny had made it up here, and it had grown rapidly since then. Next time he came, it'd probably be taller than he was.

For now, though, Danny knelt to check the roots where they grew through a widening crack in the building's roof. He'd warned the people in the building (he had warned everyone in buildings that had suddenly found themselves with roof trees), but he hadn't heard that anyone had done anything about it, and the roof trees felt friendly to him, so he hadn't pushed the issue. From the descriptions and pictures Sam had given him, this one seemed healthy enough.

He pulled a bottle from his backpack and gave the tree a generous sprinkle. Then he stood up, gave the crown of leaves an affectionate ruffle, and made his way to the edge of the roof.

The city spread out in all directions below him, vibrant and changing. Towards the edges of town, some buildings had lifted off their foundations, becoming floating islands. Across the viridian, iridescent forest to the north, he could see blue-bright-gray flashes of Lake Eerie. Fentonworks was easily visible off to the west, silver dishes and spires chased with green halos. The parks bloomed with flowers both alien and familiar, vines trailing up into the air, trees growing explosively fast. A breeze from behind turned his attention south, and he saw high clouds letting down shimmering curtains of rain.

It wasn’t like Amity Park had been drab and horrible before, but why would anyone want to go back?

He looked away, back down at the street far below him. Steeling himself, he grasped the edges of the shawl, he spread his arms wide.

“Time to lift off,” he said, quietly. “T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two–” Where he would have said one, he instead inhaled deeply. Where he would have said zero, he jumped.

For a heart-stopping moment, he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake, if he’d made an error in his calculations, if reality had chosen that moment to reassert itself and he was about to drop like a rock.

The moment passed quickly. He was flying. Or, at least, gliding.

He laughed, and flapped his ‘wings.’ The shawl snapped behind him and gave him a small amount of lift.

He was doing it. He was doing it.

And now that he was doing it, it felt as natural as breathing. All that planning, all those calculations, all that running, climbing, and jumping–

He could fly.

Oh, maybe it wasn’t as impressive as it would have been in the old world, where gravity was a cruel mistress. But it was still flight, unpowered, human flight, and no one he knew of had done this before.

He laughed, and banked to the side, flying in spirals. He wasn’t brave enough to try a loop, yet, but he would, eventually, when he learned more about this.

His spirals took him over the park, the school, the mall, even the Nasty Burger. But he was losing altitude, his arms were getting tired, and he knew that if he got too close to the ground, gravity would get him again. Not to the point of hurting him at all, but he didn’t want to land just anywhere after all this work.

He tipped his wings westward, and started gliding home, pumping his ‘wings’ as infrequently as he could get away with. He didn’t quite make it all the way back to his front door, but he got close, just a few houses down the street. He rubbed his shoulders. That was going to leave him sore. He’d have to work out and practice more if he wanted to fly any real distance. He'd also need a way to take off that didn’t involve climbing the tallest building in town.

The front door of Fentonworks slammed open, revealing a pale Jack and a furiously pink Maddie.

“Daniel James Fenton! What do you think you're doing?”

Danny looked down at his bare feet, then back up at his parents. “Walking?”

Maddie sucked a breath in between her teeth. “Inside,” she said

Danny hurried to obey, taking the steps up to the door two at a time and squeezing past her and Jack to get into the house. Maddie closed the door behind him.

“So, um,” said Danny, shuffling from foot to foot. “What, um. I thought you guys were going to be working all day today?”

“On the Ops Center,” said Jack. “Not in the la– Not downstairs.”

Danny made note of the near-slip but didn’t comment on it. He was already in trouble. He didn’t need to remind them that the lab didn’t exactly exist anymore and make their mood worse.

“Oh,” he said. “What were you–?”

“Never mind what we were doing. What were you doing? What were you thinking, jumping off a building like that? You could have died?”

“Or been seriously hurt!”

“But I wasn’t! I’m fine. I planned it all out, and it worked.”

“And it shouldn’t have!” shouted Jack and Maddie at the same time.

Danny blinked up at them. “What?”

Jack explained. “We’ve been tracking the changes to gravity, too, Danny. We’ve been measuring it, measuring all the changes, to see what those darn ghosts did.”

Danny held back a sigh. There still wasn’t any sign that ghosts had done this, or even that ghosts existed.

“Gravity might have changed a bit,” continued Jack, “but not enough to keep a human being airborne like that.”

“There are whole buildings floating,” said Danny. “I’m a lot smaller than a building.”

“The rules seem to be different for different masses, as well as different altitudes,” said Maddie, making a face.

“Yeah! It’s really exciting. We’re trying to measure the ectoplasm levels– It has to be related, but we haven’t been able to detect any yet– Those ghosts are tricky, son–”

“Well, yeah. But the rules are also different for things that are alive.”

