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genderlessghoul · 1 year ago

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I've been wanting to do this post for a while now so here is EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE GHOULS' IMPERA COSTUMES.

Buckle up because I have a LOT to say about those, this is gonna be a very long one.

The costumes were designed by B Åkerlund, a Swedish costume designer who's worked with Ghost since at least Meliora (that's as far back as I was willing to scroll on her Instagram page lol). B Åkerlund has also worked for many other musical artists such as Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osborne, Blink 182 and Hollywood Undead (information from her own website)

The masks were made by Bob Basset, a visual artists who works a lot with leather. I find his work fascinating, you can look him up on Instagram (nsfw warning, there's a few naked ladies).

Fun fact! The horns are real cow horns. That's the reason some of them have gold tips, to hide the imperfections that come with working with actual horns.

He does have a shop where he sells his items, there's a mask there very similar to the Impera ones. You can also buy Papa's batwings if you happen to have 2500$ lying around!

The jackets are made on the same model as one of Papa's. The back is decorated with a spine-like design made from leather and cording. It's adorned with a few of our classic Impera buttons. Some of the hems were left raw and some deliberate weathering was done to make it look old and worn.

Fun fact! The shoulder pieces are not sewn into the garment, I would assume for easier cleaning. I don't know if they're held by strong magnets or snap buttons.

The vest (my beloved 😩) is made from flocked velvet in a paisley pattern, the front hems embellished with satin piping. It closes in the front with custom metal clasps that are riveted into the garment. The D parts are attached with what seems to me like wide elastic, which would lessen the pression on the clasps when moving around a lot. The back is made from two different types of fabric, I'd have to touch it to be able to tell you what they are. I assume the panels closer to the sides have some mild stretch to them. The top of the shoulders are decorated with Impera grucifix patches.

The shirts were not custom made for the ghouls, altho they were altered. The original shirt in the vintage painter linen shirt from Punk Rave and it is still being sold. Some of the cuffs were altered, removing the ruffles for some of the ghouls, but not all. They were removed for Dew, Mountain and Phantom, Aether's didn't have them either. As far as I can tell, all the ghoulettes still have them.

An unfinished piece of linen serves as an ascot, that piece is decorated with a metal devil skull. The colour of the skull doesn't appear to be consistent between each ghoul, Dew's looks gold almost bronze while Phantom's is a silver-like colour.

Another modification is the buttons, a small portion of them were removed in favor of our Impera buttons. Some of the ghouls have more buttons replaced than others, which is still a mystery to me.

The pants are called Jodhpurs, they were invented in the 1800s as horse riding pants. The wide part at the hips and thighs allowing for better movement. The ones the ghouls wear don't reach all the way to their ankles, they stop a bit past the calf muscle, hidden by the boots. (Yes, the ghouls are effectively wearing capri pants)

The boots are motorcycle riding boots, decorated by a grucifix. Like the shirt, they can still be bought online through the All American Boots website, altho the price tag is... Headache inducing to say the least.

The cape is a piece of costume that was only briefly worn on stage by the ghouls, Aurora being the only one who still wears one. I would assume it gets in the way of playing very easily. The cape itself is made of two fabrics, a light blue satin and a dark grey suede. The two pieces are not sewn together at the bottom, they move freely from each other. The cape is attached on the left shoulder with a harness piece that has one strap across the chest, decorated with a metal buckle, and one under the armpit.

Aight that's it for me, have a nice day byyyyye!!

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melancholicstation · 1 month ago

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You heard my baby's back in town now! — controversially young!gf bobby kennedy one-shot

imagine... you are bobby kennedy's controversially young girlfriend who he met at a an oregon mall during his brother's campaign for president in 1959. fast forward a few months and you're finally taking the next step in your relationship: meeting the family.

taglist: @obsessedwithjohnjr @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @unmarlou @joansiesbeloved @jackiesgirl @acrowdedstreetin1944 @miumiumoods @yeuxdenina @its-esdras @jacobseresin @yspix7y @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @harajukub4rb1e @ironcowboycopnickel @valleyxdoll @angelitawings @monturi @starsprangledgirl

inspired by @unmarlou's age gap!bobby kennedy, go give this blog some ♥️ .

warnings: heavy mention of age-gap, multiple flashbacks, uses lyrics from Taco Truck x VB, use of terms of endearment, period typical sexism (not bobby)

words: 2,862

Most of the time you wouldn't say holding down a 9 to 5 at one of the biggest breakfast chains in middle America was an exciting career endeavour for a 22 year old woman but here you were. That was until you met him: your boyfriend of six months who'd shown himself to be a great lover and an even better giver, always draping you in the finest of mulberry silk and yellow diamond. You weren't shallow though, you would've loved him the same if all he had were the clothes on his back and that floppy hair of his.

However you wouldn't have to because he had the ultimate privilege or curse, many would go on to say, of being born into one of the richest families in America, and was the brother of the Democratic Party pick for president in 1960. Oh, and his name was Bobby Kennedy.

*Flashback to December 5th, 1959*

After working your job at Waffle house for about 2 weeks you knew it was hell, filled with grimy men hitting on you with their dirty pickup lines their dad probably taught them at age 15, that bitch of a co-worker, and a drab work attire that your boss, Susan, seemed to have affinity for catching any slight deviations of. Superficially it was mostly the outfit requirements that bothered you: I mean how were you ever supposed to leave this damned place if your own uniform made sure that no person, regardless of gender, would ever humanly find you attractive.

Despite this, you persevered and tried to work around it. If your boss told you to wear a plain blue top: you wore a lightly stripped blue button-up with featuring an embroidered, ruffled star motif on the chest. If your boss told you to wear heather grey bottoms: you wore an extremely short dark navy skort with built in shorts for the so called modesty striven for in the dress code. I mean for christ sakes this wasn't the White House now was it?

