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[virginiablossoms]

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[alwaysmicado]

Trouble

5.3k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 5

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, D/s dynamic, rough oral (m receiving), spitting, cum eating, leg humping, degradation/praise, humiliation kink, pet names, aftercare, feelings Summary: After you’ve distracted Joel from work with your explicit texts all day, he decides to teach you a lesson.  A/N: Consensual degradation & humiliation – my beloved. This one's for you if you're into unadulterated filth with feelings sprinkled on top hehe. Let me know what you think, I love hearing your thots! 🤍

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ pt. 4 ・ series masterlist

“You sure you got nothing else to say to me?”

“I’m—sorry?”

“No,” he tilts his head and you see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

---

“Sneaking out for a hot date?” 

Busted. 

You sigh and turn around to face Kristen’s triumphant grin. Beautiful Kristen. The only person at your job with a bearable personality. 

If you only had Janice from accounting and her incessant yapping about her feral kids, or John from HR and his never-ending tirades against “modern women”, you probably would have burnt down the building already.  

Kristen’s been your lifeline over the past two years at this job. She’s upbeat, fun, a gifted painter and the closest thing to a female friend you have. 

Her only flaw: she’s so nosy it’s not even funny.

After your get-well-fuck with Joel three days ago where he left multiple marks on your neck, you not only plastered a bunch of foundation over the purple reminders of his fever-fueled nipping, you also wore a silk scarf which, in hindsight, was a dumb idea.

The first thing you were welcomed with when you came in that morning was an enthusiastic “You go, girl!” followed by giggling after Kristen saw your unimpressed face. 

You shoot her a half-hearted smile and raise an eyebrow. “Who says it’s a date?” 

Kristen’s grin widens. “Oh, come on! You think I don’t notice the way you giggle at your phone like a lovesick idiot?”

“Oh, shut up,” you protest in mock offense. What the hell is she talking about? You don’t do that. “I got a doctor’s appointment. Nothing hot about that,” you say nonchalantly.

Kristen leans in, lowering her voice dramatically. “A doctor, huh? Do you have an ache only he can cure with his special tool?”

“You’re a pervert, you know that?” 

“Yeah, duh. That’s why you love me,” she chuckles, causing the corners of your own lips to twitch. 

“Well,” she smirks, “I hope the doctor will take the best care of you.” 

You roll your eyes at her teasing, grab your bag and blow her a kiss before heading out. You leave the office with a grin, reveling in the sunshine that greets you when you step out.

The warmth of the day feels refreshing against your skin as you stroll to the parking lot. Your dress, despite being a result of prolonged laundry procrastination, is surprisingly comfortable, allowing you to appreciate the light breeze that rustles its fabric. 

The sun casts a golden hue on the cityscape and you can't help but smile at the small pleasures of life – the sun on your face, a staff meeting getting canceled earlier, finding twenty bucks in an old pair of jeans this morning.

Life is okay at the moment.

Despite work kicking your ass, your mother trying to guilt-trip you into coming “home” and the last hookup you had throwing you out in the middle of the goddamn night because his wife came home from her business trip early.

You’re feeling good. 

One might even say you’re happy.

If only there wasn’t this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders when you see your Uber pull up. Get yourself together. 

The car winds through the city streets, and as you give Joel's address to the driver, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The engine hums softly as you navigate the familiar turns, presenting the perfect background to lose yourself in a daydream.

As you settle into the comfort of your bed, the world outside fades away. In the gentle embrace of your imagination, you feel a figure appear behind you. Their warmth is a soothing balm, and as they pull you close, a profound sense of security envelops you. The weight of the world, of your being lifts, replaced by the tender reassurance of this ethereal embrace.

In this imagined sanctuary, sleep finds you easily, cradled in the arms of solace. The whispered promise of warmth and safety lingers, allowing dreams to unfold like petals, undisturbed and serene in the soft glow of moonlight.

The notification sound of your phone pulls you back to reality. Glancing at the screen, you see Joel's name. You open the message and involuntarily press your thighs together, your pulse quickening instantly. 

Door’s open. Get naked, then come upstairs.You’re in real trouble, angel.

---

The familiar scent of Joel’s home greets you when you step inside. It smells more like home than your apartment or any other place you’ve lived in since you were a child. Safe, warm, comforting – like its owner. And it’s a surprisingly well-decorated and welcoming home for a bachelor.

So much so that you asked him flat out if he had a wife on your first night together.

You take your shoes off and put your bag on the couch in the living room before heading to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands and quickly check if you look presentable. Your eyes are a bit swollen from lack of restful sleep, but other than that, you’re good to go.

As you take your dress, bra and panties off, you somewhat fondly remember the last time Joel ordered you to his home because you were sending him filthy texts and photos while you both were at work. 

You spent thirty minutes sitting still on his lap while he worked on his computer, his throbbing cock buried deep inside you. Every time he would shift in his chair a little, you would whimper into the crook of his neck and he would whisper into your ear how well you were doing for him and draw soothing circles on your back with his palm.

You hated and loved every torturous second of it. 

The office door is open when you come upstairs. Your eyes widen when you see Joel sitting at his desk. It’s incredible how handsome he looks. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, blue gym shorts and his glasses as he’s staring at the computer and typing something with his index fingers.

Your heart starts beating faster as you take him in, the domesticity of this scene giving you an unexpectedly warm feeling deep within you. 

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me?” Joel asks with a swivel of his chair, his body now facing yours. He saw you out of the corner of his eye before but now that he’s getting a good look at you, his jaw almost hits the floor.

He will never get used to seeing you naked. 

“God, you’re so much more beautiful in real life,” he murmurs, his pupils blown wide and the admiration in his voice unmistakable.

You give him a satisfied smile as you lean against the doorframe. “I sure hope so,” you tease. 

“Do you know why you’re here, darlin’?” Joel asks with a tilt of his head, his brow slightly furrowed.

“I’m assuming it has something to do with the silly little texts and pics I sent you to brighten up your day,” you say, feigning innocence. “Did you like them?” 

“You really think now’s the time to be a brat, huh?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright, then.” His eyes sparkle dangerously as he sits back in his chair and spreads his legs wider.

“You sure you got nothing else to say to me?”

“I’m—sorry?”

“No,” he tilts his head and you see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

You bite your lip as your eyes focus on the visible bulge in Joel’s shorts, and try to suppress the huge grin that’s threatening to spread across your face. This is exactly what you wanted and you both know it.

“Hands and knees, baby,” Joel orders calmly and puts his hands on his thighs. “C’mere.”

You lower yourself on all fours without hesitation and crawl towards him slowly, making sure to sway your hips and never break eye contact. Joel’s the only person you’d put yourself in such a submissive position for and you revel in the exhilarating feeling it gives you.

Joel keeps his eyes trained on you, subtly rubbing his thighs as you come closer to where he’s needed you all day. His eyes are dark and full of need as he licks his lips and follows the mesmerizing movement of your body. He likes how you, despite your brattiness, know perfectly well where your place is. 

“Look at what you did,” he says, once you’re kneeling on all fours between his spread legs. He palms his throbbing cock over the fabric and your eyes widen a little, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“That's right, baby, you did this. And now you need to take responsibility for your actions.” He gently caresses your cheek, tracing your lips with his thumb.

When he presses on your lower lip, you instinctively open your mouth enough for his finger to slip inside. He presses on your tongue, admiring the feeling and your willingness to submit.

“Look at you,” he chuckles, gently rubbing his cock. “Such a little slut, always wants something in her mouth.”

He moves his thumb further along your tongue, causing you to furrow your brow and gag a little. “You couldn't help yourself, huh, just had to put on a show all day like the needy whore you are.” 

He takes his thumb out of your mouth and pulls his shorts all the way down, letting them fall on the floor next to his chair. His heavy cock flops against his lower belly, causing you to swallow and part your lips instinctively. Joel smirks at your reaction, enjoying the raw need sparkling in your eyes as he strokes himself slowly.

You start squirming, pressing your thighs together to alleviate at least some of the uncomfortable ache between your legs, and let out an almost inaudible whine as Joel continuously strokes up and down his length while looking at you curiously. 

He leans in and tilts your chin up, his dark eyes boring into you.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He asks softly, feigning concern. He looks from you to his cock and back, raising an eyebrow. “All of this just because you’re a pathetic little cockslut with nothing else in her dumb little head than my cock. Isn’t that right, angel?”

You nod slowly, your lips slightly parted, hypnotized by Joel’s big eyes and filthy words.  

“Use your words, slut,” he growls, gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head up even more. 

“I just—wanted you so bad, I–” 

“Aww, of course you did,” he teases you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me your safeword, angel.” 

He looks into your eyes intently as you say it out loud, then puts a soft kiss on your lips. You whimper when he withdraws, the feeling of his warm lips lingering. 

“Open up,” he orders with a tap of his fingers to your bottom lip. “Stick your tongue out for me.” 

You obey and do as he says, looking into his eyes expectantly. You watch in awe and pure need as the thick glob of saliva makes its way down from Joel’s mouth and lands on the back of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you feel it run down your throat. 

“Swallow.” He gently puts a strand of hair behind your ear as you show him your empty mouth. “Good girl.”

You moan softly at his praise and furrow your brow when your eyes find his cock again. 

“You really want it, huh,” Joel purrs, trailing your neck and chest gently with his hands. When he brushes your nipples, you wince a little, eliciting a low chuckle from him. “Spread your legs, baby. Let me see your little pussy.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath, his cock twitching impatiently when you sit back on your heels and present your glistening folds.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs, tracing your belly all the way down to your mound and stopping right before touching your clit. “Must’ve been uncomfortable to sit in that all day, hm?” 

He gently pulls your lips apart with his thumbs and index fingers, inspecting you closely. “Your little clit is so swollen, baby, does it hurt?” 

“Mhm,” you whine, his touch so close to your neglected bundle of nerves torturing you beyond belief. “It–it hurts so bad, Sir.” 

“Hmm,” he searches your eyes, “and that’s why you thought it was a good idea to send me all those naughty messages?” He spreads your lips apart further, eliciting a long moan from you. “You thought I’d fuck you if you did?”

“Y–yes,” you stammer, your legs trembling, “I’m sor–”

You’re cut off when Joel lets go of your lips and swipes his fingers through your dripping wet folds agonizingly slowly, once, twice, three times, barely brushing your pulsating clit. 

Listening to the noises you make and feeling your hot cunt on his hand is enough to make him almost come, despite his cock not having any contact at the moment. His eyes never leave yours as you whimper desperately, his barely there touch enough to build your long overdue orgasm.

“Go on, angel,” he withdraws his hand and holds his hand up to your lips, “clean up the mess you made.”

He pushes his wet fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck your own juices off of him. You do so eagerly, sucking and licking his fingers, moaning around them. 

“You would’ve sucked my cock in front of everyone if I had let you, huh.” You let out a desperate moan, feeling your pussy get wetter at the thought. “That’s right, baby,” Joel chuckles. “Show everyone you’re my little cockslut.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, satisfied with the job you did, then grabs your chin hard, his wet fingers pressing into your hot cheeks.

“You want it so bad, baby? Then beg for it.” 

“Please,” you whine. “Please let me suck your cock, please, I–I want your cock so bad—”

“All yours, baby.”

He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head, looking at you through lidded eyes. 

“Fuuuck, that’s it,” Joel groans as you start licking and sucking at his balls, then lightly trace the veins of his cock with your warm tongue, swirling it around the tip, licking up the salty precum. You look at him expectantly as you lick up and down his length, fondling his balls with your hand. 

He smiles at the needy look in your eyes, finding it unbelievably hot that you want to, need to hear his praise so badly even though it’s obvious that everything you do to him is and feels beyond perfect. 

“Good girl,” he says softly, eliciting a little whimper from you. “Now stop teasing and take it.”

You immediately hold him up by the base and take the tip into your mouth, sucking on it eagerly. You take him further, inch by inch, bobbing your head up and down his shaft until he’s nudging the back of your throat. Your eyes well over with tears as you gag around his cock. Joel groans in response, his whole body tensing as he tangles his hands in your hair.

You make a surprised sound when he leans over you and pushes your head down until your nose is rubbing his pubic hair, giving you no chance to move your head. He keeps his length buried deep inside you for a few seconds before pulling you up, a thick string of saliva mixed with precum connecting you two, only to push you right back down.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” Joel pants as you choke and whine loudly. 

He pulls your head back up to let you catch your breath and make sure you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is. He knows from the look in your eyes that you are, but he wants to make sure before you continue. 

“What’s your color, angel?” 

You look at him with bleary eyes, but give him a dazed smile and whisper, “Green.”

Joel nods and caresses your wet cheeks, wiping away some of your tears with his thumbs. 

He traces your swollen lips with the head of his cock, loving the way his precum sticks to them. 

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he pants. “Can’t have you passing out on me.”

You wrap your lips around his head, swirl your tongue around it, then bob your head again – messily, sloppily, just the way he likes it. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, thrusting his hips to slide in and out of your mouth, smiling at you and petting your hair. “Such a perfect little fleshlight.”

You tremble and moan around him, not entirely sure if his filthy mouth, his groaning, or the fact that he’s using you for his pleasure  is turning you on the most. You just know you love it when he holds your head steady and fucks your mouth roughly, taking what he wants from you, making you gag and choke, saliva and tears running down your cheeks, chin, neck, and body.

You look like a masterpiece. 

“I’m close, baby,” Joel pants, your perfect, wet mouth and the admiration he sees in your big, wet eyes making him tremble every time he thrusts his hips into you. You push him right over the edge when you squeeze his balls hard. 

He comes with a strangled groan, shooting rope after rope of warm cum down your throat and onto your tongue. You welcome it with eager moans, so far gone that you don’t realize what you’re doing until after it’s too late — you swallow it all without his permission.

