#side curl coiffure

[gogmstuff]

1846 Cécile Mendelssohn Bartholdy by Eduard Magnus (Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz - Berlin, Germany). From Google search; cropped frame & removed spots & flaws w Pshop & fit to screen 958X1400 @96 507kj.

[lavellenchanted]

for the fic prompt/ask.

'You're so beautiful' for Penelope/Colin

"Hmmm."

Penelope leaned forward, peering into the mirror, and after a moment's deliberation reached up to carefully loosen a few curls from her coiffure and reposition them so they draped artfully around her face.

When she was satisified she turned her head from side to side, trying to see her alterations from every angle and decide if they had worked, if they had concealed --

"Oh, you are beautiful."

Her husband's voice interrupted her thoughts and a blush of pleasure spread across her face. Well, perhaps she was worrying for nothing after all.

Smiling, she turned to thank him - only to find that Colin was nowhere in sight. Pleasure dimming a little she came along the corridor and poked her head through the drawing room door, the direction his voice had come from. Perhaps he had seen her little display from vanity from inside the room?

But no; although he was in there, he was sat with his back to the door, so there was no way he could have been talking to her.

"Colin?"

"Mm?" He turned, and Penelope could see that he was holding a half-eaten sandwich in his hands and that his mouth was full. Admittedly that was nothing unsual, and she had at least trained him enough that he swallowed before continuing, "Everything alright?"

"Colin." Penelope frowned. "Were you just calling your sandwich beautiful?"

He shrugged, completely unembarrassed. Colin's ability to breeze through situations that would leave her tomato-red with morification never ceased to impressed her. "Well. Yes. Because it is - one of the best I've had. Who did you think I was talking to?"

Shaking her head in exasperation, she came fully into the room. "I thought you were talking to me. And it was rather gratifying."

"Pen, you know I think you're lovely. But I can say it again, if you'd like?"

"Oh, don't bother." She waved him off, slumping down into a seat next to him. "If I tell you to say it rather takes the fun out of it. Besides, I'm just being silly."

Colin looked at her questioningly, setting his sandwich down on a side-table so he could give his wife his full attention. "Silly how?"

She flushed, unable to even pretend to be as brazen as him. "Oh, it's just ... well. I noticed this morning that I have a few grey hairs."

"Really? Where?"

"Colin!"

"What? I've never noticed - I was just curious," he amended hastily, but when Penelope continued to glare at him, he moved forward in his seat so that he could lean over and take both of her hands in his. Bringing them to his lips, he brushed a kiss over her knuckles and then met her gaze as he said, "Penelope. Love of my life. My darling. You are beautiful. You're so beautiful, and you will continue to be beautiful even when your hair - which for the record, still looks entirely red to me - is completely silver. Or white."

Penelope's lips twitched with amusement. "What if it falls out altogether?"

Colin considered this. "Well, then I might have to downgrade you to merely pretty."

"You are a very wicked man," she laughed. "But I do love you. Thank you."

She leaned forward to press her lips to his in a brief but tender kiss, then got to her feet and headed back out the door.

"I love you, too," Colin replied, then called over his shoulder, "And you'd still think me handsome if I lost my hair, wouldn't you?"

"Hmm. I might have to think about it."

"Penelope!"

[chic-a-gigot]

Cover details.

La Mode nationale, no. 47, 27 novembre 1897, Paris. No. 1. — Coiffures de jeunes femmes. Modèles de la Maison Lenthéric, 245, rue Saint-Honoré, Paris. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) La coiffure de jeune dame que représente notre dessin peut être exécutée par la personne même.

On séparera d'abord les cheveux d'une oreille à l'autre en les ramenant en avant pour placer un léger crépon, afin de soulever un peu le devant; et on épinglera les pointes sur la petite natte qui sert de fondation.

On relèvera ensuite mollement les cheveux de la nuque, gu'on épinglera sur le point d'appui.

On posera alors derrière le nouveau peigne le grand carré, genre empire, dernière création de Lenthéric. Ce peigne, d'une allure des plus élégantes, soutient les cheveux, qui reposent dessus en détordant. Il doit être posé légèrement incliné en arrière afin de couper la ligne de la nuque, que dans toutes ses coiffures Lenthéric essaye d'atténuer autant que possible en diminuant la distance du bas de la nuque au chignon.

Le devant sera agrémenté de trois petites coques superposées et deux de côté.

Cette coiffure, très coquette, peut se faire de même avec le chignon zénith, autre création toute récente de Lenthéric.

(1) The young lady's hairstyle represented in our drawing can be done by the person themselves.

We will first separate the hair from one ear to the other, bringing it forward to place a light crepe, in order to lift the front a little; and we will pin the points on the small mat which serves as a foundation.

We will then gently raise the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it to the point of support.

We will then place behind the new comb the large square, empire style, Lenthéric's latest creation. This comb, with a most elegant appearance, supports the hair, which rests on it while untwisting. It must be placed slightly tilted back in order to cut the line of the nape, which in all his hairstyles Lenthéric tries to attenuate as much as possible by reducing the distance from the bottom of the nape to the bun.

The front will be decorated with three small shells one above the other and two on the side.

This very flirtatious hairstyle can be done in the same way with the zénith bun, another very recent creation by Lenthéric.

—

(2) Cette coiffure très simple se fait avec les cheveux mêmes de la dame, sans postiche.

Les cheveux de la nuque sont légèrement tournés de gauche à droite afin d'éviter de les relever en racine droite.

Le chignon se fait en prenant les cheveux tous ensemble, en les tordant mollement et en les épinglant pas trop haut sur le dessus de la tête.

Le devant se frise légèrement, surtout pour les personnes ayant les cheveux courts.

On fait ensuite deux coques en arrière et une petite boucle de chaque côté du front.

Une bonne exécution donne une coiffure des plus seyantes, qui peut se faire également avec le nœud néo-gordien pour le chignon et le néréide pour le devant.

(2) This very simple hairstyle is done with the lady's own hair, without a hairpiece.

The hair at the nape of the neck is turned slightly from left to right to avoid raising it at the right root.

The bun is done by taking the hair all together, twisting it loosely and pinning it not too high on the top of the head.

The front curls slightly, especially for people with short hair.

We then make two shells at the back and a small loop on each side of the front.

Good execution gives a most becoming hairstyle, which can also be done with the neo-Gordian knot for the bun and the néréide for the front.

[storyofmychoices]

The Reign of a Short King

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal’s Orphanage]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC) ; Tyril Starfury x Maiele* (*Maiele belongs to @lilyoffandoms) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Word Count: ~750 Rating: Teen (just to be safe)

Synopsis: Mal is very insistent that a half inch makes all the difference.

A/N: This silly drabble was inspired by a comment by @dr-colossal-pita about Mal using his hair to increase his height, and my wanting to reconcile Mal being short even though in book 1 he is mentioned as "tall". Also, I know realistically they wouldn't use the US measuring system but this story works better when using 1/2 inches.