You often pared the dreary outfit with a pair of suede ballerina's in navy: a bit of an oxymoron where your mother was concerned due to the nearly perpetual state of wetness synonymous with Oregon lately. Adorning your neck with the one staple in your jewellery escapes: an antique scapular on black silk cord.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder defiantly: a bag so filled to the brim that it didn't look so much like a bag anymore and more like a rather large and rather worn sack. However you did attempt to beautify its exterior by applying randomised trinkets to it's complexion such as: a statement cross pendant held together with leather twine, a religious pocket book passed down from your grandmother on your Spanish side, and a stone rosary.

Departing from the trinkets adoring the handles of your bag, the once smooth leather of the bag was now covered in tiny hole marks from the pins of the buttons you so religiously adorned your bag with. Many—who were you kidding, all were of John F. Kennedy and his running mate Lyndon B. Johnson. Now you weren't so much of a fan of Johnson as you were of Kennedy but you were seldom able to find ones of Jack by himself. That's why the ones of jack stayed front and centre, with the ones of Johnson meandering in the background, wrapping around the sides of the leather.

It had been a couple hours of your shift before you granted yourself the masochistic reflex of checking the time: counting down the length of time until you were free.

Checking the clock you realise it had not in fact been hours, in reality it had only been an hour and three minutes. Boy time really just flies by when you're serving up cheesesteak melt has brown bowls at five-thirty in the morning: I mean seriously what kind of sicko does that?, and getting hit on by men who look like they could've been your father.

That was until you hear that disntict clink of the door chin: alerting you to a new customer. Exasperated with, well—life, you look up already annoyed. Annoyed until you meet the hilarious sight of a strange man crouched under a comically small umbrella, surrounding by some very self-important all dressed in suit and tie: a stark contrast to the typical male style expected of in Oregon.

Before you can catch a glimpse of the man he's herded into a booth far out of your range of sight. Despite being interested your attention is called for when a woman orders a hot coffee to-go. Y'know, it did always suck when you had to do your actual job and not just people watch for a living.

Out of nowhere two voices come within your earshot,

"No, Tim—I can do it myself. God damn it! You people treat me like a child, I can order my own food." a voice expressed that somehow towed that line between being intrinsically feminine and masculine at the same time.

The other voice begrudgingly backs off but continues,

"I know you're not a child Bob, but I'm trying to help you. Y'know that's kind of my job as advisor, to advise you on shit."

"Fine. You go do it, i'll wait over here like a dog." ,the voice says expressing a particular strain of annoyance you had yet to hear vocalised until that moment.

This man has an advisor? What the he—

"Hey-Uh, could I get a pecan waffle and a dark roast coffee."

Surprised for a moment, you compose yourself and reply "Sure, coming right up."

Shuffling into the back with the intention to tell the cook the order, and then maybe take a cheeky smoke from your bag in the meantime. Maybe.

After telling the cook, you find yourself b-lining for your bag. Getting to your bag, you start fiddling for a lighter that was until you hear a peculiar set of shuffling feet suspiciously close to you.

That's when you realise that you completely missed, on your mission for your bag, a real human man leaning his back against the bag rack.

"Oh-Mary and Joseph—you nearly gave me a heart attack."

The figure, and the face comes into your range of sight and your semi totally mortified. The president-to-be's brother had just seen you try to go for a smoke.

"Oh I'm sorry I just don't like the noises. Forks scraping on plates gives me the chills." the man chuckles.

In politeness you chuckle back, in order to get the elephant out of the room you say,

"Now you're Robert Kennedy aren't you?"

"In the flesh" he says with a quite sassy display of his hands, patting himself on the chest in an act to display his human quality.

"Well I have to say I'm enamoured by your brother's campaign, he's doing so wonderfully."

"Thank you, well I happen to think so too. But I'm a bit biased—y'know it's kind of in my job description. I pegged you for a jack supporter."

"How so?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe the pins on that bag of yours gave me a bit of a clue."

Mortified you look away that was, until, he redirects your head movements with his hand turning your chin back to his with the divine authority of a man much older than you. Though you're not repulsed by that fact, in all reality it's quite the opposite.

"Hey-Hey hey don't be embarrassed. I think it's awfully cute of you, though I wish you didn't have so many of that Johnson and maybe one of me." ,he says in a tone that carries the passion of a thousand un-spoken grievances, peeking your curiosity.

Lifting his hand off your chin, he lightly pets your hair: much like you assume he would do to perhaps a Boston terrier or a bengal kitten. With that same tenderness.

"I better let you get back to work. I'm sure you don't want some old man like me keeping you from your job"

Bashfully you smile, subtly shaking your head in retort. However he does raise a good point, such a good point in fact that it has you turning your heels back in the direction of the front counter. But not before turning your head slightly back—subtly saying goodbye with a smile and a slight wave of the fingertips, to which he mirrors with a sheepish, smug grin.

By the time your shift ends your exhausted and love sick over that man, whom you had only had in your presence for a bijou length of time but had been pondering about for hours.

Reaching for your bag before officially clocking out, you notice a new edition to your bag. A bright white and navy blue pin labelled 'Robert F. Kennedy for Vice President' surprised enough already, you're positively baffled to find a small engraving of a number etched into the backside of the pin.

What was on it, you may ask? Well, Robert F. Kennedy's phone number no less,

And that's how it started.

