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#feather trimmed hat
gogmstuff · 1 day
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1908 (December) Les Modes - Mme A. C… Robe d'après-midi par Buzenet - Photo by Chéri-Rousseau & Glauth. From gallica.bnf.fr; fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 1343X2041.
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chiropteracupola · 7 months
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I need a silly new hat RIGHT now a new silly hat will FIX me
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deadghosy · 1 month
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Since your stuck I decided to help you out with the power of creativity!
How would characters of Hazbin Hotel react to Swan/Duck reader it's branching from penguin reader with how she got stuck in hell for a while
The power mainly focuses on them flying and wind magic ect!
REMINDER: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED‼️
HAZBIN HOTEL X DUCK! READER
Warning: yandere themes.
prompt: a common mistake made your life eventual as people started to fawn over you
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You were supposed to be in heaven…BUT NOOOO, they sent you to hell because they mistook you for someone else. They could’ve just said they were full like a night club…
So now you are in a pond swimming around peacefully. But there’s always a man with a hat and an apple cane that comes to see you literally everyday. You don’t know who he is, but he got attached badly. He would bring bread and show you rubber ducks with an awkward smile.
You just go over to him and eat the bread. You never learned how to talk since birth since your mother abused you. Being jealous of your pure soul and natural beauty. She always told you to shush. Making the sour taste in your mouth sting to never talk.
Eventually the man introduced himself as Lucifer, that’s when it hit you that this man was the first fallen angel, and king of hell. He must have seen your eyes widen in shock. “You can understand me?” He asked you as he scratched under your beak making you lean in his touch. You nodded as he smiles showing his sharp teeth.
“That’s even bettter.” He said
Two days after that, you were literally sleeping when you woke up to feel two hands pick you up, it was Lucifer who cooed at your drowsy face as he takes you to a hotel. Were you finally getting a place to stay instead of outside?
“Listen, my daughter has a dream…to redeem sinners…I wanna believe in her, but our people chose to make hell this way.” He says with a somber look. He took you inside to see basically a female version of Lucifer but more cheery looking as she gasped at you. “Dad? Is that the duck you’ve been talking about?! Aww they’re soooo cute!” She says as she holds you.
And that’s your story of how now you are basically part of the hotel’s family.
I imagine you just getting prince/princess treatment everyday from the hotel and Lucifer himself as he literally trims your duck fur as you just sit there on a fancy ass pillow.
I headcannon that angel dust buys you shades a lot because your yellow/white feathers is so majestic, he just had to make you even more bad ass.
Angel dust loves how high headed you are, not letting anyone tear you down even with a word. He admires you, so he wants you to admire him as well.
I headcannon for you to deadass have an attitude when bothered. Literally Alastor wanted to see what was so special about you. And so he woke you up from your beauty sleep making you go haywire on him.
You pecked him as he tried to hit you, possibly trying to injure you only to injure himself as he came out pissed off with a smile. He definitely spit out a feather as you quacked out a laugh as if this shit was looney tunes.
Charlie always rants to you about her days and how her and vaggie’s relationship is going. Charlie was notified by her father that you can understand her. She doubted it at first, but when you actually nodded she gasped shocked with stars in her eyes.
You and Charlie grew close…to the point she was almost like her father. Constantly checking up on you, feeding you. Watching you. You tried to push it off…but it was kinda unsettling.
You could obviously fly, which you do around the hotel to spread your wings. But when you fly you have a glowing yellow light around you.
I can see you just chilling at the bar as residents come in and out as you just get petted as husk grumbles a little and also pets you. Husk was immediately enchanted by your soft duck feathers
You love to make small tornados at sinners who cause trouble in the hotel. You are the hotel’s duck, so you must at least protect the guests at least.
Vaggie is the one to always make sure to research what ducks eat before making sure you can eat them. She likes how you make everyone feel fuzzy and warm inside. Even her.
You damn well hated that you died into a duck body..but it felt nice knowing that you couldn’t just live the possible human or at least whatever you are. Demon or angel. You could possibly be in a pond sleeping and eating bread all damn day.
I imagine Sir Pentious had put a top hat on you that’s similar like the ones his egg boiz wear. So he loves to have you around when he builds things.
You doze off like this and it’s so cute to the point they will record and take a picture of you. (If you don’t wanna click link, it’s a duck nodding its head off until it goes limp since the duck is tired)
I headcannon Alastor to hate you at first and want to cook you for duck stew, but then he falls in love with how entertaining and smart you are. You technically aren’t just a mere duck.
I can see you just making small hurricanes in your bath tub when niffty has to wash you. You once accidentally splashed her. But she chuckled splashing you.
A sinner once tried to take you from the hotel’s pond that Lucifer made for you only be found 30 secs later taking you.
“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TOUCHING MY DUCKLING?!” Lucifer yells angrily at the sinner who got knocked flat on their ass. His demon form was coming out as fire spits out his mouth when he huffed.
You did a comedic side eye at Lucifer who was acting possessive as hell itself. You didn’t even know what to do as this man kept holding you like a pet duck you seen fat white men do in the streets.
The sinner didn’t live after that.
I can see husk just petting you softly and then eventually just falling asleep on your body. Like his head is on your body as you just watch hell tv as he snores. Oddly comfortable in your soft feathers.
You literally waddle around the hotel wearing a cute scarf with your favorite color. Alastor oddly knitted it for you like a old grandma to their grandchild 😭
I imagine you just side eyeing Lucifer as he suddenly had the urge to read more information about ducks and how their eggs look. So imagine how Lucifer would act if you pregnant. But the thing is, you rather die then be in pain in birth.
Lucifer makes you a lot of blue things to remind you of a pond since that was the place you chill in a lot. It was to the poke Charlie and Lucifer nodded to make you a pond in the backside of the hotel. It’s your little chill haven.
You felt pissy one day because your feathers were molting..so the wind outside was heavy cause your feathers were just falling and you hated it. You felt insecure but the crew felt your feelings and started to cheer you up. Soon or later, your new feathers came back quickly.
The Vee’s had definitely notice your presence since you first came here. I mean who the hell looks like a damn duck down here with pure beautiful feathers that remind them of so called heaven.
I can see the Vee’s and you having the relationship where it’s basically like team rocket and pikachu type troupe. 😭 they always fail trying to kidnap you because you literally put out ducks that look like you and they fall for it, EVERY SINGLE TIME-
I headcannon you have a ribbon your favorite color wrapped around your neck like a bow or collar with your name on it❤️
Vox had literally set his drone to spy on you as he watches with a sick grin at how adorable and elegant you looked just swimming in your sweet pond and how you just outsmart Alastor. 
Imagine how badass you are to suddenly turn big in size because the hotel was being threatened. So you literally grew in a size of the hotel building and flapped your wings to fly them bitches to who knows nowhere.
If you were on the same branch, you would definitely be the older sister of penguin! Reader if it was lore type shit 😭 you don’t play no games about your emotions as you are always observing
LOL IMAGINE YOU WADDLING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM LIKE A HUMAN AND THE EGG BOIZ JUST FOLLOW AFTER YOU AS IF YOU WERE THEIR MOTHER-
The Vee’s definitely sneak on you by Vox’s drone that swarms around your pond without your knowledge.
Velvette literally sends you nice outfits your size. Literally cute outfits where the holes are for your wings so you can fly and look drippy as hell.
See I could definitely imagine you sneaking out the hotel to just get hooked up with your new outfit stylist which is Velvette now.
Vox
Imagine how cold the state duck! Reader has (hear me out, edit audio type shit starts playing-)
I can see you just swimming and Lucifer takes a picture of you, admiring your beauty in place as you just flock around your damn pond. “That’s my baby….” He says wiping a dramatic tear from his eyes.
Valentino. Now I won’t say he would be obsessed romantically but more platonically as he would love for you to be part of his life as his pet only. Like an actual pet he would take care of.
I headcannon Alastor actually tried to feed you some bread…and you accepted it making Alastor smile wildly at how you trusted him getting close to you for one.
Lmao you literally did some Wingardium Leviosa ass shit on someone because you didn’t like how they looked at you 😭
You literally are so coddled and spoiled…it was to the point you would be walking or more like waddling down the damn streets alone and people would aw at your beauty and gracious. It’s overwhelming, but at least you know people won’t fuck with you.
But people just never learnt to keep their hands off of a beautiful creature.
Once Adam got sent down to find an angel that was suppose to be in heaven. He didn’t except for you to be a fuckin duck. So he laughed and took you up with ease as you quacked furiously, trying to get at least someone’s attention.
