#her chignon

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

Empress Alexandra Feodorovna greets her uncle King Edward VII in Denmark, September 1901. 

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

wonderful to see that the "pweease stop [clown shoes SQUEAKING] being so mweaan to mwystwaaa [CLOWN SHOES SQUEAKING INTENSIFIES] its so misogynistic!!!"[CLOWN SHOES SQUE-] movement is in full swing for some fucking reason??

[opalsiren]

breaking my silence. the grammys look was gorge EXCEPT for her hair. the gown and the gloves and the stacked necklaces with the more understated slingbacks and elegant make-up were perfect but her hair just ruined it. truly it looked messy and undone and not in an intentional way, plus the braid did not suit the tone of the overall look. a simple updo like for her new year's serve, or even some old school hollywood waves like she wore at the poor things premiere would have slayed. if it is to be said, so it be

[sophswritingthings]

I was thinking abt english!reader back to japan with mizu, she doesn't have any experience with chopsticks, right? So I was thinking about having diner, taigen ranting and everything and mizu halfway through her meal just notices readers meal untouched and reader struggling so she just ends up feeding reader.

(also i don't know if you do rq but if you like I would be glad if you elaborated more :])

pairing: mizu x fem!english!reader

warning(s): light swearing, taigen is a warning in itself 

a/n: this hits home because I a basic american do not know how to use chopsticks

summary: your eating dinner when mizu notices you not eating. her eyes travel to your hands, messing with the chopsticks in your hands.

word count: 554 words / 3,063 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your eyes flickered from mizu to taigen, watching as the pair chatted. well, it was mostly taigen talking— ranting about his days work, and how his chignon had finally grown back after mizu had sliced it clean off. 

than, your eyes landed on your food.

it was good food, yes, ringo had cooked it—and he was an excellent cook.

yet you hadn’t touched it.

your eyes than drifted to the chopsticks, letting out a quiet enough sigh that mizu couldn’t hear it. you had come from england where they used utensils such as forks, knives, and spoons.

here, they used chopsticks. sticks, to eat your food.

it’s not that you didn’t respect the culture, by not using them—

—you seriously just didn’t know how to use them.

so, you left your food untouched. 

mizu felt her attention drifting away from taigen, tired of listening to his voice, if she were being completely honest with herself. her blue eyes landed on you.

you.. weren’t eating.

she watched as you spun the chopsticks in your fingers, gazing down at them with somewhat of a sad expression on your lips.

“my love…” she whispered, seeing your head perk up a little, “why haven’t you eaten?”

you looked away, embarrassed by your lack of knowledge, “I-I don’t..” you murmured. “I-I don’t know how to use these.”

you held the chopsticks up to her, her expression softening at your words. she nodded, sliding closer to you. she grabbed the chopsticks from your hands.

“I can show you later,” she whispered. “for now.. you need to eat.”

mizu slid the chopsticks into the noddles, picking a few up and holding them up to your lips.

you giggled at her, your face blushing red as you allowed her to feed you. 

".. you two are weird," taigen huffed, folding his arms across his chest, "now, are we going to get back to our conversation, mizu, or not?"

she rolled her eyes, "you think im weird for making sure my wife eats?"

"not that she eats, that you're feeding her like a baby bird!" taigen hissed, "now answer my question."

"hmm--no," she hummed, turning back to look at you as you happily allowed her to feed you.

after taigen and ringo had left, mizu sat you comfortably back at the table--sitting herself behind you. she grabbed the chopsticks, and adjusted one in the crease where your thumb met your palm.

"now bend your finger," she gently pushed on your pointer finger, creasing it a little and sliding the other stick under your bended finger.

she straightened out your middle finger, and curled the rest of your fingers downward.

"now hold this one with these two fingers," she adjusted your ring and pink against the first chopstick. "and this one with these fingers."

she adjusted your middle and pointer against the second stick, holding it firmly so it would slip away.

"now eat," she let go of your hands, and wrapped her arms around your waist.

you weren't the best at it, but you managed to pick up the food well enough to eat.

"now you don't need me to feed you." she chuckles.

you laugh along with her, and place a kiss on her forehead. "thank you, sweetheart. can we please go to sleep? i've had enough of taigen for one evening."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: I literally pulled up a pic of how chopsticks were supposed to be held (step by step) and just wrote that shit down. next time I eat with those fuckers im coming back to this fic

[runningquill-art]

“Macmillan,” said Draco, shaking his hand. “How are you? Introduce me to your fr–”

The lovely woman turned towards Draco as he spoke.