Fatal mistake. 

Joel grabs you by your hair, pulling you off his pulsating cock, still breathing heavily.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?”

Your eyes widen in shock, your lip quivering. “I–I'm sorry, I–I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Joel sighs and raises his eyebrows. He loosens his grip in your hair and looks at your eyes welling up with tears. You stumble over your words as you keep apologizing over and over again. You’re so perfect like this. 

“What’s your color, baby?” 

“Green, Sir,” you sniffle. “It’s green.”

“Now what am I supposed to do with a fleshlight that doesn’t work right, hm?” He tilts your chin up and rubs it softly with his thumb. “Do you think you deserve to get fucked?”

“I’m—please, I'll be good, I promise,” you choke out through tears and hiccups. “Please, I’ll do anything you want, just please—”

Joel smirks and leans back in his chair. “No need to tell me that, angel. I know you’ll do anything.” He lifts his foot between your thighs, eliciting a small, needy noise from you when he presses it against your swollen cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. All from being used, hm?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whine, wiping your cheeks and trying your hardest to stay still. “Thank you.”

“Such a pathetic little slut.” He rubs his foot against your folds, and you moan, closing your eyes, your lips trembling, your face hot from embarrassment and arousal. Joel presses harder and you cry out, your hips jerking instinctively. 

“Pathetic enough to hump my leg?”

He snorts when he sees the stunned look on your face. You are definitely startled, but you don't protest. Joel can see a mix of hesitation and need in your eyes, and he understands that he needs to push you.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he says, gently petting your hair, “so you better thank me for letting you come at all.”

He sighs and pulls your head back by your hair when you don’t answer fast enough. 

“Use your words, slut.”

“Th–thank you,” you whimper. “I–I just–” You trail off, too shocked and embarrassed to finish your sentence, your voice trembling as you babble unintelligibly.

You hear Joel say your name and feel him cup your cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You sniffle and try to focus on his eyes. “Tell me your color,” he says gently, his deep voice soothing your nerves. 

“Still green,” you breathe, swallowing hard. 

He searches your eyes and nods before sitting back up and extending his leg a little.

“Go on, then.”

You look at the satisfied smirk on his face before taking a deep breath and scooting forward, adjusting yourself against Joel’s leg. Gripping Joel’s thigh for balance, you tilt your hips forward until your clit makes contact with his hairy leg. You shudder at the feeling, a needy little moan escaping your lips. 

Joel’s pupils are so blown, his eyes are completely black now. 

You slowly drag your hips upward and duck your head, embarrassed that you’re actually enjoying this – and that you’re this wet. After slowly rocking your hips up and down a few times, you can’t keep yourself from moaning anymore. It feels to fucking good.

You shift a little and allow yourself to set a pace that will make you come. You nuzzle your face against Joel’s thigh and don’t hold back anymore, rutting against his leg with abandon, chasing your release. 

“That’s it, angel,” Joel purrs, gently brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You rock your hips against his leg over and over again, your brows furrowed, whimpering desperately as you grind your wet folds against Joel’s leg, the friction causing your whole body to shudder.

Joel fucking loves seeing you like this; pliant, obedient, wanting to be good so badly that you’d do anything to please him. Most of all, though, he loves how much you trust him. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises, tilting your chin up to look into your glazed over eyes. “My good girl.”

You moan at his words, your fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, your hips jerking frantically, desperate for release. Joel smiles softly at your reaction, reveling in the fact that he's ruining you for anyone else.

He fucking delights in it.

“That’s right, angel. Keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes.”

You barely hear what he says as your breathing comes out in noisy, deep gasps, too far gone, too overwhelmed to feel embarrassed at fucking yourself on Joel’s leg. There are no thoughts left in your brain, your only focus now is chasing your climax.

“Feels good, huh? Such a spoiled brat, aren’t you,” he taunts, marveling at your blissed out expression and the sheen of sweat glistening on your naked body.

“You think you deserve to come, hm? Even though you’re just a dumb little whore, only good for taking my cock in all her holes?”

That’s almost enough right there to tip you over the edge. 

“Tell me what you are.”

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears making their way down your cheeks. Joel wipes them away with his thumbs as you stutter, “I’m–I’m your dumb little whore, Sir. I’m all yours — please, please–”

He gives you a warm smile as his dark eyes bore into. “Come for me, angel.”

You press your throbbing clit hard against him, humping his leg feverishly until the tension finally snaps and shockwaves grip your whole body, your legs trembling as you moan uncontrollably. Your walls contract around nothing as you collapse onto Joel’s thigh and start sobbing.

It’s all too much right now. 

He immediately draws you into his strong arms, lifting you up and cradling you. “Shh, sweetheart,” he purrs, holding you tight and stroking your hair, “you did so well. Are you alright, hm? You want me to go get you a towel?”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion of him leaving you, causing you to shake your head fervently, your tears flowing freely now as you gradually come down from your high. 

“Shh, it’s okay, baby” he coos, putting soft kisses on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

You're still naked and Joel wants you to feel comfortable and warm, so he swivels you two towards the couch to snag the blanket and drape it over you. He holds you close, whispering into your hair how well you did and how good you are, intermittently pressing soft kisses on your wet face. 

You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, a comforting rhythm that wraps around you like a protective cocoon. The warmth emanating from his body seeps into yours, making you feel calm and protected. 

Joel’s not surprised that you need physical affection and closeness right now, knowing that humiliation is one of the most effective ways to make you fly – and crash.

Falling apart in front of somebody, allowing them to see you in such a raw, uninhibited state, is an incredibly vulnerable act.

Joel is not taking your trust lightly. 

When he sees you wipe your nose with your arm, he swivels you back to his desk and opens the drawer to get you some tissues. Your heart skips a beat when you see what else is inside, but you keep quiet. 

“Was I really good?” You mumble after listening to Joel’s calming heartbeat for a few minutes.

“You were perfect, baby,” he says softly, pressing a tender kiss on the crown of your head. 

“So, can you fuck me now?”

The vibrations of Joel’s chuckles reverberate beneath you, making you laugh yourself. 

“How about we make sure you drink enough and eat something first, hm?”

“Just say that your refractory period is getting longer, old man.” 

“Why, hello,” he laughs and pinches your sides, making you squeal, “the princess is back.” You lift your head to look into his eyes. His beautiful, warm eyes. “You think I’ll fuck you if you keep being a brat, hm?” 

“That’s exactly what I think. Because you always do. Because you love it.” 

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head. “All this just now and you’re still sassing me?”

“Just admit you fucking love it, so we can move on and decide what we wanna have for dinner,” you murmur. 

Joel can’t hold back the beaming smile that’s spreading across his face.

Save for last time, you usually leave shortly after you’ve come down. He’ll sometimes ask if you want to stay a bit, but will never pressure you into doing so – even if it hurts him. 

And it does, sometimes, if he’s being honest. 

“Alright, alright,” he sighs deeply, his smile betraying his mocking tone. “I fucking love it when you’re a little brat and torture me all fucking day, making me sit in a fucking meeting for hours on end with a hard cock, listening to some rich fucks who want me to build some bullshit building for them.” 

You giggle at the description of his day and kiss his dimple. “I really am sorry, you know.”

“No you’re not,” he shakes his head. “Now, what are you in the mood for?”

“Can we, um, can we go eat the fattiest, unhealthiest junk food ever and then wash it down with huge cups of pure sugar, so we’re both gonna have a stomach ache for the next three days?” 

“Have I ever told you you’re perfect before?”

---

You step out of the shower, dry off, wash your face with Joel’s face wash and drink a glass of water. Joel put your bag outside the door when you were in the shower, giving you space to do your thing and going downstairs to take a shower there himself.

You’re kind of tired now, feeling a little burnt out.

You put on your panties and retrieve the comfy gym shorts you were smart enough to bring with you from your bag. They’re the only other clean piece of clothing besides the dress you could find in your drawer this morning.

“Joel?” You shout from the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow a t-shirt?” 

“Sure, darlin’. Just grab one you like.” 

“Thank you.” 

You smile and make your way to Joel’s bedroom. Opening the drawer, your eyes fall on a white shirt you’ve seen him wear many times. Don’t do it. You sigh defeatedly and lift the shirt up to your face, inhaling the unmistakable scent. 

Then you suddenly remember it. Fuck. You need to make sure. 

You put on the shirt and quickly walk to the office. Taking a deep breath and making sure Joel’s not watching you snoop through his things, you open the drawer. 

The polaroid feels strange in your hand as you lift it to take a closer look. 

It’s one of Tommy, you and Joel in it, from the night Tommy introduced you two. You don’t even remember taking this one, but now that you’re looking at it, you see something. It’s the way you’re smiling.

You turn the photo and read the handwritten note that catches your eye. 

when I met her

You swallow hard and put it back. It doesn’t mean anything. You hung the other polaroid, the one of only you and Joel, up in your apartment and that doesn’t mean anything either—right?

“Babe?” Joel’s voice pulls you back.

You turn around and look at him, startled. “I, uh, was just looking for some batteries. Couldn’t find any though.” 

“I got plenty downstairs,” he says with a tilt of his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

---

You’re sitting in a booth, munching on your burger, intermittently sipping your soda. You don’t even realize you haven’t answered Joel for the third time. 

“Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart?” Joel touches your arm, his brow furrowed. You look at his concerned face, his cute little frown, before putting down your burger with a sigh. 

“I, uh,” you start but can’t think of the right words. “I’m just feeling a little off these days, I guess. Work’s been stressful and, um, you–you’re gonna think I’m weird,” you murmur while picking at the fries on your plate. 

“Darlin’,” Joel sighs, taking your hand into his, “you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” He chuckles when he sees your offended face. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He rubs the back of your hand softly and searches your eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

“It’s, um,” you clear your throat. “Do you ever get this feeling that there’s something looming?”

He tilts his head and looks at you curiously. “I’m not sure I follow, darlin’?”

“Like if you’re happy, do you ever feel like it’s not real, it can’t be real, and there’s something looming? Like there’s something just waiting to fuck everything up?” 

When he doesn’t answer, you avert your gaze and try to withdraw your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m killing the vi–”

“No, sweetheart. Hey, c’mere.” He extends both of his hands to you on the table and you give him yours to hold. “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, “your question just caught me off guard a little.”

You softly rub his hand with your right thumb and study his features. He looks gorgeous with his tousled hair and his big cow eyes.

“Look, I know that happiness is hard to accept sometimes because we’re afraid of it not lasting. It may even seem easier to sabotage it preemptively, so we’re not disappointed or don’t get hurt when something bad does happen. And I also know that we sometimes don’t think we even deserve to be happy.”

Bingo. 

“But sweetheart, I need you to understand something,” he squeezes your hands gently, his sincere eyes boring into you.

“If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.” 

You try your best to blink away the tears that are forming in your eyes.

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍 part 4 || part 6 || series masterlist

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Ambrosial

summary: he knows your scent— he knows your heart and now he knows your people.

pairing: din djarin x fem!black!reader

contents: longing, pining, fluff, cultural differences

wc: 2.5k

an: this has been a longggggg time coming but this one's for you @cptn-nash and for all of the black women who feel left out of fandom. there’s always space for you.

pedro characters masterlist

The crest always smells like citrus with a hint of cinnamon these days. If Din closes his eyes he can imagine himself standing in an orchard with you by his side.

The warm, fresh smell is all thanks to you— to your hair, your people, and your culture. All things that you hold close to your heart and in turn, Din tries to respect. But, it is not lost on you that he cannot understand the importance of hair to you and your culture completely, not when his is hidden inside of a helmet day in and day out.

What he does know is how much he enjoys yours— watching the way your curls move when you walk, how they pile into the crown when you tie them up, how a bit of them spill out of the silk scarf you wear at night when Grogu refuses to sleep without you and the two of you take over his bed. He has to tear himself away from the sight of you—dark skin lit up in the moonlight and his foundling in his arms— slinking off to your bunk. But there is a reward when he gets there— the sweet, concentrated scent of you rests on the fabric of your pillow.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, there’s a place where there’s just the three of you. Din holds to his creed, unwaveringly so, but here there is no worry of exile. No worry that you or Grogu will be taken away from him on one of your adventures through the galaxy. There is just you, holding his son, curls blowing in some light evening breeze. There is just him, wrapping his arms around the both of you, his nose pressed into the crown of your head as he is able to succumb freely to your scent. He doesn’t let himself go there often, not when he is so unsure that he will ever have it.

The two of you are charted for a bounty when you ask him to make a detour that is quite out of the way— you need something for your hair. And while he’s more than happy to make sure your needs are met, he has to ask.

He glances back at you, his voice soft and not unkind as he asks, “Could you not use my things?”

If you didn’t share the fresher with him you doubt he even had things. He does, though they aren’t as intricate as yours. There are worse things than smelling like the Mandalorian, yes but proper hair care is sacred to you and your people.

You smile at him, shaking your head, “No, it doesn’t work like that. There are specifics, rituals, ingredients.”

“And it is…strict? Necessary?” You can practically hear the confusion in his voice, his lack of understanding.

“As necessary as this,” You murmur, leaning forward and raising a hand to cup the cheek of his helmet.

He blushes within the space of his helmet, unable to bite away the grin that spreads across his face. You and Din teeter on the edge of more— never explicitly naming or acknowledging any of the affection that passes between you, but undoubtedly knowing that the other is devoted. There’s something particularly sweet about his dedication without words. There is no doubt in your mind that he cares for you, but with this lifestyle, with his creed, neither of you make any move to change your relationship.

This is enough. It has to be.

When the silence sits thick between you for a beat too long, you start to ramble, “Like I told you before, hair is integral to our culture, it helps build every facet of relationships in my village. It sounds silly, but it's the basis of community. We would not be nearly as devoted to each other without hair at the center.”