It was too late as Lucifer sees you get flown up into the heaven portal. Lucifer dropped the tray of lemonade in shock to see his beloved flying into the portal. Lucifer felt his heart squeeze knowing that the bastard knew he couldn’t get into heaven.
Lucifer quickly spout out his wings and fly sharply towards adam’s fading figure. Adam snickers seeing Lucifer’s anger in his glowing red eyes. He turned around and waved you around to taunt Lucifer as you had a “I don’t have time for this…” face. Literally you pecked Adam’s face and hands making Adam spazz out and throw you at Lucifer’s face.
“FINE! TAKE YOUR DUMB ASS DUCK!” Adam yells as he flies off grumbling about making you into duck stew
So Lucifer was happy with a derpy expression and calmed down holding you. He got even more protective as he makes sure you are watched 24/7. He wanted to give you freedom…but after that stunt Adam did. He’s not letting anyone touch you without his permission. Of course his daughter can though!
But what if Adam had succeeded in his capture of you, things would be most likely how it was in hell….just more clean and healthy.
St. Peter definitely greeted you with a warm smile as you didn’t….you didn’t like how he just sassed you and let you fall to hell. So of course it was rocky, but soon or later you two got along since he brides you with bread. He soon gets obsessed with how you get so trusting over things. He uses that to his advantages.
Sera greets you with open arms, literally as she picks you up. Cooing at your pure yellow/white feathers that matches the aesthetic of heaven. You match perfectly here as your angel form is two pair of wings. Your normal duck wings and angel wings. You are the most beautiful angel she ever met and laid eyes on as she shows you around heaven. Every part and area of it. This shall be your new home.
Emily won’t be a crazyyy person over you. As I can see her being a light hearted person who doesn’t love bomb you in a manipulative manner but only wants to be your friend in a loving way. She finds you amazing at how smart and caring you are towards her as you visit her and she visits you back. She brings you every bread know to man and heaven as she noticed you like bread. You and her are clearly amazing friends to each other.
The Angels adore your every movement as if you were also a god/godesss. You were confused at this attention. It was way more overwhelming when you were in hell with the others. Just like how the penguin! Reader was, you made a social media account and half of heaven followed you. It was an insane amount of followers that you didn’t mean to have. But the angels love to greet you as you fly/walk by. With you being so graceful here, who wouldn’t say you belonged here.
Adam most definitely is possessive and always manipulates you into thinking he is superior. He forces himself to be your caretaker, he literally makes you stay in his place all day and all time watched over. He feels the need to control your very bidding and movement as this dickhead degrades you to make you feel useless. It sometimes works, but sometimes doesn’t. 
Lute is a controlling person who sees your intelligence as a threat as she wants to break you into her clasp. She’s the second most controlling than Adam. But she’s an overwhelming controlling as she wants you you to see her as your protector and person you can be dependent on at all times. She wants you to be able to tell her everything you know so she can just please you.
Adam finds it amusing at how you got use it heaven so quick despite this new attention. You literally sit on his lap napping as he lounges on the couch. Basically watching sports or whatever.
You can’t help but think, “why am I even surprised.”
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ice-creamforbreakfast · 6 months
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::Download:: (Patreon - Free from 24/10/2023)
Inspired by some of the most notorious villains from a certain franchise, this set is sure to scare your sims! Warning: Not puppy friendly!
Cruella Dress - A silk pencil dress, trimmed and belted with the finest faux puppies.
Cruella Hair - 40s waves with extra volume and an overlay streak (costume makeup).
Cruella Hat - Why stop at the dress? This hat is sure to strike fear into Anitas everywhere!
Ursula Dress - Sequined, sweetheart maxi-dress with a shell brooch and mermaid tail (by definition only 🐙!).
Floatsam Jetsam Earrings - What to do when your favourite eels leave this world? Wear them of course!
Ursula Gloves - Gradient gloves that give your sim an otherworldly look!
Yzma Dress - High-necked sequin maxi that's sure dazzle the emperor into doing whatever you want.
Yzma Turban - Bejewelled and rather fabulous turban. Perfect to wear to the local shops.
Yzma Feathers - Sparse, slightly bedraggled, but nonetheless fabulus feather collar to match the Yzma dress (necklaces)
Villainous Nails - Regardless of your villainy, a set of sharp, fabulous nails are an important addition. Comes in matte and shiny to meet your evil needs.
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Say what you will about Van Helsing 2004; hate it, love it, be indifferent, But the All-Hallow's masquerade ball went sooooo hard and it had zero right to do so! It's a fun, campy, monster mash movie with wonderfully dated ( and expensive) cgi and non-stop action meant to be a popcorn flick one takes out to watch around spooky season. And it has this* chef's kiss* GORGEOUS 6 minute sequence plopped arbitrarily in the second act, which unexpectedly surpasses nearly every other ball in the last 30+ years of film( notable exception being the Cinderella 2015 ball) for literally no reason other than to be dramatic af.
Like feast your eyes on this Gothic masterpiece!!! Who doesn't want to immediately live in this picture?!??
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They used those candles with oil in them so that they would have real candles, real string orchestra( I believe), probably around 100 real life extras( something which is tragically absent in modern film), said extras are all in beautiful fully decked-out costumes( which are in luxuriously dark colours, but nearly no fully black, another thing you cannot say for much modern cinema), REAL CIRQUE DU SOLEIL PERFORMERS for all the acrobatics!!!! Hell, instead of filming in a sound stage, where they could control the reverb and the acoustics and the size of the set and the bloody lighting ( they apparently had a heck of a time emulating the firelight for this sequence) and the temperature( it's very cold in stone churches!) better, they filmed in a Baroque church in Prague! As I said, peak dramatic splendour, jfc...
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Think about that a second...They filmed a vampire masquerade in a Baroque Catholic Church( St. Nicholas' in Lesser Town, if you were curious) with amazing over-the-top acoustics and marble statues and real, tiled floors and marble pillars and a choir loft which they very much utilized, covered the pipe organ and the altar with a grand brocade curtain so it wouldn't be so obviously a, you know, a church! And there's a gold gilt elevated and canopied pulpit into which they put two vampire kiddies for, again, the sake of being dramatic.
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And the costumes! They remind me of the 25th anniversary Phantom of the Opera Masquerade costumes. Same quality, like they're old, well-cared-for costumes pulled out of a warehouse, instead of fast industry churn-outs. With lots of trim and colour and masks and lace and feathers and..just...ugh.. they are all perfect! Just look at all the head pieces on the ladies and the hats on all the gentleman ( save Dracula of course) and the powdered wigs on the musicians. ANNNNDD! The dresses are historically correct!!!!!! It's the 80's bustle era! Nobody does the 80's bustle era in film anymore and it's a bummer. Oh and one other thing! Anna's ( and other women's) hair, at least here in the ball, is also historically accurate because it's all pinned up! None of those fucken modern beachwaves at a ball! Everybody's got updo's!
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Gah, I swear, Dracula in his gold cloak really does things to me in this scene!
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By the way, the acrobatics are bonkers in here for just background stuff!! Especially the random guys on unicycles and the dude playing the violin whilst standing on a ball...Like....WHAT?
Anyways, all this to say, that this masquerade ball feels sooo real and tangible and because of that it blows every other film out of the water, and no, I will not change my mind!!!!!
Here's a few more gifs, bcuz, why the hell not, this scene is sexy as fuu*ck?
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Alright I need to go to bed now.
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months
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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)
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AU MASTERLIST || PART II
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PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader
WORD COUNT: 6.2k
WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.
A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships. 
They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing. 
But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel. 
And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe. 
For years they did this until they were gone too. 
Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time. 
That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman. 
You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder. 
He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance. 
Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more. 
He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified. 
“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you. 
His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.
With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders. 
But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away. 
The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind. 
Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock. 
“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”
And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?
You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation. 
When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you. 
Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind? 
The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant. 
Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back. 
It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel. 
But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt. 
A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all. 
You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued. 
It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned. 
Nothing. 
Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.
Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.
“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.
Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins. 
On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.
What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.
Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting. 
Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?
Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south. 
And then you lock eyes once more. 
The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself. 
Why doesn’t he seem surprised?
There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him. 
Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.
 “Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.” 
Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements. 
The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples. 
“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”
“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.
Not that they could respond, of course.
By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.
“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?” 
Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself. 
“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills. 
“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear. 
The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.
“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before. 
Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.
You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”
“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.” 
His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind. 
“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”
“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?” 
Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.
Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching. 
“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly. 
“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”
It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.
You glower, brows pulling in. 
“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising. 
“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.
“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.
Or maybe just confidently brave. 
The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze. 
He was attractive.
“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.” 
Your tight arms somewhat loosen. 
“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships. 
If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living. 
Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.
“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.” 
