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adore-laur · 5 months

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SKIN

— a blurb from the dadrry universe 🤍

——

Harry's skin must be woven with threads of magic. There has to be an otherworldly magnetism entwined in his veins, bestowing captivating warmth toward anyone who touches him. Or perhaps there's an underlying spell coursing through his bloodstream, effortlessly soothing deep-rooted aches and vociferating cries.

It's been said before, but it bears repeating: Harry is a natural when it comes to being a lover. He has been by your side through every trial and tribulation life has cruelly thrown at you. He has willingly taken your pain during grief-stricken times and selflessly shared the burden. You've navigated the rollercoaster years of dating, marriage, and parenthood with him, all the while watching him adapt to each role with unwavering patience and grace.

Witnessing him be a dad makes you firmly believe it's what he was made to do. It was written in the stars.

When you wake from a deep slumber—a long and uninterrupted one at that—the house smells like blueberries and homemade bread. Well, if four hours of sleep counts as uninterrupted. You'll be the first to admit that you haven't missed the lack of sleep in caring for a newborn.

You slowly make your way to the kitchen, surprised by how quiet it is except for the sizzling sounds of breakfast being cooked. Your tired eyes regard Harry swaying by the stovetop, a spatula in his grasp and his one-week-old baby girl cradled in his opposite arm. She's wide awake, her swaddled body cuddled perfectly in the crook of his elbow as she mesmerizingly stares at her dad skillfully taking a loaf of bread out of the oven. He has on his favorite fleece robe with the sleeves rolled up, and his hair— that's getting quite long—is flatly pushed back due to him restlessly tossing and turning all night.

It's baffling how whenever Harry holds his daughter, she's completely content as long as her skin touches his. You don't quite understand it. You're well aware skin-to-skin contact is essential, but it's wondrous how much she loves it with him already.

You stand still and watch him for a few more moments, thinking about how, nine months ago, you observed him from the same spot as he made pancakes with his eldest daughter. Back when the baby he's holding now was just a tiny bump he would fawn over, growing rounder each month and getting plenty of kisses each day.

Eventually, you refocus on the present and shuffle over to where your sleep-deprived husband is yawning and shutting the oven door with his hip. The both of you got a dreadfully short amount of sleep last night, but you think it isn't so bad when mornings look like they do with him.

"Hello," you say, making your presence known before appearing next to him.

Harry loosens a golden-brown blueberry crêpe with the spatula and sets it on one of three plates. "Morning, sweetheart."

"When did she wake up?"

"'Bout an hour ago," he replies, his voice hoarse. "Just little whimpers, so I took her to the backyard for fresh air. She told me she wanted to make breakfast with me."

You amusedly tilt your head to the side. "Oh, she told you that? I didn't know you could translate her baby sounds."

"I can, actually. She also told me she wants milk." He looks over at you and raises his eyebrows. "Pronto, preferably."

"Here, give me her. She's definitely hungry." You take her from him and kiss her soft, munchable cheeks. "Thank you for making food, by the way."

"That's my job," he sing-songs as you walk over to the couch. You sit and slide the strap of your silk pajama top down, then remove the white swaddle from the baby's body. She instantly latches onto your nipple, causing you to wince as a dull ache initiates.

As you feed her and zone out, you hear Harry plate the food and open the fridge several times before you sense him coming up behind you. He leans his torso over the back of the couch and rests his chin on your head. Breastfeeding has never been uncomfortable around him since you know he's appreciative of what a woman's body can supply and how draining it is to be the supplier. Often, like right now, he will silently observe his daughter fall into a state of tranquility as she suckles. It's beautiful to nurture another human using your body, and even though it's terribly time-consuming, the special bond formed during it is always worth it.

"I'm gonna get dressed," Harry says after a while, squeezing your arm.

You turn your head and pucker your lips for the first kiss of the day. He grants you several soft pecks that taste like blueberries, each with a satisfied hum, before leaving a long, dramatic kiss on his daughter's head.

A few minutes later, he comes back just as you finish breastfeeding. He's wearing a patterned jacquard-knit sweater and loose denim jeans with ripped holes by his knees. He stands before you and takes his baby girl from your arms, kissing and blowing raspberries on her full belly until she's screeching happily.