He hums, delicately taking one of your curls in between his fingers. He studies it closely through the dark t of his visor, noticing the intricate way that it spirals. You let out a soft, shaky breath– feeling his eyes on you is something you’ve become used to, but the effect it has on you never dissipates.

“I could show you,” You murmur shyly, feeling the fascination in his gaze.

“Show me?” He repeats cautiously.

“Show you how my momma taught me to take care of it,” You suggest. After a moment of hesitation, you add, “Show you my home as you’ve shown me yours.”

The two of you have gone to Mandalore—just once, to show Grogu what should be his home and collect water from the sacred waters. You’ve always tried not to put too much stock in Din letting you tag along— where else were you meant to go if you’re his travel partner?

His helmet tilts, shock in his sandy voice, “You would take me to your home?”

You gaze with the black void of his visor breaks for a moment before you look up at him through your lashes, “Of course I would, so that you could see where I come from, how I’ve become who I am. You let me see yours. Would you like to see?”

He nods, finally releasing the curl that he was still holding between his fingers.

“Chart the course and then I will show you why I take so long in the fresher,” You say, backing out of the cockpit.

He meets you there just as you finish turning everything the correct way, labels up. You keep it all in a bin that you take to and from the fresher, not wanting to take up too much space.

You can’t see his shock but you can hear it in voice, in the way he tilts his helmet as he says, “This is…a lot.”

You laugh softly, before explaining, pointing at various bottles as you do, “There are different products for different times of year, holidays, special occasions.”

“Special occasions?”

“For one’s birthday or wedding. Even for a funeral. All milestones in life, from beginning to end.”

“And you must have all of it at all times?”

“You are to be prepared for all of the days of your and your neighbor’s life. If we were to meet someone from home during our travel and they were in need of something, then its my duty to help. It is our custom. Our way so to speak.”

Din hums in understanding. He understands living life a certain way more than anyone you’ve ever known. He starts to understand the importance— but this is just the beginning. He wants to know everything about your people, to fuse the two of your cultures into something loving and uniquely your own.

—

It takes the night to make it to your home, allowing you to arrive in the morning. You’d sent a communication to your mother as soon as Din had agreed, and she had excitedly responded, eager to see you after such a long stint away. Eager to meet Din, though you’d given her no indication that things had progressed romantically between the two of you.

When you wake in the morning, you find Din a little nervous to have the conversation that made you toss and turn most of the night. You know that he’s quite fond of Grogu, that he loves him with all his heart. You feel the same way, happy to take care of the little creature in any way that you can. It’s a bit confusing, raising a child with Din despite not knowing explicitly what you are. But, you love Grogu. Though you don’t let yourself think about it much, you love Din. You’d do whatever you could to make things easier for the two of them.

But what would your mother think about such an arrangement?

Din tilts his head at you in concern when you inhale a nervous breath, fingers twisting in your lap. He reaches for your hands, steadying them. “What’s wrong? Have you changed your mind?”

You gaze down at his gloved hand that covers nearly both of yours before you shake your head, assuring him quickly, “No, no, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Then what is it?” He asks gently.

“I know that Grogu is yours, and I’m not ashamed or embarrassed. But, I think it best he stays on the ship while we visit my mother. I don’t want her to assume anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You were nervous to ask me this.”

You snort, “He’s your son, Din, of course I was nervous.”

“I understand,” He says, squeezing your hand in reassurance. “The next visit, we can introduce him to your mother.”

The next visit. He plans to make this habitual?

“You’re sure?”

“It’s your home. I’m sure if you’re sure,” He declares with a shrug. As if the decision is that easy for him.

“Thank you, Din.”

He simply squeezes your hand again before clearing his throat, saying that he needs to make sure Grogu is taken care of before you two land.

—

When the ship door opens, you and Din are met with a plethora of people, headed up by your mother. Din can’t help but notice how much of her is in you— the same rich color of your skin, the curls though they are greying. Some of your beauty comes from her, and some of it is uniquely you.

She gathers you into her arms immediately, hugging you tightly. She guides your curls back so that her lips are at the shell of your ear, “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”

“I know, mama. I’ve missed you too,” You whisper back, pulling back to give you a watery smile.

She turns her curious gaze to Din, looking him up and down. “This is who you’ve been traveling with. A Mandalorian who will keep you safe.”

Din nods his head, and you about melt with embarrassment at the way she’s sizing him up.

“Yes, mama, this is Mando. He is my—“ You start to say but Din cuts you off smoothly, extending his hand to your mother.

“Her partner. Din, Din is my name,” He murmurs, taking her hands into his.

The smile on your mother’s face matches your own— wide, flustered and accompanied by warmth that spreads through your entire body. He may be encased in metal but he can always make a woman swoon.

“Din. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“Mama,” You scold, giving Din a nervous smile.

“It’s a pleasure,” He murmurs to her, his voice just as sandy and nonchalant as ever.

Your mother starts to guide you towards the villages, and Din offers you his arm which you take readily. You’re happy to walk in silence as your mother catches you up on all the happenings— who’s married, given birth, changed professions, or died. All of it goes in one ear and out the other as you try to digest what’s just happened.

He gave her his name. What more is to come?

Eventually, the two of you are sequestered in a corner of your mother’s house as she helps another woman with her hair when Din turns to look at you. You raise a brow at him in question.

He leans closer to you, speaking in a hushed voice, “One day you will teach me to care for my own appropriately.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper back.

You feel his gaze meet yours through his helmet as he says, “When you are truly mine and I am truly yours.”

Your heart skips a beat before pounding rapidly in your chest. You stare into the dark t of his visor, mouth open in shock. He’s full of declarations today, ones that you had hoped would be true but never got your hopes up for. He simply nods his head at you, one of his gloved hands coming to tangle with your own.

Meeting your mother has clearly changed things— all that’s been left unsaid is now cleared up with just a single sentence from him.

His hand doesn’t leave yours as your mother shows him around the village, introducing him as your partner to everyone she can get to speak to her. Din feels a little sheepish, heat creeping into his cheeks by your mothers candidness, by the curious stares of those she speaks to. You keep him close, answering any questions and doing all of the talking if anyone is curious enough to bypass your mother and speak to the two of you.

You don’t even let go to hug those you recognize, holding onto his hand firmly as you wrap an arm around a few of those you encounter. At this, Din’s flush deepens, butterflies in his stomach.

You make him feel like just a man— the most ordinary man in the best way— like he isn’t bound to his creed or this life of hunting. You make him feel like he’s just your Din. A man so desperately in love with a woman that he’d do anything she asked and then some.

Your mother sends you home with droves of oils and butters and soaps. Some of them are for you, but by the labeling and color you can tell that many of them are for Din. There’s a variety, as with the helmet she couldn’t properly see the texture of his hair and gather the corresponding products. It’s your mother’s way of telling you she approves and you hold her tight, murmuring a soft thank you as you bid her goodbye.

The two of you unpack Din’s things, setting the bottles and containers up in a perfect line. You even fetch your own, adding more clutter that both of you are immediately quite fond of. It means more than Din could know, but he’s starting to learn.

He invites you into his bed that night and unlike all of the previous times he stays, gathering you into his arms in the pitch-black space. For the first time, you feel him. He buries his nose into your hair the way he’s always dreamed about.

That night once you’re asleep, Din heads to the fresher, curious about all of the things your mother had sent off with the both of you. You spent a lot of time here earlier— even more than usual. As soon as he’s inside, he sees why. You’ve labeled everything step by step and added his name to the products that are his.

He spends an ungodly amount of time under the water, closing his eyes as he succumbs to the sweet smells. And though they all smell wonderful, he finds himself reaching for your things. He wants to be surrounded by your scent.

When he slides under the covers beside you later, he smells like citrus— that telltale hint of cinnamon. He smells like you. One day, he’ll let you bury your nose in his hair so that you can smell him too. Until then, his helmet is filled with the scent of you and he will have it no other way.

[sovietpostcards]

"From Soviet women"

Vintage silk scarf (USSR, 1960)

[ssinnerplazahotel]

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙚&𝙀

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter One*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC:5k

Warning: age gap, eventual smut, fluff

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Masterlist: Prologue

YOU WEREN’T YOURSELF WITHOUT YOUR MOTHER. You didn’t think you would be yourself ever again. You carried a piece of her with you—a silk scarf wrapped over your head and around your neck, patterned in a floral paisley print. The red matched the skirt you wore. You had purposely chosen a blue blouse that day, being that you were a true believer that the clothes you wore should reflect the way you felt on the inside. You, of course, couldn’t always abide by that rule. If you were to, you’d be wearing blue all the time. You carried your mother in the hairstyle that she had sent you to the nearest hairdresser to have done. She had the appointment and style picked before you even knew you were going to Memphis.

“If you look your best you feel your best,” She had said. As if three hours in a salon would make you feel any better or different about your situation. “You’re gonna look just like Donyale Luna!”

You may have looked your best the day you arrived at your aunt's house in Memphis, but you felt nothing short of miserable.

“You’ll sleep in Chris’ old room,” Dawn mused as she led you through the single-story house. You tried to look around to take in everything you saw but there wasn’t much to look at. Nothing special caught your eye in the plain, empty house. Apart from the old choral sofa in the living room and a few dull paintings on the walls, the house was minimal. “He stays on the road fixing houses most of the year. So it’ll just be us the majority of the time.”

You tried to smile as you walked over to the twin-sized bed in the middle of the room. It creaked under the weight of your single suitcase. You surveyed the room. Similar to what you saw of the house before it was very minimal. There was a tall rosewood dresser opposite the bed and a wardrobe in the corner. Above the bed was an old, washed-out painting of a dove soaring through the cloudless sky holding an olive branch between its beak. Your eyes lingered on it as Dawn rambled on behind you. Although it would never be your home, you could make the most of it if you genuinely wanted to.

“Thank you, Aunt Dawn, it’s really nice of you to let me stay.”

“You can stay as long as you like.” Dawn smiled at you. “Go ahead and get your things put away, we’re off to work when you’re done.”

“Work?” You asked. You were no stranger to work, not by a long shot. Being the youngest of two, you had been working from a young age. When you were still a small child, your father had taken your brother with him when he left. It wasn’t much of an anomaly, just another part of your life.

You were caught off guard by Dawn’s mention of a job. A job where the two of you would work together no less.

“You didn’t think you’d show up all pretty and get out of earning your keep, did you?”

She laughed. She was quite the comedian when she wanted to be. You usually enjoyed that about her. But right now, when all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry, you weren’t in the mood for her jokes.

“I didn’t know, that’s all.” You forced a laugh. “Is there anything I need or~”

“Oh no, everything we need is already there,” Dawn said. “I would leave that scarf, you wouldn’t want it to get dirty.”

“I’ll take it off in the car.” You examined your outfit and wondered if it was suitable for the job. You asked Dawn just what job it was.

“Housekeeping for the Presleys.” She straightened out the collar of your blouse.

“The Presleys?” You repeated—your mind registered the name slowly. It took you all of two seconds to realize who Dawn was referring to. “Elvis Presley?”

Your expression was so shocked it looked like dread.

“You heard of ‘im?” Dawn asked, crossing her arms with a prying smile. “The girls and the women run around here like chickens with they heads cut off since he come back from the service.”

“No.” You quickly changed your answer as you registered the question. “I mean, yes. Who hasn’t?”

“His songs play every day on the radio, especially here in Memphis.” There was an edge of distaste in her tone. “I’m lucky when I can find a station playing anything else.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I like the Elvis I know. I don’t know about that person everyone makes him out to be.”

Dawn always had some elaborate explanation for everything. You could always count on her to have some sort of mystery behind her words.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t change?” You asked, but the question was futile as you were already in the car headed to Graceland. “I feel overdressed.”

“You’re fine. The Presleys don't believe in being overdressed.” Dawn laughed as she took another right onto a long curving road that led right to the front of the house. You couldn’t deny the anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach as you eyed the house through the passenger window. You felt yourself starting to regret ever coming. Before you could say anything you were already climbing out of the car.

“Ms. Dawn.” A male voice called. Your head snapped immediately in its direction but you relaxed when you saw that it wasn’t him. Instead you saw a lanky guy with wavy blonde curls, the sides gelled away from his face. “I’ll take her off your hands a while.” He held his hand out with a smile.

“Don’t get lost pulling her around back again,” Dawn said pointedly—handing over the keys to her car. “I’ll know if you did.”

“You know everything.” He went to climb into the car, his eyes stopping on you before he waved his hand in a halfhearted hello. You barely returned the wave before he was climbing into the car and driving away.

“That’s Joel, the Klatten’s boy.” Dawn led the way inside as she spoke. “He likes to pull the car around. His dad’s a mechanic so he practices under the hood from time to time to try to impress him. They own the dealership in town. You wouldn’t know it.”

You nodded your head. It was hard not to focus on the anticipation building in your gut. You weren’t exactly a fan—you or your friends never bought any of his records and you hadn’t bothered seeing any of his films. Yet, you were absolutely trembling at the thought of meeting him. At the thought of seeing him with your own two eyes.

Once inside you braced yourself for the encounter. You didn’t want to be caught off guard by his sudden appearance. It wasn’t until you saw him barreling down the stairs with two other guys hot on his trail that you realized that nothing could have prepared you for seeing him for the first time. Even as he roughhoused with the other guys and shoved them the rest of the way down the stairs you felt his presence. You couldn’t look away. Even if you wanted to, you were too struck by his beauty. You didn’t want to miss a second of his smiling face as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes met your Dawn’s, he offered a smile and a polite head nod. You almost thought he was going to completely ignore your existence. You would’ve been perfectly fine if he had. But he stopped short when he saw you—sending the others crashing into him.

“Let’s go, E. It starts in half an hour, we’ll never get there in time.”

“Hold on a minute.” Elvis held his hand up, his eyes somehow still on yours. He turned and headed towards you. “Ms. Dawn, how are you?”

