#1870s visiting dress

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Green Taffeta Visiting Dress, ca. 1870.

Augusta Auctions.

#green #taffeta #womenswear #extant garments #dress #silk #19th century #1870 #1870s #velvet #visiting dress #1870s dress #1870s visiting dress #augusta auctions #1870s extant garment

[history-of-fashion]

ab. 1873 Grey blue visiting dress by House of Worth (Charles Frederick Worth)

silk faille and silk taffeta trimmed with steel beads

(Albany Institute of History & Art)

#women #dress #1870s #19th century #House of Worth #Charles Frederick Worth #visiting dress

[clove-pinks]

Can you run through the basics of 1870s men's fashion (circa 1875)? I know nothing about men's fashion and I need my character to be Plausible™

A great resource for a quick overview of 19th century fashion is the State University of New York Fashion Institute of Technology and their decade-by-decade fashion timelines: here's 1870-1879. It's legitimate and scholarly with sources cited so you can follow up on any claims and learn more about anything of interest!

I love Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century by pioneering dress historians Phillis Cunnington and C. Willett Cunnington, which is also on Internet Archive (free account needed to access it). The FIT timeline notes that 1870s menswear is "marked by sobriety and understated style," and the Cunningtons add some additional context that the collapse of the French Empire after the Franco-Prussian War "produced a revulsion in France of anything savouring of 'Empire' style" which contributed to overall more subdued men's fashion.

Some other men's 1870s details from Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century: trousers are all fly front and without a waistband, evening dress is generally black, and the "general absence of thin materials and light-weight cashmeres was characteristic of this warmly-clad buttoned-up decade." Dressing gowns with "fancy patterns and girdles of Berlin wool-work [a type of embroidery]". Men's jewellery less conspicuous and consisting only of "the heavy gold watch-chain across the waistcoat, the tie pin, and the signet-ring on the finger."

The difference between A, 1878 morning coat with Prussian collar, and B, an 1870 morning coat, shows the closer fit over the course of the decade. B looks very 1860s.

I think it's important to keep in mind that even the more somber, subdued menswear of the 1870s (especially compared to the 1820s-1840s) is still not as dark and boring as modern menswear.

Here's a fashion plate dated 1876 in the Met Collection. The gentleman at left is in riding dress with spurred topboots that wouldn't look out of place in 1830. Which brings me to another important point: throughout the 19th century, (middle class and upper class) men have Special Outfits for different occasions and activities. A man circa 1875 would want to have different outfits for participating in various sports, hunting, evening parties, daytime business wear, etc.

Two outdoorsy looks of 1876: yachting costume (A), and Norfolk jacket (B) "suitable for any kind of outdoor exercise."

A is a "business suit for all occasions" from 1873, and B is a frock coat of 1874.

Facial hair facial hair facial hair in all these looks, and men are still wearing plaids/checks! (Plaid: perhaps the most characteristic trait of all 19th century men's clothing). The Cunningtons quote the West End Gazette of Fashion from 1876 that "Our fast young men will find something to be noisy in, in the shape of loud plaids, the patterns more striking than tasteful."

#1870s #fashion plates #dress history #fashion #victorian #historical men's fashion #men's fashion #fashion history #not putting a readmore 1870s be upon ye #looking up contemporary photography from cartes des visites could also be helpful #asks

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 1, 3 janvier 1875, Paris. Toilette de visites, modèle de chez Mme Fladry, rue Richer, 43. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1800s #1870s #1875 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #cover #retouch #Forney #dress #toilette #visiting #ensemble #Fladry #bustle #stripes #flounce #mantle #ruffle

[daguerreotyping]

Carte de visite of a pair of well-dressed gentlemen walking away arm in arm, Galashiels, Scotland, c. 1870s

#they remind me of Holmes and Watson #setting off on the next adventure #19th century #1800s #1870s #victorian #victorian fashion #1870s fashion #19th century fashion #historical fashion #fashion history #men's fashion #menswear #19th century photography #carte de visite #cdv #19th century men #vintage men #gay interest

[medici-collar]

Visiting dress

Silk taffeta, lace | Circa 1880

In the 1870-1880s bustles came into fashion. Those were pillows, wire or wicker frames, worn under the skirt at the back below the waist, and used to expand fullness and shape silhouette. For this purpose, frills, draperies, and pleats were also used.