“Really?” asked Jack, leaning close.

“Uh, yes? Otherwise I wouldn’t have done, um. That. I tested it.”

“You tested it? Did you write it down?”

Danny nodded, cautiously. Jack swept him off his feet. “Our boy has been doing science, Mads!”

“He’s been jumping off of buildings!”

“Putting his research to practical use!”

“He’s been jumping off buildings without being peer reviewed!”

“Oh, yeah, son, you should have had someone check your work.”

“You never get peer reviewed,” said Danny, scowling.

“That’s different,” said Maddie, quickly.

“If anyone else believed in ghosts, you’d be sure we would be!”

Hanging limp in Jack’s arms, Danny grumbled.

“Danny,” said Maddie.

“Yes?” he mumbled.

“No more testing theories without checking in with us first. Safety first. You should know this by now.”

Danny hunched his shoulders and tried not to think too hard about his scars. They weren’t very visible, and the doctors had said that they’d fade away, probably entirely, eventually, but they were still there now, if you knew where to look.

A month ago, reality had broken.

A few days before that, Danny had almost died. Lab accident. It turned out that his parents thought portals to other dimensions which may or may not exist needed a lot of electricity and chemicals to function. Danny had been curious. He’d wanted to explore, to investigate. He’d stepped on a loose wire that had led to a capacitor. He’d been horribly electrocuted, and then exposed to a chemical cocktail. Sam and Tucker, who had been in the lab with him, had called for an ambulance, and he’d been brought to the hospital.

At least, that’s what he was told, later. He hadn’t woken up until he’d been in the hospital for a few days. Of course, when he had woken up, he did so because a bunch of the medicines going into him had started to do weird things while reality restructured itself, and that had been… incredibly unpleasant. Everyone had been grateful that only a very few things - like whatever Danny had been on to take care of the chemicals he’d picked up in the lab - had acted like that.

Later, Jazz had told Danny that for a brief period of time between the accident and reality breaking, Jack and Maddie had sworn off ghost hunting. Presumably forever. But once the laws of physics, chemistry, and biology started to rebel and twist, they’d taken it back. Well, to be fair, apparently they didn’t take it back until the lab disappeared. And the Fenton Stockades.

Although, to be fair in the other direction, it was more a case of everyone’s basements disappearing and being replaced by weird misty caverns than ghosts specifically targeting his parents. It was a whole thing.

(Personally, Danny was glad to see them go, although it had sounded like Sam was mourning hers.)

“Danny,” said Maddie, “tell us that you understand.”

“I understand. I don’t test theories without you,” said Danny, grudgingly. “Not even about cool things like flying.”

Maddie scowled. Jack beamed.

“Great!” shouted Jack. He whirled Danny around again. “Let’s go see your data! Where is it?”

“Upstairs,” mumbled Danny. “I’ve got a notebook.”

“A notebook, Mads!”

Maddie sighed. “Alright, let’s see the notebook.”

#danny phantom #fic

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years ago

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Being Aemond's conquest is giving me dom/sub feels. He probably wouldn't hesitate in completely destroying his conquests and forcing them to submission (consensually) and claiming them as his in every way he can. He probably only allows a bit of brattiness for conquests he is more familiar with though, lol.

Closer

Warnings: Smut. Pure smut. BDSM style relationship. 18+ Pairing: Dom!Aemond x Sub!Nameless Female Character Word count: 1.6k

“I can’t!” she whines piteously, backing up the bed away from Aemond, prey attempting to escape its predator.

To anyone that doesn’t know any better, Aemond’s face holds an air of cold indifference. However, to her, the sadistic glint in his eye is unmistakable. She hates him when he is like this. Yet she craves it just the same. She needs that steadying hand of correction, to give herself fully to Aemond’s control. And he loves being in control.

Aemond stands at the foot of the bed, looming over her. His long white hair is untied, hanging loose around his face and shoulders. He has chosen to forego the use of his eyepatch for this evening’s activities, the sapphire within the empty socket glints malignantly in the light cast from the fireplace. He is bare chested, the pale skin of his toned chest and stomach creamy white and intoxicating.

Ordinarily, Aemond stays fully clothed for their encounters, preferring a swift exit once they are finished. However, he knows tonight will be prolonged and messy. Best not to create any unsightly stains, he thinks to himself. His cock strains painfully at the laces of his leather riding trousers. The urge to free it and bury it in her tight heat is overwhelming, but he refrains, she’d enjoy that. Tonight is not about her pleasure, it is about correction. She had forgotten her place.