He spoke in a deep southern accent as he stalked over. As they exchanged pleasantries you took a moment to quickly look him over. You forced yourself not to stare, it was nearly impossible when everything about him caught your eye. Everything from the forest green sweater he wore to the way he towered over you with his hands in his pockets. Something about his stature almost looked shy, but you quickly dismissed that thought. Elvis Presley was anything but shy—you didn’t need to be a fan to know that much.

“Who might this be, Dawny?” His voice said, ripping you from your thoughts before they went haywire. You met his eyes briefly—you couldn’t hold his gaze as your aunt introduced you.

“My niece,” She said, putting her arm over your shoulder. “ She’s gonna be staying with me for a while. I figured she could help us out around here.”

Elvis agreed—his eyes shifting to you again. “Can always use an extra pair of hands I s’pose. It’s nice to meet you, honey.”

“You too.” You felt as though your body was betraying you in the way it reacted to him. The hairs on your arms stood at attention, your palms were tacky, and there was an endless shiver running down your spine. You had never experienced such a fierce and immediate attraction.

“Pretty scarf.” He nodded at the piece of material still wrapped around your head.

“I meant to take it off.” You rushed to remove the scarf. He stopped you with a wave of his hand.

“Leave it.” His lips twitched into a smile. “It compliments you.”

You let your hand fall away from the scarf–staring up at him with the overwhelming urge to cower under his eyes. Not because you were afraid, but because every second his eyes were on you it felt like you would spontaneously combust.

“Let’s go, EP.”

Elvis’ smile widened and his eyes darted across your face once more. You couldn’t tell if he was aware of what he was doing to you, or if he was simply waiting for you to thank him for his compliment.

“I-I gotta get goin. Daddy’ll get all the paperwork and stuff figured out for your niece here. It shouldn’t be an issue havin her hired.” His eyes finally left yours. He and Dawn shared a few more words that sounded muffled to your ears before he finally made his exit. “Take care, Ms. Dawn.”

“Thank you, you too, Mr. Presley.” Your aunt responded as she headed further into the house, expecting you to follow.

“It was nice meeting you, honey,” He said again. You looked over your shoulder at him briefly before scurrying after Dawn. You found her in the kitchen tying an apron around her waist.

“Look at you, sweating like a sinner in church.”.

“Stop it. I’m not.”

“Mhm. Don’t you go getting any ideas. I work here, I don’t need you messing this up for me.”

“I don’t have any ideas.”

You tied the apron that she had handed you over your skirt. She reached under your chin to unravel your scarf and deflated a bit as she placed it in your hand.

“You just stay out of trouble and keep a low profile. You’ll blend right in.”

You tied the scarf around a loop on your apron, keeping it there as you followed Dawn’s directions. You did everything she said. You stayed out of trouble and kept your head down for the day. Even when supper came around and everyone gathered in the dining area, you didn’t meet Elvis’ eyes again. Although there were a few times that you swore you felt his on you. It must’ve been all in your head.

After a few unfamiliar glances from the other residents, you seemed to blend in perfectly just as Dawn had expected. As you were leaving that night the two of you ran into Elvis again. He was leaning against one of the pillars outside—alone.

Your aunt’s words rang through your head as you avoided eye contact, nodding politely when he wished the two of you a good night.

***

“There are more dishes up there than in the kitchen.” Dawn motioned for you to follow her to the kitchen. “I’d get the two confused if I didn’t know any better.”

You hummed in acknowledgment of her words but didn’t give a verbal response. You got to work putting the dishes in the sink. There was never much conversation between you and your aunt, not like there was when you were younger. You stayed out of her way as much as you stayed out of everyone else’s. She usually left you alone when she saw that you weren’t interested in conversation, which you were grateful for.

As you were busy polishing the last of the glasses you felt another presence enter the room, not your aunt or any of the other help. Despite your brief encounter months ago, you still recognized the musk of his cologne and the click of his shoes as he walked—his feet dragging the ground with every other step. You turned in time to watch him walk across the kitchen, his eyes meeting yours before you turned away.

“Excuse me,” You muttered. You dried your hands and made your exit. Or at least you attempted to.

“Don’t mind me, doll.” Elvis stopped you. “I’m just grabbin a glass.”

You hesitantly turned back to the sink. You stood there unmoving for a moment before coming back to your senses. Your heart rate increased rapidly as you forced yourself to continue shining the glass in your hands.

He said your name suddenly. “Right?” He wondered, pulling a glass from the cupboard. His voice startled you.

You saw him coming closer and felt the urge to move away. “Can I help you, Mr. Presley?”

“Elvis.”

“Can I help you, Elvis?”

He lowered his head and chuckled shortly. He walked over and stood beside you by the sink. He smiled as he turned the faucet. “Nah, baby, you just keep doin what you’re doin.”

You turned your attention back to the dishes. You felt his eyes boring into you but you didn’t meet them. You expected him to—or at the very least hoped he would—leave the kitchen after running water into his glass. He didn’t. He leaned against the sink with one arm folded in while he drank the water—making no move to leave.

“Tell me somethin,” He propositioned. He swirled the water in the glass, twirling it around a few times before stopping—sending the liquid spinning through the glass weightlessly. “Why is it that every time you see me you get all spooked and run away?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Pres~”

“Elvis is fine.”

You turned your head in his direction. You almost mistook his insistent tone for being upset, but you saw that he wasn’t when you met his sapphire gaze. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean, Elvis.”

“You just did it.” Elvis laughed. “Dropped everything you was doin and ran for the hills.”

“I wasn’t running,” You denied. He laughed at you. You felt yourself almost become flustered by the way he tipped his head back slightly to laugh at you. There was something infectious about his laughter. Even in your flustered state, you couldn’t be upset. “I wasn’t, I’m…trying to not get in your way.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, chuckling slightly as his laughter came to an end. “You scared of me?”

“No, it’s just not my job to be in your way.” You tried to remain professional, focusing on the glasses you were putting away instead of his influx of inquiries.

“What kind of accent is that?” Elvis asked, completely ignoring your response to his question.

“Wilmington.”

“You’re from North Carolina?”

You were shocked by how much that piqued his interest. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” He asked, his eyebrow quirking. “I know a lot of great spots in North Carolina.”

You didn’t engage in the conversation. You reached for the top shelf of the cupboard, having to stand as high as you could on your tiptoes.

“Do you want me to~”

“No,” You said quickly, abandoning the leftover glasses on the counter. “I’ll put them away later.”

“I don’t mind,” Elvis insisted, setting his glass down and stepping forward.

“Mr. Presley, my aunt thinks it’s best if I keep my distance a-and stay out of your way,” You blurted—stepping away from him.

“Keep your distance? From me?” He asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“N-Not only from you,” You said. “From everyone.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Dawn told you to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. She wasn’t solely talking about Elvis then.

“Why she tell you that?” Elvis asked with a troubled expression. “Dawn’s like family around here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, fidgeting with the front of your apron as you avoided his eyes.

“How old are you, birdie?” He asked suddenly. Birdie—he must’ve thought you were skittish and fragile.

“Seventeen.” You answered after a moment.

“Ohh.” Elvis drawled as if he’d figured it all out. “She thinks you’re just a baby.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Oh, I can tell. But you are to her.”

You looked away, you felt the warmth of the room suddenly. “Either way…I think it’s best if I do what she tells me. So I’ll stay out of your way.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” He stepped closer—drumming his fingers along the counter.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“If I want you out of the way I want it to be my decision. And I don’t think I do.”

You had to check if he was serious. He had a bit of a smirk on his face. His eyes flitted to where his fingers still traced the edge of the counter before settling on yours again.

“If you asked me to leave you be I’d try, of course,” He continued, moving impossibly close to you. Your breath hitched. “But I have to say, I haven’t got much practice at doin what I’m told.”

“Gotta start somewhere.” You didn’t mean it as a joke, but that didn’t stop him from releasing a deep chuckle. He reached out and took ahold of the scarf that was still tucked securely into your apron. Your mind short-circuited as you watched him finger the material. “I think I should listen to Dawn.”

He nodded, his eyes focused on the scarf as he ran his fingers over the patterned silk. You wanted to step back. You were too close. “Good girl,” He finally said. Officially knocking the wind from your lungs. For a moment you thought he was commenting on the fact that you had kept the scarf around. His next words, however, cleared that thought right up. “You should listen to your auntie.”

You didn’t take a breath until he walked away, watching dizzily as he grabbed his discarded glass and dumped the rest of the water out. He sighed heavily as he set the glass in the sink, staring down at it for a moment before turning on his heel and heading out of the kitchen.

“Don’t mind what I was sayin before.” He stopped short and faced you. “I was just messin. I don’t want you in any trouble with Dawn, she can be—y’know.”

“It’s okay.” Although he wasn’t apologizing something about his tone seemed apologetic. “Take care, Mr. Presley.”

“Thank you, honey, you too,” He said with a final smile before he was gone.

You released a tense breath and leaned against the counter. You removed your scarf from your apron with unsteady hands and stuffed it in your pocket. Pushing it down—all the way down. Along with everything you felt at that moment.

“Just push it down,” You told yourself. “Way, way down.”

***

“A live-in position?”

Your aunt had professed the news so excitedly when she first broke it. She smiled wildly and packed the house up in a hurry. She went on and on about how she would be able to save and buy a new house with the new position. Room and board and a steady paycheck weren’t things you would ever expect her to decline. Had it been offered by anyone but Elvis Presley.

“I might even save up enough to pay off the car.” Dawn beamed as she taped off another box. “You could work fewer hours, and start studying for the placement test at the school. Like we talked about before.”

You made yourself busy with helping her pack everything away. You tried to distract yourself from the thoughts that ran through your head as you got everything ready for storage. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but dread the change that was coming. You absolutely dreaded the thought of not leaving Graceland every night. You especially dreaded not having every other weekend away from the house completely. Especially now that Elvis, despite claiming that he didn’t want you in trouble with Dawn, had somehow made it a habit to coincidentally show up wherever you were in the house. Of course, you tried to write it off as all in your head, but you couldn’t make it up.

Despite this inner turmoil, you celebrated your aunt’s promotion gladly. You knew that it was something that would make a huge difference in her life and that was enough for you to push away your complaints. You had your personal things moved into one of the empty rooms of the house and from there the rest was history.

You continued with your daily chores, wrapping up around eight as usual. Instead of leaving, you enter your room on the second floor of the house. You were nervous that first night, Dawn’s room was on a completely different side of the house. You felt secluded from the only person you knew out of all the people living there. At times, you wished you could call up your mom and tell her all your worries, but you tried not to worry her with any bad news—only good. You wanted her to think you were happy here, even though you weren’t.

You gave up on sleeping after tossing and turning for a couple of hours. You got out of bed and wrapped yourself up in your coat, adjusting the scarf on your head before walking out of the room. You could hear a lot of commotion still happening around the house despite the early hour of the morning. A few people lingered downstairs, too many to pay you any mind as you slipped out the front door. You sighed at the silence you were met with. You walked a few steps, leaning against one of the pillars with your arms crossed. You were exhausted, but you knew that being in a new place would keep you up. That and the noise.

You were done fighting it.

The front door opened again as you were standing there, and you didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it would be. He didn’t say anything as he leaned against the opposite pillar, crossing his arms in a similar manner.

“Are you keeping tabs on me?” You asked after he didn’t break the silence himself—he usually did.

“Nah, I saw you slip out.” He shifted towards you. “The noise keepin you awake?”

“A little,” You answered honestly. “I’m not a huge fan of new places either.”

“New places?” Elvis asked incredulously, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been workin here for months.”

“It’s different now.” You found his eyes already watching you—they usually were. “I can’t get away from you as easily now that I live here.”

“Maybe you’d find out that I’m not so bad if you stuck around for more than a minute.” He seemed to be enjoying the light conversation. You figured it was because he wasn’t used to you saying more than a few words to him at a time.

“Everywhere I go, somehow, you’re right there,” You said. Maybe it was because you were delirious and sleep-deprived, but you found yourself not caring what your aunt might think as you bantered with Elvis. “Why is that?”

“I like watching you,” He admitted. “I’m tryna figure you out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that—hiding the smile on your face. When you lifted your head you were met with an astonished smile.

“She laughs,” Elvis stated as if it was an anomaly that he wasn’t yet aware of.

“What?” You asked, though you heard his words clearly in the dead of the night.

“I’ve been watching and you hardly ever smile, you never laugh,” He stated, tilting his head. “I was starting to think you didn’t have it in you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, you knew you couldn’t respond with the truth. You were already pushing the boundary you had so vehemently tried to uphold by carrying on with this conversation. You couldn’t possibly wreck everything by actually opening up to him about your mom and the move to Memphis that you still were acclimating to.

“A little girl like you should be laughing all the time.” He continued after your silence.

“I’m not a little girl,” You said after another beat of silence. “And what do you expect me to do? Laugh while I dust your end tables?”

“Aw, birdie, don’t get cross now,” He chuckled. There that nickname was again—birdie. “I just wanna know what goes on inside that pretty head of yours.”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Your walls came back up as quickly as you had let them down.

“I see you goin outta your way to take care of everyone and to make everyone comfortable,” He started again, you weren’t sure if the man had ever tried to catch a hint in his life. “Who’s takin care of you?”

“You’re being inappropriate.”

“You haven’t told me to go away.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, you hardly had any patience so it didn’t take much to wear it thin. “I’m starting to wonder what goes on inside your head, y’know?”

“I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.” He suddenly decided to move towards you.

“Really?” You asked, your tone mildly sarcastic. “Okay then, what do you think your friends inside would have to say if they saw you talking to me right now.”

“I don’t think they’d have anything to say,” He responded. “We’re not doing anything wrong here.”