*End of flashback*

There were moments when you were faced with the awkward societal magnifying glass put on your relationship, and increased ten fold because of your scandalous age gap. I mean come on, it was only twelve years. It wasn't that bad. Though there were times you were reminded every now and then of the twelve year generational divide between you two, like in the instance of when he found that pesky little shoe-box underneath your bed.

*Start of flashback*

"Look at me"

"No I simply cannot bear it, Bobby!" you muffle out, the sound muddled due to your mousy blonde curls interference.

"C'mon, sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed about, you're a grown young woman. I expected this from you, I'd be weirded out if you didn't partake in this sort of stuff. It's endearing, I promise." ,bobby teases, making a big show of his "promise" by dramatically holding out his arms in a prayer motion.

An action you find less than funny: ending with Bobby getting a pillow through straight towards his head, to which he dodges with ease.

What had caused this whole mess was that you'd tasked Bobby with the mission of finding that cotton camisole he'd so recklessly strewn across your bedroom in the throws of your shared passion. It was your belief that if he did it he should fix it.

However that adventure had led to bobby finding a particularly embarrassing set of erotic books hidden in a shoebox. Each with a more embarrassingly brazen title than it's former.

You had never seen him laugh so much than that day.

"Honey, I'm not laughing at you. It's just-y'know back in my day we never had this. We had to use our imagination, oh how times are changing. It's exciting really" he says adopting a semi sarcastic tone that borders on mocking.

His comments cause you to sulk even more, retreating into yourself perched at the foot of the bed, "Bobby don't be mad, I don't even read that stuff now! not with you. I was so in-experienced back then , I had no idea about anything."

"Oh baby, c'mere" he motions you to him, eventually gathering you up into a bundle and takes you into his lap.

Combing through your hair he explains "Baby of course I'm not made at you. How could I be? with such a pretty face like this. Y'know I'm glad you had those books, though I do like keeping you all to my self. And I certainly don't want to share you with any fictional man." he says in an order to lighten up the room, while dabbing slightly at your cheeks

"Don't cry pretty girl, I hate to see you cry, it hurts me, hurts me real bad. I know you don't wanna hurt me now do ya? Huh?"

Nodding, you compose yourself slightly and lay your head timidly on his chest: slightly hairy and stunk of an addictive sort of musk.

Your slightly moved when he moves his body trying to get something out of his pocket

"Princess, look what I found!"

And there it was your favourite cotton camisole, back in your possession. Sometimes you didn't know how he did it, he just did.

*End of flashback*

And that's how your relationship went for six months. Though it was hard to maintain a relationship being that he was in such a different life stage than you, and coupled with the fact that he was on a gruelling campaign trail with his brother. To be honest most days he would come and see you, you'd just lay in bed soaking up each other's presence. On the days you would venture outside as a couple you got more than a couple looks, and you had your fair share of unfavourable coverage in the media being that you were the controversially young girlfriend by the side of the man who's brother was on track to become president of the United States. But you both brush it off, you knew your truths.

You hadn't seen bobby in two whole weeks and you were beginning to get desperate. Though it wasn't like he was depriving you, he stuck to a strict schedule of calling you every day at seven in the evening: no matter rain or shine. Some times he would catch you eating a late dinner, for which he would scold you about adopting the tone he used in those senate meetings. And others where he would catch you in bed early, and one thing would lead to another. Thank god that you both had been smart enough to check for wiretapping, or else it would've made you two more of social piranhas than you already were...

And sure enough at seven pm, your phone rang off the hook,

"Hey baby, how are ya? Tell me all about what a sweet girl like you was doing all day? I wanna hear it all, leave no detail out." he says in a tone that reveals his true earnest nature that you've come to so cherish in your relationship.

So, you indulge him, "Honey, I got up so early, and then, I got into the shower"

He hums attentively down the line, encouraging you to tell him what you did next: to which you inform him that you took a nap mid-day, "I was just able to go back to sleep for a hour and a half. So that rocked, um, anyway."

"Did ya dream of anything special?" he says while shifting in his leather chaise seat: you assumed he was halted up in his hotel in some nameless city along the trail.

"I had this dream where, um, I don't know-" you trail off sharing some half-baked dream that you weren't sure you comprehend yourself. Apologising you ask about his day,

"Oh sweetie, don't apologise I asked, I wanted to know. I did want to talk about something with you though. Y'know how Jack is coming back to Oregon before the primary. Well, I thought what better a time to introduce you to my family. They'll just adore you baby, I promise just like I do."

Blushing and taken by surprise you bashfully reply, of course agreeing.

"That's great, you'll do amazing. Though, I do have to warn you about their line of questioning. They have a penchant for sort of quizzing girls that I take home about world events, it's like a sport to them-my parents I mean, my siblings will be just fine to handle. I just want you to be prepared."

"Okay, well what kind of events. Like events in your times?" you say sarcastically.

"Okay, Miss Attitude. I'm not from the 1890s, y'know we're only a decade apart. But I'll quiz you when I visit you in a couple days. I'll make it real easy for you, put in some recent events that you know: though you're a smart cookie you'll get it in no time baby."

"Bob, you're making me very nervous. They're not going to go too hard on me right?"

"Oh my sweet, you'll get used to them. They make a big fuss but they're relatively harmless, they'll see how happy you make me and that'll be the end of it. Promise."

After his assurances, you were left unbridled with happiness after you hung up the phone. I mean how hard could it be to charm a family like the Kennedys, they seemed nice enough? You charmed one of their sons so how troublesome could it really be? Jackie looked warm and open in the newspaper, Joan looked a delight and Jack well I'm sure you could bate your eye at him and he would be sufficiently pleased at your presence. Though that left out the parents, which were often the hardest of the bunch when fulfilling the daunting duty of meeting the family, you were sure it would be Bobby assured you so.