It was bloody. F**king. Granger.

Draco’s shock was such that he almost heaved up his martini.

But it was her. Her unruly hair was caught into an elegant chignon at the base of her neck. Her usual attire was replaced by a long green gown, probably Muggle in provenance, but nevertheless beautifully tailored. Her intense gaze was made even more so by the dark smudges of some cosmetic thing or other around her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” asked Draco, freshly perturbed, because he had been imagining this woman’s back and bum from all kinds of interesting angles for the past quarter hour and it was f**king Granger.

Literally. F**king. Granger.” - Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, Chapter 8: The Party/Orphans, Or Something, by @isthisselfcare

-

DMATMOOBIL art 22/?

[little-lynx]

Mademoiselle Marguerite

The woman waiting in the open velvet drapes might not be someone from my past, but she still demands attention. She’s younger than I was expecting, about the same age as me, I think. Dressed in a satiny, plum colored shirt dress with a wide, black leather belt. A broad brimmed black hat that looks like it walked out of the forties is angled to cover her right eye. Her golden blonde hair is draped artfully around her face and pulled into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. Her lips are slicked with dark cherry red lipstick. / Spellbound by @katnissdoesnotfollowback , chapter 16

—————————

P.S. Am I back? I'm not sure. But who knows.

[ortizselene]

The granola she had forced down felt uncomfortable in her stomach— hard and nauseating, as if she'd swallowed little pebbles instead of the fortifying breakfast they usually were. Ugh. She shouldn't have had anything. Not today. Not when she was seeing Kieran again.

Selene lingers in the hallway, face hot, arms hot, hands cold, dread and longing mixing impossibly inside the cavity of her chest, head swiveling at every footstep she heard, starched shirts and black Jimmy Choo's slipping in and out of offices. Somewhere in there was Kieran.

Somewhere in there was the person she held closest to her heart. Not for the first time, Selene curses her father for having to meet in these circumstances. And not for the last time, Selene curses herself for being complicit in the betrayal of her own heart. And maybe her best friend too.

But years had passed since college— it was possible that Kieran simply didn't care. Maybe to him, she just represented the faded imprint of nostalgia. Textbooks wet with the circle of a beer can. A tight embrace before finals week. Maybe it didn't matter to Kieran she was engaged to his brother, and training her would simply be a chore rather than the marathon of pain it felt like to Selene. Maybe he barely thought of her at all these days. After all. Wasn't he essentially running a Fortune 500?

Selene tucks her fingers her fingers into her chignon for an unnecessary adjustment— it looked fine, it always looked fine when she was so careful about the imagine she cultivated. Her father made sure of that. What no amount of adjusting could fix was her heart, which sat in her chest flayed and raw and aching.

[asukiess]

literally cannot get short haired maribug out of my head.

her pigtails are so long, middle-back long, and Alya and Kagami love love love to braid it and run their hands through it and say how cute she is with long hair and when she doesn’t want to take do anything to it for fancy events and just want to throw it in a chignon, they come over to talk and do her hair—

but chat’s always on her fucking hair. he throws his arm around her cheekily during an interview and she’s steaming because she can’t move her head now without it being caught on his arm, his cuff. he rolls her to save her and she’s like “get UP!!! I’m on my own hair ow ow”, or he hugs her from behind and she’s like “this is really sweet but please move my pigtails to the front so help me god”

so she has her first big Chop and gets a pixie

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Although People Magazine is aligned with The Meghans, they could not ignore Catherine & Charlotte's mini me moment at the Coronation.

The Princess of Wales and her only daughter, Princess Charlotte, were featured in the number four (4) spot of 2023's Top 10 Style Moments.

What People Magazine should have printed: "Both the Princess of Wales and her daughter wore headpieces that featured three-dimensional leaf embroidery created by milliner Jess Collett for Alexander McQueen. Both made with silver bullion, crystals, and silver thread. A spectacle from every angle, the Coronation chignon, which mimicked the intricacy of her silver leaf headpiece, epitomised regal modernity." Quote from fashion Blogger

Even Omit's former employer, Harper's Bazaar dropped "Kate Middleton": "The princess' hair is styled in an elegant updo and she does not wear a tiara, as was previously expected; instead, she wears a Jess Collett x Alexander McQueen headpiece with silver bullion, crystal, and a silver threaded three-dimensional leaf embroidery. She wears the jewels with an Alexander McQueen dress in ivory silk crepe with silver bullion and embroidery featuring rose, thistle, daffodil, and shamrock motifs. Over it, she wears a blue formal robe, at the monarch's request."