“I don’t think you believe that.” You had to fight the urge to back away from him as he stepped closer.

“You think I give a shit about what they think?” Elvis asked, his cool eyes hardening under the dim lights outside. “Really?”

“I do,” You said matter-of-factly. It seemed like the air thinned with every step he took, and your legs became more unsteady beneath you. “Or at least I think you should.”

“I don’t care and I’m not gonna start.” He stood close enough now to place his hand beside your head on the pillar you were leaning against. He leaned down to meet your eyes. “Is that why you’re so nervous all the time? Because you’re afraid of what they think of you?”

“They don’t think of me, Elvis, that’s my point.” Your voice was hardly steady as you forced yourself to keep still. “The only time people like that, or people like you, think of someone like me is when a chore is left undone. Or when you make a mess and you need someone to clean it up. That’s why I don’t understand what you want with me.”

He spoke your name and you were genuinely shocked. He had rarely called you anything outside of ‘honey‘ or ‘birdie’ in the months that you knew him—you thought he’d forgotten it. You stiffened when you felt his cool fingers gently slip under your chin but you let him lift your head to meet his eyes. “W-When I think of you…baby, that’s not what I’m thinkin about. When I look at you that’s not all I see. I can’t help that I’m drawn to you—that I want you. I want to know who you are, I want to know what you think, and how you feel. Since I first laid eyes on you, you've been on my mind~ b-but not for any of those reasons.”

You were too overwhelmed. He was too close. His words sent the blood rushing from your head. There were tears in your eyes but you didn’t feel like crying, too much was happening all at once and you weren’t exactly sure how you got here when the two of you were joking a second ago. You stumbled away from him, trying to make a break for the door but failing as he steadied you with his hands on your waist.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” He said. He kept his hands around you until he was sure you wouldn’t sink to the ground. “I-I’m sorry, I-I-I shouldn’t’ve…I don’t know.”

You closed your eyes in an attempt to force away your tears, you were having a hard time processing his words. You didn’t understand where all his feelings were coming from or why he was feeling them at all. “It’s a lot…”

“I know,” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was suddenly embarrassed after his spiel. “I just don’t want you thinking I see you any differently because you’re…”

“You can’t even say it?” You heaved incredulously.

“N-No, I’m t-trying not to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, birdie, that’s it, honest.” His leg started to shake restlessly. “Ask anybody who knows me, I-I believe that we’re all created equal. A-And if I cut you right now I know we’d bleed the same~”

“Oh please, Elvis, you don’t have to preach to me~”

“Then stop tryin so goddamn hard to make me out to be something I’m not.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“That’s what it feels like.”

You watched him kick at the ground with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “I don’t think you’re one of them. I just think you know too many of them to ever truly be my friend.”

“What they think shouldn’t reflect who I am,” He said without looking up from his shoes, his voice low. “If I could weed out every goddamn racist I knew or worked for I would, but I’d be left high and dry.”

You fell silent, each of you staring off in thought for what felt like forever before he finally spoke again.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, honey,” He said, turning his back to you. “Go on back in the house.”

“Now you’re telling me to go away?” You teased in an attempt to lessen the tension in the air before you went inside. You felt like you did something to upset him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the conversation that way. “I thought that was my job.”

He looked over his shoulder at you. His features softened when he saw the small smile playing on your lips. “And I thought you were a good girl who did what she was told,” He said. “I guess we were both wrong.”

You shrugged, walking back to your respective pillar and leaning against it. You leaned your head against the post.

“I meant everything I said before, y’know?"

"...I believe you."

***

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Song Dynasty (960–1279 AD)Traditional Clothing Hanfu Reference to Song Dynasty Murals

【Historical Reference Artifacts】:

Woman in the murals of the Song Dynasty tomb in Tangzhuang, Dengfeng, Henan,China.

【Histoty Note】Song Dynasty (960–1279 AD)·Woman Formal Garment

The large-sleeved shirts and skirts of the Northern Song Dynasty were based on the long blouses and skirts of the late Tang and Five Dynasties, and became more refined and gradually became more ritualized. At the same time, the trend of women wearing crowns became more and more popular, and a variety of crown styles and matching hairstyles were developed.

The restoration of this outfit refers to the image of a woman in the murals of the Song Dynasty tomb in Tangzhuang, Dengfeng, Henan: her head is combed in a bun, with clouds shape hair around her temples, and a crown, which is fixed with flower hairpins on the front and back, and pearl hairpins on the left and right; Wearing a sleeved blouse, a long skirt, and a silk scarf was the attire of the common people and women attending formal occasions at that time.

At that time, married women often wore crowns, long-sleeved shirts and skirts, and shoulder-wrapped scarf when attending formal occasions or when common women got married. It gradually developed into a classic paradigm, which had an impact on popular fashion and the system of public service. The "golden crown and xiapi金冠霞帔" that often appeared in literary works of the Song and Yuan Dynasties was developed from this classic ceremonial attire.

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📸Recreation Work:@裝束复原

🔗Weibo ：https://weibo.com/1656910125/NdlVDn8JP

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[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 6, 6 février 1904, Paris. Toilette de visite pour jeune femme. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Toilette de visite pour jeune femme, en drap satin parme. La jupe est à plis chevauchés au-dessous d'un empiècement souligné d'un biais de velours quadrillé violet, blanc ou noir. Le boléro plissé devant et dans le dos à un semblant de capuchon, composé d'une bande de plis et d'un biais de velours; à la pointe pendille un gland de soie parme. Sur la manche, brassard de plis; au bas, haute bande de plis encadrée de biais de velours. Ceinture et bouffant de soie parme.

Toque de velours violet traversée d'une plume violette teintée du blanc au violet pensée.

Visiting ensemble for young women, in purple satin cloth. The skirt has overlapping pleats below a yoke highlighted with a purple, white or black checkered velvet bias. The bolero pleated in front and back has a semblance of a hood, made up of a band of pleats and a velvet bias; at the tip dangles a purple silk tassel. On the sleeve, cuff of pleats; at the bottom, high band of pleats framed with velvet bias. Purple silk belt and bouffant.

Purple velvet hat crossed with a purple feather tinted from white to pansy purple.

Matériaux: 6m,50 de drap; 75 centimètres de velours; 1m,50 de soie.

—

Costume pour jeune fille de 15 à 16 ans, en lainage écossais. La jupe est faite de trois volants superposés ainsi que le corsage; ces volants sont bordés d'un galon de fantaisie. Chemisette de foulard et ceinture en gros grain. Manche plate du haut, très bouffante dans un poignet en pointe. Chapeau torpilleur avec ailes de pigeon et velours.

Suit for young girls aged 15 to 16, in Scottish wool. The skirt is made of three superimposed ruffles as well as the bodice; these ruffles are bordered with a fancy braid. Scarf shirt and grosgrain belt. Flat upper sleeve, very puffy in a pointed cuff. Torpedo hat with pigeon wings and velvet.

Matériaux: 7m. lainage; 18 m. galon.

[she-is-ovarit]

I say this while being one, but women with curly hair are unhinged.

"hi here's my routine! First I basically dip my head a few times into hot dog water, really let it soak into the roots. Apply this curl cream product at the end, this will create your cast. It happens to be derived from a formula rumored to be made from the genetic material of a fallen strand of Eve's hair prior to her being cast out of the garden of Eden, and this was also just recently discontinued by several distributors. but there's this cartel that hangs around an Olive Garden nearby that's been importing it in. So it might be a little hard to find at first. Okay so this next part requires a little math, basically you want to calculate the speed of a a bullet fired by an M2 Browning and subtract it from the rotation of the earth's orbit if a target was about 1000 meters away, and the end number is going to be the length of the microfiber silk shirt scarf you will wrap your hair in. Make sure you plop it for 15 minutes exactly or this whole process has to be repeated, so that's another 50 minutes down the drain (quite literally, with the wasted hot dog water). Once the 15 minutes is up, carefully unwrap your microfiber silk shirt scarf and apply another layer of this curl cream, warmed in the microwave for 4.5 seconds. Now you're ready to diffuse, but make sure you turn the diffuser off in between diffusing and you have Joan Jett on in the background. Once you're done, please make sure to not wash your hair for two weeks and don't touch it ever again, try to only inhabit microclimates with low precipitation and no wind, but not too hot because you'll sweat. To touch it up every so often, apply a small amount of that curl cream again and hold your hair for a few seconds over some smoke."

[goldxnfemme]

My Lesbian Husband: Landscape of a Marriage by Barrie Jean Borich

ID - text reading:

I wonder what I am to understand about our bodies when I observe the two of us. I look at myself, my heavy eyeliner and mauve lipstick, the silk scarf tied around my throat that matches the leopard print of my gloves.

Under my shirt I wear a satin underwire bra. I look at Linnea, noticing that the only items she buys outside of the men's department are her plain cotton and Lycra sports bras, the kind designed to hold the breasts still and out of the way. They are more comfortable than the Ace bandages women passing as men once used to bind their breasts, but have a similar effect, the aim to draw attention away from the possibility of a bust line, never to lift and separate. In the days before gay liberation, women could be arrested, charged with transvestitism, for wearing fewer than three articles of women's clothing. On any day of the week, Linnea does not pass that test.

END ID

[15-lizards]

literally following and regularly checking your tag for asoiaf hair and clothing i’m so obsessed <3 if you want/have the energy: how do you think sansa and arya dress and does it influence the winterfell “court”? does catelyn? does it influence the rest of the north?

*kisses you*

Cat alters the winterfell fashions for the first time in years, as she’s coming up from the riverlands with corsets and stays, low necklines, wide sleeves, and other fashions that are mostly associated with a slightly warmer climate. She does still wear the traditional winterfell fashions of high necks, many layers, head coverings, but she also creates a mashup of the two styles. It’s more popular in the summertime for women to start wearing tighter dresses and loose veils, bc of Catelyn

I think Sansa tends to dress in traditional winterfell clothes, but still adds a twist to it inspired by her mother, to give her a more “southern” look. Brighter colors and soft silks and the occasional tighter bodice and high waistline. It’s her idea of what princesses from her stories wear. All of the other girls around her age are suddenly also wearing fun colors and begging their fathers to buy them nice silks from white harbor. She is a baby trendsetter

Arya is just so scrungly…she doesn’t really care about her clothes and doesn’t like them to get in her way. She probably wears old skirts that are too short for her so she doesn’t trip while running, and undershirts that she terribly hemmed herself at the elbow bc she doesn’t like big sleeves. The simplest clothes she can find in her wardrobe (or trade with the servant girls) Cat usually just lets her be but when they all need to be presentable she’s forced into a starched ankle length dress and tight fitted jacket and her hair combed back with and embroidered scarf. But overall she dresses more like the kitchen girls than Ned’s daughter

[beehunni62]

Origins of the Pibo: Let’s take a trip along the Silk Road.

1. Introduction to the garment:

Pibo 披帛 refers to a very thin and long shawl worn by women in ancient East Asia approximately between the 5th to 13th centuries CE. Pibo is a modern name and its historical counterpart was pei 帔. But I’ll use pibo as to not confuse it with Ming dynasty’s xiapei 霞帔 and a much shorter shawl worn in ancient times also called pei.

Below is a ceramic representation of the popular pibo.

A sancai-glazed figure of a court lady, Tang Dynasty (618–690, 705–907 CE) from the Sze Yuan Tang Collection. Artist unknown. Sotheby’s [image source].

Although some internet sources claim that pibo in China can be traced as far back as the Qin (221-206 BCE) or Han (202 BCE–9 CE; 25–220 CE) dynasties, we don’t start seeing it be depicted as we know it today until the Northern and Southern dynasties period (420-589 CE). This has led to scholars placing pibo’s introduction to East Asia until after Buddhism was introduced in China. Despite the earliest art representations of the long scarf-like shawl coming from the Northern and Southern Dynasties period, the pibo reached its popularity apex in the Tang Dynasty (618–690 CE: 705–907 CE).

Academic consensus: Introduction via the Silk Road.

The definitive academic consensus is that pibo evolved from the dajin 搭巾 (a long and thin scarf) worn by Buddhist icons introduced to China via the Silk Road from West Asia.

披帛是通过丝绸之路传入中国的西亚文化, 与中国服饰发展的内因相结合而流行开来的一种"时世妆" 的形式. 沿丝绸之路所发现的披帛, 反映了丝绸贸易的活跃.

[Trans] Pibo (a long piece of cloth covering the back of the shoulders) was a popular female fashion period accessory introduced to China by West Asian cultures by way of the Silk Road and the development of Chinese costumes. The brocade scarves found along the Silk Road reflect the prosperity of the silk trade that flourished in China's past (Lu & Xu, 2015).

I want to add to the above theory my own speculation that, what the Chinese considered to be dajin, was most likely an ancient Indian garment called uttariya उत्तरीय.

2. Personal conjecture: Uttariya as a tentative origin to pibo.

In India, since Vedic times (1500-500 BCE), we see mentions in records describing women and men wearing a thin scarf-like garment called “uttariya”. It is a precursor of the now famous sari. Although the most famous depiction of uttariya is when it is wrapped around the left arm in a loop, we do have other representations where it is draped over the shoulders and cubital area (reverse of the elbow).

Left: Hindu sculpture “Mother Goddess (Matrika)”, mid 6th century CE, gray schist. Artist unknown. Looted from Rajasthan (Tanesara), India. Photo credit to Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, United States [image source].

Right: Rear view of female statue possibly representing Kambojika, the Chief Queen of Mahakshatrapa Rajula, ca. 1st century CE. Artist unknown. Found in the Saptarishi Mound, Mathura, India. Government Museum, Mathura [image source].