"Who's ready for tummy time, hmm? Is it you?" She coos with a toothless smile, and Harry pretends to eat her cheeks. "I think it's you."

He gently sets her on the blanket on the living room floor, then lies on his stomach next to her. You grab your phone from the coffee table and snap a quick picture of the sweet memory.

After five minutes of encouragement and tracing every feature of her face, Harry picks her up and burps her. Meanwhile, you wander into the kitchen, grab the plates, and then slide the patio door open with your shoulder. You head out to the backyard with Harry following closely behind. You're not too worried about your other daughter since she'll definitely be cranky if you wake her up this early.

As you set the plates down and sit in the wicker lounge chair, Harry passes the baby over and settles beside you, chewing and swallowing a bite of bread. He says, "I was thinking of going to the beach later and swimming with the girls. The water is pretty calm today."

You nod and pick at your crêpe. "Yeah, go ahead. I'll probably take a nap or something."

"You don't want to come with us?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows. It's gorgeous out."

"I don't really feel like swimming. I'm not feeling my best."

He leans closer to you and places his palm on your forehead. "What do you mean, love? You feelin' okay?"

"I'm just tired," you lie partially. "Don't worry about me."

"Hey, look at me." He takes your hand in his. "I'm going to worry about you. You just gave birth a week ago. Gotta tell me how you're feeling mentally and physically. Otherwise, I don't know how to help you."

"I know, but I swear I'm—" A fussy cry cuts you off, and you sigh as you start rocking the baby. Harry soothingly massages the back of your neck, leaving a comforting kiss behind your ear.

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" he murmurs.

You just weakly smile and hope he'll forget about it.

——

The sun has just begun to set, and the evening sky is a bright, beautiful orange that makes the ocean glimmer. All of you are on the beach to spend time together before an early bedtime. Harry had made dinner and is now shaking out a blanket so the both of you can sit on the sand. Your eldest daughter is distracted with her beach toys, talking to herself as she toddles along the shoreline in her swimsuit and floaties.

There's no time for peaceful watching, however, because once you plop down on the blanket with the baby snuggled to your chest, Harry sits right by you and clasps his hands over his bent knee like he's about to give a lecture. He jerks his chin and says, "You know what I'm gonna say."

It's impossible not to roll your eyes. "Do I have to?" you mutter with a sheepish grin.

"Yes. You're legally required to talk to your husband and baby daddy."

You just groan and prepare yourself to vent about all the postpartum feelings that have been swirling in your pessimistic brain over the past seven days.

"I'm scared of losing myself," you say, exhaling heavily. "I remember the first time I became a mom and how I didn't even recognize myself some days. It took so much energy out of me, you know? With breastfeeding, being up all night, and trying to get my body back to normal. I guess I just don't want to fall into that dark mindset again."

Harry nods understandingly. "Do you recognize yourself right now?"

"A lot more than last time," you reply quietly. "I mean, we're both more experienced with how to handle a newborn. That definitely helps."

He swallows, and his serious expression reveals that he sees right through you. "Can I know the real reason why you didn't want to go swimming earlier?" he asks with a gentleness that could break you if you dwell on it for long enough.

You sometimes wonder if your skin is made of glass or if he knows you well enough to notice all the cracks.

"If I talk about it, I'll start crying."

He tuts and nudges your foot with his. "And what's wrong with crying?"

Shrugging, you defeatedly mumble, "Makes me feel like a little kid."

"You're my wife, not some stranger to me," he stresses with a soft laugh. "I hate that you think crying in front of me will put me off. Please be vulnerable with me. I don't want you to keep your feelings bottled up."

Your lips wobble, and a teardrop escapes as you look downward. "I don't feel good when I look at my body. I don't think I could put on a swimsuit and have you see me." Harry scoots closer and wipes your tears away, a sympathetic frown on his lips. "And I spent so long trying to accept it last time I gave birth," you add, "and now having to bounce back again seems exhausting."

"I don't expect you to bounce back," Harry says gently. "I don't expect anything of you that involves changing your body. It's your body. Do whatever you need to make you feel good, and do it at your own pace, all right?"

Your heart lovingly falters at his statement. "Once we can finally have sex in five weeks, it's going to be terrible. I'll probably cry."