You blink in surprise, brows pulling back. 
He was…asking you? 
“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.” 
While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids. 
At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting? 
You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.
“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling. 
A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle 
“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”
The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart. 
Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him. 
At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.
“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”
“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”
“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still. 
He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash. 
It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face. 
He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel. 
It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish. 
At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him. 
Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck. 
On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.
“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.
Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked. 
You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head. 
Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand. 
“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings. 
He squints at your confused face.
“Rhythm.” 
“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.” 
The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.” 
You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden. 
“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment. 
“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”
A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them. 
Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.
You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles. 
“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.” 
Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping. 
As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you. 
There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.
With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.
Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you. 
“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?” 
“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching. 
“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”
Humans are strange creatures.
Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch. 
Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement. 
Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.
The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.
Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up. 
Feels nice.  
Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing. 
The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following. 
“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”
As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist. 
It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.
You are happy he doesn’t. 
“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose. 
“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.” 
Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?” 
A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.
“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.
“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”
He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.
Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look. 
“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.” 
Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening. 
“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?” 
He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does. 
The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.
Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.
“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.” 
Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.
“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips. 
Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different. 
Oh…did he call me beautiful?
John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment. 
“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”
“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.” 
Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship. 
And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne. 
When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.
“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.” 
Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.” 
“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt. 
You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often. 
Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.
“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle. 
John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen. 
His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder. 
“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.” 
“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—” 
Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.
“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh. 
Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…” 
“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.” 
You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?” 
John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat. 
Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction. 
In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat. 
“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears. 
You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.
John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.
 “Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”  
You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once. 
When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers. 
Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure. 
A dangerous mix of two different lives. 
It couldn’t last.
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schrodinger-swriter · 2 months
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Hai! This is my first time trying to request anything so please let me know if im doing it wrong >_<
I was wondering if you could do headcanons about sir pentious with a gn!reader who has wings? (like angel wings but they don't necessarily have to be an angel)
I think it would be really cute :)
feel free to ignore this if you dont feel like it!
Also idk if you do emoji anons but if you do could i be 🎸 anon?
Again please let me know if im doing this correctly tumblr is so confusing 😭
Sir Pentious x Reader who has wings
No need to apologize, you worded this request excellently! As for emoji anons... hmm.. I'm a little new to tumblr, what exactly is an emoji anon? Is it just a means for an anon to identify themselves without exposing their blog name? If so I don't mind one bit!
I hope you enjoy this, Guitar Anon!
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He enjoys when you wrap your wings around him. During cuddling, during sleeping. To shield him from the rain or from any stray attacks that come his way. He thinks your wings are beautiful, regardless of what covers them. Fur or feather, he will go on about how gorgeous they are as he runs his fingers through it. On the chance that you have feathered wings, he may incorporate one of your fallen feathers into something; an outfit perhaps? Tuck the feather into the trim of his hat, maybe...
Depending on how much space the base of your wings take up on your back, he may have to readjust himself for hugs until he grows used to your anatomy. If they're small, then he will not have much of an issue! But say, they go from your shoulder blades to lower back... that may take a little while longer...
Imagine flying around and tapping on the glass of his ship... oh he'd be so startled... He's happy to see you, of course! He simply wasn't expecting to see you in the sky with him.. outside!
If your feathers ever ruffle from surprise or anger, or anything else really; he might subconsciously lean over and smooth them out... almost petting them. It feels nice, so you allow it!
Sometimes uses your wing as a blanket when the two of you are sleeping in the same bed together. Snuggles himself close to you under it, too.
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thesimline · 24 days
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Welcome back to the glitz and glamour of the 1920s birthstone lookbook! After hair, jewellery is my favourite CC to hunt for so these ensembles were so much fun for me to put together. Want more good time gals and fabulous flappers? You can check out part one here.
Ruby is one of the most expensive gemstones and with its rich red colour it isn't hard to see why. Rubies have long been connected with physicality and strength, thought to be intimately connected with the human body.
Hair | Earrings (TSR) | Necklace (TSR) | Dress | Gloves | Bracelets | Ring (TSR) | Shoes (TSR)
Peridot is one of my favourite stones thanks to its gorgeous yellow-green hue. Because of this lively appearance they were often thought to protect their wearer at night.
Hair (retired - direct download) | Hairband (TSR) | Earrings | Necklace | Fur Bolero | Dress | Gloves | Bracelet | Cigarette Holder | Stockings (TSR) | Shoes
Sapphire is considered a protective gemstone. They may shield the wearer from physical harm, as well as bad intentions and envy. It was also thought that sapphires had medicinal properties.
Hat | Hair | Earrings | Necklace (TSR) | Coat | Gloves & Stockings (Base Game) | Shoes
Opal is an incredibly unique gemstone with its multi-coloured appearance. Opals are associated with light and magic, with some crediting them with healing properties.
Hair | Earrings | Necklace (TSR) | Feather Trim | Dress (TSR) | Gloves | Bracelet (TSR) | Ring (TSR) | Stockings | Shoes
Topaz comes from the Sanskrit word for fire, which is reflected in its vibrant and rich orange-yellow colour. It is believed that topaz worn above the heart assures long life, beauty and intelligence.
Hair | Hairband | Earrings | Choker (TSR) | Coat | Dress | Gloves (Vampires) | Shoes
Blue Topaz actually comes out of the ground colourless or pale blue. A two-step heat and radiation laboratory treatment is then used to turn these stones vivid blue.
Hair (TSR) | Hairband | Earrings & Bracelets | Necklace (TSR) | Dress | Gloves & Stockings (Base Game) | Shoes
With thanks to some amazing creators: @leeleesims1 @pralinesims @sentate @batsfromwesteros @glitterberrysims @madlensims @zurkdesign @delis-sims @jius-sims @thesimsis4gays @javitrulovesims @simadelics @lizziksims @trillyke @aveirasims
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lizzy-bonnet · 10 months
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I love Jane Austen's work and I love podcasts, so naturally I follow several JA podcasts (please drop recs in the tags). I'm enjoying Live from Pemberley from Hot and Bothered, but a comment from literally the first episode of the series has been circulating in my brain since I listened to it several months ago: one of the hosts expressed surprise (and disappointment?) in the fact that when we first meet Lizzy, she is "employed in trimming a hat". This comment literally comes right after a conversation about how Austen tells us so much in the very short space of Chapter 1; without wasting any words, we know exactly who Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are (lightly toxic relationship), understand their family situation (need to marry well), meet the main driver of the first act (rich man in the neighbourhood), and understand a social dilemma (girls can't meet him if Mr. Bennet does not make the first overture). So what is Austen telling us when we meet Lizzy in the employment of trimming a hat?
We so often read a sort of modern girlboss feminism into Lizzy because she is smart and stands up for herself, but I think that's something that really gets embroidered on to the text. Lizzy trimming a bonnet is telling us several things about her:
She is frugal - new hats and bonnets are really expensive (my casual hobby is shopping for reproduction bonnets and this remains true), because the straw is braided by hand, the bonnet shape is assembled and blocked by hand, feathers have to be gathered from real (living or dead) birds, ribbons and flowers are hand-finished, the whole situation is fuck expensive. Lizzy is most likely putting new trim on a straw or wool bonnet she already owns to make it work better for this season's fashions, or a new dress, and possibly recycling trimmings from other hats. Contrast this with Lydia's spending all her pocket money on an ugly hat in Chapter 39, just so she can reduce it to parts, even though she acknowledges she'll also have to buy some extra satin too, to finish the project.
She cares about fashion - we don't get a lot of information on sartorial choices in Austen's work, and when characters are discussing fashion, it tends to be a framework for explaining something about their characters; Miss Steele's need to know how much Marianne's dresses cost (rude, crass); Mrs. Bennet's loving description of the lace on Mrs. Hurst's gown (shallow); Catherine Moreland's agonizing over what to wear to the Assembly (young, a bit flighty); Bingley wears a blue coat (has probably read The Sorrows of Young Werther, is fashionable). The fact that Lizzy is trimming a hat tells us she is fashionable, but paired with the fact that she will get a petticoat muddy in order to see her sister, and does not spend a lot of time worrying after fashion like Lydia tells us that she does not live and die on fashion.
She is creative - I've trimmed various hats and bonnets over my years of interest in historical fashion and honestly it's not easy. It's quite fiddly to get a nice ribbon edge, a ruched lining takes forever, and getting sprays of florals and feathers to be nicely shaped and all in a complementary palette is quite fussy. Getting a nice looking bonnet requires some thinking and planning. But it's also great fun! The Regency era is, in my opinion, a particularly good period for hats.