Buddhism takes many elements from Hindu mythology, including apsaras अप्सरा (water nymphs) and gandharvas गन्धर्व (celestial musicians). The former was translated as feitian 飞天 in China. Hindu deities were depicted wearing clothes similar to what Indian people wore, among which we find uttariya, often portrayed in carvings and sculptures of flying and dancing apsaras or gods to show dynamic movement. Nevertheless, uttariya long predated Buddhism and Hinduism.

Below are carved representation of Indian apsaras and gandharvas. Notice how the uttariya are used.

Upper left: Carved relief of flying celestials (Apsara and Gandharva) in the Chalukyan style, 7th century CE, Chalukyan Dynasty (543-753 CE). Artist Unknown. Aihole, Karnataka, India. National Museum, New Delhi, India [image source]. The Chalukyan art style was very influential in early Chinese Buddhist art.

Upper right: Carved relief of flying celestials (gandharvas) from the 10th to the 12th centuries CE. Artist unknown. Karnataka, India. National Museum, New Delhi, India [image source].

Bottom: A Viyadhara (wisdom-holder; demi-god) couple, ca. 525 CE. Artist unknown. Photo taken by Nomu420 on May 10, 2014. Sondani, Mandsaur, India [image source].

Below are some of the earliest representations of flying apsaras found in the Mogao Caves, Gansu Province, China. An important pilgrimage site along the Silk Road where East and West met.

Left to right: Cave No. 461, detail of mural in the roof of the cave depicting either a flying apsara or a celestial musician. Western Wei dynasty (535–556 CE). Artist unknown. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source].

Cave 285 flying apsara (feitian) in one of the Mogao Caves. Western Wei Dynasty (535–556 CE), Artist unknown. Photo taken by Keren Su for Getty Images. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source].

Cave 249. Mural painting of feitian playing a flute, Western Wei Dynasty (535-556 CE). Image courtesy by Wang Kefen from The Complete Collection of Dunhuang Grottoes, Vol. 17, Paintings of Dance, The Commercial Press, Hong Kong, 2001, p. 15. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source].

I theorize that it is likely that the pibo was introduced to China via Buddhism and Buddhist iconography that depicted apsaras (feitian) and other deites wearing uttariya and translated it to dajin.

3. Trickle down fashion: Buddhism’s journey to the East.

However, since Buddhism and its Indian-based fashion spread to West Asia first, to Sassanian Persians and Sogdians, it is likely that, by the time it reached the Han Chinese in the first century CE, it came with Persian and Sogdian influence. Persians’ fashion during the Sassanian Empire (224–651 CE) was influenced by Greeks (hellenization) who also had a a thin long scarf-like garment called an epliblema ἐπίβλημα, often depicted in amphora (vases) of Greek theater scenes and sculptures of deities.

Left to right: Dame Baillehache from Attica, Greece. 3rd century BCE, Hellenistic period (323-30 BCE), terracotta statuette. Photo taken by Hervé Lewandowski. Louvre Museum, Paris, France [image source].

Deatail view of amphora depicting the goddess Artemis by Athenian vase painter, Andokides, ca. 525 BCE, terracotta. Found in Vulci, Italy. Altes Museum, Berlin, Germany [image source].

Statue of a Kore (young girl), ca. 570 BCE, Archaic Period (700-480 BCE), marble. Artist unknown. Uncovered from Attica, Greece. Acropolis Museum, Athens, Greece [image source].

Detail view of Panathenaic (Olympic Games) prize amphora with lid, 363–362 BCE, Attributed to the Painter of the Wedding Procession and signed by Nikodemos, terracotta. Uncovered from Athens, Greece. J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, California, United States [image source].

Roman statue depicting Euterpe, muse of lyric poetry and music, ca. 2nd century CE, marble, Artist unknown. From the Villa of G. Cassius Longinus near Tivoli, Italy. Photo taken by Egisto Sani on March 12, 2012, Vatican Museums, Rome, Italy [image source].

Greek (or Italic) tomb mural painting from the Tomb of the Diver, ca. 470 BCE, fresco. Artist unknown. Photo taken by Floriano Rescigno. Necropolis of Paestum, Italy [image source].

Below are Iranian and Iraqi period representations of this long thin scarf.

Left to right: Closeup of ewer likely depicting a female dancer from the Sasanian Period (224–651 CE) in ancient Persia , Iran, 6th-7th century CE, silver and gilt. Artist unknown. Mary Harrsch. July 10, 2015. Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of Asian Art, Smithsonian, Washington D.C [image source].

Ewer with nude dancer probably representing a maenad, companion of Dionysus from the Sasanian Period (224–651 CE) in ancient Persia, Iran, 6th-7th century CE, silver and gilt. Artist unknown. Mary Harrsch. July 16, 2015. Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of Asian Art, Smithsonian, Washington D.C [image source].

Painting reconstructing the image of unveiled female dancers depicted in a fresco, Early Abbasid period (750-1258 CE), about 836-839 CE from Jawsaq al-Khaqani, Samarra, Iraq. Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art, Istanbul [image source].

The earliest depictions of Buddha in China, were very similar to West Asian depictions. Ever wonder why Buddha wears a long draped robe similar to a Greek himation (Romans called it toga)?

Take a look below at how much the Greeks influenced the Kushans in their art and fashion. The top left image is one of the earliest depictions of Buddha in China. Note the similarities between it and the Gandhara Buddha on the right.

Left: Seated Buddha, Mahao Cliff Tomb, Sichuan Province, Eastern Han Dynasty, late 2nd century C.E. (photo: Gary Todd, CC0).

Right: Seated Buddha from Gandhara, Pakistan c. 2nd–3rd century C.E., Gandhara, schist (© Trustees of the British Museum)

Standing Bodhisattva Maitreya (Buddha of the Future), ca. 3rd century, gray schist. From Gandhara, Pakistan. Image credit to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, United States [image source].

Statue of seated goddess Hariti with children, ca. 2nd to 3rd centuries CE, schist. Artist unknown. From Gandhara, Pakistan. The British Museum, London, England [image source].

Before Buddhism spread outside of Northern India (birthplace), Indians never portrayed Buddha in human form.

Early Buddhist art is aniconic, meaning the Buddha is not represented in human form. Instead, Buddha is represented using symbols, such as the Bodhi tree (where he attained enlightenment), a wheel (symbolic of Dharma or the Wheel of Law), and a parasol (symbolic of the Buddha’s royal background), just to name a few. […] One of the earliest images [of Buddha in China] is a carving of a seated Buddha wearing a Gandharan-style robe discovered in a tomb dated to the late 2nd century C.E. (Eastern Han) in Sichuan province. Ancient Gandhara (located in present-day Afghanistan, Pakistan, and northwest India) was a major center for the production of Buddhist sculpture under Kushan patronage. The Kushans occupied portions of present-day Afghanistan, Pakistan, and North India from the 1st through the 3rd centuries and were the first to depict the Buddha in human form. Gandharan sculpture combined local Greco-Roman styles with Indian and steppe influences (Chaffin, 2022).

In the Mogao Caves, which contain some of the earliest Buddhist mural paintings in China, we see how initial Chinese Buddhist art depicted Indian fashion as opposed to the later hanfu-inspired garments.

Left to right: Cave 285, detail of wall painting, Western Wei dynasty (535–556 CE). Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China. Courtesy the Dunhuang Academy [image source]. Note the clothes the man is wearing. It looks very similar to a lungi (a long men’s skirt).

Photo of Indian man sitting next to closed store wearing shirt, scarf, lungi and slippers. Paul Prescott. February 20, 2015. Varanasi, India [image source].

Cave 285, mural depiction of worshipping bodhisattvas, 6th century CE, Wei Dynasty (535-556 A.D.), Unknown artist. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China. Notice the half bow on his hips. That is a common style of tying patka (also known as pataka; cloth sashes) that we see throughout Indian history. Many of early Chinese Buddhist paintings feature it, including the ones at Mogao Caves.

Indian relief of Ashoka wearing dhoti and patka, ca. 1st century BC, Unknown artist. From the Amaravathi village, Guntur district, Andhra Pradesh, India. Currently at the Guimet Museum, Paris [image source].

Cave 263. Mural showing underlying painting, Northern Wei Dynasty (386–535 CE). Artist Unknown. Picture taken November 29, 2011, Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source]. Note the pants that look to be dhoti.

Comparison photo of modern dhoti advertisement from Etsy [image source].

Spread of Buddhism to East Asia.

Map depicting the spread of Buddhism from Northern India to the rest of Asia. Gunawan Kartapranata. January 31, 2014 [image source]. Note how Mahayana Buddhism arrived to China after passing through Kushan, Bactrean, and nomadic steppe lands, absorbing elements of each culture along the way.

Wealthy Buddhist female patrons emulated the fantasy fashion worn by apsaras, specifically, the uttariya/dajin and adopted it as an everyday component of their fashion.

Cave 285. feitian mural painting on the west wall, Western Wei Dynasty (535–556 CE). Artist unknown. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source].

Cave 285. Detail view of offering bodhisattvas (bodhisattvas making offers to Buddha) next to the phoenix chariot on the Western wall of the cave. Western Wei Dynasty (535–556 CE). Artist unknown. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source].

Cave 61 Khotanese (from the kingdom of Khotan 于阗 [56–1006 CE]) donor ladies, ca. 10th century CE, Five Dynasties period (907 to 979 CE). Artist unknown. Picture scanned from Zhang Weiwen’s Les oeuvres remarquables de l'art de Dunhuang, 2007, p. 128. Uploaded to Wikimedia Commons on October 11, 2012 by Ismoon. Mogao Grottoes, Dunhuang, China [image source].

Detail view of Ladies Adorning Their Hair with Flowers 簪花仕女图, late 8th to early 9th century CE, handscroll, ink and color on silk, Zhou Fang 周昉 (730-800 AD). Liaoning Provincial Museum, Shenyang, China [image source].

Therefore, the theory I propose of how the pibo entered East Asia is:

India —> Greek influenced West Asia (Sassanian Persians, Sogdians, Kushans, etc…) —> Han China —> Rest of East Asia (Three Kingdoms Korea, Asuka Japan, etc…)

Thus, the most likely theory, in my person opinion, is Buddhist iconography depicting uttariya encountered Greek-influenced West Asian Persian, Sogdian, and Kushan shawls, which combined arrived to China but wouldn’t become commonplace there until the explosion in popularity of Buddhism from the periods of Northern and Southern Dynasties to Song.

References:

盧秀文; 徐會貞. 《披帛與絲路文化交流》 [The brocade scarf and the cultural exchanges along the Silk Road]. 敦煌研究 (中國: 敦煌研究編輯部). 2015-06: 22 – 29. ISSN 1000-4106.

[contentment-of-cats]

Chiss headcanons - cultural

Chiss traditions surrounding hair are complex. Thrawn is constantly suppressing twitches because his Humans' hair is Wrong. most of the men, of course, emulate the 'Tarkin' where the hair is combed back as if in a wind tunnel and plastered with gel strong enough to seal a hull breach or alternatively worn in a 'Guard Six' buzz. The women if they do not have hair trimmed to above the collar wear braids or buns. He understands that Chiss familial traditions cannot apply, but some styles and lengths are improper for their age, or rank, or status. One cannot run through the crew rebraiding female officers and crew members' hairstyles.

Funerary traditions also center around hair for the Chiss. When a person passes, their hair is shorn and the head wrapped in a silk scarf in family colors. The hair is then made into elaborate hair pieces (for the wealthy) or for Lesser and Common families is pressed between pieces of crystal and sealed into a pendant, ring, or charm for a bracelet. The act of shearing the heads of the deceased is to cut them from the bonds of life, and allow them to go free.

Hair is 'dressed' by a hereditary class of workers, so skilled that a braid of hair 500 years old looks as if it was dressed that morning. However, when hair becomes too brittle or fragile, it is burned to ash and then placed in a pressure chamber and turned into a hard, diamond-like glass. Even the grindings as the glass is smoothed and polished are incorporated into the metal of the frame. Not a speck is wasted.

Most deceased Chiss are placed in deep rich soil to decay for a year, then their bones are removed and polished before being placed in the familial or community ossuary. In places without soil, the body goes into a pod of cultured bacteria that decay the body instead. The resulting fluids are vaporized to steam and allowed to cool, falling as life-giving water on crops. If no body exists, coils of hair from the immediate family are placed in the container instead.

Among some Chiss on ocean world like Rentor, a burial at sea is preferred. For others who live and work in space, being shot into the heart of a sun allows them to return to the universe completely.

Among colonial Chiss, it is traditional to shear the hair of a young person enlisting in the CDF or going into space for an extended time. This tradition is not usually followed by the Ruling or Great families unless they are taking a Merit Adoptive to symbolize the separation from their old life.

The wealthy have hairdressers on staff, their ancestors' hair is made into elaborate hairpieces to be worn on the most important holidays and occasions. When not in use, it's placed in wooden boxes lined in silk and kept in climate controlled rooms. The less wealthy patronize small firms for the same reasons, and may keep their important hairpieces in storage there or at home. The Common families have their hair made into amulets worn on a chain under the clothing.

Members of the military wear plan hairstyles. No hair pieces or wigs. Among families, the higher the rank the more elaborate the hair. Depending on the personality and family traditions, a Patriarch may wear a hairpiece requiring frameworks and other supports. On Founding Day - the day a Family was founded - the Patriarch of a Ruling family wears the most elaborate and oldest hairpiece, robes that can trail three meters, and sometimes need cooling fans within.

On a formal occasion, Thrawn does brush out Pyrondi's hair, then braids it properly. He puts a lot of thought into it. He denotes her rank, he marital and familial status, her ship, but most importantly - her victories.

He goes on to braid more hair, and for some of the men to razor designs into the sheared sides of their undercuts. The first time the Chiss see Humans with those hairstyles, it's a message. "These are my Humans. These are my family."

Compiled with help and inspiration from Bextia!