No one in the US will purchase The Meghans covers. In order to sell their stories, The Prince & Princess of Wales are typically pictured alongside any Sussex reports. Unfortunately Omit's voice seems to be the silent (royal) contributor for many US reports.

[citizenscreen]

Josephine Baker’s four-foot chignon is wound up into three tiers of buns in her dressing room, 1951.

[empirearchives]

Portrait of a woman with her two children

Circa 1804, Napoleonic era, by François-Joseph Kinson

This family portrait is very interesting because it illustrates the fashion of Napoleon’s time. The mother wears a velvet dress with the characteristic high waist and puffed sleeves. Her dark blue dress with a short corsage is set with decorations inspired by military uniforms. Kinson very carefully painted these brandebourgs of gold thread and the matching knotted string with two tassels. The daughter is portrayed in a fashionable white silk dress finished with a fur strip. Her updo is very similar to her mother’s: with a parting in the middle, a chignon at the back of the head and graceful ringlets along the temples. Her brother is depicted in a dark-colored suit with a white shirt underneath with a stand-up collar. The luxurious red cashmere scarf on the velvet upholstered sofa completes the empire portrait.

(Musea Brugge)

[moodymelanist]

Hair pulling / rough sex for nessian!

send help I’m addicted to writing mean and possessive Cassian and it’s all @dustjacketmusings and @c-e-d-dreamer’s faults

When Nesta finally got home from her work gala, Cassian was up waiting for her. She hadn’t been able to get a plus one for tonight, so when he’d gotten home from the gym, their apartment had been far too quiet for his liking.

“Hey baby,” she greeted him with a soft smile as she walked into their bedroom.

“Hey,” he replied, unable to take his eyes off her. He’d been relaxing on top of the covers, the ends of his hair still a little damp from his post-gym shower, but the sight of her had him sitting all the way up. “Woah.”

Nesta looked absolutely stunning in her dark blue dress and matching heels. She’d smoothed her hair back into a neat chignon, and the combination of her dress’ sweetheart neckline and her hair being pulled up was really doing it for him. The dress made her eyes look even bluer than usual, and he was torn between wanting to peel it off her or watching her walk around in it for a little longer.

Cassian hadn’t gotten a chance to see her in person before she’d left for her gala, and he knew right away that if he’d caught a glimpse of her beforehand, there was no way he would’ve let her out the house looking like that.

Now that Nesta was finally home, though… Cassian couldn’t wait to ruin her.

“How was your night?” Nesta asked, completely unaware of the direction Cassian’s thoughts had taken. She kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief before moving onto her earrings, turning to look at him with one brow raised when he didn’t answer her right away. “Cassian?”

“It was fine,” Cassian eventually answered with a lightness he didn’t quite feel. He was far too busy thinking about all the ways he was going to make her beg for his cock. “How was yours?”

“It was fine,” she replied slowly. She placed her earrings up in her jewelry organizer, caught his eye in the reflection of the mirror hanging above the dresser, and frowned a little. “Are you okay?”

“Am I supposed to be okay with knowing you got all dressed up for other people to look at you?” he asked. He made a point of trailing his eyes over her slowly, from the top of her golden-brown head to the bottom of her tights-clad feet.

Nesta visibly swallowed, her cheeks flushing slightly as she realized what game they were playing. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” Cassian asked, getting off the bed so he could come stand behind her. “Which part of that was confusing for you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t care about other people looking at me,” she answered. She inhaled sharply as he pressed himself against her, letting her feel the way his cock was already starting to harden. “I just care about you.”

“So other people were looking at you,” he replied, focusing on the first half of what she’d said even though the second half made him want to smile. This game of theirs wasn’t much for smiling, though, so he shoved it down. “Was it fun?”

“No,” she denied immediately.

“No?” he repeated. He was picking up steam now, and it probably wouldn’t be much longer until he got to take her apart. “It wasn’t fun having every man in the room panting over you?”

“Nobody was panting,” she insisted. “I mean, a few guys tried to flirt with me, but I didn’t—”

“What,” Cassian said flatly. He played up his possessive streak when they did this, but the thought of some guy trying to talk to Nesta when he wasn’t around made his blood boil. “What did you just say?”

Nesta’s breathing picked up. “I didn’t — I told them all to fuck off. I promise.”