She is normal - I think Austen wants the reader to understand that Lizzy is a young woman with normal cares and concerns. She doesn't have cash for a new bonnet, she wants to look nice, she knows how to put an outfit together, she's not frivolous like her sisters, and she engages in the typical pursuits of someone who is not yet one and twenty who does not have a specific occupation.
A lot of modern readers are expecting Lizzy to be striding around the countryside unconcerned with "girly" things, or reading a clever book because we have come to think of her as proto-feminist in a way that suggests she might be a bra (corset) burner, but I think that comes from an outdated feminist lens that still wants to tell us that girly things are bad, or at least, a bit weak, and I don't see that in the text at all (I think some of this trickles over from the adaptations). Lizzy walks enthusiastically, she enjoys reading (but not to the exclusion of other employments), she dances very well and plays with mediocrity, she cares deeply about her friends and family, she has excellent manners, and dammit, she trims hats.
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ghulehunknown · 3 months
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Mistletoe’d: Papa Emeritus III x F Reader
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“Papa’s going to be coming down your chimney tonight.”
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 (coming soon!)
**WARNING - NSFW CONTENT - MDNI**
Summary: After the Ministry Christmas party, you join Terzo in his bedchamber for some festive activities.
CW/Tags: characters drinking alcohol, established relationship, clothed female nude male, blowjob, penetrative sex (P in V), condom use, cunnilingus, face-sitting, face fucking
Word Count: 4381
Available on AO3! Primo | Secondo | Terzo | Copia
Author’s Note: This is the third day of the four-part series XXXmas at the Ministry, a collaboration with @copias-sewer-rat, @molly-ghuleh, and @bupia - please read their works too!
Happy Hornidays! ❄️
xoxo, the Naughty Ghulehs 💋
Primo | Secondo | Copia
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A HUGE thank you to AlexandrMcQueer on Twitter for the accompanying artwork! Check out the full NSFW version on her account.
Tonight was finally the night of the annual Ministry Christmas party, and Christmas Eve. Papa needed your help to pull everything off, so all week you were scheduling with the bakers, the cooks, the cleaning crew, and decorating.
But after this evening, you could relax. Well, aside from tending to Papa’s needs and making sure the ghouls didn’t get too soused that it ruined their unholiday in the morning. But after the party, you could enjoy the festivities.
Everyone began milling about and socializing in the main hall, picking at the large charcuterie spread and ladling punch or eggnog into glasses. It looked like everyone from the Clergy was there. Even Imperator and Nihil showed up, though they did not seem too sociable, seating themselves at a table in the corner. Primo immediately sat himself in one of the few chairs scattered around the hall with a large mug of something warm.
Suddenly the ghouls began whooping and you turned your head to see Terzo enter in a lavish looking Santa suit - it was made of crushed red velour with flecks of red sparkles and appeared to be trimmed with white feathers.
“Nice suit, Terzo,” you quipped, eyeing him up and down as he approached you.
“That’s Papa Claus to you, principessa,” he said with a snarky grin and giving you a smooch on the lips. “And you’re Santa’s little helper.”
That you were. He’d ordered you the shortest green elf dress, although the skirt was more like a tulle tutu. The outfit was a whole ensemble, complete with an elf hat with ears, pointy shoes with bells on the end, and candy cane patterned tights. You felt ridiculous, but ’tis the season.
Everyone was in their best holiday attire - anything from ugly Christmas sweaters to formal wear. The ghouls were all dressed in elf costumes, with the exception of Dew, who was dressed as Rudolph - an antler headband fitted over his mask and a red nose strapped to the front of his mask.
Cardinal Copia was wearing an old Saint Nick red and gold cloak over his red cassock, and a poorly made attachable white beard. Secondo was dressed in an all black 3 piece suit that had a subtle fleur de lis pattern, and was chatting with one of Primo’s ghouls.
The night went on, and you were actually managing to have fun. The ghouls turned one of the snack tables into a flip cup station (much to your dismay as you shuffled the catering staff carrying fresh trays of food back into the kitchen) and several of the Siblings started Christmas karaoke, with a very drunk-looking Copia taking the lead.
Terzo flitted between you and the rest of the guests, chatting with various Clergy members (and skillfully dodging Imperator each time). He snuck up behind you, squeezing your ass.
“Make sure these old fucks are having fun, eh?” he said lowly in your ear, nodding backwards to the senior members of the Clergy.
“And just how am I supposed to do that?” you said, one eyebrow raised, his hand still under your skirt.
He winked at you, handing you a bottle of opened bourbon before cupping your ass cheek in his hand and rubbing it. “We’ll cheers soon, then I can have you all to myself.” He leaned in closer to whisper in your ear. “Papa’s going to be coming down your chimney tonight.”
He clapped you on the ass then darted between people again. “Everybody - eggnog!” he shouted towards the crowd, raising his arms up. He was herding everyone to the center. You thought you might die on the spot from your cheeks burning red, but everyone was paying attention to him - thank Satan.
As everyone poured themselves another glass and gathered, you went around and splashed a bit of bourbon in everyone’s cup.
“Some bourbon for your eggnog, Cardinal?” you asked Copia, approaching him with the bottle.
“Eh, none for me,” he said, hiccuping and covering his glass. “It’s strong enough as it is! I’ve had th-three already.”
“It’s nonalcoholic, Cardinal,” you responded, blinking at him. He looked puzzled and walked away.
You made your way over to Primo who was almost snoozing in his chair. “Papa Primo?” you asked, holding the bottle out, gesturing towards his half empty mug. You weren’t sure if he was dressed like Scrooge on purpose or if those were just his pajamas but he mumbled something that sounded like “Bah,” and shook his head swiftly, the tassel at the end of his nightcap swinging around.
Everyone was standing in a semicircle around Terzo, who for once seemed just slightly lost for words. “Well, uh - shit,” he began, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd. “I do not know what else to say, other than it’s been a fucking great year. We had two fantastic tours, and we’ll be continuing into next year… I, eh - met someone very dear.” He glanced at you briefly before continuing. “We won a motherfucking Grammy…!”
The ghouls whooped and cheered while the Siblings and other Clergy members clapped. You glanced over in the corner. Even Imperator seemed pleased - maybe.
“Sì, sì it has been phenomenal. You should all be very pleased with yourselves. So pleased in fact I think you should all celebrate, in eh, whatever means you choose to do. And if I do not see you all before the New Year, have an unblessed holiday. Now, we toast! Tomorrow morning we will celebrate our Savior’s birth. But for tonight, we sin.” He held up his glass and the others did the same. “To Lucifer!”
“To Lucifer,” you said, chiming in with a chorus of voices. You swallowed your bourbon-eggnog concoction - mostly bourbon by your heavy hand, you found as you winced slightly, the liquor burning down your throat. You didn’t drink much and this was your first holiday gathering at the Ministry. Next month would mark your first full year here, and the first time you laid eyes upon him - your Terzo.
“Eh, see you next year, Papa!” piped up Copia, still hiccuping as he nodded and ducked out of the crowd. You smiled at the Cardinal’s little joke. Terzo stopped in his tracks for just a moment and acknowledged Copia before walking away.
He rolled his eyes as he walked towards you then his face brightened. “Hello,” he said, standing very close to you.
“Hi, Papa,” you said, smiling at him and holding up the last bit of bourbon, swishing it in the bottle. “Saved the last for you.”
“Mmm,” he said, leaning in to kiss you. “How much? I need to keep my stamina for later.”
You took a swig and shuddered - Satanas, you still couldn’t drink straight liquor. “Not much now.” He chuckled at you and took the bottle from your hand, knocking back the rest. You coughed a couple of times and reached for some party punch, completely forgetting the one you reached for also had alcohol and coughed again.
He patted you soothingly on the back and asked, “Are you okay, tesorina?”
You nodded, finally grabbing the nonalcoholic punch and chugging some.
“Will Papa have to take care of his little elf this evening?” he said, trailing the back of his index finger over your cheek.
“No, Papa,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’ve barely had anything.”
“Good. I have a surprise for you tonight, amore.”
“Hm. Any hint?” you asked coyly.
“Not a fucking clue. Come to my room in five minutes just as you are.” He picked up a handful of hard candies from the snack table and popped a few in his mouth, staring at you while walking backwards a few paces before turning around and heading down the hall.
You continued to mingle with the other Siblings, trying hard to conceal your blushing cheeks but to no avail.
“Someone’s excited about something,” one said.
“It’s nothing,” you murmured.
“Come on - spill!”
“Well, Terzo and I -”
“Terzo?” said another.
“Oooooh!” the others said in a singsong tone almost in unison.
“He said he has a surprise for me, in his room.”
“So you graduated from office visits to home visits now?” asked the first Sibling, looking impressed.