[mezmer]

Shawl master post for my bridesmaid outfit. The goal is to take away from the party vibe going on with the strappy shoes and tight dress, without looking matronly, but still adding elegance. Also, mostly to cover up or obscure my obvious spinal deformity. Please help me choose a shawl! It's getting to be too late to buy one!

I really like that white shrug and I don't think it's too white that it would take away from the bride's dress.

Some novelty honorable mentions below. I may get one just for fun .. rock & roll scarf

[adelemadouce]

Come sweet Dancer

It was not easy to hide an emotional state that turned one's whole life upside down. But we had to be careful when we could not meet in the Allée des Veuves. My maid Camille had already seen what kind of relationship I had with the Emperor. And she was also romantic enough to suspect that I was in love with him, therefore her silence about it was based on her honour as a loyal servant.

When we reached the Tuileries the next morning, I asked her to leave me alone for a while before she dressed me and did my hair. Camille was very much in agreement with this, she wanted to go to the servants' quarters of the palace for petit déjeuner. "The servants kitchen here is simply magnificent! They've hot chocolate and puff pastry for breakfast," she said enthusiastically. "...and then there are many young servants and doormen...I like spending time with!" She smiled. Camille was my good soul, who wholeheartedly granted me a kiss-filled tête-à-tête with the Emperor. Of course, she didn't know that the Emperor had more in mind than "just kissing". But I knew it and longed for it! And he was there on time at nine o'clock. I was half naked and he had his shoes in his hand again. "We have to be careful," he said quietly, "...at this time of day the palace is swarming with people." The Emperor had bathed and his body was very warm. The little curls on his neck were still wet. "Only a quarter of an hour, "he said between two kisses. He didn't push me to the small bed, but lifted me onto the dresser in the hallway. Before I knew what was happening, he lifted my left leg over his shoulder and took me in a Hussar manner! With every thrust my head hit the mirror above the dresser, but I couldn't protest. Nor did I want to! I was so overwhelmed by my ecstasy that I began to scream. The Emperor put his hand over my mouth so hard, that I could hardly breathe. When the sweet relief came over him, he laughed and held me tight. "We really have to be more careful!" He knew as well as I did that our sounds would travel freely outside, to every ear that passed my door. He kissed me again, then I gave him his shoes. "I don't know how I'm going to get through the day without you." I looked at him, but could not answer. I was still too dazed. He noticed it and his gaze became tender. His lips formed a silent "je t'aime!" Then he kissed my forehead and said as he opened the door: "That's a good dresser!" He carefully peeked around the corner, the coast seemed clear, and he left.

Later, the Empress invited her young niece, Nini de Beauharnais, Émilie Lavalette, Églée Ney, Aimée Davout, Félicité and me to a small breakfast in her dressing room. The Empress's hair had not yet been done. She wore an apricot-colored silk scarf tied around her head, a là créole...and a white silk peignoir, decorated with swan's down on collar and sleeves. Very elegant!

Joséphine was in a good mood. "The Emperor fell asleep in the Opera yesterday. He was sleeping during the whole performance!" The Empress poured us mocca into little cups; she loved this intimacy without servants. We young women were part of her inner circle. "The old powder puffs always have to sort out their bones first before they can appear here!" said our dearest Églée and made us laugh. Joséphine also loved her refreshing jokes. "...and the Emperor, " she continued, "...came to me later that night. He had slept through the whole evening...so I was allowed to tire him out with my caresses...and more! And that's why I got up late this morning...at nine, imagine!" Joséphine smiled sweetly. I thought about what I had done at nine o'clock. And of course Églée could not leave the Empress's joy uncommented! Once again she pushed her thumb between her index and middle fingers without Nini and Joséphine seeing it. The Empress offered us small rolls filled with cheesecream from a glass étagère. Nini took two of them. The Empress sipped her mocca, then she began to whisper: "Berthier was at the Opera yesterday with his two ladies! I just don't understand his wife...", she shrugged her shoulders briefly. "Did the Emperor see it?" asked Aimée. "Thank God not!...he was sleeping. It's enough that he knows! But it always annoys him so much - a Marshal of the Empire who appears at the Opera with his wife and mistress...that's unbelievable!" Églée shoved a cheesecream roll into her mouth with relish. "I wonder if the three of them share a bed together?!" She grinned with her mouth full. The Empress, however, immediately put her finger to her lips to indicate that such conversations were not for the ears of a young girl. "Nini, ma petite, would you please fetch me the flacon of butter-emulsion, my hands are so horribly dry again!" the Empress asked her niece. "...in the bath cabinett," added Joséphine and waited until Nini had left the room. When the girl was outside, Joséphine's features hardened in a matter of seconds. "You simply cannot imagine the ideas and fantasies that men are capable of! Yes, even the Emperor! It is unbelievable!...but if he could do what he wanted, Bonaparte would indulge in the most shameful excesses..." Her small mouth spat out these words. I could hardly believe what I was hearing, but I absorbed every word she said. Félicité and I looked at each other. Églée, however, waved off. "That's how they all are! Men have such fantasies...it's natural!" Églée laughed sharply. "...as long as they don't demand that we act on their fantasies...!" Aimée sighed. "With a man attractive as yours, Églée, I would do anything!" Églée licked her fingers sensually. "Oh, I do that...you can be sure!" The two ladies laughed. Joséphine not. Nini came back and handed the flacon to the Empress, who placed it unnoticed on a small table. Just at that moment, the door was thrown open and the Emperor appeared. Startled by his sudden appearance, we sank into a more or less elegant curtsy, which he did not notice at all. He stormed towards the Empress. "Did you see, it's snowing!" We raised to follow the Emperor's gaze to the high windows. The winter sky was grey and we could actually see snowflakes swirling around. "If enough snow falls and it freezes, we'll all go to Fontainebleau...for a snowball fight...hm?...what do you say?" He beamed like a boy as he took Joséphine's hand and kissed it. He whispered something in her ear. She looked at him as if he were the Holy Spirit. Then she said something to him. The Emperor abruptly dropped her hand. "Another reception! How many more? When will this shit finally stop...I'm fed up!" I knew it was about his obligations, he had told me. And also that he was so fed up with it all. The Empress stroked his hand, but he looked at her devastated. Then he looked at the circle of women. He looked at everyone but not at me. When he saw Nini, he was able to smile again. "Well, you little glutton!"

He went to the étagère and took a cheesecream roll, chewed, and gave it to Joséphine. So no cheesecream rolls! "And, ladies," he then asked, still chewing a little,"...what dramas are moving our world this morning?" The Emperor looked at Églée, who dutifully replied: "...oh Sire, it's just our little Adèle and her fashion extravagance. She has every dress made tighter, so that it shows her silhouette...it's almost scandalous! This is not the fashion. We all have to follow the fashion! Except our Adèle! But she absolutely, absolutely!...wants to stand out from the crowd!"

I was shocked. I couldn't believe what Églée was doing to me. Why? Everyone stared at me. Everyone, except the Emperor. His gaze was still fixed on Églée. "What is so wrong with wanting to stand out from the crowd, Madame? Look at yourself, Madame la Maréchal Ney, you are tall and beautiful...and when you enter a room, all eyes are on you, because of your beauty you stand out from the crowd!" Églée looked at him and actually blushed. "Of course, You are right, Sire!" she said, surging at his compliment. The Emperor smiled at Églée. Then he went to the door while we all curtsied. He hesitated for a moment, and I knew exactly who he was giving this moment to.

To me! Only to me!

Then he left. I looked at Églée. "Why?" I asked confused. Aunt Joséphine immediately came to me and took me in her arms. Then she explained to me: "Églée only wanted to save us from a great embarrassment, chérie! We couldn't tell the Emperor what we were really talked about. Couldn't you, Églée!" The young beautiful woman nodded. "Of course! Forgive me, Adèle...I couldn't think of anything better than your fashion escapades...don't be mad at me!" I wasn't really hurt, because the Emperor had defended me and my extravagance, which flattered me immensely! I was just deeply shocked to suddenly find myself in the center of attention, when no one even remotely suspected the truth about me! However, Joséphine did not seem to have noticed this at all. She had probably only registered how charming the Emperor had been towards Églée. Joséphine's jealousy arose at the slightest detail, and Églée, with her tall beauty, had to avert any suspicion from herself in order not to lose the Empress's favor. But this little drama no longer concerned me, the Empress had consoled me and it was forgotten. Not forgotten, however, was the remark about the "most disgusting desires" that the Emperor seemed to nurture in his imagination. What did Joséphine mean by that? What could it be? Who could I ask about this?

Moira!

I wrote to my good friend that afternoon. I invited her to visit me soon and share lots of exciting news. I hadn't yet decided to tell Moira about my love for the Emperor, but confessing an anonymous lover would be quite plausible. Later in the afternoon, I drove with Camille to the Marais, to the galleries and boutiques of the Jewish merchants. I told her that I was looking for unusual objects to decorate the house. Camille took me to the small shop of Monsieur Rosemont, it was a boutique for art objects from all over the world. Monsieur Rosemont, the elderly gentleman was very accommodating, he showed us the most beautiful and strange objects, exotic masks, Chinese animal mummies, Shrunken heads from India, miracle mirrors from Siam, etcetera. I told him that I was looking for objects from Nordic mythology. "Ah, Madame...these things are in such great demand at the moment, since we know that the Emperor loves the old bard Ossian so much!" I told him that I was looking for paintings of Irish landscapes. Unfortunately, Monsieur Rosemont could not offer me any of the paintings I was looking for, but he gave me the address of an atelier that would certainly be able to offer me something. Monsieur Rosemont looked at me with interest and then asked: "But do you already have found a New Year's present for your husband, Madame? If not, then I know something. Come, please!" He beckoned me and Camille into a small room behind a curtain. It was exciting and even though I wasn't thinking of a New Year's present for Duchâtel, I definitely wanted to find something for the Emperor. Something special! And Monsieur Rosemont showed it to me. On a small pillar, right between two oil lamps, stood a small porcelain figure, a little female dancer in an erotic pose. It was enchanting! "Madame, she looks like you!" I heard Camille behind me saying. It was exactly what I thought. This figurine was unique, just like me. And I had to have it! "I'll take it, Monsieur Rosemont!" I was excited, I knew the Emperor would love the little dancer. It cost a small fortune, but I didn't care! I had everything delivered to the Allée des Veuves, along with a few other things. I wanted the statue in a sealed box. I wrote a note to Duroc, stating the time of delivery.

But the exciting day was far from over, because the day was followed by an exciting night. Camille and I had eaten hot chestnuts and drunk two large cups of hot spiced wine. When I got home I felt tired and went to bed early. I slept soundly for a few hours when Camille suddenly appeared at my bedside with a candle and shook me awake. "Madame, the coachman of the black fiacre is downstairs. He wants to speak to you!" I was immediately wide awake. "What? Who?" Camille placed the candle on my nightstand and then took my negligée and my silk pantoufles for me to slip into. The whole house was asleep. I followed Camille quietly down to the souterrain. She opened the door of our kitchen and let me in. A fire was burning in the fireplace, I saw our coachman, Monsieur Copin, talking to a man. He was sitting at the servants table, wearing a cloak and a top hat with a buckle. I held my negligée over my breast and went to the table. "Monsieur Copin, you can go to sleep. I'll take care of the Grand Marshal's coachman!" I waited until Monsieur Copin had left, then I turned to Camille. "Go to sleep, Camille!" When my servants had left, I pulled the top hat off the coachman's head. "You are mad, Sire!" He smiled at me. "What do you expect?! I am young, I am in love, I am an Emperor and I am mad! This is a perfectly normal state of affairs for me!" He laughed and stroked my thigh through the satin of my negligée. "By the way, your coachman didn't recognize me. He's a great guy! We talked about the street lighting in the arrondissements, I still have a few things to improve!" The Emperor stood up. "Come with me, Adèle, I have something to discuss with you...and I long for a few caresses!"

He gallantly placed his cloak around my shoulders. The Emperor was wearing his high riding boots, white riding breeches, and a white shirt. A coachman to devour! He took my hand and we quietly walked up the stairs. Outside I was surrounded by bitter cold. The stars glittered and after a few steps my feet were ice cold. But we quickly reached the fiacre, on whose box the real coachman sat. I got in and the Emperor was right behind me. He closed the door. The carriage was heated and the small oil lamp was burning. Very dimly. The Emperor's cloak slipped from my shoulders, he immediately hugged me and pushed me down on the seat. "My love...my darling...chéri..." I whispered on his lips. We kissed as if it were the first time. "We must restrain ourselves, sweet! Tomorrow evening comes our time of love!" Yes! Because tomorrow was Friday... But he held me very tightly. In the dim light I saw his bright eyes and his white teeth as he spoke to me. "This story this morning with the Empress was quite unpleasant. Why did Madame Ney offend you like that? Doesn't she like you?" I shook my head slightly. "No, Sire...she didn't want to insult me. Églée is my friend...she was just teasing me. The other ladies think I'm terribly afraid of you!" He looked at me for a moment. "Are you...?" I smiled as sweetly as I could and nodded slightly. That was the moment when all restraint failed him. He kissed me almost brutally. "You don't know how much I desire you, Adèle!" Oh yes, I could feel it! "Listen, I want you to know that nothing can happen to you! No one at court will be able to harm you! Adèle...even if no one knows it, you are under my personal protection!" I looked at him wide-eyed. How does a young woman react when the most powerful man in Europe says something like that to her? I closed my eyes and snuggled up to him. "No one will ever dare to harm you, Adèle!" I lifted my head and kissed him tenderly and gently. Then I freed myself from his arms and jumped out of the carriage into the darkness. I cried so much that the stars in my wet eyes turned into exploding diamonds.

[slut-and-falcon]

How Elphaba dresses headcannon

-Elphaba isn’t a women but doesn’t have the language to communicate that since evangelical munchkinland very much has the gender binary

-she despises femininity because it was an unattainable goal that when she attempted to encompass, left her feeling very wrong and uncomfortable

-wearing Fiyero’s clothes made her feel confident and masculine, despite her long hair.