And why would he ever need to lie to you?

signing off: bang, bang xx

#part 2 anyone ... or no #rfk x you #rfk x reader #rfk fanfic #rfk fanfiction #robert f kennedy x reader #rpf #kennedy rpf #political rpf #rpf political #rpf fanfiction #x reader #x you #smut #kennedy fanfiction #kennedy fanfic #dw bobby's not evil ... his parents are though!#bobby kennedy x reader

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in-kensington-gardens · 5 months ago

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"And I swore I wouldn't curl up in the palm of your hand... But you let your eyes linger on me, and I suddenly can't make a fist."

🌿 kaji ren

Synopsis

You were never too discreet with your fondness for him, and he was never too good at letting people in. And for awhile, it didn’t matter. You settled in the space of friendship, content with your place in his life. But why was he not satisfied?

character: kaji ren x gn!reader word count: 1,897 tags: reader insert, raw confessions, slightly aged up, friends to lovers (if you squint), emotionally constipated kaji ren so i make him face himself

warnings: none

At the instant you tore him a piece of your heart—right away, he knew. It would never be the same for him.

It was then back in sophomore year, when the streets of Makochi haphazardly brought an unsuspecting you, suddenly caught in the crossfire, and Kaji Ren had to throw a punch or two with the tingling from his knuckles exploding into his system. It was when you pushed your soaked suede boots into a warm Café Pothos, hair sticking to your flushed face from having braved the downpour just to meet him, that a dreadful feeling crept behind the cages of his rib, prickling ever so quietly at his chest. It was when you started taking a bit more space in his routine, during patrol when the sun dipped on the horizon, and you would check up on him, that his clammy palms felt too apparent from the uncertainty of your presence.

It was when he could sense your gaze dawdle a little bit on the frames of his thoughts, when your words would thin out into an ellipsis in the discourse, that he suspected a secret dancing on your tongue—one that would ruin him if you did so much as whisper it. With his hands behind him, fingers crossed, he hoped for you not to say it. Don’t. He would not know what to do with himself.

But it was one evening, in June, with the town half-asleep and the hums of the night harmonising with Ren’s quickening heartbeat that you let out the string of words he wished you would never make known. Somewhere between your ‘I like you’ and ‘I don’t think I ever tried to hide it’ hung the silence of his chest—and in it a dropping sensation, like his heart plunged to his gut.

It was painfully obvious, but perhaps the unspoken was a thread Ren held onto dear life for, afraid of the screaming pit right below him if the cord thinned out from the truth. He hoped desperately for you not to say it, for you not to snap his only source of sanity. He knew right away, that if you looked him in the eye and told him he meant something to you, it was trouble he could not solve with his fists.

He could not think straight, and yet, he went with what he thought was best to save himself… from what exactly? He had no sliver of an idea. All he knew was in that moment, you existed, to his doom, and if he did not right his feet now, he could end up with a gash he would only want you to mend. A thought so terrifying to Kaji Ren, he could sense his throat dry up.

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing he managed to utter. Timid, hoarse—as if he himself strained to say it. A part of him thought he needed to hear it more than you did.

You gave him a smile so surely infallible. “I’m okay, Ren. I only wanted it out for the sake of letting you know,” reassuring him none of it would change the way you have been to each other.

But you could not have been more wrong. To Kaji Ren, it changed everything forever.

It started with a slow dance. Between the fear of being known and the ache of wanting to be, tearing the floor open, his footsteps found their way to a new safe distance from you—within reach, but never quite touching... afraid that if you met his skin, he’d melt away to your mercy. He was never the same proximity as yesterday though, and every day, he inched just a little closer. He was well aware of the shortening gap despite his ‘I’m sorry’ from that night in June, but between the fear of being known and the ache of wanting to be, his body trembled at the warmth yours left in its wake.

He started to reach for your hand in every moment you went for the door, but his would freeze and hang suspended in the air, twitching at the realisation that he had given that fortune up when he said he was sorry. His eyes started to drift faintly to the pads of your fingers, staring too much as if willing it to trace his scars carefully. He started to wonder what it would be like to let you touch him in more ways than one, past skin and bones—and he started to ache in his chest, from a want so clever and bold, he wanted to take his apology back.

You acted the same as you had always, just as you said. And it messed with his head when he appeared to be the only one affected.

It was after one of Furin’s clashes with another bandit territory that he was limp on your couch, lips busted with a gaping cut and bruises on the left of his face. He wore a glare of profound irritation, you surmised his altercation with the other group put him in too much of a bad mood. But if the deep furrowing of his brows and the crease on his forehead said anything about his mood, in truth, it was frustration from the intimacy of your warm body adjacent to his cold skin. From the mindful brush of your knuckles on his cheek in patching him up, to the awful confusion of having no idea how to deal with his feelings. Too close, he could feel his pulse drumming from his ears.

You cocked a brow, lightly placing a finger or two on his forehead, softly ironing out the wrinkles from the face he was making under the bangs.

“Relax,” you said with a quiet laugh, in a probably too casual tone for Ren’s own good that he simply abandoned his better judgment.

“How are you so unaffected?”

You paused, fingers falling dead on his temple as he looked up at you from his seat. His dark grey eyes pierced their gaze into yours, never minding the mingling breaths from the closeness, and they seemed to be harbouring a raging storm straining to tame itself. Something you cannot understand.

The question came out of nowhere, and he downed into your stare so firmly, as if bracing for the answer. You blinked. “You’re here now, aren’t you? You could’ve gotten out worse, but you—”

“That’s not what I—” A sigh fell off his half bleeding lips, head dropping back into the headrest as the lump on his throat bobbed up and down from swallowed contention. His stare was glued to the ceiling, and you stepped back, fingers leaving a burn on his forehead, feeling some tension you were not made aware of as you wait for him to add on his thought.