“Well…I’ve seen his bedroom a few times,” you said, not willing to divulge the full truth just yet. You’d been spending most of your nights in his room and sneaking back into the Siblings’ quarters early in the morning. Even though each Sibling had their own room, you knew your Sisters would hear the door to the suite open.
“I think this is the most serious he’s been with anyone,” said the second Sibling. “I’ve been here a few years and usually he’s done with his fling after two months. But you’ve stuck around.” You shook your head, not willing to believe this hype only to be let down. You just wanted to live in the moment and enjoy what you had with Terzo. “You should go - you don’t want to keep him waiting.”
You smiled and bid your fellow Siblings goodbye as they all made lewd gestures to imitate various sex acts and waved you off, wishing you luck.
You walked down the silent and dark corridors, passing ghouls and Siblings alike shrouded in the shadows to have their midnight dalliances, no doubt egged on by the holiday cheer and the alcohol. You smiled, thinking about not having to hide in a hallway like when you first started dating him. Now you had his entire bedroom to have your sultry romps.
You opened his door and walked into his Papal suite, the familiar lush decor and smell of mahogany filling your senses. You passed by the small and elegantly decorated Christmas tree by the fireplace. You wondered just what his surprise might be when you saw him propped up against the wall, a rose in his mouth and —
What was that?
He was dressed in his Santa jacket and hat, with nothing else on - save one thing. Your eyes trailed along his upper body then snapped to what was in between his legs. On the end of his throbbing hard cock was some mistletoe, tied around his shaft by a red ribbon and a little gold bell below it. He waggled his eyebrows and at the same time isolated his pelvic muscles to make his cock bob up and down, tinkling the bell.
“How long have you just been standing there all hard waiting for me?”
His face fell momentarily and he took the rose out of his mouth. “I thought you would like it.”
“I do!” you said, suppressing laughter as best as you could while stepping towards him. You held onto the lapels of his jacket and leaned in. “I do.” He smiled again, a smug look of satisfaction washing over him.
“Good,” he said, handing you the rose. “Because you’re going to get stuffed and glazed just like Secondo’s honey ham.”
You bit your bottom lip, smiling. “But I don’t think it’ll be quite as delicious as you, amore.”
“It should be. I’ve been eating a lot of pineapple for this.”
“Really? Then I’ll have to taste it for myself,” you said, feeling the heat pool at your core.
He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you deeply, slipping his tongue in. You weren’t sure where to place your hands so you held onto the rose with one hand, the other in his hair. He swiftly brought you closer to him, his quivering cock poking at your thigh under your tulle skirt.
“Mm!” you said, surprised at feeling his hardness brush against you.
“Well,” he said, pulling away to look at you. “It’s not going to kiss itself, tesoro.” He twitched his cock again, making it bob up and down and wagged his hips side to side, making it shake the other direction and sounding the bell.
You eyed him slyly as you bent down, gently falling to your knees before him and placing the rose on the floor. You took his cock in your hand and began stroking his length, eyeing the perfect pink tip at the end. Each time you stroked him, the bell would chime.
“Oh cazzo,” he sighed, leaning his head back, his lips parted.
You flicked the tip of your tongue against the head of his cock and watched his abdominal muscles contract. He was like putty in your hands.
“You like that, amore?” you asked teasingly, his shaft in your palm.
He glared at you from the corner of his eye. “Stai zitto,” he said through moans as you continued to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. But you could swear you saw a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth as he said this.
You closed your eyes as you took his entire length in your mouth, sliding him in and out and clutching onto his hips. The little leaves on the mistletoe tickled your nose each time the bottom of his cock reached your lips.
Clink! Clink! went the bell each time you slid him in and out of your mouth.
He started to whimper and moan quietly, his eyes closed in pleasure. His hand was on the back of your head, gripping your hair tighter the faster you went. At one point he began thrusting into your mouth, probably no longer able to contain himself.
Clink! Clink! ClinkClinkClinkClinkCLINKCLINK
“Mmm!” you mumbled around his cock as the greenery around his member assaulted your face over and over, scratching your nose and cheeks a little bit each time. CLINK.
Your eyes welled with tears as he hit the back of your throat repeatedly. CLINK. At this point you were hardly doing any work, just kneeling there and being used as a vessel. CLINKCLINK
“Satanas you’re going to make me cum like that,” he panted as he continued pushing his hips into your face.
You smiled around him - well as best as you could - and brought him closer by gripping his ass cheeks.
“Ah - cazzo!” he exclaimed, suddenly pulling out of your mouth and panting.
“Terzo?” you asked, trying to look up but you were unable to as his hand remained on your head as he used you to prop himself up and regain composure.
“I can’t cum too soon and ruin the evening, no?” he said, standing up straight and helping you up off the floor. “Not when I haven’t even taken care of you.”
You kissed his laughter lines around his mouth as he spoke, his Papal makeup smudged from your kisses earlier. “You always take such good care of me.”
He turned to face you and held you in an embrace, kissing you passionately again, his hands roaming all over your body. He began to massage your breasts through your costume, building the arousal between your legs even more. Your breathing quickened as you both moaned into each other’s mouths.
“Fuck this fucking blouse,” he said breathlessly, breaking away and tearing at the front of your green cardigan, the buttons flying across his floor - eliciting a ‘Shit!’ from you. “Mmm!” he mumbled, kissing you again, pawing at your chest.
He fumbled around your back at your bra clasp, unhooking it after a couple of tries. You urgently slid the straps off your shoulders and tossed the bra to the floor. He bent down to take your nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around it and sucking. He alternated, pinching the other one between his fingers.
“Oh Terzo,” you sighed, running your hands through his hair, fiddling with the silver strands peppering his raven hair. He’d never admit to it, but you saw the box dye left on his bathroom counter.
Instinctively you squeezed your legs together, alleviating some of the need to touch yourself. You felt your heart race and a shiver run down your spine.
“Fuck me, please Papa,” you sighed, breath trembling.
“Mm?” he said, glancing up at you between your breasts with a glint in his eyes. He kissed all over your chest, up your neck and finally, your lips. “Is la mia principessa ready for her Papa to fuck her brains out, hm?”
“Yes Papa, please,” you said, still in a breathy whisper. “Fuck me.”
He nodded his head towards the bathroom and glanced over. “Go get a condom and meet me in bed. I’ll get the lube.”
“Why are there none in our nightstand drawer?”
“‘Our?’”
“Shit. You know what I meant.”
He grinned. “Ti stai dimenticando? We used them all last night and I didn’t have time to take some more out.”
Slightly embarrassed at your gaffe, you made your way into the bathroom and started opening drawers. “Where did you put the box?”
“Bottom drawer!” he called out.
Did he think differently of you now? Would he think you were too presumptuous and want to call the whole thing off? Or potentially, were you just overthinking things as usual? “Found it! Oh fuck, shit!”
“Sorella?” He sounded concerned and rushed over to find you on your hands and knees kneeling near the toilet.
“Almost got it!” You had dropped the roll of condom wrappers behind the toilet and had wedged yourself between it and the vanity. “Help me, Terzo!”
“Ah, I see now,” he said slyly. “Call for me in a panic just so you can entrap me.”
“What? Terzo, no, I really do need help, I drop- ”
“Sì, I can help,” he said, kneeling down behind you, his cock right up against your ass.
“It’s just, argh!”
“Argh!” he imitated you, running his hands all along your body.
“It’s right there I can’t - reach - !”
“Has anyone told you how sexy you look with your ass in the air in candy cane tights?”
You rolled your eyes but you knew he couldn’t see. “Er, no - um, thank you. But I dropped the condoms behind the toilet.”
He craned his neck to see. “Ah. This is quite the pickle we are in. You with your hand behind the toilet and your ass against my cock.”
“No, I believe it’s your cock against my ass.”
“What am I to do, tesorina? What should a Papa do when finding his lover in a compromising position, hm?” He leaned down and trailed kisses along your back, momentarily freezing your arm from the continued search of the condoms.
“Fuck…” you whispered, feeling his mouth move further south and his hands finding their way around your waist.
“What’s that, bella? You think Papa should fuck you? You called me in such a panic earlier that I did not bring the lube…mmm, what should we do?” he said, kissing you just above your ass. “Is la mia principessa ready?”
Your body ached with desire. You needed him inside you. He trailed his finger along your tights-covered behind, poking around where your entrance was. “Darling, I think your tights are just a little wet. Let’s see just how wet you are inside.” He gripped the fabric and you heard it ripping apart.
You let out a surprised gasp as the chill air hit your warm, now exposed nether regions. He entered you with a finger and your body shuddered against him as you whimpered quietly.