The dresses were decorated with embroidery and lace. Made of taffeta, they were adorned with bows and silk ribbons. Under the dress, corset with lacing was worn. This is an exquisite and perfectly preserved visiting dress, which symbolizes the wealth and prosperity of its era.

Victoria Museum Kyiv, Ukraine

Message from the Founder of the Museum

#historical fashion #fashion history #19th century fashion #19th century #victorian fashion #bustle era #bustle era fashion #bustle #1880s dress #1880s fashion #1880s #visiting dress

[ohtobealady]

Hello! I loved your latest drabble, drunken Robert is hilarious! I've been enjoying going back through your lovely collection of drabbles, and I was wondering if you intended on continuing 'Women's Stuff'? No pressure of course, but I was quite intrigued with where that was going. Anyway, I love everything you do and I hope you're having a wonderful day/night/timezone 😊

This request is years old. But I did something! It plays way more in the headcanon arena rather than a good Drabble arena. But it makes tons of room for more! Follow up to this one.

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Women’s Stuff 2

March 1913

Cora noticed she’d wadded the cotton blanket in her fist and, taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax. Now that she was here, there was nothing to do but go through with it. And besides, the worst outcome, she knew, would be that there was nothing to be done, or that she was now much too old to hope for anything to come of her appointment today. Indeed, the worst outcome—she reminded herself—was that nothing would change, which in many ways was a comfort to her.

Nevertheless, the gravity of the moment—the reality of the moment—had only just manifested itself for her. It was as if up until this point she’d been in a dream; but now, with half her body bare beneath a cotton blanket, she realized what she’d decided.

“Now then, Mrs. Levinson. I see that your appointment is for a physical examination. Is that correct? You have inquiries as to your ability to still conceive?”

“Yes,” Cora swallowed away the tightness in her throat. She straightened her shoulders.

“And may I have your date of birth, please?”

“20 July 1870.”

“Thank you. Which puts your age at 43 years–”

“--42,” she corrected, and when the doctor, a young and rather handsome fellow, glanced at her, she added a small smile. “As it’s only March.”

“Oh, so it is.” She was relieved when he chuckled. “I apologize for adding unnecessary months, madam.” The doctor stood and went to a large cupboard from where the sounds of glass bottles tinkled about the room. “Have you brought a maid to help you dress again?”

Cora shook her head; though she trusted O’Brien implicitly, there was no one at home she trusted with this secret. Only Rosamund, of all people, knew. And Cora had not asked to borrow a maid. She’d dressed simply, and purposefully.

“I see. I can send someone in to assist you when we’ve completed the exam, if you so require.”

It was now that the nurse who’d shown Cora in entered again, quickly and quietly. Cora looked down into her blanketed lap, avoiding the other woman’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, but her presence made it seem all too much. A witness to her crimes. Was this a crime? Oh, she didn’t know.

The doctor, Cora noticed, was peering at her as he closed the cabinet, and as if he could hear her thoughts, he glanced over at the nurse and then back again. “Nurse Wilson will remain with us, by your permission.”

She smiled, her good manners a practiced second-nature, and she found herself nodding. “Yes, of course,” she lied. And her stomach turned.

“Very good.”

It was at this that Cora felt the examination table jostle beneath her. The sound of wood scraping and metal locking into place sounded strangely out of place in such a well-appointed room, and she had to remind herself of the purpose of this visit. She peered up and saw stirrups she supposed had always been there, and between the two imposing things, shone the young doctor’s face. “Please lie back, Mrs Levinson. I will inform you of everything I mean to do before I’ve done it.”

She nodded. Cora leaned back into the thin pillow that had been provided for her at the head of the table. A pin that O’Brien had stuck hastily into her hair that morning at Rosamund’s scraped against her scalp, mockingly, and she winced slightly. The doctor, meanwhile, spoke on, his voice coming from between her knees. And though she didn’t dare look, and though she had no clue what he was saying, she sensed the nurse turn on the lamp near her left ankle and adjust it as the doctor sat on a wooden stool.

“It is noted that you and Mr Levinson have had children. How many? You’ll feel my touch here.”

Cora swallowed, his touch and his question simultaneously working against her mental faculties.

“I—“

“—or the number of conceptions since you’ve married.”