“You didn’t tell everyone you were taken?” he asked. “That you already belonged to somebody?”

“It was a work event,” she countered.

“Yeah,” he told her. “You probably couldn’t tell them that you’re mine.”

“No,” she breathed.

Cassian pressed in even closer, really grinding his hips into the curve of her ass now. “I guess it’d be unprofessional to say that I own you, right?”

“A little,” Nesta said, her voice hesitant as she tried to work out where he was leading her.

“But it wouldn’t be wrong to say,” he said back. His right hand let go of the dresser in favor of creeping up to wrap around her throat. “Would it?”

“No.” Her heart was beating fast where his thumb was pressed against her pulse. “I’m yours.”

“Say it again,” he demanded.

“I’m yours,” she repeated back to him, the sound like music to his ears. “Only yours.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he told her serenely. “But a little reminder never hurt anyone, did it?”

Cassian gave Nesta’s throat one last squeeze before he took a step back from her warm body. He yanked up the hem of her dress, exposing the thin material of her tights and the dark color of her underwear underneath them, and made quick work of removing every barrier between his mouth and her cunt. From there, it was easy to press a hand to her shoulders and bend her over the dresser. She was so gorgeous bent over like that that he almost said fuck it and stuffed her full of his cock, but she was even more beautiful when he’d made her come first, so he decided to stick with his original plan.

“Oh, fuck,” Nesta moaned as Cassian spread her legs apart, sank to the floor, and buried his face between her legs. “Oh my God.”

Cassian groaned right back, the taste of her nearly overwhelming him. He’d been thinking about this from the moment he’d gotten home, and if it were up to him, he’d let her sit on his face and use him to come any time she wanted.

It wasn’t always up to him, but right now, it absolutely was.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he told her, pulling his mouth away so he could slide a finger inside her instead. “And all mine.”

Nesta rocked her hips back, silently demanding more, and Cassian was more than happy to give her what she wanted. He added another finger and had to bite down on the inside of his cheek as he watched her take it, his cock so hard now it was almost painful. She was always beautiful, but watching her take any part of him — his fingers, his tongue, his cock — would always make him go a little crazier than anything else.

“God, Cassian,” Nesta moaned as she writhed above him. “Love you, love your fingers, feel so good—”

Cassian knew Nesta’s body almost as well as he knew his own, and he’d gotten her off this way so many times that he knew what all those delicious, choked-off whimpers meant. He didn’t dare change what he was doing, not when she was this close to the edge, and continued to suck at her

Nesta cried out loudly as she came, her body tensing as her orgasm swept over her. Cassian couldn’t see her face in the mirror from where he was kneeling, but hearing her moan and whimper through it was almost as good. His tongue didn’t stop until she reached around and swatted at his head, and he gave her clit one last flick of his tongue before he pulled away.

“What’s your color?” Cassian asked once he’d stood up. Nesta was still bent over and her head was tucked into her arms, so he leaned closer to her ear to make sure she could hear him. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m so fucking green right now,” came Nesta’s muffled reply.

“There’s my good girl,” he replied, the praise rolling easily off his tongue. “You ready to keep being good?”

“Yes,” she answered. She finally raised her head up and he was pleased to see her mascara was a little smudged around the edges. “I’ll always be your good girl.”

“That’s right,” he agreed, sneaking a kiss to the side of her temple before standing back up. She tried to follow him up, but he pressed a hand to her back to keep her bent over. “Did I tell you to move?”

“No,” she breathed. He knew how much she loved when he manhandled her, and he wasn’t about to let her mess up the fun. “I’m sorry.”

“I move you when you need to move,” he told her, moving his hand off her back so he could untie the loose pants he’d been wearing. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so his cock bobbed freely in the air once his pants were off. “You understand?”

Nesta nodded furiously, the motion dislodging some of the pins in her hair. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry.”

Cassian had been ready to fuck Nesta’s brains out, but he paused when he realized her hair must have been killing her. He reached out and pulled pins out at random until her hair fell around her shoulders, her sigh of relief proving his guess right.

“Much better,” he said, giving her scalp a quick scratch before he dropped the pins into a random container on their dresser. They could sort that out later; he had other, much more important plans right now.

Nesta sucked in a breath to speak, presumably to thank him for letting her hair down, but Cassian stole the words right out of her mouth. Whatever she was going to say was swallowed by a shocked little gasp when he rubbed his cock against her cunt and slowly thrusted inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Cassian groaned as his cock was enveloped in Nesta’s tight heat. They’d had a lot of sex over the years, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she fit perfectly around his cock. “So perfect.”