“Oh yes,” he said in an amused tone. “You are very ready.” He slid out and up to your clit, playing with it gently as you moaned and rocked your body back and forth to feel the friction against his fingers. “So responsive. Una così brava ragazza.”
“Please, Papa,” you said under your accelerated breath. “Please fuck me.”
“Don’t worry amore,” he said, reaching over you and grabbing the sleeve of condoms that you were having trouble getting just moments before. “I will.” He tore off one and ripped it open.
You readjusted yourself on the tile floor so you wouldn’t bang your head against the toilet or the side of the vanity as you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and the clinking of the little bell still attached to his dick.
“Oh FUCK!” you both said in unison as he entered you. He slammed into your dripping cunt with such ease, you felt him bottom out immediately. The tingle of the mistletoe against your clit heightened the sensation.
Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink! In and out, in and out. You both moaned each other’s names in pure, unadulterated passion.
“Ah - merda Sorella, you turn me into a teenager again. Fucking on the floor out of sheer desperation for one another.” Now he was so deep inside you the bell muffled against your body. CLUNK. CLUNK. CLUNK.
“So - mmm! - you’re d-desperate for me?” you said teasingly against the cold tile.
“La mia diavoletta pensa di essere così intelligente, eh? È ora che chiudi la bocca.” With that he fucked into you so hard, so fast, you couldn’t say another word. He pushed your head against the floor roughly, your cheek pressed against the cool marble so hard you could feel the grout indent. He nearly knocked the breath out of you as he hit your g-spot perfectly each time, a relentless grip on the back of your head.
“Ohhh - !” you moaned as he rammed into you over and over. CLUNKCLUNKCLUNKCLUNK. He was thrusting faster, riding out his orgasm, his nails digging deeper into your hips.
“Fuck - I’m going to - cum - Sorella - !” He pounded into you, tapering off his speed as he came, his cock twitching a final time before he slumped over your back, breathing heavily.
“Satanas,” he breathed, his chest heaving wildly as he pulled out, your body shuddering under him at the loss. You heard the snap of latex and the condom hitting the trash can liner.
You turned around and sat down, leaning against the toilet. You watched him untie the mistletoe and take it off, tossing it aside. “So how was it, with that?” you asked, nodding towards the discarded plant.
“Honestly? It was a little itchy. It might just be a novelty.” He tossed himself on his back against the floor. He looked at you, his chest still rising and falling from being out of breath. “How was it for you?”
“Honestly? It was a little itchy,” you repeated. You both smiled and laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
“Come here Sorella, I did not intend to leave you wanting. Hop onto Santa’s lap.”
You crawled over to him and straddled his lap, gazing into his eyes.
“What do you want this year for being such a good little girl?” He asked, caressing your arms and looking at your breasts before flicking his eyes up into yours.
“I want…endless kisses…and a mind-blowing orgasm,” you said, leaning down to kiss him.
He returned the smooch. “Mm, I did not know a present for you would also be a present for me. Come closer and sit on Santa’s face…that’s it, Satanas yes please.”
You moved up his body until you were straddling his face, then delicately lowered your body on him, doing your best to move your skirt out of the way.
He sputtered, spitting out the tulle from his mouth and pulling your hips towards his face again. He batted at the layers of fabric, cursing in Italian, before finding your cunt.
Your eyelids flitted closed as your lips parted in a silent “oh.” He took your clit in his mouth and sucked on it between his lips. He alternated between that and flicking your sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. You looked down to gaze in his eyes but his face was completely hidden under a green tutu.
You began to buck your hips against his face as he used the flat of his tongue, building up the friction and feeling yourself closing in on orgasm. He switched up and deepened the suction on your clit, flicking his tongue against you simultaneously.
“Oh fuck Terzo - fuck, I’m so close!” You rocked back and forth as you pinched your nipples, heightening the sensation.
His fingernails dug into your hips again as he sped up his ministrations. Grabbing ahold of your waist, he slid you along his mouth faster and faster.
“Oh, Terzo!” you cried out in ecstasy, trembling on your knees above him as you came hard and fast in his mouth. He didn’t let up the motions or the intensity until you pulled away, giggling from the overstimulation. You climbed off of him and sat down next to him, both smiling at one another.
“How are you feeling? Good?” he asked, stroking your thigh.
You nodded your head. “Yes, very. But can I lay down next time? I’ve been on my knees an awful long time.” You both laughed.
“There’s Papa’s little hoe hoe hoe,” he said with a devilish grin. “Of course, amore mio. Anything for you.”
You held onto his hand, playfully caressing all his fingers. “It’s been a very good Christmas so far,” you remarked.
“Mmm. And you haven’t even opened your presents yet.”
“There’s more?”
“What, you thought this was it? No Sorella, go look under the tree.”
You eyed him suspiciously as you stood up, legs still a little shaky. You walked out of the bathroom and into the living room.
You hadn’t noticed the presents under the tree earlier, but there were a few. A lot, actually. Somehow even your gifts for him were under there. One of the ghouls or housekeeping staff must have moved them for you.
One caught your attention - a gold envelope poking out from the middle branches of the tree. You reached inside the tree, accidentally sending the package spilling onto the floor. Two plane tickets splayed out on the floor.
You picked them up in wonder - your name was at the top of one, and his on the other. You walked in a daze over to him.
“You did not truly think I would leave you with just my cock for Christmas, did you?” he said, following you out of the bathroom and now leaning against the wall. “I love you, principessa. I call you princess because to me you are. My sweet little thing. I want to give you the world, my world…would Italy be a good start?”
You flung your arms around him, tears in your eyes. “Yes, Terzo. I think that will be an amazing start.”
[Stay tuned for a continuation of this story!]
Italian to English Translations
(la mia) principessa ((my) princess)
tesorina (little treasure/darling)
amore (mio) ((my) love)
cazzo (fuck)
Stai zitto (Shut up)
Ti stai dimenticando? (Are you forgetting?)
Sorella (Sister/nun)
bella (beautiful)
Una così brava ragazza. (Such a good girl.)
merda (shit)
La mia diavoletta pensa di essere così intelligente, eh? È ora che chiudi la bocca. (My little devil girl thinks she’s so smart, eh? It’s time you shut your mouth.)
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my future works!
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py-dreamer · 4 months
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remember that post with the blumin ghibli costumes where RS was the Baron?
Remember that dance scene in the cat returns?
Yea so I did a lil something something...
Its very niche and such but I personally really liked the concept
It was very fun drawing Xiaotian in like western princely wear, fairytale prince-esque. I was just fully self indulgent this time, gave him a crown, the earrings, the Cape, the collar, trimming, cloud buttons, the works.
Props to the masculine version of underkeep Frisk for Mk's design! Bit of a flashback to the past with that undertale reference eh?
(Does anyone else recognise underkeep? If not, I really recommend to just see the gorgeous character design with similar themes to this piece!)
Drawing red son in the Baron's outfit was so much fun! In particular, that feathered hat which matches their fluffy tail. Also, I actually searched up masquerade Bull masks as inspector for RS's mask and knew I wanted to make the horns longer as a sort of crown for his actual horns.
Lighting was also a fun new take with an intense spotlight and harsh shadows! Hopefully I was accurate enough...
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here's an unshaded version so you can see the outfits more!
I don't actually think I'm going to turn this into an actual au, it's more of a fun one shot really, but one I had a lot of fun with!
Also @cats-and-confusion,@leesbian42,@violetjedisylveon,@cryptidwithaninternetconnection and @people who want to join!
What would you match your favourite lmk ship, duo or dynamic with what ghibli ship, duo or dynamic?
Reblogs > likes
(Click photo for less sh!tty quality)
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gogmstuff · 11 months
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1770s dress -
Top  1770 Marie-Suzanne Giroust (1734-1772), wife of Alexander Roslin by Alexander Roslin (location ?). From tumblr.com/lenkaastrelenkaa 2048X2616.
Second row  1774 Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta by Alexander Roslin (Nationalmuseum - Stockholm, Sweden). From Wikimedia.
Third row left  1770s Lady by Alexander Roslin (location ?). From tumblr.com/silverfoxstole; fixes spots & some cracks w Pshop 2048X2576.
Third row right  1777 Jeune femme de qualite by Jean Laurent Mosnier (auctioned by Christie's). From invaluable.com-auction-lot-jean-laurent-mosnier-paris-1743-1744-1808-saint-p-67-c-9e67941402 3157X3164. An early appearance for a zone bodice.
Fourth row left  1779 Adrienne Sophie, Marquise de Montesson by A. St. Aubin. From invaluable.com 2531X3548.