-she feels more comfortable in dark color since they mute the green. She also wears multiple layers (like pants under her skirts) for modesty and comfort. She doesn’t realize until later than it’s not necessarily modesty to hid the green, but her liking wearing modest pants rather than skirts. With the skirts making her feel wrong (aka dysphoric)

-sue to her subjected poverty (since Frex doesn’t spend more than the absolute minimum on her), she takes to wearing Frex’s and the house worker’s old clothes

-the cook is nice to her, and first tried to give Elphaba, her (the cook’s) old dresses until Elphaba shyly asks if she could have the cook’s sons’ old clothing. Elphaba uses the excuse that she wanted to mend them and then donate them to the church, but yet none of those hand me downs ever appear in the church’s donation closet.

-Elphaba is skinny due to poor diet, and it’s worse after being on the run. After she settles down with Fiyero, she gains some healthy weight, and they share clothes often.

-Elphaba’s daily clothes after leaving Shiz includes practical farm boots, thick dark denim pants, long sleeve shirts, and a coat (the men’s duster isn’t practical for living in the woods, but she favors it when in the city undercover). She likes to wear her hat when making a point, otherwise her hair and face are covered by bandanas or a scarf. Tall pointy hats are pretty noticeable for someone in hiding.

-post her and Fiyero leaving Oz for safety, she regularly wears boots, pants, and a button down shirt. She wears her Vinkus silk scarfs as belts. Fiyero buys her a black hat with a wide brim with fringe that she wears when encompassing the ‘witch’ persona to scare outsiders (to protect her community of refugee animals on the edge of the Vinkus desert).

-when working undercover in the city, she often pretended to be a client of sex workers (during their ‘session’ she would provide them food and supplies while they gave information). (The city’s sex workers were mainly displaced people from Oz and many were part of the Resistance)

-Elphaba keeps her long hair as a monument to her mother, and Fiyero braids it often in the style of men from the Arjikis (braided back into a French braid with many tiny braids that represent accomplishments. Charms and some grasses are braided into the hair with symbolism. Arjiki women often braided her hair up, while men wore long braids down their back. Fiyero cut his as a method of assimilation when he moved East, and after some -omg-I’m-a-leader-and-I-am-stressed-and-I-want-to-rebel issues. He keeps it short while working undercover in the government. He grows it back out after leaving with Elphaba.

-Elphaba wears light pants that were cut off at the knee. Fiyero wears the same because Elphaba feels guilt whenever she sees his back scares from the Gale Force torture.

-fiyero likes dressing Elphaba nearly as much as he liked undressing her. There is something very intimate about it that he craves.

-Elphaba doesn’t bind, but she does wear a tank top folded up over her chest that resembles a sports bra under her shirt.

-breasts aren’t sexualized in Fiyero’s culture, so it’s common to see Elphaba walking around their home at night without a top on. She sleeps without a top on as well (unless it’s too cold to do so). She may do this, while using one her of silk scarfs as a shawl.

-jewelry- she has a necklace that Fiyero made for her back when they were at Shiz. It’s made of leather and has a small geode on it. She also wears a small strip of leather around her left wrist that serves as her equivalent of a wedding ring. Fiyero had a matching one. The original strip of leather had been cut longways into two pieces for Elphaba and Fiyero to wear separately.

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love:Patty Cake, Patty Cake!!

It's time once again folks, third being the charm here as we find ourselves in the studio set of Waifu Conoisseur but strangely no sign of the host himself or a studio audience. In fact the set looked more like one of those bar and stage floors you'd find at one of those swanky night clubs you'd find from the 20s to 40s. And sitting all by his lonesome at a table by the performance stage where the band would be set up was our guest stud of honour, the freckle possum himself who naturally was feeling a might bit suspicious right about now. After all given what went down the last two times he was on this, things got pornographic.

Moxxie:”Hello? Anyone there? This enter not be some bait and switch horror movie set up. Alrighty seriously where is that skull-headed lunatic and what’s he up to this time? Not that I don’t mind, it’s just that some of these encounters get pretty intense is all…” *The imp feeling his sense of caution grow with every passing second he didn’t hear a response or still found himself in solo company. It was particularly concerning that the host and mastermind of this show wasn't anywhere to be seen but there was no doubt he'd made the usual arrangements that would ensure a bruised pelvis and drained balls.*"Okay if I don't see or hear from anyone within the next minute or so? I'm going to firmly but politely make my way to the exit so don't call me, I'll call you okay?"*Not long after he had said this of course was the moment he felt he had gone and jinxed himself for the set-up as the lights dimmed a more shaded moody haze. A spotlight flicking on as it moved and shone onto the stage, stopping at the velvet curtain as a ghost band formed on the stage who proceeded to play their instruments.*

As soon as their tune kicked in, Moxxie could swear he had heard it somewhere before but just as he was looking to figure it out was when his brain hit the breaks to bring that train of thought to a screeching halt. With a good reason mind you as a figure emerged from behind the curtain beginning with the reveal of a luscious, long and well toned leg clad in a violet stocking and a red high heeled shoe, a split sparkling red skirt draped over it as its twin followed out to join it. Followed by their owner revealing herself in all her glory as Moxxie felt his jaw drop, eyes wide with shock and surprise as he found on the stage none other than the one and only Jessica freakin' rabbit herself. Oh there was no mistaking that it was her all right, those drawn bad girl curves with those voluptuous set of legs, the bouncing tits that only that dress could contain or that seductive face with those ruby red lips as her silky melodic voice began to sing for her audience of one.

Jessica:*Moving with the silky grace and poise that only she could truly pull off, her heels clicking along the stage as if ensuring that Moxxie kept his attention on her. Every movement making her bubbly booty and meaty melons bounce and jiggle as the words poured forth from her crimson painted lips.*"You had plenty of money in 1922, You let other women make a fool of you,Why don't you do right Like some other men do?" *Soon as she was near the edge of the stage where his table was situated, Moxxie realised and notice that there was a stripper pole set up there. There was no way she was going to something like that, was she?*

Jessica:”Get out of here,Get me some money too….”*Indeed she was as her silk violet gloved hand took a grasp of the iron bar, proceeding to give a spin and a twirl, her skirt flowing like a silk scarf in the breeze. Moxxie’s gold glowing eyes widening as yes, Jessica Rabbit was giving him a pole dance!! It wasn’t going to get any further than that at least, right? Right?!”

Jessica:”You're sittin down and wonderin what it's all about If you ain't got no money, they will put you out, Why don't you do right, Like some other men do?” *The toon bombshell seemed to sense she had The imp’s curiosity and attention in the palm of her her hand, she worked that pole with sensual grace and magic. Reaching around to pull down the zipper to her dress behind her and let it slide down her thicc, curvy form. Blowing a kiss his way as she now stood on stage in just her gloves, stockings, heels and her Lacey bra and panties, making his libido sound off alarm bells. More so as she slid off of the stage and began making her way over to his table.*

Jessica:”Get out of here, Get me some money too…….”*The seeet little possum gulped nervously as Jessica nudged the table aside, ensuring no barrier stood between her and him. Her sultry face leaning close to him as her velvet glove hands moved to cup and caress his adorable freckled face. Teasing his Snow White hair, striped horns and and his little bow tie. Before undoing and throwing it aside.*

Jessica:”Now if you had prepared 20 years ago, You wouldn't be a wanderin now from door to door. Why don't you do right, Like some other men do?”*The classy imp was feeling his will power and sense of restraint become undone with every moment in the near naked presence of the stunner combined with little acts of intimacy. Were he anyone else, he’d likely have taken out his wallet to make it rain or tip her with some notes to motivate her performance. But seems just his company was all she needed as she sat in his lap, straddling it as she gave him a lapdance. His waist trapped by those luscious thighs as she hugged his face into the valley of her marshmallow melons.*

Jessica:”Get out of here,Get me some money too ,Get out of here ,Get me some money too….”*Her sultry voice continued its song as it was reaching its end, bumping and grinding against his crotch. Silently shuddering as she felt the telltale signs of a swelling bulge forming. Cameltoe rubbing and caressing as she continued smothering Moxxie with her tits before she tilted his head uo to look her in the eyes. Her gaze sensually hypnotic as she leaned in closer, lips inches away from his.*

Jessica:”Why don't you do right,Like some other men do?”*The song finished its play through, though instead of an audience applauding and calling for an encore? It instead conclude with Jessica pressing her lips to his Moxxie’s as the imp felt her tongue invade his mouth. Feeling her moan as she seemed to be trying to take his soul through this intimate, passionate liplock. Only for the redhead to break for air,a strand of saliva between them as she licked her sultry lips and pried herself away off of his lap.*

Moxxie was feeling himself feeling from the tandem assault of a striptease and lapdance from Jessica as well as her quite unexpected but not unwelcome kiss. Brain kicking back into function and focus in time to see the redhead bombshell peel off her Lacey panties followed by her unclamping her bra. Her wonderful slit and busty mounds laid bare before him as she stood now clad in just heels, stockings and gloves. Sensually giggling at his dumbstruck reaction as she made her way back over to his chair.

Moxxie:”………if this is a dream, don’t wake me up….or turn into some surreal nightmare….”*The sweet little possum wasn’t sure the how and why that mad man with the skull head managed to arrange this. All he knew was that life only gave you so many chances like this and you only had once shot with Jessica Rabbit! The redhead catching his attention as she grabbed and pulled off his coat, followed by unbuttoning his shirt before stopping at he fly of his pants. Her sultry green eyes twinkling with lust and mischief.*”Oooh crumbs….”

Jessica:*giggled as she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. Sinking down to her knees as she spoke in that flirtatious manner that came so naturally to her.*”Just relax now handsome. This will be good for both us when you’re not tense…..”*A silent gasp escaping her luscious lips as she freed his cock from its constraints, in awe of the length and girth that stood before her. Her desire skyrocketing as her silky gloved hand grasped and began to stroke it.*”Mmm well now if this is how in the mood you are after my show? This will be real fun…”

Soon as she said those words, she planted a soft yet firm kiss on the tip of his red rod before cupping her splendid jugs in her hands. With which she proceeded to sandwich them between his imp cock as she stroked and massaged him with a titfuck. Feeling his length and girth pulse between her mounds as she kissed and licked the tip whenever it thrust near her ruby red lips. Moxxie's groans music to her ears as she took what remained exposed into mouth to suck and blow upon it.

The moment she did that, Moxxie of course couldn't be bothered to muster up any willpower or restraint against his libido, not when especially having a woman like this corrode his self control like acid melting through solid steel. Instead the thespian found himself grasping that lush silky mane of red hair and proceeding to pump and thrust his hips like the pistons of a jackhammer. Jessica's eyes widening with shock and awe which turned to lusty delight as she found herself on the receiving end of a vigorous face-fuck. Wet moans and gasps escaping her as she felt her mouth stuffed and her throat penetrated by inches of crimson red length and girth tickling her tonsils.

And how she loved every single damn second of it, a rising swelling bump going up and down as glowing pink hearts formed in her eyes. Drowning that cock in her saliva as Moxxie's heavy golfball sized babymakers smacked her chin. Hands massaging his quite gifted and well built legs as she felt as orgasmic as the first time with her honey bunny and of course their honeymoon. The tastebuds of her tongue dazlled with the flavour of his flowing pre as she rode this intense oral preview of what her pussy would be soon experiencing. That Millie girl was right when she told her that Moxxie and Roger had a lot in common as did she and the shortstack Wrath imp.

The other detail of course being they had themselves husbands who were total sweethearts that were hung like gods and total beasts in the sack to a point they couldn't be just one woman type of men. Oh no cocks that good had to be shared and experienced by other eager horny bitches why hell right about now her Roger was at a hotel room rocking the world of Penelope Pussycat. Speaking of worlds being rocked of course, the sultry redhead showgirl found herself doing just that as she finally found her pussy being taken to Satisfaction Avenue and back by Moxxie's red rocket. And oh was it a thrilling sensation to say the least.

It had started off simple enough, once she'd finished having her mouth used as a cocksleeve as she made him sit back in his seat to mount and straddle his lap. But the moment she had the tip of that saliva lubed-up dick penetrate, the sudden orgasm hit her body like a freight train. More so as inch after inch of that womb hammering veiny rod sank in until she had bottomed out, her booty resting atop those glorious balls. And then he started to move, hands grabbing and squeezing her bubble butt and Jessica was at a loss for words.

Not that she needed them, oh no, not when the walls and ceiling of the modified studio turned night club was echoing with the sounds of skin slapping sex and her deepthroated moans. Tongue dancing with Moxxie's in a sloppy kiss soon as he had her in a mating press after shifting from fucking her in variations of doggy style. His arms hugging and squeezing those plump, firm tits of hers as he continued to pound away at her sloppy, warm snatch. The velvet carpet an polished smooth mahogany wood floors becoming sticky with their sweat and juices as they showed no signs of stopping what so ever.

Now where was Millie you might ask? Oh she was watching in the Hospitality Room via a hidden camera, entertaining her voyeuristic street by fucking a lady Robo-Fizz with a brand M twin-ended strap-on. She knew it would be hot to see her man in action with THE bombshells among all Toons but this exceeded expectations. She was already looking forward to when she'd join in on of course, and looked forward to seeing what host had in store for Moxxie next.

That and of course she hoped he was enjoying the Thank You present she'd sent him. That being a night in the VIP room of Ozzie's in the company of some of the fine succubi on hand as staff to cater to his desires. The flaming skull-headed creative sitting slouched on a couch with a baker's dozen of horny bitches ready and willing to serve. Shooting a look at the unseen audience with just one thing to say. "Unlimited.....BITCHES!!"