Mal and Daenarya stood near the garden wall in their backyard, a heated argument unfolding.

"You know, I'm 5 foot 8 and a half inches," Mal insisted, peering down at her. 

Mischief danced in her eyes as she chuckled, shaking her head. "You're dreaming, Mr. Magnificent. You're only feeling tall next to me,” Daenarya teased, nudging him gently.

"By the gods, I swear I am 5 foot 8 and a half!" Mal stood a little straighter to emphasize his point.

Her head tilted to the side in amusement, brushing back his beautiful mane. "I'll humor you, but just so you know, your hair doesn't count if that's where you're getting that extra half." 

Mal took a step back, feigning indignation. His fingers raked through his hair as he brushed his hair back methodically. "I would never count my hair." He shook his head, offended she'd even say such a thing. "I am 5 foot 8 and a half inches!"

"Okay," she nodded in agreement, her smile spreading across her face. She pressed a kiss on her cheek. "If you say so."

Mal puffed his chest and held his head as high as possible "I'm glad you've come to see my side of things." He offered his arm to her.

"If you say so," she repeated, accepting his gesture as they headed back to where their friends were gathered. 

"And if we were counting my hair, then, I'd be at least 5 foot 9 inches", maybe 5 foot 9 and a half!" He boasted proudly.

Daenarya chuckled, "Here we go again."

"Here we go again?" Maiele moved to join them. "What trouble are you two starting now?" 

"Did you know that Mal is 5 foot 8 and a half inches, but if you count his hair, he might even be 5 foot 9 and a half!" Sarcasm dripped in every word. 

"Huh," Maiele pondered thoughtfully, casually resting his arm on Mal's head. Despite Mal's attempts to squirm away, the elf’s tall and strong stature held him there. After another moment of consideration, a smirk spread on his lips. "You wish!"

A rumble of laughter rose in his throat as his hands tousled Mal's hair, messing up his perfect coiffure. With a playful wink to Daenarya, Maiele sauntered off back to Tyril, whose lip curled up ever so slightly despite his efforts to hide his amusement at Mal's despair. 

Flustered, Mal sputtered something in response, but his words were lost as Daenarya gently touched his face and gave him a light kiss.

"You're still my short king," she whispered. Her thumb caressed over his jaw, the coarse hair of his beard tickling her. 

Mal couldn't help but relax and smile at her touch. "You know, initially, you thought I was tall."

Daenarya couldn't help but remember that night so long ago. "What can I say? It was dark, and I had a few drinks before this handsome rogue barreled into me—"

"I barreled into you?" He interrupted.

"That's how I remember it," she continued, batting her eyelashes. "There I was minding my own business, when you, this smug adventure. bumped into me, this innocent country girl."

A smirk pulled on his lips, his brow arching. "You're many things, Kit, but innocent isn't one of them!" He shook his head in amusement. "How does that change my height?"

"As I was trying to explain," she smirked. She held her hand in front of her as if drawing his attention to an imaginary scene unfolding. "This beautiful adventurer with great hair bumps into me. It's a dark street; I was a little tipsy—"

"You're a little tipsy now? I thought you were innocent?" He chuckled in amusement, enjoying her embellished tale. "Besides, I've seen you drink; you weren't even a little tipsy."

Her face flushed. "Ugh, fine! I may or may not have been a little distracted by your chest hair... I mean who wears a V-neck while adventuring? Besides, you've seen what I had to work with in Riverbend. You were a welcomed step up. I was clearly preoccupied with other thoughts."

"And you want me to believe you were the innocent one?" His brow arched. "And, I repeat, how does that change my height?"

"Well, your head was up from there, so— tall...er?" Her smile widened, knowing her thoughts went far beyond his alluring chest. "Let's agree to agree. You agree that I was innocent the night we met, and I'll agree that you're 5 foot 8 inches...and a half!"

"I think I can support that agreement." He drew her into his arms, enveloping her completely. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, "now you're talking." 

Mal closed the gap, guiding her into a deepening kiss. 

Daenarya smiled into his embrace, her fingers crossed behind his back. This certainly wouldn't be the last time she teased him about that half-inch.

A/N#2: Originally, I had Mal at 5'10" but somehow I kept lowering it and now we're at 5'8". I mean if Ironman can be 5'8", my short king can to!

Again, Maiele belongs to @lilyoffandoms and he is Daenayra's best friend (for any new readers)

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this playful adventure.

[wordstrings]

Renfaire AU

*splashes into the OFMD pool*

Words: 1,400

—

“Mister Blackbeard?” A child’s voice rises from the small crowd of observers. “What’s that?”

Ed finds the kid, throws her a wink. “That’s Captain to you, lass. And these–” he pats the top of the hardwood structure– “are called stocks. Used for public punishment of filthy criminals, like pirates, or aristocrats. You’re not a criminal, are you?”

The girl giggles and shakes her head. 

“No? You sure?” Ed squints out at the crowd, scanning the faces. “I bet we could find one.”

The audience for Medieval Crime and Punishment (1pm, 2:30pm, and 4pm daily) has all the usual suspects: kids with plastic swords, parents in street clothes with tote bags, one guy with a huge Viking axe on his back, a handful of reasonably-costumed enthusiasts. There’s a blond coiffure towards the back corner that catches his attention. 

“You there.” He points, catches the man’s eye. The man glances back over his shoulder, but Ed doesn’t mean anyone else and keeps his finger extended until the man, looking surprised, points to his own chest. Ed feels a slow grin growing. He nods, turning his finger to curl it into a beckoning gesture. 

“Yes, you, with the fancy coat.” Ed keeps the narration going while the man slips down front through the crowd. The coat does look like a period piece, nicely cut with a matching waistcoat beneath. “That is a very fine garment you’ve got there. Too fine, I think. Where’d you get it?”

The man stutters over an explanation, something about a gift– Ed largely ignores it, instead focusing on guiding the man’s momentum cleanly into the seat of the stocks. 

“Mhmm, likely story. Say, what’s your name, scallywag?”

“Scallywag?” The incredulous pitch of the scallywag’s voice nearly makes Ed snort as he lifts an unresisting ankle into the open stocks. “I’m a– a respectable gentleman!” Second ankle. “But, ah, my name is, um. Steve.”

Ed raises an eyebrow while he closes the stocks. “Steve? You sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure about my own n– oh, what… what are you doing?” He’s pretty cute when flustered, this Steve.

“Taking your shoes. You won’t need ‘em.” Ed sets each one carefully to the side. The stockinged feet left behind wiggle uncertainly. “Most folks don’t stumble when asked about their name, see. Makes me think we’re not really on the level with each other. And I’m really having a hard time believing that a jumpy fellow like yourself came by all this finery legitimate-like.”

Ed straightens, and puts on his projection voice for the crowd. “What say you? Is this man innocent, or guilty?”

A smattering of responses sprinkle in, but the girl near the front excitedly shrieks, “Guilty!”