He laughs, and you let one out too. "Is that really what you're worried about?"

"No." He gives you an unamused look with a hint of a smirk. "Okay, maybe. I just don't want you to look at me. I could blindfold you or something."

"Can you look at me right now for a second?" Harry asks earnestly. You adjust the baby in your arms and meet his eyes, which sparkle in the sunlight. I look at you and see a goddess," he says, holding your free hand. A mother to two beautiful girls who make me smile every single day. You're my safety blanket. The body you think I don't want to see is the one that grew life. That is so precious to me."

He begins tracing his fingertips across the light striations on your thigh as he continues, "The stretch marks on your skin are there because you grew two humans, which to me, is the most powerful goddamn thing I could ever watch you do. And you've done it so effortlessly that I can't help but fall in love with you more and more each day."

In that moment, you wonder why you were ever doubtful in the first place and how the man sitting next to you can always easily drag you out of any momentary insecurity.

Harry suddenly stands and carefully pulls you up with him. He then kneels on the blanket and spreads his arms out. "Look at you," he says over the crashing waves. "You're literally glowing in front of me, holding our baby girl that you brought into this world all by yourself, and making my heart pound just as hard as the first day I met you."

"Stop, Harry," you tell him, heat expanding across your face.

"No, because look at you!" He exhales sharply and lowers his arms. "I worship you. Everything you do or say, every smile and laugh, every time you look at me... I'm hooked for eternity."

You kneel in front of him with tears threatening to spill over. He cradles your cheeks and kisses you with an intensity similar to the evening waves pelting the shore. Is there a way to thank the ocean for bringing him to you?

As the sun says its routine farewell, you bask in Harry's glow that cascades from the solicitous words he speaks and the tender touches he gives. Skin that's unquestionably loved by him and skin that you will love at your own pace.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur #skin

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chic-a-gigot · 3 months

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La Mode nationale, no. 5, 5 février 1898, Paris. No. 8. — Groupe de toilettes. Modèles de la Mson Balmain sœurs, 46, rue Ste Anne. Modèles de Mme Collet, 10 rue Taitbout. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) Toilette de jeune fille, en drap bleu électrique. Jupe entièrement plate, garnie d'une légère soutache formant tablier, et tournant jusque derrière. Corsage boléro en drap de la même teinte également soutaché et laissant voir une chemisette de taffetas bleu électrique.

(1) Young girl's ensemble, in electric blue cloth. Completely flat skirt, trimmed with a light soutache forming an apron, and turning all the way to the back. Bolero bodice in cloth of the same shade also attached and revealing an electric blue taffeta shirt.

Matériaux: 6 mètres drap, 4 mètres taffetas.

—

(2) Toilette de promenade en drap mordoré. Jupe toute plate et unie. Corsage blouse en drap mordoré garni d'un empiècement de velours miroir mordoré se continuant en pointe sur les manches et entouré d'un galon brodé de perles de toute nuances. Ceinture de velours garnie du même galon remontant sur le corsage en corselet et de boutons miniatures entourant la taille.

(2) Walking ensemble in bronze cloth. Very flat and plain skirt. Blouse bodice in bronze cloth trimmed with a yoke of bronze mirror velvet continuing in a point on the sleeves and surrounded by a braid embroidered with pearls of all shades. Velvet belt trimmed with the same braid going up the corselet bodice and miniature buttons surrounding the waist.

Matériaux: 7 mètres drap.

—

(3) Toilette de dîner en crêpe de Chine mauve. Jupe sans couture et toute plate. Corsage en crêpe de Chine mauve recouvert de mousseline de soie crème et de Chantilly noir. Corselet découpé, formant crevés, en broderie Louis XV multicolore. Encolure en dentelle noire, paquet de violettes au pied du col.

(3) Purple crepe de chine dinner ensemble. Seamless and flat skirt. Mauve crepe de chine bodice covered with cream silk chiffon and black Chantilly. Cut-out corselet, forming crevés, in multi-colored Louis XV embroidery. Black lace neckline, bunch of violets at the base of the collar.

Matériaux: 15 mètres crêpe de Chine; 4 mètres mousseline soie en 120.