It had started earlier that morning. Aemond had awoken with a deep throbbing ache that he knew only her cunt would satisfy. Ever discreet, he’d waited for the opportune moment to approach her. It would not do for a prince to be seen fraternising with a lady in waiting. They were both aware of this and took great lengths to keep their regular trysts a secret. He had lingered around the Red Keep all day, watching her from a distance, waiting for his moment to strike. An opportunity finally presented itself when he saw her sat in the gardens with Helaena. His older sister’s attention was captivated by a beetle meandering its way across the stone floor, so he’d made a point to quietly walk past, whispering as he did so.

“Meet me in my chambers at noon.”

The rush of excitement she’d had felt had caused a flush to creep across her skin. She imagined the iron clad grip of his hands on her hips, the sobs of pleasure that bubbled in her throat, his whispers of “ilībītsos” little slut. Heat had pooled in her core at the thought, biting her lip in anticipation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their Septa, calling both her and Helaena inside for needlepoint practice. Late morning gave way to early afternoon, then mid-afternoon. The time was whiled away by girlish exuberance, as she and Helaena giggled and gossiped. The intricate detailing of the spider that Helaena was embroidering becoming more detailed as the hours ticked by.

Realisation suddenly dawned on her and she looked to the Septa. “Is it noon yet?”

“My child, it is four hours past.” Her eyes went wide, dread gnawing at her insides.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.”

She rushed from the room, not giving the Septa a chance to enquire as to where she was going.

She slowed her pace as she approached the door to Aemond’s chambers, attempting to calm herself. She smoothed her skirts, calmed her breathing and then knocked.

“Enter” came the curt reply.

Her heart hammered in her chest as her hand lingered hesitantly on the door handle. Her sense of reason was screaming at her to turn and run, to avoid the inevitable wrath of the Targaryen prince. Yet another sense urged her forward: lust.

Aemond was seated in an armchair, facing the fire, his back to her as she entered the room. The long nimble fingers of his left hand drummed softly on the arm of the chair. He said nothing to her, the silence felt like it stretched on for an eternity as she stood there.

Finally, she decided to speak up, unable to endure his ignorance of her presence any longer. “My prince, I am sorry I was late, I…” “Late?” he interrupted her, his voice eerily calm, “Riña, you are not late. You have forgotten your prince.” Girl.

He stood and walked slowly towards her.

Fear and excitement made her stomach lurch and her heart flutter.

“I would never forget you, I only…”

Her sentence was cut off as she felt the sharp sting of the back of Aemond’s hand strike her cheek. She gasped, stumbling back, her fingers gently touching the quickly reddening skin of where he’d hit her. When she looked up at him through tear filled eyes he appeared almost composed, yet she could see the slight flare of his nostrils, the burning intensity of his right eye. She was in trouble.

“You are disrespectful, ilībītsos.” He said, “You have kept a prince waiting. A Targaryen prince. And you must be taught a lesson.” Little slut.

She stared at him wide eyed, not knowing quite what to say. The sting of her cheek was far outweighed by the ceaseless clenching between her thighs.

Her eyes flickered to his hand moving towards his hip, watching as he unsheathed his dagger before twirling it skillfully between long digits.

“Aemond, no!” said cried, her expression one of pure horror. Fear clutched at her in an icy cold grip.

He gave a slight smirk, his eye fixed on hers. “You think I mean to cut you? You shall not get off so lightly.”

She flinched as he slashed the blade downwards, slicing the bodice of her gown in two, before dropping the dagger and pulling the rest off with his hands, until she stood bare before him.

Relief immediately washed over her. He had not meant to harm her. This was quickly replaced by a feeling of shame, upon realising her vulnerable state. Her hands attempted unsuccessfully to cover her modesty.

Aemond’s eye roamed appreciatively over her, his lips quirking slightly as he did so. “Get on the bed.” He commanded. “I won’t ask you twice.”

There was a part of her that wanted to defy his order, to find out what would happen next. However, like the wanton little thing that she was, she found herself obeying him wordlessly as she climbed on top of the covers.

His hands were immediately upon her, manhandling her into the position her wanted her in. The next few hours were a heady mess of his lips, teeth, tongue and fingers wrenching climax after climax from her aching body. She swore at one point she could feel him pressing the pommel of his dagger inside of her, but she could not be sure. The mingling of overstimulating sensations made her mind cloudy.

At some point he strips himself out of his tunic and jerkin, remarking on how the mess that’s dripping down her thighs will ruin the material. She does not notice him remove his eyepatch, until she is met with the sight of the sapphire, shimmering and threatening all at once.

Which finally brings her to the present moment. Her abused core is throbbing and sensitive, her thighs are trembling. She is certain she cannot take anymore. She will surely pass out if he brings her to her peak just once more.

“I can’t…” she repeats feebly, when he says nothing.

“You can. You will. You must.” He taunts, dragging her back towards him by her thighs.