There was a brief silence before he continued, “You were never too discreet with how you looked at me. It was obvious—from the start. I always knew.”

Stillness misted around the room once more, smoking into the cracks of the walls and the space between you and him. Save for the shuffling from his tearing away off the cushion, you could hear a pin drop. Ren bent over to his legs, elbows resting on the tip of his knees as he rubbed on his eyelids with weary circles.

“But I had hoped you wouldn’t say it,” he mumbled in a hushed tone, you almost didn’t catch it. You could not muster up any response, and he seemed as though he had more to tell you, so you let him ruminate in his mind, catching wandering thoughts that swayed capriciously. A quiet sigh left his mouth again. “I desperately hoped you wouldn’t say it out loud... else, I’d have to face it, too.”

“You finally knew what I meant to you...” He trailed off, the last note on his musing drifting into the air, breathless at the height of his emotions. “But I was still stuck on wondering why I was always so out of breath around you.”

Feelings hitched at his throat, and he pushed them down with a gulp. His fingers drummed a slow beat on jeans-cladded thigh, and he seemed to be debating what he would say next. You allowed him time, watching the way his own brows furrowed and uncrossed themselves as he was pondering.

“I was never good at feelings. I was scared.”

It was no secret. Kaji Ren was a man of few words, the everyday lollipop in his mouth stuck for the purpose of barring himself from saying too much past what he would be willing to admit. But the high walls he perched and built through his own calloused hands need not be said—it was a towering piece of evidence: he wasn’t one to let people in.

And it was fine. You respected his space.

“I feared that if I opened myself to it—to you just a little more than I usually do, I’d be giving you the power to hurt me.”

You could feel your own breath shortening, lungs tightening, hardly catching up to the racing of your heartbeat.

“And I swore I wouldn’t curl up in the palm of your hand...” The unexpected softness in his voice did not go by unnoticed. His tone small, only just under the breath, struggling to come alive at his utterance, as if he had sledgehammered his brick walls down to let you see him inside as weak as a whisper. “But you let your eyes linger on me, and I suddenly can’t make a fist.”

You opened your mouth to say something—something to give a pause to the rawness spilling all over the place. Something to slow this all down when you could narrowly suck an air in. But he had more to say, and you could sense the unplanned urgency in his speech.

“I can’t fight back. I think I’ll unravel. I think that I don’t mind being seen, being touched, if it’s you—” A tightening in his throat nearly choked his words down, and he corked up the stumbling by the skin of his teeth. “I think I’m okay if I surrender myself to you—and that scares me.”

The hindmost sentence came out in a hiss, as if it scalded his tongue to admit.

“But I’m more terrified of letting that chance pass up, never knowing how it feels to be held by you, when it’s staring me at the face.”

A pause.

A short silence, allowing his feelings to sink into your own, colliding right in the pits of your chest where your heart rests undeterred. You did not know what to do with yourself.

“So, if I’m not too late... I would really...” He spoke with a sigh, running his hand through his hair, the sweating of his hands too familiar. “I’d really love to hang out with you. I’d love to figure this out with you.”

It was after waging a battle with clutches borne out of personal grievances that Kaji Ren waged a war with his own feelings. Through his rare moment of laying his armour down, cutting himself open for you, not once had he shot his gaze at your direction.

But this time, he finally looked you in the eye.

“I wouldn’t mind resting in the palm of your hand, if you promise I’ll be safe in it.”

#unbeta'd so if you find something wrong that's between you and god #i love my fictional characters emotionally constipated #kaji ren #ren kaji #wind breaker #wind breaker fluff #wind breaker kaji #my writing #wind breaker fanfic #anime #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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chic-a-gigot · 7 months ago

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La Mode nationale, no. 22, 2 juin 1894, Paris. No. 10. — Corsage de lainage Suède. No. 14. — Corsage en drap vert-Nil. No. 16. — Pèlerine-collet en moire noire. No. 18. — Corsage de mousseline de soie. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 10. — Corsage de lainage Suède. Corsage plat, orné dans le haut par un plastron de velours noir, encadré dans une cordelière même nuance, nouée en trèfle sur le devant; ceinture noire. Manches gigot.

No. 10. — Suede wool bodice. Flat bodice, decorated at the top with a black velvet bib, framed in a cord of the same shade, tied in a cloverleaf pattern on the front; black belt. Lamb sleeves.

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No. 14. — Corsage en drap vert-Nil, à basques sur les hanches. Devant, grands revers directoire encadrant un plastron de guipure de Venise; choux de ruban fermant le corsage à la taille. Manches gigot, recouvertes du hat par des jockeys partant de l'encolure; col montant.

No. 14. — Bodice in Nile green cloth, with peplums on the hips. In front, large directoire reverses framing a Venetian guipure plastron; ribbon bows closing the bodice at the waist. Leg sleeves, covered with the hat by jockeys starting from the neckline; collar.

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No. 16. — Pèlerine-collet en moire noire. Le haut de la pèlerine forme empiècement garni par une bande droite gaufrée, séparée de l'empiècement par une berthe de dentelle; au bas, deux rangs en dentelle formant volant. Col montant, surmonté d'une ruche.

No. 16. — Cape collar in black moire. The top of the cape is in the form of a yoke trimmed with a straight embossed band, separated from the yoke by a berthe of lace; at the bottom, two rows of lace forming a flounce. High collar, topped with a ruffle.