“The people have spoken.” Ed pivots back to face the unwitting defendant, and he really can’t help the smirk. “Are you prepared to confess to your thieving crimes?”

“I haven’t stolen anything!”

“Your funeral,” Ed says with a shrug. He cracks his knuckles (the fingerless leather gloves of his costume lend to the intimidating vibe, he’s found), laces his fingers together and pushes them out in a stretch, then drops one wiggling finger onto the center of one vulnerable sole. 

“Wait, wai-haait!”

Ed keeps it going and begins his spiel on typical town square “corrective” behavior, while a verse and chorus of giggly protests pours from the seat behind him. He keeps an ear out for genuine distress, like always, but everything sounds bright and bubbly back there. 

“…even throwing rocks, but often the punishment of choice is tickling the feet. Harmless, but persuasive. Isn’t that right, Steve? Why don’t you tell me who you robbed blind for that fine outfit of yours?”

“Please, oh it tickles, you scoundrel–!”

It’s Ed’s turn for incredulity. “Scoundrel? Mate, you’ve got this sorely backwards. You’ll address me as Captain Blackbeard, Sir and you’ll speak the truth when I ask you a question.” 

It’s time for the first little ramp-up of the demonstration. One tickling finger can only entertain the crowd for so long, after all.

“Fang, would you come give me a hand, please? This deviant needs a little more convincing.”

There are eyelets installed at the top of the tall backrest, with shackles dangling from them. Not quite historically accurate ones, but what here is? (Fang’s choice of headwear is particularly egregious – but the studded pleather does give him a junkyard dog look, and since he’s the assistant muscle instead of the main presenter today, it works.) Ed abandons the foot he’s been gently tormenting and moves to crouch by well-dressed-Steve’s side as Fang lifts the man’s wrists to the shackles. The audience is starting to titter with sympathy.

“I’ll ask you again, Steve. Where did you steal this coat from?”

“I, I didn’t, I promise! It was a very nice present from, from a friend– oh god, ahah!”

Ed’s got a hand slipped inside that fancy coat, tickling now at a helpless armpit. It’s very warm up in there; the autumn hasn’t cooled quite enough to make this many layers necessary yet, and Steve’s body heat has been trapped inside. Ed bets it just feels that much more intense, so he makes sure to keep his touch lightly teasing – even though there’s an urge coiling inside him to really make this man scream.

“Only the guilty laugh when confronted with their crimes, mate.” He addresses the crowd again. “As you can see, we’ve got more than just feet to work with. Everything from legs to stomach, ribs to armpits can help extract a confession. In fact…”

Ramp-up number two. He reaches behind the backrest where his favorite theatrical aids have been hidden, and nods for Fang to do the same. 

In tandem, they both reveal large ostrich feathers with a flourish. The crowd laughs and cheers in surprise.

“Usually these are reserved for the damsels and wenches, but you look soft and sensitive enough, my friend. They’re torture for the neck and ears, I’m told. What say you? And address me respectfully, if you please.”

Ed dusts his plume at the crook of Steve’s neck. Fang mirrors on the other side, and oh it’s adorable how their victim erupts with pitchy, snorting giggles while he tries to retract his head like a turtle. His wrists swing in the shackles, fists balling, biceps straining. 

“I have nothing to confess!” the accused cries out. “Please, Captain, plee-hee-heese!”

The third and final ramp approaches. Ed guns it. 

He drops down on his good knee, keeps the feather dancing, and lobster-claws down the meat of Steve’s thigh. He spiders wickedly around the kneecap before delving beneath to the unprotected, stretched-in-midair knee pit below and, mm, there it is, the scrumptious sound of a scream-laugh. Ed pushes its pitch by continuing down Steve’s leg to his foot once again, where there’s no single-fingertip teasing this time; he rakes the open sole with scrabbling, ruthless fingers while the feather fluff-fluff-fluffs across ear and jaw.

“NO! No, no, nooo-ho! It’s the truth! Please, Ed, stah-haaahp!”

And just like that, everything stops. 

Ed creaks his way to standing – feels like it gets harder every season – and regards the sagging, panting man with resignation. 

“Maintaining your innocence even in the face the worst torture, eh? Perhaps you’re not a liar after all.” He sighs. “Welp. Disappointing, if you ask me.”

—

It’s barely four minutes after the crowd has dispersed and Ed’s plopped himself into a breakroom chair when Stede barges in to find him.

“You.”

Ed takes a glug from his water bottle, swallows it down. “Hey, Steve.”

“Steve nearly died today, I’ll have you know. Bastard.” 

Somehow it sounds like a term of endearment, even as Stede collapses dramatically into the chair next to him. Ed grins. 

“Not my fault Steve is so ticklish. Pick a different character next time. I quite liked Reed, though he seemed to have the same problem.”

Anybody else would probably flip Ed off, but Stede just waves a hand like Ed’s a buzzing fly. 

“You, just– just shut up.”

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll make it up to you,” Ed promises. “When the last bus heads out, you and I can hang back to close the torture museum.” He leans toward Stede expectantly and waits for him to sigh and tip his head close enough for Ed to kiss it. “I promise nobody will be around to hear you beg me to tickle your tummy while you’re on the rack.”

Stede swipes the water bottle from Ed’s hand and drains it before settling back with closed eyes and a tiny, tired smile.

“If you promise,” he mutters.

[meanbihexual]

May I Have This Dance?

Art by the amazing @birdy-the-artist

Valorum Ballroom, Senate Tower, Coruscant, 3637 BBY, one month after the defeat of the Revanites on Yavin IV

Theron slid two fingers under his collar and tugged on the starched fabric, hoping that this time—unlike his previous attempts over the past half hour—the gesture would actually loosen the garment’s grip on his throat.

“It doesn’t work,” came a gruff voice from beside him, and Theron turned to see Aric Jorgan approaching, clad in his dark blue dress uniform, an impressive array of medals glinting across the left side of jacket. “I’ve tried every time I’m forced into one of these events, and I always leave feeling like I’ve been strangled by a vine snake.”

Theron sighed and dropped his hand.

“The Director owes me one for not faking my death to get out of this,” he muttered, and Jorgan chuckled.

“At least you didn’t get carted off at the crack of dawn by Saresh’s team of ‘Couturier Impresarios.’”

“Her what?” Theron didn’t often consider himself clueless, but he had to admit that he hadn’t even the slightest idea what that jumble of syllables meant.

“Stylists, apparently, though they were offended when I called them that. Showed up at 0600 hours this morning, almost fainted when Phila, Dorne, and Qiy said they were planning on wearing their dress uniforms, and then practically carried them off the ship to get them ready for tonight,” Jorgan answered, and Theron couldn’t help but notice the flash of terror in the man’s eyes as he spoke.

He didn’t blame him in the slightest.

“Phila commed me around lunch,” Jorgan continued, “said all the women from Yavin were there getting glammed up, willing or not. Except Grandmaster Shan—I guess she got out of it somehow.”