“Been thinking about this all night,” Nesta moaned from below him. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” he asked, using his free hand to grip her hip as he began a steady rhythm. She was still mostly dressed, so he had to slide under the fabric of her hiked-up dress to get a hand on her bare skin. “Were you thinking about me when those motherfuckers were trying to flirt with you?”

“I only think about you,” she answered breathily. “Nobody else can — oh, fuck, baby — fuck me like you.”

“Nobody else,” he agreed. He shifted the hand on her back higher so that he was holding the back of her neck, and the force of his thrusts made her shift a little onto her toes. “I’m the only one who can give this needy little pussy what it needs.”

“Because it’s yours,” she replied, moaning as she tried to arch her back for an even deeper angle. “I’m yours, everything is yours—”

Nesta knew every single button of his to push, and Cassian loved her for it. It made him want to see her face that much more, so he stopped pushing down on her back and moved his hand upwards until her hair was in reach.

“Look at me,” Cassian demanded, wrapping hand around the bronze curtain of her hair and pulling.

Nesta gasped as her head was suddenly yanked up, her eyes wide as she met his gaze in the mirror. “Cassian!”

“Every noise out of your pretty little mouth,” he growled, fucking her hard and fast now, “is mine. You understand?”

“Yes, yes, fuck,” she agreed, panting. She looked absolutely debauched and he loved it. “I’m yours, I told you, nobody else—”

Cassian’s orgasm hit him so strongly and so suddenly it was a miracle his knees didn’t buckle. He pulled Nesta as close as humanly possible and thrusted hard, grinding his cock as deeply into her as he could while pleasure washed over him.

“Love you so much, sweetheart,” Cassian panted into her ear the second he could speak again. He gently untangled his hand from her hair and pressed a series of kisses to the side of her face, already switching into take care of Nesta mode. “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” Nesta eventually responded, her eyes fluttering shut. “So good. Love you too.”

He chuckled softly to himself before gently pulling out. “Come on, Nes. Let’s get you into the shower.”

“How was your gala, anyway?” Cassian asked after they’d showered, put on fresh pajamas, and gotten into bed. He looked at her with a cheeky grin before adding, “I promise I’m actually listening this time.”

Nesta stared at him for a few moments before fondly rolling her eyes. “It was fine. Thanks for asking.”

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard | @thatsowlmazing | @avidromancereader | @a-little-disguised | @kale-theteaqueen

[sophswritingthings]

I’m eating up these Mizu fics you’re doing such a good job!! 💕

I was wondering if you could do a continuation of the baby fic or maybe something completely separate, where the reader finds a baby is like ‘ok cool this is mine now’ and Mizu becomes very attached to the baby

I just crave some domestic fluff with Mizu and a lil baby💕

pairing: mizu x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing

a/n: ya'll love that mizu and children domestic fluff, don’t you! 

summary: you found a young girl on the streets; an infant. you and your wife, mizu, decide to take it into your care.

word count: 581 words / 3,057 characters

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you duck into the alleyway, under the lights and the frills of it all. a small girl—an infant—probably not even a year old.. sits just in the back of the alleyway, tucked in pieces of cloth and trash.

you glance at mizu over your shoulder, your eyes hopeful.

“we can’t just leave her here,” you whisper. “can we..”

she sighs, folding her arms across her chest. she wasn’t one for children; or an extra person to feed and take care of—but she knew how upset you'd be if you had to leave it there.

“fine,” she ducks out of the alleyway, waiting for you to follow with the baby in your arms.

you did so, cradling the infant in your arms as it whined and cried.

that look in your eyes; that look of happiness and kindness. that’s what fueled her decision to allow you to take it. to see you happy was all that she ever wanted.

“we can stay here, tonight,” she walked into an empty cabin, the light of fire warming the building. once you walked in, she shut the door behind you to keep the cold out. 

“here,” you handed her the baby, to which she held quite awkwardly—and away from her body. you giggled at her action, wading into the kitchen. “watch her while I make food.” you call from the other room.

she settled down on the mattress, removing her hat and overcoat. 

she was looking down at the baby, which was now rested in her lap. the young girl looked up at her with interest. mizu raised an eyebrow at the girl.

she giggled, reaching her hands up to grab at mizu’s face, effectively dragging down her glasses.

mizu couldn’t help but smile at the action; chuckling a little. 

she stuck out one finger, allowing the small girl to latch onto it. in which she did, smiling and giggling up at mizu.

the girl reached up again, tugging on mizu's strand of hair that poked out from her chignon. 