Fourth row right  1779 Louise Emilie, Baroness of Andlau by A. Saint-Aubin. From invalueable.com 22528X3536.
Fifth row  1779 Varvara Golytsyna by Dmitry Grigoryevich Levitsky (auctioned by Sotheby's). From Wikimedia; exposure +15% contrast -20% 1561X2000.
Sixth row  ca. 1775 Duc de Choiseul, his mistress, the Comtesse de Brionne and the Abbé Barthélmy (Getty Museum - Los Angeles, California, USA). From the Google Art Project; increased exposure 981X782.
Seventh row  Antonio Ghidini and his family by Pietro Melchiorre Ferrari (Labirinto della Masone - ). From tumblr.com/history-of-fashion 2048X2833.
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jaeausten · 7 months
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Emma Woodhouse Appreciation Series-
Blue pelisse trimmed with fur and pheasant feather hat.
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catsfor2 · 1 year
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out west II (ellie x reader)
warnings: 18+ mdni, smut wc: 1.8k, unedited tags: @champagnelovers101@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husband
a/n: i............i havent written smut in a while. cut me some slack.
western slang!("sakes alive" - like 'oh my god!' or something, horse feathers - nonsense/ridiculousness, "line rider" - cowboy, lunk-headed - dumb, "make tracks" - leave, bristled - angry, rattling - worrying, "pop your corn" - say your words/spit it out, poppet - term of endearment like "sweetie" and stuff)
-j
She'd came in the night.
Garbed in the evening's clothing, blurred into the sticky silence of twilight. Ghostly. Exactly as she came before.
Her fingers had fumbled with your shutters for a minute, eventually just snapping the mechanism that kept them locked.
You hadn't heard it.
Her leather-laden hands, clutching the edges of the window frame, hoisting herself over the small ledge into your bedroom.
You hadn't heard it.
And then, her thoroughly dusted boots, clopping at your creaky wooden floor, steps miniature and slow.
You still heard nothing.
For you were sleeping. Achingly peaceful, still and vulnerable. Your hair, a halo around you, arranged gently across your pillow. Your lips parted, light breaths puffing out of them consistently. Your hands, clutched closely inwards with your blanket laced between your fingers. An angel, the outlaw thought.
And then she sees it.
Her hat.
Neatly rested atop the pillow next to you, almost propped on display like you knew she’d be coming.
It was cleaner. Dusted off. You had undirtied it properly and meticulously for the gunslinger, delicate hands conditioning the suede for hours and hours until it finally felt right.
The outlaw warmly smiles, shadow looming darkly over your sleeping body as she imagines it. You, sitting pretty all alone in your lace trimmed bedroom, brushing grime off the leather of a hat that belongs to a criminal.
She wishes she could’ve been there to watch you do it.
The outlaw stills, realizing something, and reaches into the band of her holster to pull out a burlap sac. The size is small enough to hide easily in her palm.
Her fingers tug the strings and widen the top, before digging inside and plucking out a pink, soft looking peony.
It reminded her a lot of you when she’d first seen it.
She steps lightly, bending over your figure, and creeps up the brim of her hat to place the peony under it.
She knows that you’ll find it eventually. The difficult part, to the outlaw, is being unable to see your face when you notice it.
But it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
As the next time the outlaw would visit—tomorrow night—she had a different plan.
She’ll wake you up instead. Brush the hair out of your face, cup your cheeks gently and lay a soft kiss to your sleep-heated skin.
She’ll reveal a lilac from her burlap sac this time, closely watching the blush rise in your face as she places it in your hands.
And then she’ll steal you.
Steal you far, far away from this place you’ve been forced to call home.
And never let you come back.
---------------------------------
Night has fallen over town, and the outlaw couldn't be happier.
Her lilac is plucked.
Her boots are freshly polished.
And she approaches the same window confidently, enthusiastically, and opens the shutters.
Oh.
Her eyes widen subtly, glossing over as she sees inside.
She quickly realizes that she cannot enter.
Because you are...occupied.
Thoroughly occupied.
Gasps escape your lips in fluttery exhales, so quiet and so soft that the outlaw could barely hear. Your arms, daintily motioning under your blanket, are about hidden completely. She almost pities you, right then. Seeing the pure need color your cheeks as you help yourself. Almost frustrated with pleasure.
And her hat. Her damned hat.
Sat dearly next to you, superbly clean. Resting in the same air you breathe out so sweetly, so beautifully. Close enough to see the wetness of your eyes. Feel the warmth of your skin.
The gunslinger heats, hands starting to moisten the inside of her gloves. She swallows.
Her fingers fidget, still clasped around the shutter, as she raises the other hand, already drawn into a fist.
She knocks.
Immediately, a shrill shout escapes you, limbs messily fumbling under the covers and hands frantically grasping them up to your chest.
"Sakes alive!—it's—I—it's you!" you stutter in disbelief.
The gunslinger subtly nods.
"D'you—" you take a breath, having to collect yourself before you talk again. "D'you have any idea what time of night—this is—this is just horse feathers! Just—just showin' up?! I don't even—" you look away, breaths coming out harshly. "I don't even have words for you right now."
"Darlin', I—"
"Don't. And while you're at it—put that—that damn bandanna over your eyes," you say, voice getting a little quieter. "...I'm...indecent."
The outlaw only obeys, hands tugging the bandanna up and over her brow bone. You continue.
"I should've never trusted some—some line rider crook like yourself. My mistake."
She steps forward, hands steadily in front of herself.
"I'm no crook sweetheart, I already told you—"
"I can't trust a crook's word on bein' a crook! You lunk-headed—"
The outlaw interrupts you with her movements, arm extending to snatch her hat and place it on her head. She adjusts it slightly, fingers pinching the brim, before talking.
"Tell me you want me gone. I'll make tracks darlin'. I don't wanna hurt you. I can..." she glances at the window. "...take my hat and go. If it's what you want."
Your body tenses, freezing at the notion.
"That's not what I want." you blurt, anger starting to subside.
The outlaw's voice had you remembering how caged and hot you felt when you first had met her. It was distracting.
"Yeah?" She asks. "Enlighten me then."
You pause, feeling strangely watched despite her vision being blocked by the fabric.
"I want—well, I wanted...you. And I didn't know if—if I'd ever see you again. I couldn't..." your skin colors. "...I couldn't wait."
The only expressive part of her face you could see—her mouth—quirks up into tiny smile.
"You only had to wait a small while longer honey. I was down the road."
Your legs shift under the covers, restless with warmth.
"You can—you can take the bandanna off. I'm...fine now." you utter, still unable to face her directly.
Her hand moves to grab it, before she stops.
"Are you sure? I don't mind—"
"Just take it off." you cut, words even louder.
She finally does, exposing her eyes to you and your bedroom. Her grin widens as she looks at you.
"Not so bristled anymore?" she questions.
Your hands brush up and down your thighs.
"...No."
She tracks your movements closely, eyes flicking.
"...Somethin' else rattlin' you then?" she tries.
You stay silent, simply not able to conjure a clean way to word your thoughts. The outlaw talks again.
"I think I know." she assures. "You weren't quite...done yet, were you? Is that it?"
Hotness blooms, showering your insides in something dangerous and heady. The outlaw won't stop talking.
"You're just—just itchin' for it under there aren't you?" she murmurs.
She sits on your bed, body leaning deftly close to yours. Her head inches near your neck, lips curtly brushing you for a moment.
"...Do you think you'd let me see?" she whispers even lower.
Your feel your eyes abruptly dart up, focusing on hers. Your hand moves meekly, finding her own and guiding it towards you. You draw her under your covers, slowly letting her fingers pad their way down your sternum.
The glove is missing, as you feel her skin on yours, and it causes you jump slightly. You hadn't even seen her take it off.
Her hand is shaky, excited, as she feels your bareness for the first time. It starts to ravage, pulling at the hem of your panties wildly.
Her hat knocks into your forehead as she clutches your neck, bringing your face to hers swiftly.
She takes, mouthing heavily on top of your lips and inside your mouth, groping at your inner thighs. Her hand cups your cunt, forcing a dizzy amount on pressure onto you instantly.
"I—oh," You partly gasp, the outlaw's fingers starting to rhythmically circle your clit without warning. You feel her tongue leave your mouth, start spanning the length of your neck and tasting.
Her hat knocks into your chin this time, tumbling it off her head and onto the mattress. Her teeth start to nip, scattering painfully pleasurable bruises across your skin.
Her body climbs over yours, bulky clothing scratching you as she does so. Her hand still rubs you dearly, fingers now curiously prodding inside.
Your hips start to shift, jittery and wanting, and the gunslinger grinds down with the whole of her bodyweight, thrusting her hand harder against you.