“I guess there are some perks to being the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order,” Theron said. Then, after a brief pause: “I bet Safi hated that.”

“I’ll be hearing about the indignities for weeks, if it makes you feel any better,” Jorgan commiserated.

Theron nodded absently, craning his neck for a better view of the entrance to the ballroom. At the top of a small flight of stairs the double doors were thrown open, having already admitted the substantial crowd that now milled around the floor, waiting for the official start of the ball, but the hallway that stretched beyond them stood vacant.

“You’d think they’d be here already, if they’ve been getting ready for 12 hours,” he said, his hand rising to fidget with his collar once more.

Jorgan raised an eyebrow in a strange expression Theron wasn’t able to interpret before it dissolved with a shrug.

“Saresh probably wants them to make a grand entrance, after all the work she had her people do.”

An agreement was on Theron’s lips when a flurry of movement near the entrance caught his attention. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, vaguely aware that Jorgan was following him, as the voice of the Senate Herald rang across the room.

“Jedi Master Safiya Adraiel, Hero of Tython, Battlemaster of the Jedi Order,” he announced in his smooth, cultured tones, pitched to perfectly cut through the ambient sounds of the people below.

Theron looked up and forgot how to breathe.

Safi stood at the top of the staircase, perched on her toes like she wasn’t sure if she was going to descend or turn and run. Midnight blue silk fell to her feet in soft folds, topped by an intricately beaded bodice that shimmered in the light of the chandeliers. Her arms were encased in sheer fabric of the same shade as the rest of the dress, with her shoulders and the skin above her decolletage left bare. She wore her usual mask, but her hair was pinned in an elaborate coiffure with just a few curls left down to frame her face.

Theron knew he was staring but was powerless to do anything else; in all honesty, he was surprised that his mouth wasn’t hanging open. He’d known she was beautiful, of course, had known it since the moment he first laid eyes on her, but tonight…tonight, she was magical.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” he heard Jorgan mutter, but he couldn’t spare any attention for the comment or what it might have meant.

He might never have managed another coherent thought if Safi hadn’t moved then, wrapping one arm across her middle in a gesture that he recognized from sleepless nights spent sharing secrets and confessing insecurities. In an instant Theron was in motion, striding forward and breaking through the front line of the staring crowd, eyes never leaving her face, hand outstretched toward her.

Safi smiled, the small, shy gesture lighting up her face in a way that made Theron’s heart race, and lifted her skirts daintily with one hand before starting down the stairway. When she reached the bottom, she laid her hand in Theron’s, her lips parting in delighted surprise when he brought her hand to his lips and ghosted a soft kiss across the back of her knuckles. Before she had time to respond, he had tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and begun to escort her back to his previous position next to Jorgan as the herald began announcing the next arrival.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” Safi murmured in a low voice as they made their way across the floor. “Jedi aren’t normally announced like it. It caught me off guard.”

“Anytime,” Theron choked out, his voice hoarse, as if he had forgotten how to use the muscles that made speech possible. Then, because he couldn’t say nothing, “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said again, ducking her head slightly as a blush slowly rose to color her cheeks. “I feel a little out of place. I’m sure I’m nothing special compared to the people who attend these balls regularly.”

Theron stopped walking for a moment and used his free hand to tilt her chin up until he could see her face.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight,” he whispered, his voice fierce and passionate despite its low volume.

Safi’s blush deepened, but her smile returned.

“I’ll let you have that one, but only because my wife isn’t here yet.” Jorgan’s voice made them both turn, and he inclined his head to Safi. “Master Safiya, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Captain Jorgan,” she responded warmly. “Phila should be announced soon, she was only a few places behind me.”

“That’s my cue, then,” he said, and with a brief nod of his head he started off in the direction of the entrance.

“You look very nice tonight, too,” Safi said, turning her attention back to Theron. She trailed her hand along the sleeve of his jacket, a formal affair in deep blue and gold that was remarkably similar in cut to his favorite red one. “I like the blue. We match.”

Theron was sure that this had not been left to chance—the jacket, along with the other pieces of his ensemble, had been delivered by courier that morning—but he only nodded in agreement. “Everyone will be jealous of our coordination when we dance.”

One eyebrow arched delicately above her mask.

“That’s quite a presumption you’re making, Agent Shan.” Her words rang with laughter, and Theron couldn’t suppress a grin when he answered.

“I could convince you, if you see any dark corners we can sneak away to…” He made a show of craning his neck to look around the ballroom as Safi giggled.

“Or you could just ask,” she remarked dryly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the laughs that wound themselves around her words.

“There’s an idea,” Theron replied consideringly, as though Safi had said something brilliant rather than simply pointing out the obvious.

She shook her head, and Theron had the distinct suspicion that she was rolling her eyes behind her mask.

While they’d been speaking, the herald had announced the last of the guests, and now the opening strains of a Corellian Waltz floated from the orchestra at the far end of the room.

“Perfect timing.” Theron grinned and took Safi’s hand, executing a rather good imitation of one of the extravagant court bows used by Alderaanian nobility.

“May I have this dance?”

Safi’s smile shone like the stars when she answered.

“You may.”

[clove-pinks]

The arctic explorer Elisha Kent Kane, best known for his participation in the Grinnell expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin, shown during his time in the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848.

From a fashion standpoint, his nipped waist suggests a corset (perhaps like this extant men's corset of 1842), but his hair is the focus on Eighteen-Forties Friday. Kane has a lovely example of the longer men's hairstyles of the 1840s: "A side parting with the oiled hair looking sleek and smooth round the face, falling to the neck where it curled under, was a typical coiffure of the decade." (Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century, C. Willett and Phillis Cunnington)

Another name for this look was "La Jeune France", presumably inspired by the French Romantics like the notoriously long-haired Théophile Gautier (who also wrote a novel called Les Jeunes-France).

Gautier sculpted in 1845 by Pierre-Jean David d'Angers (Paris Musées).

Using Google Books, I searched for period references to the style:

"The prisoner... happened to have long black hair, which he wore somewhat 'en jeune France' upon his neck and shoulders" — Charles Lever, Nuts and Nutcrackers (1845) (link)

"The barber's apprentice, the yearling student, and the bellicose pygmies beyond the Channel, arrange their locks à-la–jeune-France." — Written Caricatures; a sketch of peripatetic philosophy; from hints in the Paris Charivari: by Captain Pepper (1841) (link), with illustrations by John Leech.

"Young ladies having a taste for sentimental-looking men, who wear their hair à la jeune France" — Punch magazine, 1841 (link)

Mister Leisure Wear 1841: cigar, long hair with a side part, loud pattern on the dressing gown (Met fashion plate detail).