—

(4) Toilette de réception en satin noir. Jupe entièrement recouverte de petits volants de mousseline de soie noire, froncés. Corsage blouse en tulle pailleté de perles et de paillettes bleues, ouvrant sur un grand empiècement de mousseline de soie noire plissée, encadré ainsi que le col de grosses perles bleues. Manches toutes plissées en mousseline de soie.

(4) Black satin reception ensemble. Skirt entirely covered with small gathered black silk chiffon ruffles. Blouse bodice in tulle sequined with pearls and blue sequins, opening onto a large panel of pleated black chiffon, framed as well as the collar with large blue pearls. Sleeves all pleated in silk chiffon.

Matériaux: 15 mètres satin, pour les volants de mousseline de soie sur 5 centimètres de hauteur compter 3 fois le tour de la jupe par volant.

—

(5) Jaquette blouse en drap brique, entièrement recouverte de galons de mohair formant damiers. Revers semblables, bordés ainsi que le col, la basque et le tour de la jaquette, d'un dépassant d'astrakan.

(5) Blouse jacket in brick cloth, entirely covered with mohair braid forming a checkerboard pattern. Similar lapels, bordered as well as the collar, the basque and the edge of the jacket, with an excess of astrakhan.

Matériaux: 3 mètres drap.

—

(6) Toilette de jeune femme, en velours vert gris. Jupe plate et unie. Corsage également en velours avec petits crevés laissant voir une chemisette en mousseline de soie crème garnie de dentelle. Le devant du corsage et les crevés sont garnis d'un étroit galon d'acier. Col et ceinture en satin vert avec barrettes d'acier.

(6) Young woman's ensemble, in gray green velvet. Flat, plain skirt. Bodice also in velvet with small slits revealing a cream silk chiffon blouse trimmed with lace. The front of the bodice and the slits are trimmed with narrow steel braid. Green satin collar and belt with steel barrettes.

Matériaux: 16 mètres velours; mousseline de soie, 1 m. 50.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1898 #on this day #February 5 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #panorama #color #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #collar

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prettyprettypaci2 · 4 months

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Squire - Part 7 and Epilogue

👑 Start From the Beginning 👑

"M-mm-mmm. Mooooooooooo!"

Like a tumbler at the county fair, your stomach twists and contorts itself into improbable knots. You feel off-balance and take a step forward, only to feel the tug of the pink breastplate from your leather baby reins; Blackwood holds you fast while the Royal Interpreter looks on, unsmiling as she strokes a large white rabbit in her arms. You fear you're about to be sick all over the fine new silk dress Madame Matilda put on you this morning. Its stiff crêpe skirt flares out at your belly button, leaving your fresh white diaper on full display.

"My dear friend, what has become of you?!" You sob.

Unable to remain standing under your own power, you feel Blackwood mercifully give your baby reins some slack as you fall to your knees. Your smooth, shining legs straddle the puffy diaper that droops between them.

"Mooooooo! Moooooooooooooo!"

The blonde squire you once knew as Mouse presses against the wooden slats of this outdoor enclosure, their pale face painted with soft mud. Their erstwhile tiny body is subsumed by a heavy garment printed with a holstein pattern, which is padded to mimic the proportions of a dairy cow. You recoil in horror as a wet BLAAAAAART from Mouse's rear end is followed by an expansion of the padding below their stomach, adding even more weight to your former companion's bovine form. Their whole costume is a single, colossal diaper! It pads them from the rattling cowbell around their neck to the tips of their hoof-clad toes!

Mouse's eyes are vacant and without emotion as they stare stupidly in your direction, though their pupils dilate the moment your gazes meet. For a moment, they are still. Then, with a soft whimper, they turn away from you and saunter off on all fours, their cowbell announcing every lumbering movement as they drag themselves slowly to a feeding trough on the far side of the pen. They continue to fart noisily, adding ever more girth to the full-body diaper encasing them.

You shudder as you tear your eyes away from the miserable scene, seeking comfort in the sight of your own comparatively small diaper. You realize you're instinctively trying to piss, though you must have already wet yourself; the thick padding has become dark and yellow.

"Is this to be my fate as well?" You croak. Your mouth has gone drier than sand, though tears drip from your eyes.