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No. 18. — Corsage de mousseline de soie noire. Devant froncé à la taille et mis dans la jupe sous ceinture drapée en moire noire. Il est encadré dans un fichu de guipure blanche faisant pointes devant et rond derrière. Manches courtes, bouillonnées, recouvertes par deux volants de mousseline de soie indéplissable.

No. 18. — Black silk muslin bodice. Front gathered at the waist and tucked into the skirt under a draped belt in black moire. It is framed in a white guipure kerchief with points in front and round behind. Short, bubbled sleeves, covered by two ruffles of non-wrinkle silk chiffon.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1894 #on this day #June 2 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #corsage #cape #collar #gigot

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rosecoloreddesire · 1 year ago

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Not A Lie ~ Elvis Presley

Summary: You could never imagine THE Elvis Presley to show up in your little diner. How can you tell your parents that…he’s your fiancé??

Note: IM BACK! I’m going to be graduating in February so I’m hoping I can get some writing out! I’m so sorry if this is a bad come back? I haven’t proofread yet! But I think it’s good 💙 missed you all so much!

Warnings: FLUFF!

“Y/N, you gotta stop lyin’! You know how much your daddy loves Elvis!” You huff out as you chase your mom around the kitchen island.

“Mama! Just listen to me! I’m being honest! I am enga-“ she put a finger to your lips as you both hear the front door unlock, opening to your daddy whistling a soft tune of Blue Suede Shoes.

“Not a word in front of him, got it?” You sigh loudly not wanting her to put you down.

“But mama! He’s comin’ ton-“ she cuts you off with an ice cold glare. You finally let it go, walking past your father to your room.

“God damn it all! Why won’t anyone ever listen to me?” The small phone in your room begins to ring, picking it up you sit on your bed. A certain southern drawl cheers you up.

“Hey there, lil’ lady. How’s my girl doin’? I’ll be there soon I promise. My parents are wantin’ us to get together and do some photos here at Graceland for the family album.” He chuckles while you heard his grandma in the back.

“Hi grandma! Um, pictures? Like engagement pictures?” You nervously hum, twirling the phone cord around your finger.

“Well, I did get you that pretty rock on your finger. And I think that means your stuck with lil’ old me, baby.” Your cheeks flush as he lowly whispers.

“I’ll see you soon. Lest your flirtin’ make my face flush!” His giggles are cut off as you hang up. Your face aglow. Your phone rings once again.

“Elvis Presley- if you don’t stop-“

“Elvis Presley?! I knew it!” Your best friend Amelia was on the other line….her screams of joy influence you to push the phone as far away from you as possible. You wince as she continues.

“Amelia Jones! You needa keep it down! What’ll you do if your mama says she won’t be gettin’ you into my mama’s salon this Thursday!” The other line dies down.

“You know your mamas the only one you can actually do my hair and make it look good!” You chuckle as she tries to explain herself.

“Yes! That’s why when I tell you the boy I’ve been datin’ all year and last year is Mr. Elvis Presley.” You state confidently as she squees softly.

“That’s why you wasn’t impressed when we saw him for the first time! You were kissin’ him!!!” Her giggles and squeals made you roll your eyes. Amelia was always into the whole romance and love at first sight tropes in the movies.

“Y/N! Get down here! Your mother and I need to have a talk with you!” You grumble and hope your mom hadn’t told your father about the whole engagement.

“Gotta go, Ames! Bye!” You hung up, smooth your skirt and make your way down the stairs.

“You know the policy we have on lyin’, young lady.” Your daddy was sitting on the couch with your mother.

“Daddy, I ain’t lyin’ to you! I really am-“ your mothers laugh breaks you off again.

“We are supposed to believe that Elvis Presley is coming tonight to meet us after askin for your hand?” She fans herself. Your mom usually was so supportive but you do have to hand it to her. This was kinda crazy.

“I ain’t! He’s really sweet! His mama and daddy are arranging a photo shoot for us to be in the Presley family album! I’m gonna be a Presley, daddy!”

“I wanna believe you but how did you even meet?”

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“And will that be all for you today?” The man in front of you was clearly flirting as you wrote off his receipt.

“Uh actually this is gonna sound weird but are you an angel?” You rolled your eyes, waving your hand.

“Hm, I’ve actually never heard of that one but I am very aware thank you. Bye!” You spun around on your heel and grabbed a new pad and paper. You fixed your hair in the reflection of napkin holder.

“You handled that well, Darlin’.” You jump a little. The voice was low and oddly familiar. You turned with a flush to your cheeks.

“ yeah well creeps like that don’t like the word no so-“ you paused as you finally saw the person speaking to you.

“It’s a shame cause he ain’t wrong. But he forgot to say you look like a goddess.”

“You’re-“ you stuttered holding your hand to your chest.

“Your future boyfriend I hope.” You must have looked like a tomato with how warm your cheeks were getting.

“Uh- are you serious? Is this a prank?.”

“Here’s my number. Use it wisely.” And with a wink he was gone as fast as he came.

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“I’m supposed to believe he came to our family restaurant when your mama and I were gone?” You nod desperately. You take your mothers hand and show her your ring.

“Oh my god, Y/N. That’s a real ring! How did you-“ your doorbell is going off before you can explain.

“Do you want to get that, daddy?” You ask softly, praying to whatever god that Elvis was standing at the door. He huffs as he sits up, making his way to the door.

“Afternoon- OH MY GOD. You-“ Your father brings your fiancé into a bear hug. Your father squeezes the poor boy as you giggle. Your skin flushing at the display.

“It’s really Elvis! What in the hell?” Your mom grasps your hands tightly as the boy walks into the house, more like pulled. You giggle as he finally sees you, a bit frazzled. He detaches himself from your father as he makes his way to you. His lips soft against your cheek as your body warms.