“Oh.” She could see the light reflecting from his head mirror dance quickly across the room as he moved. “Yes.” She swallowed. “We’ve been married 23 years. Last month.”

“And the number of conceptions and children? You’ll feel pressure as I palpate the abdomen here. Feeling for the womb, madam.”

“Four conceptions.” She paused and waited until he was finished. “Three children.”

“Oh,” the doctor’s voice was quieter. “Indeed?”

She had tried to avoid this, but she heard the question the doctor was perhaps too polite to ask. Three children. Three. So then why was she here?

“Three daughters,” she amended, and even from where she laid upon the table, she could sense the way the doctor hesitated in his movements. It sounded ungrateful. It sounded odd. She had three daughters.

“All…living?”

Three beautiful, living daughters. “Yes.”

“I see.” He paused, and in the pause, Cora’s fingers felt again for the edge of the cotton blanket, and she wadded it into her palm.

“Now, Mrs. Levinson, I am going to insert the speculum to help me see the neck of the womb, if that’s agreeable. I understand that you may not be familiar with such a tool, or feel they’re outdated, but I feel strongly that examinations require sight and cannot be relied upon touch alone. Do I have your permission?”

She wished he’d just get on with it. “Yes, of course,” she answered, prompting the nurse to come and stand closer to the doctor. Cora tilted her chin up, letting herself examine the ceiling as he did what he’d said he would do. But to Cora’s surprise, instead of feeling any sort of discomfort, she found she wanted to suppress a small laugh.

Oh. Oh how stupid this was. How stupid and silly she was. Why hide it? Why hide any of the truth from this man who was at that very moment seeing parts of Cora’s own anatomy that she’d not ever seen herself. And at that thought, the thought that this man between her legs didn’t even know her name, she did laugh, once, before pressing her lips together.

“Mrs. Levinson? Are you in pain?”

“No. Not at all. It isn’t that.”

“Please, if you feel any—“

“—Doctor Ryder, I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.” She exhaled, and feeling less guilty already, she spoke. “I’ve used my maiden name.”

She could feel the doctor gently complete his exam, and she didn’t feel embarrassed any longer as he stood to look over her blanketed knees at her, his head mirror still before his right eye.

“Might I sit up?”

“Yes, apologies, yes,” he nodded, and the nurse was at her elbow as the doctor wiped his hands.

“The thing is,” Cora explained, “I’ve been afraid word would get around about my coming here. My mother-in-law detests a scandal,” she admitted, feeling lighter and lighter as she spoke. “You see, my husband is the Earl of Grantham.”

“Oh. Yes. That is—“

“—and therefore you can appreciate my discretion.”

She waited until the doctor’s smooth, unlined features fell into what she finally considered was the countenance of comprehension before she went on.

“As for my history, I had a difficult birth with our youngest. She was malpositioned and overdue. Labor was prolonged. There was likely…well, I don’t know precisely. But there was a great deal of bleeding and healing was very slow. I wasn’t well for weeks. And, since 1895, there hasn’t been another conception.” It was at this moment that she realized her feet were still fitted awkwardly in the stirrups, though she’d closed her knees, and flushing a little now, she let her feet come free to dangle off the edge of the table as she spoke. It allowed her to break her gaze from his wide and unblinking one, and she was grateful. “My first pregnancy was a loss—a miscarriage at three months—but I conceived my elder two daughters in quick succession with very little difficulty. My youngest did come later than expected, but this—.” Again, Cora exhaled. “There seems to be no reason. I still have my courses fairly regularly, at least for my age. Marital intercourse is likewise quite regular. And I would very much like to…” And, pushing down the sharp edge that had suddenly risen in her throat, she let herself speak freely, in spite of her returned embarrassment. “I would like to….I—“

“A son.”

She looked at Doctor Ryder, and she had to blink away a sudden threat of tears. Now it was real. And overwhelming. “Yes.” She nodded. “I used my maiden name because Lord Grantham doesn’t know I’m here. He hasn’t asked me to do this. If it’s even possible.”

“It can be.”

She felt her mouth fall open, slightly, and she closed it again.

“There’s one small matter. You say your youngest was malpositioned? Might I ask, was it shoulder dystocia?”

“Shoulder…”

“Were the shoulders, for lack of a better word, stuck? During your labor?”

She furrowed her brows. “You can tell that? From my exam?”