[leekwren4]

<h1>The Edgar Haircut</h1>

As the name suggests, this coiffure merges the basic Edgar haircut with the infamous bowl minimize. Of course, the primary parts of the Edgar are still featured. But that at&t insurance claim is cut evenly around the sides of the pinnacle, with the hair across the ears tapered or fully buzzed. The Edgar haircut for wavy hairstyles is just like the Edgar haircut for curly hair however deals with hair that has more of a unfastened curl or beach wave. If you're in search of a hairstyle that enables your naturally wavy or loose curly hair to be showcased, this could be a great option.

Find Edgar Haircut-inspired items and merchandise printed on high quality merchandise one at a time in socially accountable ways. Every buy you make puts cash in an artist’s pocket. This v-shape edge is not any exception within the picture above he appears so handsome together with his new look. To try a fresh look, do this mid-section partition of your hairs to kind a mid bang Edgar coiffure.

The Way To Get Timothée Chalamets Superb Hair

A classic edgar haircut is identified with a straight fringe and brief sides. Especially, this style is most well-liked by Mexican youngsters who adopt takuache life tradition. The Edgar haircut is a kind of haircut usually worn by Latino men that contains a quick back, brief sides, and an extended prime. It's similar to a Caesar minimize, but more like a bowl cut, with the hair being cropped straight around the entire head. The bangs are normally combed down and ahead, covering the brow. Edgar cuts are nice as a end result of they do not must be styled, as they're meant to look messy.

This look will maintain the entrance of your hair straight and in place but leaves the hair long sufficient within the again that your curls can really take form.

But many people additionally believe it to be an adaptation of the Mexican ‘takuache’.

With a facial hairstyle and considered one of Edgar haircuts male appearance features a ton of virility and roughness.

The Edgar haircut that provides you the sharpest look is a excessive fade Edgar cut.

If you wish to get your hair bleached, please reach out to an expert salon who can do that for you in the safest way possible.

The wavy men’s hair minimize looks bold and proud thanks to the hair sort. Wavy Edgar minimize makes your hair show its unique texture and colour. The solid and straight fringing line on the forehead with wavy or layered hair can by no means disappoint you to look stuffed with angle. Moreover, your wavy haircut also exhibits the look of loose open braids. Come up with a brand new look with this wavy Edgar reduce from your barber.

Geometric Edgar Haircut

If you think that Edgar cuts are only for people who have straight locks, we are here to show you incorrect. This wavy men’s hair minimize appears bold and pronounced due to the hair type. Pairing an Edgar reduce with a high fade haircut men create the type that will not go unnoticed.

The very entrance of the fringe can also be styled straight right down to create a layer that adds extra dimension to the hair’s appearance. Now that you understand all about the Edgar haircut, feast your eyes on 10 of the best Edgar hairstyles you might get. We’ll cover each one intimately so you realize what to ask for before hitting the barber shop. The two fringe kinds are virtually similar, but the Edgar is unquestionably edgier than the Caesar.

[pointcutter]

🌀 Embrace the wild side! Say hello to the latest trend of 2024 - the perfectly sculpted curly cut. Achieve this look with the revolutionary Curls Cut method. The more texture in the cut, the more defined your curls will be. Are you ready to rock this bold style? 💇‍♀️✨ #pointcutter #curlyhair #curls #haircutting #haireducation #friseure #coiffure #curlscut

[rabbitcruiser]

National Hair Day

Maybe every day can’t be a good hair day but in celebration of National Hair Day, this one certainly can be. Join in and get ready to learn and appreciate everything fun and exciting that has to do with hair!

History of National Hair Day

Hair has been the crowning glory of the human head perhaps since the very beginning of time! In fact, researchers think the comb was used by ancient Egyptians as far back as 5500 BC. The hairbrush took a bit longer to come out though, and the Kent Hairbrush Company is recorded as having started in 1777 in Hertfordshire, England.

While wealthy people have been having their hair done for centuries, early on this was typically done either by a family member or perhaps by a personal servant.

By the mid-1700s, however, the first person to have declared himself a ‘professional’ hairdresser in Europe was Legros de Rumigny who worked for the French court. In fact, he wrote a book on hairdressing that included pictures of the unique hairstyles that he had designed. The book was called Art de la Coiffure des Dames, which can be translated to The Art of Hairstyles for Ladies.

National Hair Day is a bit newer on the scene and is just beginning to develop its own history. Founded in 2017 by NuMe, a hair care company, this day is all about celebrating the styling tools and hair care products that help to make each person’s hair as beautiful as possible.

Whether hair is straight, wavy, curly or kinky, there are a myriad of different products and tools that can help to enhance the natural texture of hair while making it look its very best. And National Hair Day is the best time for it!

How to Celebrate National Hair Day

Wondering how to celebrate and enjoy this delightful day? There are all kinds of ways! Get creative on your own, or try out some of these ideas that can be enjoyed in honor of National Hair Day:

Get a Haircut

Make an appointment at the barber or hair salon in honor of National Hair Day! Get that new ‘do that you’ve been thinking about, whether chopping it short, going for layers, adding bangs or fringe, or turning into a platinum blonde inspired by Marilyn Monroe. Don’t be afraid to go for the full shampoo, cut, color and style. The sky’s the limit when it comes to what kind of fun that can be had on National Hair Day.

Consider a New Hairstyle

Of course, National Hair Day doesn’t mean it’s necessary to go to extremes. Even those who aren’t ready for a new cut or color might be able to play around with their hair a bit on this day. Maybe start by making the part of your hair on the other side!

This is also a great time to learn a new skill that is related to hair styling. Perhaps that might be learning how to make a regular braid, a French braid or a Fishtail Braid. YouTube and other online videos can act as an excellent resource for learning with easy, step by step tutorials on how to create a new hairstyle.

Try Out Some New Hair Care Products

National Hair Day is the ideal time to pop into the beauty supply store and find out what’s new in the world of hair care products and styling tools. Perhaps pick up a new brand of mousse or heat protectant spray. Try out a new curling iron, blow dryer or hair straightener. Or even consider getting a fun new color for hair, whether temporary or permanent.

Buy a New Hairbrush

Some hairstylists say that a typical person needs to replace their hairbrush every six months to a year. Of course, this depends on how often it is used, how much product the person uses, how long their hair is and even how often they clean their hair brushes.

It’s also possible that some people have simply been using the wrong kind of hairbrush for their particular type of hair. Those who are in the market for a new hairbrush might want to consider one of these styles in celebration of National Hair Day:

Curly Hair. Many people say that curly hair should never be brushed, but if it’s necessary for detangling, then use a special cushion brush that has nylon bristles to keep the curls from getting frizzy and knotted.

Frizzy Hair. This is a complicated hair type and the best type of hair brush will tame that frizz and keep it in place. Try using a hairbrush that has bristles made of boar. The natural bristles help to distribute the hair oils more evenly throughout the hair.

Blow-Dry Brushes. People who blow dry their hair on a regular basis need special tools to keep their hair happy and healthy. The best type for blow drying are brushes that are made from ceramic and have ionic properties that repel water to shorten the drying time and keep the hair from getting overly damaged.