"The squire will not speak without being spoken to!" Blackwood barks, his sallow face contorting in rage. "The squire does not question what royalty wishes for it! The squire is an object, a brainless toy, a -- "

"You are dismissed, minister." The Royal Interpreter's silky alto voice leaves Blackwood struck dumb. "Remove the squire's reins and tend to other matters. Her Majesty will have words alone with it."

"B-but, Your Highness!" Blackwood stammers, his mouth agape. "You cannot be left alone with this squire. It is stubborn and headstrong, and it has now seen Your Majesty's Dairy! I have it on firm suspicion that it attempted to escape the Squirey by aid of that treasonous cow!"

"Blackwood! We suffer no more challenges from the Minister of Our Holdings than we do from our squires! You have been given a command."

The color seems to drain from Blackwood's face. Despite your disgust and awe at Mouse's pathetic state, you cannot help but feel satisfaction as he is dressed down by this slender woman half his age. With rough hands, Blackwood pulls you back onto your velvet heels, unfastens the reins around your torso, and frees you from captivity. With an awkward tap of his thin black rod on the soft ground, he departs for the stables, walking stiffly.

A soft breeze catches your extremely short crêpe skirt, and you shiver from your relative lack of clothing in the autumn air. You're unsure what to do now that you're alone with the Royal Interpreter and her rabbit -- one of the hundreds you had found beneath the hollow of the tree during the Hunt.

After that day, you had spent a week confined to some dusty tower where not even Pig could manage to visit you. The only interruption to your isolation came when a handmaiden would enter to feed you gruel and change your soiled diaper. You could sense the gravity of what you had discovered in the woods, but did not fully understand what it meant...or how much danger you were in for having seen it.

The Royal Interpreter examines your face as Mouse lows softly a short distance away. You grasp at your skirts and perform a quick curtsy, but are too terrified to add the customary giggle. At last, the young woman speaks:

"You were the heir to the Duchy of Berceau."

It doesn't appear to be a question, and you're unsure how to react. It was a title you had not heard in so long...for over a year, you have simply been 'squire' or 'it.' You lower your chin in the gentlest nod.

The Royal Interpreter bends at the knees, letting the rabbit in her hands wriggle out of her grasp and hop a few paces away, where it grooms itself carelessly. She then lifts the hem of her dress and steps over to a milking stool near Mouse's pen, easing herself down before patting her legs with both hands.

"Come. Sit on my lap."

You're breathing heavily. A few moments ago, you had imagined you were about to be imprisoned in an enormous diaper and tossed into the pen with mindless, mooing Mouse, living out the rest of your miserable days as Her Majesty's milk cow. With Blackwood dismissed and the so-called "Queen" paying no heed, you're now entirely unsure what this is all about. With another curtsy, you approach the Royal Interpreter and allow your diaper to squish against her knee, which she begins to bounce as she wraps a firm hand around your back. Deprived of Pig's companionship for more than a week, you can't help but gasp and feel excited as the mushy padding massages you down below.

"Once upon a time," the young woman says, keeping up the rhythm of her bouncing. "There was a beautiful princess who was the jewel of the land. Everyone from the highest noble to the lowliest commoner was smitten with her charms. Her mother hoped she would grow to become a powerful and fearsome Queen, but the princess had a secret."

The Royal Interpreter brushes a lock of hair from your eyes before sliding one of her thumbs between your open lips. Paralyzed with confusion, you simply suckle and slurp on the young woman's hand as she goes on with her tale.

"The princess could not keep her bed dry. Throughout her life, a laundress came each morning to collect the wet linens and replace them with new, before any of the servants could see. The laundress had a daughter, in whom the princess often confided. They would sneak off into the woods and find places to hide, where the two of them could talk and play make-believe all day."

Your cheeks bulge around the young woman's thumb as you continue to suckle. A clattering of bells behind you announces that Mouse has clambered back. Drool drips from their mouth as they eye you curiously.

"The princess and her friend loved the woods, where they would imagine themselves as all manner of animals. One day, while hunting, the Queen discovered the princess pretending to be a rabbit. All the lords and ladies saw this woman of majority hopping about, eating scraps from the ground, and wetting the diapers the laundress' daughter had swaddled her in. The Queen was furious! She swore an actual rabbit would sit on the throne before she ever let the princess lead her kingdom, insane as she must have been."