Doctor Ryder nodded. “You have heavy scarring at the opening of your cervix—the neck of the womb. It’s evidence of a large tear which can take place when the shoulder becomes stuck during birth. I’m sure that your daughter was positioned poorly, as you say, and was also too large. Indeed, you yourself were likely positioned poorly during labor. The proper way to proceed with such a complication is to turn the laboring mother on her hands and knees.”

Cora looked around her, feeling a little like she was being shown a magic trick.

“Furthermore, while you’ve noted that your courses have continued, the scarring is significant enough that I’m sure it prohibits any emission full access to the womb.”

She felt color rise in her cheeks, but dipped her chin, proceeding. “But it’s…able to be mended?”

“It will mean a small operation—well, more of a procedure. Quick, and while not altogether painless, healing time is minimal. Your age may play against you, but then,” at this, the doctor’s young face brightened, and the embarrassment, guilt, and jagged emotion that choked her moments ago were replaced by the warmth of love she felt for her husband, and the overwhelming desire she felt to make him happy. As happy as he’d made her. “I don’t see any real reason you can’t conceive another child.”

And Cora nodded, smiling.

#downton abbey #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #cobert drabbles #thank you so much for your sweet anon

[resplendentoutfit]

Dress recreation • Credit: The Dreamstress. The blogger wore her Jeanne Samary dress to an Impressionist art exhibition. Notice the image on her fan.

Pierre Auguste Renoir (French, ) • Portrait of the actress Jeanne Samary (1857-1890) • 1878 • Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, Russia

I love this 1870s style of a formal dress and I'm always surprised by the skill and creativity of current-day seamstresses who not only recreate dresses worn by portrait subjects but also model the dresses at appropriate events. It makes me wish I could sew!

As much as I'm enjoying re-visiting 19th century fashion after many years, my main interest is still with the art itself and often, the people portrayed therein.

So, who was Jeanne Samary? She was a beautiful, young actress with the Comédie-Française, who caught Renoir's eye. Her ambition was to compete for dramatic roles such as those offered Sarah Bernhardt. These roles were better paying and more prestigious than comedy.

Renoir would eventually paint Jeanne a dozen or so times. Many of those paintings are now masterpieces of Impressionist art.

Jeanne Samaray • c. 1877 Jeanne Samaray • Renoir • 1877

#portrait #art #painting #art history #fine art #pierre auguste renoir #impressionism #french artist #19th century european art #fashion history #victorian era fashion #19th century art #the resplendent outfit blog #painter #portraits

[jewellery-box]

Overdress, late 1870s. Silk trimmed with lace. The John Bright Collection.

Acquired from Rosemary Hurry

This dress, probably a formal afternoon or visiting gown, came into the John Bright Collection missing its skirt. The decision was made to photograph it for the website worn with an existing reproduction skirt that matched the colour or the plain satin trimming almost exactly. This has produced a strong contrast with the pale patterned silk that was characteristic of the late 1870s and shows the overdress off to advantage, though it is possible that the original skirt was also of patterned silk.

Many dresses of the earlier 1870s were influenced by the styles of the 1770s and 1780s, their looped and puffed up skirts simulating the late 18th Century polonaise. The popular ‘Dolly Varden Polonaise’ was named after a character in Charles Dickens’ novel ‘Barnaby Rudge’ that was set in 1780. Although its silk, woven with vertical bands of flowers, is similar in concept to brocades of the 1770s the dress owes more in style to those of the late 17th Century, their trained skirts looped up and fastened at the centre back to reveal a contrasting petticoat or underskirt.

The mother of pearl buttons are incised in gold with a naïve representation of a horse’s head.

#victorian #victorian era #victorian fashion #19th century #fashion history #historical fashion

[lickkuid]

Music of the night | Erik Destler

Warnings: NSFW, First time, Dom!Erik, Fluff // 18+

About: Erik and Christine have unspoken feelings for each other that develop more and more with every lesson he teaches her. One night after their lesson, Christine asks to unmask Erik to see his true self. Overcome with emotions, the two cannot help but show each other how much they love one another. Based in the 1870s but Erik doesn’t live under the Opera house.

Word count: 8,243

-

“Again,” Erik demanded, hovering his fingers above the keys of his piano. He and Christine occupied the music room of his small flat, having their weekly lesson. Their lessons had been continuing for roughly five months now, and with every visit, Christine was progressing immensely. Faster than he thought she would.