Teasing Brush. Looking for more volume? A special boar’s hair and nylon teaching brush gets close to the scalp to get that hair high. Choose one that has a pointed handle which can be used for creating parts or separating strands of hair.

Enjoy Some New Hair Accessories

Pop into an accessory shop or department store and check out what’s on offer these days for hair accessories. Ribbons, ponytail holders, barrettes, clips and so many other delightful products provide tons of different options for wearing the hair in unique ways. Try securing a ponytail in the back, a braid, two buns on the sides, or even a popular banana clip to hold the hair back from the face.

Little girls can get away with a brand new hair bow in honor of National Hair Day! Something colorful like Jojo’s Bows would be a fun and delightful addition to a hairstyle today, keeping things snazzy.

Source

[malumxsubest]

😘

First Five Asks Get A Kiss | x

a kiss? in this very moment where she had her fangs embedded into his neck and ingesting his precious saccharine vitality from his veins? her eyes flickered beneath her eyelids as she debated whether or not to indulge his strange request.

she almost released a whine as she relinquished his throat from her maw, away from his demented flesh with a hiss. like molten pools of emerald green, her eyes glowed intensely as she peered down into his. his blood tainted her pallid flesh, some dribbling down her chin and down the slender expanse of her neck in thin rivulets.

" well, since you stake a claim by calling me yours, might as well seal the deal, now don't we? if it's a kiss you desire then a kiss you shall receive, my beloved spider. " she cooed as slender digits stroked along the side of his face, cradling his head as if they were lovers. amelia slotted her lips against his own in a bloodied kiss, her eyes slid shut while she angled her head in a way to deepen the sinful macabre affair.

her lithe hands that were splayed against his head dug its talon-like nails into his combed back coiffure by the roots, giving them a firm tug. she even dared to slither her tongue into his mouth with a fervent hunger that couldn't be contained as she explored his mouth. their tongues clashed when she curled her own around his in a beckoned manner.

amelia sensually pulled back from their lip lock with a quiet blissful hum. she lowered herself on her knees, settling her weight on her thighs with her hands resting against his abdomen. she took note of the mess they she had made and gave a languid shrug, a lazy smile forming soon after. " oops. " her eyes revert back to their normal subdued colour, no longer as bright as once before.

@kingofthewebxxx

[gogmstuff]

Lady by Felice Schiavoni (auctioned by Doirotheum). From Wikimedia; fixed edges, spots, cracks, & tears w Pshop 1162X1412.

[lavellenchanted]

There always needed to be a reason, an excuse for their bodies to touch - if you are taking prompts, no worries if not x

"I thought I would find you out here."

It should, Edwina considers, be a surprise to hear Friedrich's voice behind her. To know that he noticed her absence from the ballroom and came in search of her. That he has managed to find her in the centre of the maze in Lord Kilmartin's gardens.

It's not. Somehow he always manages to find her.

"And here I am."

She turns where she's perched on the edge of the fountain that is the maze's centrepiece to look up at him. The moonlight's edged his hair and face in silver, his face is slightly cast in shadow, and it almost is a surprise to find he doesn't glow in the dark.

Since she met him, she could see that he was golden - but it's more than just the colour of his hair or his title. His goldenness is like a light within him. It's the gold of a flame, so fierce and bright it spills out everywhere; in his eyes, in his smile.

Of course, he's the flame then Edwina is the proverbial moth. And perhaps she wouldn't mind so much, if she had not already been burned once before.

"You're missing the ball," he comments, coming to sit down beside her.

Edwina lifts an eyebrow. "Your point being?"

"Someone might miss you."

"Such as?" she challenges him. They both know she only goes to balls for the sake of appearances now. She spends most of them sitting on the side without any dance partners.

One corner of his mouth curls up in a smile, and suddenly Edwina feels like she's walked into a trap. "Such as me."

Her cheeks warm, and there is too much she cannot read in his gaze so she looks away, down at the water. One of the goldfish the fountain is home too darts out from under a lily pad as she watches, and nearly brushes her fingers as it swims past.

"Well. No one else will," she says finally.

"I'm not entirely sure that's true," Friedrich replies, then lets out a quiet laugh. "Liebling, your hair, you have -"

He reaches out and she feels him pluck something from her coiffure. When he pulls his hand back she sees that it's a leaf, presumably from one of the hedges (her hair must have caught when she was walking round without her notice).

With a flick of his wrist he throws it away - but then reaches back to readjust one of her loosened curls.

Edwina's breath catches in her throat, and she's very aware of her heartbeat as his deft fingers gently tuck it back behind her ear and then just . . . linger there, tracing a line down her jaw.

He has been like this the entire Season. Finding acceptable excuses and reasons to touch her and making them last longer than is strictly proper. If she takes his arm when they walk he he will bring his free hand up to cover hers where it rests in the crook of his elbow. When they play chess and she hestitates over a move, he will guide her hand to the piece and encourage her to play it. When they met in Decker's bookshop and he was recommending something, he did not just tell her where to find it but placed a hand on her back to guide her to the shelf. When he greeted her this evening, after he kissed her hand, his thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles before he released her.

Each touch is exciting and terrifying in equal measure. And with each one Edwina has found herself wanting more and more, until she is giving him excuses to touch her; deliberately hesitating over chess moves, asking him to show her where a book is, leaving ballrooms knowing he will follow her.

"You left before I could ask you to dance," he says now, finally letting is hand drop away from her face. The loss of his touch leaves her skin feeling cold.

"You could ask me here," she suggests before she can think better of it.

Friedrich's smile inches wider, something shifting in his eyes. He knows what he's doing, how he's chipping away at her defences. Edwina isn't sure if she admires his persistence, or hates it.

Getting to his feet, he sketches a bow and stretches out a hand. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

"Yes, sir, you may," Edwina replies, placing her hand in his and trying to ignore the thrill that runs down her spine.

It's dangerous to play with fire, she reminds herself sternly. But when he pulls her close, so golden, bright and lovely, even in the darkness, she thinks it might be worth the risk of burning once again.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 3, 23 janvier 1897, Paris. No. 8. — Coiffure de bal pour jeune femme. No. 9. — Coiffure de ville ou de petit dîner. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 8. — Coiffure de bal pour jeune femme. Pour exécuter cette coiffure, ondulez les cheveux en vagues et les relevez sur le sommet de la tête en les tordant légèrement, en les entourant en rond et en formant une coque.

Faites une autre coque très élevée et terminez la coiffure avec les bouts des cheveux bouclés en quatre grosses boucles disposées sur le côté droit.

Sur le côté gauche pouff et aigrette en marabout. Les cheveux sont relevés sur le front en racines droites et bouclés légèrement sur les tempes avec les oreilles découvertes.

No. 8. — Ball hairstyle for young women. To perform this hairstyle, wave your hair and raise it on the crown of the head by twisting it slightly, circling it in a circle and forming a shell.

Make another very high shell and finish the hairstyle with the ends of the hair curled into four large curls arranged on the right side.