The young woman begins bouncing you faster as Mouse moos plaintively, and you thrust your hips in unison, aching for relief.

"When the Queen died unexpectedly, the disinherited princess simply vanished. It was just as well, for that last promise made in a moment of anger was enforcable by law: a rabbit was crowned in her stead. The kingdom descended into chaos, until the laundress' daughter stepped forward. She could speak to the rabbit...and tell the ministers and councilors and bishops and generals everything they wanted to hear. They were so desperate for a leader, they allowed themselves to believe it was true."

"There were advantages to this strange zoocracy," she goes on. "When illness or old age or a clever assassin got the better of Her Majesty, another rabbit was always in waiting. The laundress' daughter kept hundreds in the woods, along with her favorite pet of all."

You inhale sharply and mumble around the thumb in your mouth. "Duh pwincess."

"Yes, the 'pwincess,'" the Royal Interpreter nods, stone-faced despite her amusement. "The princess who was unfit to rule, for she desired nothing more than to live as a diapered pet, and to toy with other diapered pets like her. But the laundress' daughter sought her advice on every detail of governing. And together, they hatched a scheme where Her Majesty would train squires to entertain and serve at court. Diapered squires who barked and giggled and made fools of themselves, just as the princess had made a fool of herself...all so she could at last return home."

"But even the princess needed to be broken."

You hear the familiar voice interrupt the story, and a soft hand press into the front of your diaper from behind. You moan and squirm as Pig, who had approached from outside your view, kneads your padding gently. The Royal Interpreter continues to bounce her knee and stroke your slurping tongue with her thumb.

"The princess had begun having second thoughts," the Royal Interpreter goes on. "The laundress' daughter was terrified of losing her friend again. But she had power now -- perhaps more than anyone had ever had. She would train her lovely squire to love this new life, just as she would all of her squires thereafter."

"Or, out of jealous love," Pig says -- you feel their lips brush against your ear as they grab your head and twist it to face Mouse, who moos and floods their massive diaper with yet more sludge -- "She would turn her into this."

You scream, not from terror, but from ecstasy. The bouncing of the young woman's knee, the manipulations of Pig's hand, the thumb in your mouth and the sight of Mouse's humiliation forge a cacophony of sensations that send you spinning over the edge. Your hips buckle and shake as you search out every last drop of pleasure within the thick diaper that has become your most beloved companion. You fall back against Pig and continue to suckle the thumb, bathing in the glow of your dissipating excitement.

For the first time ever, you see the Royal Interpreter smile. It is soft, and cruel, and beautiful.

"The end."

👑 👑 👑

You are reminded of your first day at court as your heels clack against the marble: all the eyes of the lords and ladies burning into your skin as you danced and sang and showed off your diapers like a giggling fool. You suppose it was not so different from how today will transpire. Some lecherous lord is sure to pick you up and slap your diapered bottom. You will certainly laugh and curtsy as you're ordered to crawl on your knees, to eat something off the floor, or to climb into a lap and fill up your padding.

But today it will feel different. Because today you will have a name.

The Royal Interpreter sits on her throne, stroking some rabbit or another who has been chosen to play the Queen. There is no flicker of recognition in her face; no betrayal of your chance meeting in the hollow or of the story she told you at the Dairy. In a way, you are as terrified of this woman as you ever were. Because now you know the fate that will befall you if you ever dare to cross her.

Pig's glittering pink hair catches your eye as you stoop into a curtsy before the Queen. They smile mysteriously, having found the perfect spot to witness your naming.

A nervous dribble fills your diaper, and you giggle genuinely. Never have you been so proud to be so humiliated.

The Royal Interpreter lifts the rabbit to her ear to make a show of listening intently. Your stomach churns as she sets the creature down in her lap, knowing your moment has finally come.

"Little Sparrow."

The words are non-chalant, almost bored. But it doesn't matter. Tears of joy roll down your cheeks and you fall to your knees, overwhelmed with excitement. You see Pig lick their lips, perhaps imagining how they intend to celebrate with you when the evening comes to an end.

You are a squire. At last, a proper squire!