But the minute Erik met her, he quickly realized she was unlike anyone else. Purely a goddess. In beauty, personality, and ambience.

Her rich, chocolate brown eyes met his icy ones which reminded her of the snow that rested delicately upon pine trees in the coldest months of winter. He watched her with such intensity her airway felt constricted, her breath hitched in her throat.

He gave a soft nod, signaling to begin again. His fingers danced over the keys effortlessly, still watching his goddess.

Sucking in a silent breath, Christine tore her gaze from his and focused intently on the drapes of the steel gray curtains atop the window to steady her breath. Tapping her fingers softly against her dress, she began the aria which Erik had her memorize in their last lesson. With the first couple notes out of the way, she let herself get lost in the music.

Her eyes closed as the music brought waves of great sadness over her. The slow, melodramatic notes flowed with fluid grace from the piano and meshed perfectly with Christine’s angelic voice.

Erik only broke his gaze off of Christine to glance at the keys, but they returned only a second later to her delicate frame. This was the time he was really able to study his angel, and he didn’t waste a second. Her curls were pulled up to her head, tied by a ribbon. However, her hair was so long, it still managed to reach below the blades of her small shoulders. He wanted to wrap her curls around his finger, hoping they were as soft as they looked.

Just before he finished the last note, he broke his gaze off her and looked to the keys.

Once the piece had finished, Christine stood still with her eyes closed. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest, attempting to break free. “Christine,” Erik started, drawing her attention to him. She watched as he slowly stood from his bench, his tailcoat brushed the seat, and walked around the piano. “That was perfection.” he beamed.

The white mask obscured half of his beautiful smile. Christine had been a little alarmed during their first lesson when he wore the mask, but as their time went on in lessons, she had grown used to it. Though she longed to see what his full smile looked like unmasked.

Blushing at his compliment, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and glanced at the plush carpet. Her heart began to skip faster, and her stomach tumbled. “I have you to thank, maestro.”

“Let's end with that today, we have been at it for almost two hours now.” He trailed off, reading the clock on the wall.

Christine nodded, she thought she sensed a hint of disappointment in his voice, but quickly scolded herself for even thinking that, knowing it was probably a figment of her imagination. Surely it was wrong to fall in love with a married man.

At least- she thought he was married. His house was always very clean, the only small clutter was a pile of scores on top of the organ in the far corner of the room. Their lessons were always done in private with only the two occupying the flat, but she always guessed that was how he liked teaching his lessons. His wife most likely goes into town to shop while he teaches. She didn't have any proof of marriage, but it was better to think he was spoken for than to let herself dream of a reality with him.

Erik thought their time together always went too fast. The two hours they had been rehearsing felt as if twenty minutes had passed. It was frustrating. Their time spent together brought him much joy. Once she left her lessons, he was already looking forward to seeing her the following week.

Christine also glanced at the clock with the realization so much time had passed. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I hope I have not overstayed my welcome.” She said, the rosy color across her cheeks deepened to a red, and she quickly gathered her things off the chair against a wall.

Erik had to hold back a smile watching her become flustered. He gave a soft shake of his head and turned back to his piano to close the lid over the keys. “Christine, you never overstay your welcome.”

She put her cloak on and drew her bottom lip in between her teeth, a habit she developed when in deep thought. Erik watched her, wanting nothing more than to stop her actions. Her lips were far too pretty for her to be biting in such a way. He wouldn’t mind doing it, but what was entirely too inappropriate to think about in her presence.

Seeming to lose the battle with her mind, Christine ran her thumb over her arm and looked down. “No, I should be going. I’m sure your wife is to return home soon.” She hesitated.

Erik’s brows knit together in confusion. “Wife?” Where did that idea come from?

Erik longed to be a husband. To have someone to tend to, have someone to provide for. Someone to share walks into town with. Someone who could look past his repulsive face and tormented body. But his face never let him get the opportunity. Any woman whom he ever came in contact with, which weren’t more than a handful, had turned their noses up at him or made a point to gawk at him. Everyone but Christine. Oh, how he longed for another half. He longed for her.