“hmmm,” she hummed, allowing the girl to mess with her hair, her hands. her glasses, even.

you popped up behind her, resting one hand on her shoulder, the other holding a bowl of noodles.

“see, she isn’t that bad, is she?” you smile, sitting down beside your wife and resting your head on her shoulder.

“I—guess not,” she mumbled, obviously not wanting to admit how much she enjoyed having the child around already. it was as if you and her were a normal couple; with a child and all.

“hm,” you hum, lifting the baby from her lap and cradling her in your arms as you began to feed her.

she couldn’t help but blush at the sight; she felt like a girl with a crush on you again. as if you weren’t her wife. you looked so beautiful like this, you really did. the care and attention you put into the young one warmed her heart.

she leaned down to press a kiss against your head.

“hm?” you glance up at her, raising an eyebrow with a smile, “what is that for?”

“you just look so lovely,” she smiles, kissing your head again. “and I love you.”

your heart melts at her words. mizu would never one to be very expressive with her feelings; but here she was, pouring those very feelings out to you.

“yeah? I love you too, darling. and soon this little girl will know our very love and affection, too.”

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a/n: also thank you 😮‍💨 I am a very tired lil author who is trying to balance forty requests, school, and choir competitions!! so hearing i am doing a good job is very nice… 🥲

[jomiddlemarch]

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

It was not that he was waiting for her as much as that he was most often in the faculty sitting room at this hour and so was she and the staff knew to leave out a full tea service and also a magically chilled bottle of very dry amontillado, the color of her eyes. And then to tell anyone else that the room was occupied and that they were not to be disturbed.

It wasn’t that he was waiting for her, but he did look up when she came into the room, letting the ancient, rare and precious book he held slip out of his hand, an instinctive, wandless spell keeping it from clattering onto the floor.

“You cut your hair,” Draco said. 

Any pretense to eloquence, savoir-faire, or intellectual rigor associated with achieving his Potions Mastery and Mwandamizi kemia had been decimated by the four words, uttered in a tone of complete shock, which given his Pureblood upbringing meant flat, with a hint of scorn. He had spent the past twelve years working to convince Hermione he wasn’t that man anymore, the one who would have meant the scorn, the fault-finding appraisal, cold and superior and not terribly clever underneath it all.

(The one he’d felt doomed to become before the chandelier fell in his family’s ballroom. Before she’d testified to keep him out of Azkaban. Before she’d returned his formal letter of apology with a brief addendum You were a child, Draco an absolution he didn’t deserve.)

Blaise always said he was his own worst enemy. Theo always nodded and offered a glass of single malt Scotch. Neville always shrugged and tried to reassure Draco, meandering through some nonsense about how they’d all had to grow up too soon, let down by the adults, forced to experience trauma that they’d been lucky to survive and a plate of buttered toast would soon set him to rights.

Luna changed the subject and talked about some possibly fictional chimerical creature to take his mind off his shortcomings. It never worked but he appreciated her effort and consistency.

“I suppose that’s better than ‘Bloody hell.’ And “Holy fucking Christ.’ Harry reverts to Muggle obscenity when he’s really surprised,” Hermione replied. “You only told me what I already know, as I didn’t accidentally fall into a Mongolian silver scissor-bush.”

“Is that a thing?” Draco asked. 

He had to keep talking but there was a lot to take in, the startlingly gorgeous line of her bare neck, the angle of her jaw, how her eyes looked enormous, luminous. How her chestnut hair was swept across her brow and came to a delicate little point on the nape of her neck, all these hidden aspects suddenly marvels revealed. Suddenly, astonishingly breath-taking and erotic and also heart-breaking, because he’d wanted so to run his fingers through her loose hair, to stand behind her and draw a brush through her curls. Watching her eyes get drowsy in the dressing-table’s looking-glass, resting a hand on her bare shoulder and feeling the tickling silk of her hair. He’d wanted to cast the spell that ended the charm securing her chignon, to pull out the jeweled pins she used to keep her braids in the coronet around her head. 

“No. It sounds like something Luna would mention though,” Hermione shrugged. It was as if he’d never seen the gesture before.

“It’s a lot to take in,” he said.