And you will be a squire forever.

A Story by Paci

Thank you for reading.

#ab dl diaper #ab dl lifestyle #ab dl mommy #diaper pee #diaper sissy #diaper training #diaper gal #diapered247 #ab dl girl #huc0w

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alwayschasingrainbows · 6 months

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My little quest to find the most iconic dresses for Montgomery's girls.

None of the pictures is mine. They are all from Pinterest. They may be historically inaccurate. They are also not ideal :).

Valancy Stirling:

"She got a pretty green crêpe dress with a girdle of crimson beads, at a bargain sale, a pair of silk stockings, to match, and a little crinkled green hat with a crimson rose in it." (The Blue Castle).

"She had a little smoke-blue chiffon which she always put on when they spent the evening at home—smoke-blue with touches of silver about it." (The Blue Castle).

My idea of what Valancy's (borrowed) masquerade dress MIGHT have looked like.

"Once they did go to a masquerade dance in the pavilion at one of the hotels up the lake, and had a glorious evening, but slipped away in their canoe, before unmasking time, back to the Blue Castle." (The Blue Castle).

Emily Byrd Starr

On the left: "It is to be of shot silk, blue in one light, silver in others, like a twilight sky, glimpsed through a frosted window-pane—with a bit of lace-foam here and there, like those little feathers of snow clinging to my window-pane." (Emily Climbs)

On the right: "An arrow of rhinestones in her dark hair—she had hair that wore jewels well—lent the necessary note of brilliance to the new dress of silvery-green lace over a pale-blue slip that became her so well." (Emily's Quest).

On the left: "it was a pretty crepe thing, of a pinkish-grey—the shade, I think, which was then called ashes-of-roses—and was made collarless—a great concession on Elizabeth's part—with the big puffed sleeves that look very absurd to-day, but which, like every other fashion, were pretty and piquant when worn by the youth and beauty of their time." (Emily Climbs).

On the right: "I want you to wear harebell blue gauze over ivory taffeta for your bridesmaid dress, darling" (Emily's Quest).

Anne Shirley:

"Oh, how pretty it was—a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck. But the sleeves—they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon." (Anne of Green Gables).

"In her light dress, with her slender delicacy, she made him think of a white iris." (Anne of Island).

Rilla Blythe

"Miss Oliver, shall I wear my white dress tonight or my new green one? The green one is by far the prettier, of course, but I'm almost afraid to wear it to a shore dance for fear something will happen to it." (Rilla of Ingleside).

Pat Gardiner:

On the right: "Pat slipped into the house and flung a bright-hued scarf over her brown dress with its neck-frill of pleated pink chiffon. She always thought she looked nicer in that dress than any other." (Pat of Silver Bush).

On the left: "Pat had on her blue linen afternoon dress...which, incidentally, was the most becoming thing she owned."(Pat of Silver Bush).

And bonus:

Robin Stuart

"She wore a dress of pale yellow taffeta, with a great rose of deeper yellow velvet at one of her beautiful shoulders. Jane thought she looked like a lovely golden princess, with the slender flame of the diamond bracelet on the creamy satin of her arm."(Jane of Lantern Hill).

"[M]other came in to kiss her good night, cool, slim and fragrant, in a dress of rose crêpe with little wisps of lace over the shoulders. Mother's blue eyes seemed to mist a little."(Jane of Lantern Hill).

"She wore a green dress the first time I saw her...well, if any other girl had worn the dress, it would have been a green dress and nothing more. On Robin it was magic ...mystery...the robe of Titania. I would have kissed the hem of it." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Another bonus (because her style is so iconic):

Ilse Burnley

"Ilse in a yellow silk gown the colour of her hair and a golden-brown hat the colour of her eyes, giving you the sensation that a gorgeous golden rose was at large in the garden." (Emily's Quest).

"Ilse, a glorified shining creature in torquoise-blue taffeta, looking the queen with a foam of laces on her full bosom and rose-and-silver nosegays at her shoulder." (Emily's Quest).

Hope you enjoyed this little compilation:) Feel free to add more ideas!

#lm montgomery #the blue castle #emily of new moon #pat of silver bush #anne of green gables #anne of island #rilla of ingleside #fashion #jane of lantern hill

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