“Uh, mom, dad, this is my fiancé.” You spout awkwardly as Elvis slips his arm around you. Your father gleams with excitement.

“I understand why you didn’t ask for my blessin’, son! You can marry my daughter!” You’ve never seen your father so ecstatic in your life. Except the one time he won a ticket to see Elvis. Or the one time he heard Heart Break Hotel on the radio in his car. Huh….you are sensing a running theme…

“I really do love your daughter. It’s jus’ been rough tryin’ to get a time together to meet y’all.” He smiles boyishly at your parents. Your mom still reeling in the fact that you were telling the truth.

“D-did ya enjoy our family diner?” Your mom stutters out. You stifle laugh placing your hand over your mouth. You look at Elvis awaiting his answer.

“Of course, ma’am! Great atmosphere, great food, and even greater waitresses.” He bumps you with his shoulder as you blush.

“Well, don’t be a stranger, Mister Presley! Come on, we were just gettin’ ready for our meal!” Your father pushes Elvis to a chair at the table. You shakily sit next to him as your nerves still haven’t fully settled.

“Why our daughter?” Your breath hitches as your mom starts to plate the food.

“Lord, where do I start? She looks as if she walked right out of a Hollywood movie. An absolute starlet.” Your skin flushes as his hand drifts to your thigh.

“I wish! We met up with some of his Hollywood buddies and they were super sweet! They think Elvis has a real shot of hittin’ it big!” You smile as he laughs. His gaze focuses on you the whole time. How could he have found the most amazing thing to have come out of him having to hide from fans in a local diner? His eyes never leave your lips as you continue to sing his praises.

“I really think it’s a great idea to see you two married! Can you believe it, honey? We’d be related to the Presley’s!” Your dad claps as he excitedly dug into his food. Your mother still seems a little hesitant.

“What’s gonna stop you from chasin’ other girls around town? My daughter hasn’t even dated before you!” Your eyes widen as you take a bite of your dinner. You hadn’t really had that conversation with Elvis yet…

“I’m your first boyfriend?” You wince at his surprised tone. You turned to face him.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh, never really thought about the whole dating thing. Until you kissed me at that charity concert…I-“ his lips are soft against your cheek. Your hand shaking in his hand.

“You don’t need to explain nothin’, darlin’. Thank you so much for the lovely dinner but I best be goin’ soon I only had a it of time to spare.” He began to get up as your father rose from his seat.

“How about you go with him, sweetheart? Your mom and I are gonna have a talk about all this.” You nod, hugging him quickly. You all but ran up the stairs to get away from the tension.

“How cute. Pink really fits you.” Elvis smirks as his fingers traced your bed sheets. You scoff as you pack a small bag.

“I haven’t gotten to change my sheets since I was like 10, E. Give me a break. Do you really want to do this?” Elvis’ hand caresses your face, pushing a few stray hairs out of your face.

“I want you. Every day. Afternoon. And night. You are all I think about.” His voice just a bit above a whisper. Your eyes were heavy as you stare at his lips.

“Can I be yours forever?” His lips were soft as he pulls you close. The kiss was delicate but passionate as he grips your hair slightly.

“If you’ll let me.”

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis movie #rosecoloreddesire #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #50s elvis #elvis x you #elvis 2022 #elvis fluff #fluff

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coneyislandbabey · 2 years ago

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so hot you're hurting my feelings. -> w.rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, steamy scenes like. maybe 16+ but not actual smut

SYNOPSIS: your seemingly innocuous wardrobe choice makes Warren lose his mind. word count: 1,717

NOTES: written for this request. Sorry it’s been so long! Also, thank you guys for over 300 followers 🫶

You knew what you were doing.

You had to, Warren thought, as you walked into the room wearing that. You walked into the green room shortly before the show wearing a matching set: a blue suede vest with daisies lining the front, and the tiniest pair of matching shorts, white boots the exact shade of the daisies hugging your legs and coming to a stop shortly before your knees. Christ, there wasn’t even a button on those shorts, just a thin brown cord lacing up the front. You certainly hadn’t been wearing that at soundcheck, he would have fucking noticed.

You slung the strap of your bass around your torso, the pearly white body of the instrument perfectly matching your getup, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you chatted idly with Daisy on the other side of the room. Warren crossed his arms over his chest, trying to pry his eyes from the way your outfit perfectly hugged each one of your curves, to no avail. He knew someone was bound to catch onto his staring if he didn’t get himself under control, but he couldn’t help himself. All he could think about was his fingers tugging at the laces on your shorts, roughly undoing the neat little bow, pulling them loose–

He shook his head, trying to physically rid himself of the thoughts. The two of you had been messing around on the down low for quite a while, miraculously having been able to keep it from the prying eyes of your bandmates the whole time. You weren’t dating– not that Warren was opposed to the idea, but neither of you seemed to be in a rush to complicate things, even if it was for the better. You both felt like you had all the time in the world. Plus, the thrill of sneaking around definitely made the sex better. And yet, Warren was about three seconds away from tossing caution to the wind and tackling you to the floor right then and there, in front of everybody.

As if you could read his mind, could feel how worked up he was getting without even touching you, you turned to look at him from across the room, eyes dragging up and down his body before tossing a lazy wink his way and turning back to your conversation with Daisy. Fuck, you were going to be the death of him. He felt a little dizzy, his vision tunneling until all he could focus on was you.