Christine silently cursed herself for her cloak resting on her shoulders now, for she was flaming hot. Had she misjudged him? Was her handsome teacher unwed? “I was under the impression that you are married.” She spoke softly, looking at him. The confusion etched on his face slowly softened.

Before Erik’s mind could process what he was doing, he strode forward and stood in front of Christine and looked down at her features. He had a good couple inches on her height. Her head only came as high as his upper lip.

Christine’s heart felt like a sledgehammer in her chest. Her eyes never left his icy ones as he planted himself a foot in front of her. His aroma of roses and some other earthy scent. Pine. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief second as his scent enveloped her, clouding her thoughts.

Once Christine opened her eyes, Erik held up his left hand which did not adorn a wedding band. “I’ve never been married,” he murmured, seeming almost embarrassed at the fact.

Guilt washed over Christine for bringing up a topic that clearly held many emotions for him. She looked at his hand which had the slightest tremor to it. The only piece of jewelry was a silver band with a black stone in the middle which rested on his pinky finger.

“Oh. I am sorry for assuming. I only thought with the privacy of lessons and how well kept your home is, you had a wife.” The twinge of red returned to her fair skin.

Erik watched her with such intensity, it made her want to squirm. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable gaze. She almost thought it was an adoring look to his features. Her breath hitched in her throat when his hand came up to brush a curl away from her face, brushing it behind her ear. She leaned into his palm, the coolness of his fingers felt like a breath of fresh air against her burning cheeks.

“Maestro,” She began.

“Erik.” He interrupted. “Please, call me Erik outside of our lessons.” His voice thick.

“Erik,” She corrected. “May I?” she asked softly, gesturing to his mask.

His relaxed shoulders turned rigid in an instant, a sharp breath drew into his lungs. Erik’s jaw ticked and he lowered his head. Of course she would want to see it. Erik had known the day was coming, but no matter how many times he thought he was ready to show her, he would always chicken out. He didn’t want to lose Christine. She was his sunshine on a rainy day, unbeknownst to her.

“You know I will never judge you, you can trust me fully with anything,” Christine spoke with such gentleness, it made Erik want to sob in her arms and tell her every detail of his poor life he had endured. But he would spare her the gruesome details of his past.

His jaw twitched a couple more times as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. His gaze remained focused on the ground between their feet. He understood that whether it was now or later, the topic of his mask would come up again and he would be faced with this same ultimatum. Show her now and have her walk out of his life for his cursed face, or continue to become more attracted and attached to her, only to have her leave him further down the road when she sees his true self.

Erik nodded and Christine gently cupped his face in her palms. His day old stubble pricked her palms as she ran her thumb over his left cheek.

Her left hand raised to where his jaw and neck met. As her thumb hooked under the porcelain mask, Erik’s shoulders began to shake. Slowly, the mask made its way over Erik’s face, pulling the black wig along with it too, exposing his two greatest insecurities.

The gasp of horror he was waiting to hear, never came. Instead, Christine trailed her hand up and over the mountains and valleys of his beautifully carved skin. His skin was incredibly smooth under her dainty fingers. The heat of her palm against his sensitive deformity was shocking, he felt as though he had been struck by lightning.

Damn fool. He thought. Your hideous face has shocked her beyond words. Sucking in another ragged breath, the tears began to sting his eyes. “Please, spare me your criticism.” His voice laced with emotion. “If you no longer wish to partake in lessons with me, I shall not hold it against you. This disastrous face isn’t deserving of someone with your beauty.”

What kind of life had this man known? The thought alone brought forth the familiar sting of tears in Christines eyes as she looked at his face. Had he been shunned by everyone whom he had met, just because of his face?

“Erik,” Christine said, moving her right hand to his jaw to try and lift his gaze to her.

“No, Christine please,” his body shook with more violence as a tear escaped down his face. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please just go,” The sound of a choked sob left the man. His walls were completely shattered, not having any more fight left to hold them up.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice coming out stronger than she thought it would. The sound of the sob leaving him was enough to shatter her heart in pieces. Seeing the man she loved so broken, awoke a dark place inside of her that wanted to tear through anyone who ever made him feel like he was less than perfect.

Even in his disheveled state, he still stood taller than her. His puffy, ice blue eyes met her chocolate ones. His cheeks were flushed the faintest pink and his lips a brighter shade of red. His tears left wet trails down his cheeks resulting in her reaching up to swipe them away with her thumbs.