Her hips keep bucking like that, pounding her own hand, with such force that you feel your bed start to wobble.
"That's—hah—I—ohhh—I need—" you breathe, words broken.
"What's that? Gonna have to pop your corn a bit louder darlin'," the outlaw chides, hips only slamming harder and faster as you struggle to talk.
"I'm—ooh—your—your name! Tell me your name!" you exclaim, voice airy.
She grins, eyes fixed. "Williams—Ellie Williams."
A hand moves to your breast, squeezing and tugging in time with her hips. You feel her fingers reach deeper, farther, evoking molten rushes of heat straight from your belly. It's becoming too fast to keep up with.
"El—Ellie—"
She groans, the metal belt buckle she wears knocking even more vigorously against you.
"Again sweetheart. Say it again."
Your eyes are glassy, barely gazing at the figure on top of you. Your legs are clutched around Ellie's waist, taut as the sensation of her fingers overwhelm you. You hear your own voice meander out of your parted lips, unable to really control how you sound.
"Ellie, Ellie, Ellie—oohhhh, Ellie, I'm—" your voice cuts into a moan, high and breathless. You feel your body jerking, an insane amount of energy burning to be released.
"I know poppet, I know. It feels so good, don't it?" she softly speaks into your shoulder.
"Yes, it's—mmm—it's—it's good," you groan, your own hands weakly clawing at her hips to slow down.
It was a tide of sparks, a wave of relief, a terrifying wall of pleasure that hit you so violently, sending you flying and soaring, essentially drifting in the haze of climax.
Your thighs flinch together, knocking inwards even tighter as your body racks with leftover tremors and sparse shivers.
The outlaw just watches.
You both sit silently for a moment, enjoying the stuffy air and sweaty sheets for a while longer.
Her hand departs and snakes into her empty hostler, where she digs for a bit and pulls out a small brown sac.
Her fingers delve into it, bringing out a tiny, tiny flower.
Your face brightens.
"Is that—is that for me?" you ask sweetly.
"Who else?" Ellie says, tucking the flower in between some strands of your hair.
She moves, rolling over to lie down in the spot next to you. She gazes up at the ceiling, face slightly scrunched contemplatively.
"You thinkin' about somethin'?" you quietly ask.
Her head turns to yours.
"No."
But that was a lie. She was thinking hard.
Because the outlaw hasn't given up.
She couldn't steal you tonight. That time has passed.
But tomorrow night?
A rose, she thinks.
I'll bring a rose.
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ice-creamforbreakfast · 10 months
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::Download:: (Patreon - Available for everyone from 25th June 2023)
::Download:: (Curseforge)
Summer in the 60s - June 2023 CC Set
A fun, summery 60s-inspired set, perfect for your sims' upcoming vacations!
Item information below the cut:
Karolina Dress - Short-sleeved shift-dress in a variety of colours, styles and patterns.
Linda Dress - Sleeveless mini-dress with lace trim on the collar and hem.
Valerian Sweater - Short-sleeved summer sweater. Perfect for those 60s villains in your life, that love a high neck in all seasons.
Francie Hair - Sleek updo with a sharp, Sassoon-style bang.
Finella Hairs V1-V3 - Half-up hair with feathered, face-framing layers at three different heights depending on how tall you want to be on any given day!
Casey Hat - A traditional bakerboy hat in a variety of colours and combinations.
Pamela Earrings - Chunky bakelite earrings in a variety of colours and combinations.
Dionne Earrings - Metal and acrylic earrings in a variety of combinations.
Bullseye Earrings - Quintessential mod-style target earrings in a variety of colours, combinations and materials.
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chic-a-gigot · 2 months
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La Mode nationale, no. 5, 5 février 1898, Paris. No. 9. — Groupe de chapeaux. Bibliothèque nationale de France
(1) Béret en velours rubis, garni de 6 plumes noires formant éventail, retenues au centre par une boucle en strass et tombant devant sur le bord du chapeau.
(1) Ruby velvet beret, garnished with 6 black feathers forming a fan, held in the center by a rhinestone buckle and falling in front on the edge of the hat.
(2) Chapeau de jeune fille, en drap gris, garni de plumes assorties retenues au pied par un chou de velours de la même teinte.
(2) Young girl's hat, in gray cloth, trimmed with matching feathers held at the foot by a velvet collar of the same shade.
(3) Petite toque de théâtre en velours bleu turquoise, garnie de touffes de violettes et d'un motif de strass.
(3) Small theater hat in turquoise blue velvet, garnished with tufts of violets and a rhinestone motif.
(4) Chapeau rond très relevé de côté, en velours vert, tout coulissé, garni de dentelle blanche mélangée à un nœud de satin blanc et de velours vert dans lequel sont placées 2 aigrettes en paradis noir. Nœud de satin posant sur les cheveux.
(4) Round hat very raised on the side, in green velvet, all slid, trimmed with white lace mixed with a bow of white satin and green velvet in which are placed 2 egrets in black paradise. Satin bow posing on the hair.
(5) Capote pour jeune femme, toute en paillettes d'argent, garnie d'un panache de plumes et d'une aigrette blanches au pied desquelles est posé un gros chou de velours violet.
(5) Hood for a young woman, all in silver sequins, garnished with a plume of feathers and a white egret at the foot of which is placed a large purple velvet cabbage.
(6) Petit chapeau en velours coulissé bleu de roi, garni de 3 plumes et d'une aigrette blanches posées de côté.
(6) Small hat in royal blue drawstring velvet, garnished with 3 white feathers and an egret placed on the side.
(7) Béret pour jeune femme, en taffetas rouge entièrement coulissé en forme de choux, dans lesquels on place une fantaisie en strass.
(7) Beret for young women, in red taffeta, entirely slid in the shape of cabbages, in which a rhinestone decoration is placed.
(8) Chapeau rond en feutre gris. La calotte est en taffetas bouillonné gris, une grande amazone noire est posée de côté, retenue au pied par une grande boucle en cailloux du Rhin.
(8) Round gray felt hat. The cap is made of gray bubbled taffeta, a large black Amazon is placed on the side, held at the foot by a large loop of Rhine pebbles.
(9) Chapeau rond en feutre blanc, très relevé de côté. Torsade de velours orange entourant la passe et panache de plumes noires garnissant le côté.
(9) Round white felt hat, raised high on the side. Twist of orange velvet surrounding the pass and plume of black feathers garnishing the side.
(10) Petit tricorne en paillettes d'argent, garni de plumes noires dans lesquelles se pose une agrafe en strass. Torsade de velours rouge sur les cheveux.
(10) Small tricorn in silver sequins, garnished with black feathers in which a rhinestone clasp is placed. Red velvet twist on hair.
(11) Chapeau forme amazone, relevé des deux côtés, en velours vert d'eau, le bord est coulissé et se termine devant apr un nœud en velours. Nœud de satin vert d'eau sur le côté, dans lequel est posé un oiseau vert à aigrettes noires.
(11) Amazon-shaped hat, raised on both sides, in sea green velvet, the brim is slid and ends in front with a velvet bow. Water green satin bow on the side, in which is placed a green bird with black egrets.
(12) Béret coulissé en drap gris perle, garni de côté de trois plumes noires en touffe, au pied desquelles sont posés un chou de velours noir avec une boucle de jais et un autre chou en velours orange.
(12) Drawn beret in pearl gray cloth, garnished on the side with three black feathers in a tuft, at the foot of which are placed a black velvet cabbage with a jet curl and another orange velvet cabbage.
(13) Petit capote en velours rubis, garnie sur le côté d'un gros oiseau noir.
(13) Small ruby velvet hood, garnished on the side with a large black bird.
(14) Chapeau rond, en feutre gris, garni de deux plumes grises formant couronne, retenues devant par un chou en velours mauve dans lequel on met un motif en cailloux du Rhin.
(14) Round hat, in gray felt, garnished with two gray feathers forming a crown, held in front by a mauve velvet collar in which a pattern of Rhine pebbles is placed.
(15) Petit chapeau en satin coulissé bleu ciel, fond mou en velours beige, presque blanc, piqeon blanc posé de côté, piquet de roses posant sur les cheveux.
(15) Small sky blue sliding satin hat, soft beige, almost white velvet base, white peg placed on the side, peg of roses resting on the hair.
(16) Chapeau forme toque en velours noir, relevé des deux côtés. Le bord est en tulle pailleté avec un coulissé de velours noir formant tête. Plumes noires posées de côté retenues par des choux de velours vieux rose.
(16) Toque-shaped hat in black velvet, raised on both sides. The edge is in glittery tulle with a black velvet drawstring forming the head. Black feathers placed aside held by old pink velvet puffs.
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