“It’s actually not. It’s both literally and figuratively not,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Snape being a double-agent in love with Harry’s mum was a lot to take in. Any Sunday lunch at Molly Weasley’s table is a lot to take in. War and Peace in the original Russian without a translation charm is a lot to take in. I took off a few inches—”

“A few inches?”

“Fine, I got the first professional, Muggle, haircut of my adult life because I was fed up with my hair and charms and Sleekeezy and glamours, so many glamours, and you would think I have announced I am Grindelwald’s secret lovechild,” she said in a tone of complete exasperation, pursing her lips in a matching moué he felt an impossible urge to kiss very thoroughly and until she was gasping his name. 

He was fairly certain that action would not be requited, not now, and potentially not ever.

But definitely not now.

She was now almost glaring at him, waiting for a response.

If this was ever to become something beyond hopeless pining, if he were ever to be allowed to call her sweetheart and coax her back to bed, he couldn’t get the next part wrong.

“Are you happy with it?” he said. It was a gamble, saying anything would have been a gamble, but there was a chance he’d gotten it right.

He’d surprised her, that he could tell instantly, though her face changed very subtly. It meant no one else who’d seen her had asked and considered she might be. No one else had thought about why she’d done it, only what they thought of it. Evidently, both Weasley and Potter had indicated a negative response, Weasley likely driven by his own unrealized Pureblood upbringing, where all witches wanted the long hair associated with power and Potter never wanted her to be anything other than she’d been in their youth, when her unruly hair was her most obvious signifier.

“Yes, I think I am,” she said. 

“That’s good. That’s what matters,” he said. He was supposed to reference the book he’d been reading or follow-up on their most recent conversation about geopolitics or whether Chopin was a Squib or at the very least offer her something to drink, the tea first and then, when she demurred, the sherry. But all of those would require him to look away from her and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Not quite yet.

“I ought to have done it a long time ago,” she said. She spoke without her usual forthright confidence, but also without any of the regret the statement might have implied. She sounded hesitant, as if she wanted something from him she felt she shouldn’t. Or shouldn’t ask for.

It was tempting to make some sort of declaration, offer reassurance or an argument. But he’d gotten this far by asking her a question.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. It would have been a way to move on. Grow up. Make my life easier, decide it for myself,” she said. She was watching him very closely as she spoke. She liked that he’d asked, though she wasn’t smiling. “It wouldn’t have been grief or some kind of, I don’t know, unhinged trauma response.”

It would very much have been a response to the colossal trauma she’d experienced if she’d hacked it all off after being tortured, and it wouldn’t have been unhinged when one considered the myriad extremely risky alternatives she might have chosen, but Draco wasn’t about to ruin everything. Even as his own worst enemy, he could keep from doing that.

“It could have been just something you do when you’re in your twenties, trying something out. Like, going to the Maldives or studying Norn. Learning earth magic from tribal elders in Namib.”

“Only you would saying learning earth magic in Namib is something you do in your twenties,” Draco said wryly. “Most people just go to the pub and fret a lot.”

“You didn’t,” she said.

“I think it’s well established I’m not most people,” he said.

“No. You’re not. You’re the only person who didn’t tell me cutting my hair was a terrible mistake,” she said. “As if it could even remotely compare to the other terrible mistakes I’ve made.”

“It’s not a terrible mistake,” he said. “And you’re the person I know best whose made the fewest terrible mistakes in her life and we can sit here drinking sherry talking about it because of it.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree,” she said.

“Neither would mine. I wonder how people grow up when they don’t have to discover their parents were deeply, entirely wrong about something absolutely crucial to survival,” Draco said.

“We could ask Blaise Zabini,” Hermione said after very clearly Thinking About It, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows.

“Too risky,” Draco replied. “It’s only the husbands people talk about but people have a way of disappearing when they ask questions about his mother.”

“No one would comment on her haircut,” Hermione said wistfully. “What a bloody icon.”

Draco laughed, startled.

“You’re enchanting,” he blurted out. Stupid, gauche, impulsive—he could go on (and on) about how ill-considered it had been.

“Well, I am a witch,” she said. She did not seem put off. In fact, she smiled at him, a little shyly.  “Goes with the territory—”

“You enchant me. Bewitch me,” he said, throwing caution to the winds. “You don’t want anyone to comment on how you look, so I shouldn’t but you’re exquisite—”

He broke off, fearing he’d broken it all. She was still in the room and he still had all his bits and bobs, when he knew she was a dab hand at wandless curses. It was rather late to decide discretion was the better part of valor, but better late than never.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“No,” he replied.