On the left side pouff and egret in marabou. The hair is raised on the forehead in straight roots and curled slightly at the temples with the ears uncovered.

—

No. 9. — Coiffure de ville ou de petit dîner, pour jeune fille et jeune femme. Cheveux légèrement ondulés relevés à moitié de la hauteur de la tête et formant trois coques superposées. L'ensemble de la coiffure est élevé; pouff de frisures devant et frisure légère encadrant la figure. Cheveux moins bouffants sur les côtés et un peu bouffants derrière.

No. 9. — City or small dinner hairstyle, for young girls and young women. Slightly wavy hair raised halfway to the height of the head and forming three superimposed shells. The whole hairstyle is high; puff of curls in front and light curl framing the face. Hair less bouffant on the sides and a little bouffant behind.

[chubbypotatoepie]

Lily’s War (Chapter 1)

Chapter 2 

Genre: Eventual romance

Warnings: Mention of blood & guns

A/N: I’ve had this story in my mind for a while and its not going to leave me alone till I write it. Let me know what you think, especially if you like it!

SOE Agent Lily Darlington is unexpectedly demoted from her position and offered a life changing opportunity to become the first female Paratrooper in US history?

Lily’s War

London 1942,

It was late afternoon and the spring sunset was casting shades of burnt orange and pink across the tables and inside the windows of Café Boheme, illuminating its patrons. Perched underneath the teal and white striped awning, Lily Darlington sat slumped over a steaming cup of tea, scribbling furiously in her notebook.

“I thought I might find you here” the deep familiar voice spoke as her ex-partner in arms, Jack Chapman, “Clinks” as she affectionally called him due to his affinity at celebrating every achievement, no matter how minute, slid into the seat opposite her.

“Don’t you think the wound is still a little too fresh, Clinks?” Her sarcastic tone accompanied by a matching scowl.

Clinks studied the young woman, she had changed so much since their initial meeting 3 years ago. He had learnt quite quickly that her piercing green eyes could both kill you and enchant you with one single look, something which proved mighty useful during their last trip on the continent. Short worry lines had started to form around them, yet they remained ever beautiful, surrounded by thick dark lashes. A light scattering freckles adorned her cheeks and nose, only visible for half the year, they chased the sun, much like Lily in that aspect he thought to himself. Her dark hair was in its usual Coiffure, the curls brushing against her collar with the sides rolled back, though the stress of the job exposed itself through little greys that poked through at the roots, she swore she didn’t dye it, even though one rather drunken night in Berlin he had helped her himself. She looked somewhat older than her 20 years, and yet so much remained of the vivacious young Lily he had originally met.

“Stop looking at me like that, I don’t need your pity” her eyes bore into the teacup.

“If I’d have known they were going to demote you I would have told you beforehand. Ghastly business.”

“Your purpose is no longer useful to the cause, we’re ever so grateful for your service.” She mimicked the British General. “Demoted, for one measly accident.” She scoffed, glaring across the street.

“That accident did nearly kill you, and it was no accident if memory serves me correctly.” Clinks replied, raising an eyebrow.

He vividly remembered that night three months ago when Lily, or Klara as she had been called back then, failed to meet up at their rendezvous point after an evening with General Von Durgen. He’d always deny it if she asked but he knew he’d never be able to fully scrub the memory of bursting into the ill fated apartment and seeing her and the General lying opposite one another, he face down with a bullet wound to the head, a lucky shot on her part. He can still remember the panic that flooded his body when he became fully aware of how saturated her evening gown was, evident by the knife still embedded and the crimson liquid oozing from the sideways gash. It had been their last day in Germany, they’d done 3 months without even a splinter. She had slept her way through Germany collecting vital information, he had the easy job of encoding and radioing it back to HQ in London, and now here he was, driving recklessly through the countryside to the evacuation plane with his partners body in the back wrapped in a curtain and haphazardly padded with anything he could find. He hadn’t even know if she had made it till the following afternoon, following an agonisingly long debrief.

“Well I’m all knitted back together now, so why don’t you go back there and then them that.”

“You have a scar the size of Timbuktu across your abdomen.” This time his eyes met hers.

Her face had lost its rosy glow at the reminder. She was well aware of her misfortune, she took in a deep breath as he continued.

He leant in as he whispered “what are you going to say to the next German Officer that Intelligence orders you to sleep with? Oh it was just an accident with a Gebäckmesser, I’m just a clumsy little housewife.”

Her face was not that of someone amused by his poking, yet she couldn’t disagree with him, in the SOE’s eyes she had served her purpose.

“And what the bloody hell am I supposed to do now, sit behind a desk, after everything I’ve done over the last few years, fat chance” She scoffed at the idea. “I worked myself to the bones for this job, Clinks. 25, 25 women I beat for that position. Months of training at that god awful manor in the highlands. I’m the best female sniper they have, Braithwaite said that himself today, so they’ll just throw me away?” Tears had started to form and she could feel herself wobbling.

“They aren’t throwing you away, Darlington”

“They’re opening my life to other possibilities?” She mocked as she brought the tea cup to her mouth.

“In a way, yes, if you hadn’t been so forthright in ending the meeting abruptly.” He leant down and withdrew a manila file from his briefcase. Her eyes flicking back and forth between him and the paper. “Colonel Braithwaite thought it might be appropriate for me to pass this onto you. In my intellectual opinion, I think he was worried you might bite his head off.” Jack chuckled to himself.

“I don’t follow.”

“Turns out, ever since we’ve been back, HQ have been having many a meeting with our friends over the pond.” He passed the open file over to her. “They’re calling it Operation Daisy, bringing women to the front lines. The SOE have had so much success with female operatives, now the yanks want in. Braithwaite personally recommended you.”

Her eyes started scanning the pages, trying to fully understand what was being presented to her. “Why me?” Instantly suspicious of the situation.

“You made yourself available.” Jack offered her a cigarette, lighting his after she declined as per usual. “His words not mine, he also say you were a damn fine agent if that helps. It also helps that you happen to be American too, incase you’ve forgotten.”

“My mother was American.”

“Making you half American, isn’t that how these things work?”

"I haven’t been there since before I joined up, and I was only there once.”

“Once, and stayed for two years.” His sly response being accentuated by a long drag on his cigarette.

Lily took a moment to look over the information. “What’s my objective?”

“To show the Americans that women can handle the front line. You’re trained, experienced and you’re the best woman for the job. This isn’t a punishment, see it as an opportunity. The Parachute Infantry is in its infancy, this is your chance to be one of its founding members. I understand if it feels like a demotion. You’ll have to start back from the beginning of basic training, and you’ll have to pass jump school. The choice is yours, however, you don’t have long to decide.”

Lily placed the file back onto the table. Disappointment ached in her chest, having the honour of working alongside Jack for the last few years was something akin to magic, they had bonded almost instantly, becoming family to each other. She understood that her time with the SOE was over and her heart ached to have to let that part of her life go. “How long do I have?”