He was pulled out of his trance by the sudden flurry of movement around the room: it was time to go on stage. No fucking way was he going to have to sit there and play a whole show with you standing in front of his drumkit the whole time looking like the hottest woman who has ever lived. There was a solid chance, he thought, that he would drop dead on stage. Or stop playing in the middle of a song to start making out with you in front of thousands of people. On some deeper level, he was aware of just how ridiculous it was that he couldn’t get a grip, but was it really his fault that you drove him so crazy? All rational thoughts flew right out the window every time he saw you.

It was a good thing that he had all the songs down to muscle memory, because despite his best efforts, he was distracted throughout the entire show. Truthfully, he was always distracted during shows. His eyes inevitably always found you playing your bass just a few feet in front of him, getting lost in the hypnotizing way you and your instrument became one as you played. Even if you two weren’t a thing, he was sure his eyes would still be drawn to you– you gave Daisy and Billy a run for their money when it came to the spotlight, that’s how magnetic your stage presence was. Every little facet of your magnetic presence was dialed up to a hundred for Warren, sitting through the entire setlist and the encore almost unbearable.

Excruciating eons passed before the show ended, but finally the encore was finished, the whole band standing in a line at the front of the stage to bow and say goodbye to the audience. You were on the other side of the line up, and it took everything in Warren’s power to look forward at the audience, to smile at them and wave goodbye and keep up his usual onstage energy, feigning his usual nonchalance as he walked off stage with everybody else.

But as soon as he was out of sight of the audience, his eyes sought you in the dim chaos backstage. He couldn’t think about anything besides you in his arms, you looking at him, you in his bed. After a few seconds of frantic searching, he found you alone in a secluded corner, tucking your bass away in its case. He beelined for you, warm hands on your waist as soon as you were in reach, not caring about who could possibly see. You turned in surprise at the physical contact, questioning look receding when you saw it was Warren. Any words you could have said died in your throat when you clocked his dark eyes, pupils blown wide and hungry.

“Warren,” you greeted, voice pitched low and a little breathy after the exertion of the show, and fuck, god, you had to know what you were doing to him.

“I need you,” he said, bringing his mouth close to your ear, the hunger you saw in his eyes a barely-constrained need straining in his voice. “Right fucking now.”

A shiver ran through you at the tone of his voice paired with his intense gaze, pinning you right where you stood. You had half a mind to look around to see if anybody was around to witness the interaction, but you only entertained the thought briefly. You gave the barest nod of your head, and that was all Warren needed to grab your wrist and pull you along behind him. Warren walked on, peering into various doorways until he found an empty room to pull you inside of. It was a storage closet of some sort, filled with cardboard boxes and extra guitar amps and other detritus, a single dusty light bulb swinging overhead. Warren tugged you inside, the force of it causing you to stumble a bit, closing and locking the door behind you.

In a fraction of a second he was on you, wide, calloused hands warm on the exposed skin of your stomach, mouth sucking a hickey into the supple skin where your jaw meets your neck. You let out a gasp at the sensation, hands immediately going to tangle in his hair.

“Warren,” you managed, letting out a breathy chuckle. “What has gotten into you tonight?”

“You’re fucking driving me crazy in this little outfit,” he murmured against your skin. His hands slid against your skin, dipping below the waistband of your shorts for emphasis.

“Funny,” you hummed, fingers skating lightly down the back of his neck causing him to shiver. “That’s exactly why I bought it.”

“You’re evil,” Warren laughed, though the sound was almost pained. He swallowed up whatever reply you had, grabbing your chin and angling your face to his, dragging you into a kiss. You fisted one hand into the material of the back of his vest, your other palm flat against the bare, sweaty skin of his chest. Warren kissed like a starving man, like he would have died if he’d gone one more second without his lips on yours.

Warren broke away only when in desperate need of air, resting his forehead against yours and panting as he turned his attention to the laced up front of your shorts. His fingers fumbled with the bow, pulling at the ends until it came loose, working his deft digits into each section of the criss-crossed cord, pulling it loose.

“Are we seriously doing this here?” you asked, watching his enthusiasm with your brows raised in amusement. “Not that I’m complaining, loverboy, but you’re like a man possessed.”

“When I said I needed you right fucking now, I meant it,” Warren said, tugging at your shorts. You knew just how serious he was by his total lack of pet names for you; usually he couldn’t get a sentence out without using one when talking to you. You took a step back, half sitting on a large amp behind you to make it easier for him to pull your shorts down your legs.

Warren reattached his lips to your neck, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear, skimming across the skin of your hips and the lowest bit of your stomach. The need was still there, but he had slowed down ever so slightly, needing to enjoy you, to savor you.

“Warren, please,” you rasped out, growing impatient. “Get to it, please.” He snickered, and you could feel him smirking against your skin. Just as he moved to pull your underwear down your legs, the closet door knob rattled violently.

“Why the fuck is this locked?” A muffled voice yelled, pissed off, on the other side of the door. A second later, you could hear heavy footsteps heading back down the hall. Your head whipped back to Warren, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the wide-eyed, kid-caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression adorning his face.

“Aw, baby,” you said, rubbing your thumb against the skin of his cheek. “Universe is not on your side tonight.”

He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. You laughed, patting the side of his head as you reached down with one hand to pull your shorts back up. Once they were around your hips, Warren helped to tighten the laces once again, tying the cord in a neat bow.

“Okay, new plan, mama,” he started, once you were fully dressed once again. “We sneak out of this fucking place and get back to the hotel in record fucking time.”

“Sounds good,” you grinned, this time being the one to grab him by the wrist and head toward the door. “Great, ‘cause I fuckin’ love this outfit on you, but I need it off.”

tag list: @xleiaorgana @neptunes-curse

#daisy jones and the six #djats #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #daisy jones #karen sirko #karen karen #camila dunne #graham dunne #billy dunne

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