“I didn’t do it only for you,” she clarified. “But I was curious to see how you’d react.”

“Did you have a hypothesis? You usually do,” he said.

“Yes. You’ve exceeded it slightly,” she said. There was a gleam in those sherry-brown eyes and when she tilted her head to the side, he understood the vampire’s insatiable lust. 

“I can do better than slightly,” he said, half-dazed with the realization that she was requiting far more than he’d ever imagined. And that she’d imagined his response to seeing her bare neck, had wanted his admiration. He got up from his chair and crossed the room to her, standing close enough to take her in his arms. “I can do a wide margin. Prodigious. Overwhelmingly—”

“I like prodigious,” she said and he leaned in and kissed her parted lips softly, then deeply, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her cheek. The urge to possess her was tremendous, held in check only by an immense and constant tenderness, the moon that could pull the devouring tide back from the shore.

“Can I see overwhelmingly?” she whispered. “For comparison—”

“Of course,” he answered and moved to kiss her neck. He tasted the pulse of her carotid, sucking gently where he wanted to nip her. He moved back up to the hollow behind her ear, grazing her lobe with his tongue, then murmured,

“You cut your hair. I love it.”

[otmaaromanovas]

Ball dress worn by one of the two eldest grand duchesses, either Olga or Tatiana Nikolaevna, early 1910s.

The dress was created in France between circa 1912 and 1914, and appears to have been tailored specifically to the measurements of the grand duchess. The waist circumference is exactly 60cm (23 inches), and the back of the dress measures to 132cm (51 inches). The dress is pink in colour, comprised mainly of satin, with tulle, lace, and gauze as accessories. The chest and fringe is highly detailed with beading and appliqué in the shape of flowers. It might have been produced by the House of Frederick, established in France.

Chief of Security Alexander Spiridovitch recounts Olga Nikolaevna wearing a pink gown to the ball held in honour of her 16th birthday in Livadia, 1911:

‘The heroine of the party, Olga Nikolaevna, in a pink dress and, for the first time, her hair in a chignon, presided over a table.’

Unusually, there doesn’t appear to be any identification on the dress. Most of the four grand duchesses’ clothing had their initials stitched into the waist to help differentiate between their clothing.

Although it has been claimed that none of the four grand duchesses got to enjoy a ball during their lifetimes, their own diaries, paintings, and the memoirs from those closest to them disprove this.

Sources: Text: Hermitage Museum, The Diary of Olga Romanov: Royal Witness to the Russian Revolution by Helen Azar, Alexander Spiridovitch, Les dernières années de la cour de Tzarskoïé-Sélo, Volume 2. Paris : Payot, pp. 148-151 Photos: Hermitage Museum, Raretes(dot)R

[beansidhebumbling]

I DONT KNOW IF YOUVE DROPPED THIS WIP BUT I AM STILL THINKING NON STOP ABOUT WORKPLACE/OFFICE SMUT RHYSTA IF YOU HAVE ANY SNIPPETS FROM THAT <33333

The coffee machine was broken. It was a Thursday night and the circulation deadline for committee documents was tomorrow morning and the coffee machine was broken.

'Jesus Christ.'

Nesta murmured, banging her head gently against the cool steel of the fridge. The stray hairs of her loose chignon clung to the remnants of lipstick painted on her mouth. What had been a crisp red pout was now, at nearly midnight, the faded memory of crimson.

'That's not my name, Archeron.'

The voice came from nowhere.

Nesta screamed and whirled, swinging her arms and hitting blindly .

'JESUS CHRIST.'

The second appeal to the Saviour was loud and pained, released by Velaris & Sons' Golden Boy and Partner of Finance, Rhysand Velaris.

'Shit! Sorry!'

Nesta yelped, hovering near but never touching the Valentino-suited frame beside her. Rhysand straightened with a groan rubbing at his jaw with one of his large veined hands.

'Not very smart to assault a lawyer, Nes.'

He drawled, grabbing a napkin from the table to stem the blood flowing from a thin cut on his cheek. Her acrylics pressed marks of guilt into the palms of her hands.

'Oh for God's sake, Rhysand.'

She huffed, rolling her eyes before stuffing another napkin into his hand.

'And I told you not to call me that.'

'What? Your name?'

He sniped, annoyance flashing through violet eyes.

'Vanserra does.'

'Eris is my boss and my friend and has earned permission to use my nickname.'

His jaw only tightened with her explanation.