velvet decadence

The King-part 2

The King-part 1

Summary- Gwendolyn yearns for more. More freedom, more choices, and more pleasure only King Negan can provide. Medieval AU

Warnings- Smut, Knife Play, Possible Dub-Con, Punishment, darker than my normal stuff

Word Count- Around 4.3K

Author’s Note- Probably not historically accurate. Lol. This is my submission for @jeffreydeanmorganrarechar Red Velvet prompt as well as @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash Negan Writing Challenge prompt knife play. Thanks to @theatricalbride for the brain storming session. It helped a lot. This will probably be a collection of one shots.

Tag List- @breemacen24 @negans-network @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @ladylorelitany @melodicdolls @ninjacuddlepile @negansqween @thatwriterizzy @sassyfiedscribbles @ashzombie13 @wadeyourebarelyalive @starshinesupergirl @adayinmymeadow @astrangegirlsmind @supererogatoryblog (these are the people that have requested to be tagged in everything I write or have said they don’t mind if others tag them…if I missed you just let me know. I’m sorry)

My beautiful moodboard was created by the lovely and talented @ofdragonsanddreams16. I love it! It is so gorgeous.

Gwendolyn gazed at her reflection. Her hand slid down the bodice of her dress. She finally looked and felt like a queen. Having been married for a little over a month, she had felt like a prisoner, a possession, and a failure but never a wife or queen.

She had been raised to expect to marry a king of her father’s choosing. He stressed that it was her duty to secure an alliance with a powerful kingdom. Her mother persuaded her that marrying for position, power, and the love of the people would provide her a life with purpose. Who needed the love of a husband? Gwendolyn was prepared to live without it. In fact, she was taught by her mother to live independently of a husband and keep her own council. Many men would be happy to share her bed and leave her to her own devices during the day, but she had not married just any man.

King Negan was possessive and guarded her jealously. In the stories of fair maidens being rescued by handsome knights, he would have been the dragon that burnt all would be suitors to ash and cinders. He isolated her so only those loyal to him had access to her. Her handmaidens were chosen by him, reported to him, and seem to delight in reminding her of that fact. There was no friendship, no shared gossip, none of the warmth she had had with her previous servants.

She fared no better with the ladies of the court. They knew she held no favor with her husband. Therefore, there was nothing to be gained by her friendship. It would only bring themselves under the scrutiny of the king. A situation everyone actively avoided.

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Working on some more thank-you fics! This one is for @mikanskey, who requested “sweet and tender love making in a bed full of morning sunshine between Erik and Charles;” this is maybe a bit more ‘waking up together’ and not a lot of sex, though it’s heavily implied, but it’s fairly sweet, I think?

This is technically a sequel to this tiny Romans-in-Britain AU I once wrote for a 3-sentence fic challenge, but you don’t really have to’ve read that one first; it should make sense without it.

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bonum mane (good morning)

In the morning the sun rises.

This has and has not been a concern: of course the sun will rise, laws of natural philosophy firmly in place, earth solid under feet and history. Erik nevertheless opens eyes and catches breath and wonders, for a heartbeat second, if—

The world has changed overnight. His world has changed overnight. Might’ve moved a whole sun. A universe.

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As much as it excited me to see Charlize Theron kick a whole load of misogynistic ass in ‘Atomic Blonde’, it was the Leading Lady’s sumptuous wardrobe that still had my Vogue-obsessed jaw dragging itself along the floor some twenty four hours after having watched the film. In fact, after I had reluctantly left the Everyman cinema and the equally decadent velvet sofas behind me, it took my eyes some time to adjust to the drab lack of vintage pea coats and stiletto boots that I found in the real world.

Cindy Evans, the costume designer for the film seemingly chooses to dress Theron’s Lorraine Broughton as a glam-rock Debbie Harry who’s wardrobe is equally as meticulous as the film’s stunning choreography. Our heroine goes as far as to sport her own turtleneck as a balaclava, and if that doesn’t go to show how badass the wardrobe in this film is, I don’t know what does. This is complemented even further by the film’s soundtrack - a bandolier studded with ice-cool diamonds such as Depeche Mode’s “Behind the Wheel”.

The costuming really should be considered a masterclass for films of its kind. Here, the decisions made by Evans are genius as the wardrobe of every character acts as an exacting scalpel that allows the viewer to slip directly back to 1989, and Lorraine’s monochrome outfits in particular act to highlight the tense atmosphere of the film yet they also draw this constantly glamourous creature to the forefront of every shot she is in.

However, as much as the costumes evoke the essence of the era that they represent, they seem strikingly modernised and as relevant as ever. Each and every one is a testament to Evans’ skills as a costumer. For me, the entire film feels like sitting front row at the last three Saint Laurent shows, where an exaggeration of 80s glam has obviously dominated the mood. The return of these iconic styles to runways today makes the film seem so fresh, and so cool.

Evans’ choice, then, of a combination of vintage Burberry and Max Mara coats and the effortless chic of Mugler dresses and custom Galliano pieces is complete perfection given both her modern references and the cleverly curated ones from the past. The costuming is sharp, achieving exactly what it should and in wicked style.