“Aemond, please, have mercy! Just fuck me and get this over with.”

“Oh no, ilībītsos, you will not have my cock this night.” He says softly, “I would not fuck you past your peak. You are too loud.”

He settles himself between her legs, pushing his face to her most sensitive of parts. She sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks as he presses his tongue back to her pearl, for what feels like the hundredth time that day, licking at her like a man half starved, eliciting another shuddering crest of sensation from her.

He finally stands, satisfied that the task is complete and admires his handiwork. She is a shaking mess, tangled in the bed clothes. Her cheeks are ruddy and tear stained, her hair fans wildly around her head. The apex of her thighs is glistening with her slick and swollen with overuse.

He unlaces his trousers, sighing with relief as his hand finds his erect cock. This evening has been every bit as torturous for him as it has been for her and he is eager for release.

She looks hopefully up at him as he does this and he lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Remember, I said I am not going to fuck you.”

He knows she hates it when he doesn’t spend inside of her and so he fists his length, ready to deliver the final insult. It does not take long for him to reach his end, having been painfully hard for the last few hours. He sighs as he ejaculates rope after pearly rope across her skin.

The wail she lets out sounds almost heartbroken. He smiles to himself. She has definitely learned her lesson.

“Get out.” He tells her coolly, as he tucks himself away and laces his trousers back up.

“But…but…I am a mess!” She protests.

He smirks. “Yes. Yes, you are. And perhaps you will think on that the next time you decide to behave like your time is more valuable than mine.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond stannies #hotd #pro aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction

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chic-a-gigot · 3 months ago

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L'Art et la mode, no. 31, vol. 15, 4 août 1894, Paris. Toilettes pour garden-parties, croquet, etc. Dessin de G. de Billy. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Robe de faille bleu pâle, voilée de tulle brodé ivoire; la blouse large est serrée à la taille par des plis fins; ceinture de velours fermée par des choux. Manches larges avec nœuds sur les épaules; manches très drapées sur un transparent bleu pâle, serrées au-dessus du coude par un bracelet de velours noir. Capeline Louis XVI. en dentelle, nœud de taffetas bleu, aigrette noire.

Pale blue faille dress, veiled with ivory embroidered tulle; the wide blouse is tightened at the waist by fine pleats; velvet belt closed by choux. Wide sleeves with bows on the shoulders; very draped sleeves on a pale blue transparent, tightened above the elbow by a black velvet bracelet. Louis XVI capeline. in lace, blue taffeta bow, black aigrette.

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Robe en satin feuille de rose, genre princesse, avec plis dans le dos, retenus par une ceinture et des choux de satin; ruban remontant dans le dos sur une pèlerine de batiste brodée; manches courtes, gants blancs.

Princess-style rose-leaf satin dress with pleats in the back, held by a belt and satin puffs; ribbon running up the back on an embroidered batiste cape; short sleeves, white gloves.

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Robe en mousseline ou batiste rousse sur transparent; garniture de point à l’aiguille; ceinture écharpe, en soie molle effilée dans le bas; grosse touffe de roses reine à la taille; devant du corsage coulissé; manches garnies d'entre-deux. Capeline paille de riz, garnie de marguerites, de rubans et de plumes.

Dress in russet muslin or batiste on transparent; needlepoint trim; scarf belt, in soft silk tapered at the bottom; large tuft of queen roses at the waist; front of the bodice drawn; sleeves trimmed with entre-deux. Rice straw wide-brimmed hat, trimmed with daisies, ribbons and feathers.

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Robe en popeline soie crème, avec broderie Pompadour, en soie de teintes vives, formant des guirlandes; corsage de gaze de soie bleu pâle, garnie d’entre-deux en biais; col formant berthe coquillée en popeline de soie crème; nœud de velours noir. Chapeau en paille fantaisie, avec boucle, nœud de soie Louis XV, et aigrette blanche et noire

Cream silk poplin dress, with Pompadour embroidery, in brightly colored silk, forming garlands; pale blue silk gauze bodice, trimmed with biased entre-deux; collar forming a shell berthe in cream silk poplin; black velvet bow. Fancy straw hat, with buckle, Louis XV silk bow, and white and black aigrette

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Corsage pour robe de tennis, en serge piquée ou drap blanc, plastron découpé, fermé par des boutons; pinces ouvertes, formant corselet, retenant les côtés du corsage qui ne sont pas ajustés. Manches larges, poignets ajustés.

Bodice for tennis dress, in pique serge or white cloth, cut-out plastron, closed with buttons; open darts, forming a corset, holding the sides of the bodice which are not fitted. Wide sleeves, fitted cuffs.

#L'Art et la mode #19th century #1890s #1894 #on this day #August 4 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #gigot #collar #Modèles de chez #G. de Billy

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