“I said I’d bring you back within the hour.” Jack stubbed his cigarette out and stood.

“Jesus Christ, Clinks.” Lily stood to meet him.

“I’m going to miss you desperately” he stepped towards her, extending his arm for her to take.

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Oh but we both know that you will. You know that those yanks are all piss and no wind, so you be sure to give them a right old bollocking if they bother you” he smiled, and with a wink they set off back to HQ.

————

Chapter 2 

That’s the first part! Let me know what you think!

[mrsbbridgerton]

In Amongst the Roses

Colin Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count : 1387

Warnings: fluff, pining

A/N: I don’t know what I wanted to write but I wanted to kiss Colin so there’s that.

***

Your mother rushed around you as you kicked your slippers off and walked to the window. You had just arrived at Aubrey Hall at the invitation of the Dowager Viscountess and your mother was most excited that all of the Bridgerton men were in residence, not to mention a fair few more that had been invited along with their younger sisters or wards.

“Come now Y/N we must change out of these travel clothes, there are already several young ladies in the gardens and we can be certain that there are no eligible gentlemen in this room.” She bickered, busying around the room as your lady’s maids unpacked your luggage.

“Mother, half the rooms are not yet occupied – and I am fairly certain at least a quarter of those that are, are occupied by Bridgerton’s.” you sighed, looking out over the large rolling estate, spotting a glistening lake and dappled forest in the near distance.

After a swift half an hour in the hands Iris, your lady’s maid, your hair was re curled into a neat coiffure and your favourite muslin dress was carefully slipped over it before you were whisked downstairs by your mother to thank your hosts, yet again for their gracious invitation. Unfortunately for your mother, as you descended the stairs you found only Violet Bridgerton in the entrance hall, still greeting incoming guests.

“You’re entirely welcome.” She said with a beautiful smile. “I am so sorry my son isn’t here to thank you himself, though having been in town for so long he has many matters to deal with at the moment, I’m sure you can understand?” Your mother fawned in agreement, going off about the delicate décor of the ceiling and the wonderful portraits on the walls. Your eyes drifted to the open doors around you, all of them offering you glimpses into each of them. “Please, feel free to wander Miss Y/LN.” Violet Bridgerton said, drawing you out of your daze. “Some of the ladies have already gathered in the drawing room and several guests have gone to the gardens” she gestured through a door to the open French windows.

“Yes, Y/N. Go along” your mother gestured eagerly. You nodded your thanks and curtsied before making your escape down the hall. Making your way into an unoccupied room you found yourself in the library. At least you expected it was the library, it was full of books. Walking over to the French windows in the corner of the room, the early afternoon light shaded by encroaching ivy, you spotted some young children running on the lawn in the distance. You watched them play for a while, the small boy whipping the ribbon from the hair of the little girl before running off over the hill – only to be chased back up it by a young gentleman.

You opened the doors and stepped out onto the secluded patio, watching as the man played with the young children as if he was still their age. You smiled and crossed your arms as you walked towards them, noting the distance from the rest of their party as you crossed the short distance.

“Miss Y/LN” he looked up from his kneeling position, surprised at your sudden appearance. The children halted for only a moment at your appearance before the young girl took the opportunity to bolt across the lawn to take refuge behind a tall gentleman holding a mallet.

“Mr Bridgerton” you greeted, smiling as he stood and brushed the dirt from his sleeves.

“Y/N” he whispered lower, looking around before stepping closer to take your hands in his.

“Colin” you replied, matching his love-struck look with your own blushing grin. He held your hands tighter and pulled you just an inch nearer to him as a loud cheer went up in the distance, catching your attention – only to find the company distracted by a ball rolling away down the hill. Finding his opportunity, Colin pulled you away into the covered rose garden: hidden with high hedges and climbing roses, he guided you through the perfectly manicured bushes, down the cobbled path and around the small water feature to the deepest, most secret spot he knew hidden. You laughed at his boyish dashing when he tugged you along with him, until you were nestled away in your quiet corner, the sounds of guests dulled by nature and the gentle splash of water.

“Y/N” he whispered again, softer this time, as he allowed the distance to close between you; bringing a hand up to your soft cheek to brush his finger over your heated skin. “I’m so glad you came.” His soft full lips brushed your brow as he spoke, as if speaking words into air.

“My mother would not have refused the invitation had there been a gorilla in attendance.” You joked “she does wish for me to make a prosperous match” you sighed, avoiding his eyes.

“And I am still not good enough to please the great Mrs Y/LN?” Colin questioned, pressing you back into a tree as he nuzzled the side of your face.

“Colin do not jest” you pushed at his chest, drawing his attention back to your face. “I love you…”

“And I you.” He interrupted, his hands burning into your skin, through the almost sheer muslin of your dress. Your hand came to cup the back of his neck, playing with the soft curls at the base as a silence settled between you.

“She thinks you too young,” you paused, watching as his brow creased to dismiss her “and a rake in the making for all the women that fawn over you.” You smiled, up at him, glad to halt his protest. Colins arms wound around you further, fully holding you too him as he spun you around and sat you on his knee as he took a seat on a bench.

“But I suppose my brother is still an excellent match in her eyes?” he prodded again, satisfied with the new position he found himself in.

“Oh of course, one can overlook anything for a title!” you laughed, mocking your mothers flustered wittering’s whenever Anthony was near. You wriggled out of his loose grip and stood to wander back to the tree. Colin kept a hold of your hand as you walked away, making you turn when he didn’t release. “I wouldn’t care for a title.” You said out of the blue. “I don’t think I’d suit it?”

“I think you would suit the title of Mrs very well” Colin said, standing up to sweep you back into his arms and against the tree once more.

“Colin, stop” you smiled and his wandering hands tickled your skin.

“I will marry you” he whispered into your ear through your laughter. Your laughter died down as you caught his eye. “I promise. I will talk to my mother, and Anthony” he added. “And I will talk to your mother” he said softer “I will make her sure of my love for you so much so that she cannot deny us.” His lips were a hairs width from yours, his emerald green eyes appeared almost black at the distance between you. His lips brushed yours with such softness you were almost brought to tears. Memories of your first stolen kiss came flooding back as his lips captured yours. The soft, sweet smell of him engulfed you as he pulled you ever closer. His tongue licked against the seam of your mouth, pressing for entrance which you happily granted. You stayed like that for what felt like an age and a heartbeat all at once – locked in each-other’s arms as nothing but pure love flowed between you.

Pulling back only a little, Colin had to almost physically restrain himself from pressing you up against the tree once more and taking further liberties; the warmth and redness of your lips and the soft heavy pants of your breath driving him to distraction. “I will speak with them now.” He set you down and stepped back “I can wait no longer.” He almost shouted as he hastened back towards the house, leaving you breathless and panting by yourself against the shady tree. With a smile on your face and a cool breeze washing away your flush, you knew everything would work out in the end.