Get out and see Evans’ genius work in action while you can.


Some of my very favorite blogs:

- @amo-vintage

- @flixls

- @dreamsofrivendell

- @goodreadss

- @aintthatakick

- @firestartah

- @mydmlife

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- @aaruenn

- @paintingispoetry

- @vintage-fashionista

- @vintagefashionandbeauty

- @buckyywiththegoodhair

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- @depechexmood

- @thescrewballgirl

ROGUE HEAD-CANON #1

Lingerie and Emma Frost

Rogue never cared about fancy underwear. Beyond the cute, matching sets she’d buy that made her feel put together, back when no one got to see anything, it felt pretty pointless to give it any thought beyond practicality. Even after she started having sex, it still wasn’t relevant, because, usually, she’d go from fully clothed to ass naked at the speed of light. When she finally gave lingerie consideration she went to Victoria’s Secret, and kept going for years without giving it a second thought. 

When Emma Frost finds out, she’s appalled. Utterly unimpressed, she stares at the rhinestone-infested, cheap-lace covered, tacky-jewel-tone-colored abominable pieces she owns and decides that Remy Lebeau must have really loved the woman if he went along with those. The White Queen will not have that and takes her to La Perla and Agent Provocateur. Because, Rogue, you do not put bumper stickers on a Bugatti

Rogue doesn’t know much of textiles, fabrics, or designers, but even she can’t help but notice the difference, or her appreciation and awe at the obvious artistry that goes into the craft of premium chantilly lace, the decadent, rich velvet trimming, and the beautiful, delicate, beadwork some of these pieces have. It strikes her as utterly decadent and is, if only for half a second, kinda mortified at the though that she, had essentially, worn generic for a man like Gambit, because, ‘Oh God, she’d been feeding a chef LeanCousine the entire time’. Then, she remembers he’s Remy and he’d like her in a trash bag, and promptly gets over it. 

She tries on her favourite in all the boutique. A beautiful Agent Provocateur set of beautiful sheer black tulle, with black velvet piping, and black and dark ruby coloured tiny beads embroidered through the bra. The tulle is utterly transparent, and wearing it, it looks like scarlet-beaded, black-lined flowers are tattooed all over her bosom. She’s absolutely in love with the whole thing. Emma loves it on her ‘Good eye. Beyonce wore that bra under the mustard yellow Roberto Cavalli she wore in Lemonade’. Rogue Doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but she doesn’t care. She feels like a Bond Girl in it. Mainly, though, its the subtle, almost unnoticeable twinkling of red the beading glints with when the light hits, that she likes the most, it reminds her of-AND she sees the price tag. The three-piece-set cannot be a pound in weight, and at just shy of a thousand bucks, it’s still on the mid-range price at the store. She decides its a lovely store, with lovely underwear, and she gets it, really. She’s not lacking in money, but for her, it’s just too much. She walks out without a problem, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that putting the set back in its place, made her ache in the place in her heart where her very real, pure, feminine frivolity inhabited.

A dejected Emma gives up, sighs, and rolls her eyes ‘Ugh, just go to For Love & Lemons dot com and click on SKIVVIES. Knock yourself out with those, if real craftsmanship offends your modest sensibilities’. Rogue does not get what Emma was scoffing all about when she enters the website. Sure, it’s nowhere near as sophisticated, she guesses, but it’s still beautiful in a whimsical sort of way, with the tiny flowers and adorable motifs. It looks something a wood fairy might wear in bed. Besides, each piece is, at least, a hundred bucks cheaper, and though still expensive, it’s reasonable, or at the very least, justifiable. Plus, their pieces have the whole transparency-thing she saw in the more expensive stores, and she loved that. She gets two sets: The first, sheer, nude tulle, blush velvet trimmed, underwired, high-waisted, with cut-outs, and embroidered white blossoms that strategically cover the tips of her breastskindof. The second is a more to the point, basic black, lacy, and strappy. Both bras she could wear with high-waisted jeans, and under a bomber, she figures. Win-Win, really.

Rogue never cared about fancy underwear, but she does now, and kinda loves and owes Emma for it. She decides she most certainly loves her when, not much later, she’s delivered a gift, a pale pink box with black, smooth-textured lettering, wrapped up in the signature black silk bow, and finds the ridiculously expensive three-piece-set she had spotted at the store that had immediately put a special someone’s eyes at the forefront of her mind.

That last set DOES glint red in the light up close and personal and looks killer with high-waisted black trousers and a structured blazer.

Oh, and Queen B did wear the bra.

Pensive

Folded into the corner
Of velvet decadence
A spillage of notebooks
Coffe-stained and aging
Sprawled on dark wood
Her hair was wild as she worried
Over the scrawled notes
Utterly alone
For easy thinking
She mellowed into the jazz
While runaway thoughts circled
Smooth and round like the coloured stones
At her throat
A pensive, sunshine girl
She sails boats
Of happy-go-lucky charms
For friends
And asks that you not question
Her laughter in return

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Kittyinva: 1926 c. Gold lame evening gown over a peach silk slip, silk georgette inserts and peach velvet belt. From Decades of Fashion.