“You are beyond beautiful,” she began. “I can’t make changes to your past, but I can change the future. And I don’t want you to believe for even a second that you are not deserving of any kind of love.”

This is it. The time to tell him. If she was going to get emotional, now was the time to do so.

Standing on her toes, Christine placed a gentle kiss on his marred cheek. “I have loved you far too long to let you speak like this. Thinking nobody loves you.” The whisper of her words was hot on his cheek.

His heart jumped in his chest as another tear fell from his eye at her words. He had dreamt of her saying these words, but never thought he would get the satisfaction of her love.

The touch of her lips on his flesh was a feeling unlike anything Erik had ever experienced before. Sweet intoxication. He wanted- no, he needed more.

Before he could make any move towards her, she continued speaking, tears now brimming her eyes. “I need you to know. I have loved you and will continue to love you for as long as I am breathing. My heart feels like it is going to pound out of my chest anytime we are near. I long for your touch,” a tear escaped her eye. “I know you may not feel the same, but I can’t let you think you are unloved because I love you with every fiber of my being. I burn for you.” She confessed, feeling as if the weight on her shoulders had lifted.

Through her confession, his eyes never strayed from hers. A shuddering breath caused his chest and shoulders to rise and fall sharply. His Christine. She wanted him. She loved him. “Oh, Christine.” He reached for her, almost afraid she would shy away from his touch, regardless of her words.

An overwhelming emotion overtook him as he stepped forward and let his hand cup her cheek, an action he had longed to since the day he met her. She smiled up at him with such love, now that he had known her expression. Her brows pinched together softly, her lips full and rosy. “You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that,”

Christine broke eye contact for a brief moment, flicking her gaze to his lips and back up at his glassy eyes. Erik knew that look, or at least he had read about that look. Romance novels had grown to be some of his favorites. For just some time, he could escape to a world where he was a handsome man and women didn’t look at him with disgust. He could experience what the sensation of kissing another was like.

Even without romance novels, he often thought about what it would be like to kiss Christine. Her lips soft and warm against his own. Experience desires with Christine. Roaming his hands over her body. Pleasuring her. Worshiping her. It was intoxicating and he wanted it all.

As Christine leaned in to him, his stomach tumbled in nervousness and excitement. He felt the weight of her hand land on his shoulder.

Erik didn’t know what to move or how to move it. His arms remained glued to his sides as her hot breath fanned his lips. Christine’s eyes fluttered shut and she closed the distance between them.

Every fantasy Erik had of this shared moment didn’t compare to the physical feel of her lips against his. Her lips were as soft as silk and pillowy against his own. Closing his own eyes and leaning into her body heat, Erik kissed her back and let his hands move to rest gently on either side of her waist.

Her perfume seemed to put him in a daze. The sweet smell of berries, dizzying him as warmth blossomed all over his body.

He stepped closer to her, finally pressing their bodies flush against one another and had to stifle a groan at their contact. Christine’s hand moved to tangle in his thin locks of hair, deepening their kiss.

Erik happily complied to whatever she wanted. He would give it to her. Lay the world down at her feet if she asked. He moved one of his hands to cup the side of her face to pull her impossibly closer.

A gasp left Christine as she brushed against his prominent erection. The desire within her swirling and her stomach swarmed with butterflies. Erik’s hips bucked at the contact, pressing himself further onto her hip.

Breaking the kiss, Christine looked up at him through her lashes. Her lips red and swollen. Erik’s chest heaved as he looked into her eyes, not liking the loss of contact. He needed to constantly have her touch, he felt as if he couldn’t breathe without it.

“Erik,” She breathed. “I need you,” she whimpered, her hand moved from in his hair, down to his chest, tugging at the front of his opened vest.

“Christine, are you positive?” His brows knit together. “Things wont go back to being the same between us. It will be the point of no return,” He hesitantly stroked her cheek with his thumb, afraid to do anything she wouldn’t like.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the gesture, leaning into his hand. This was absolutely what she wanted, for so long she had dreamed of his touch, of the feel of him inside her. She had never been more sure of anything else before.

“Take me there, I want all of you,” Christine told him.

Erik had no self control anymore. He would never be able to deny her anything she wanted. Regardless of his inexperience with physical touch, he would learn all the touches she desired.

He nodded and brushed his nose against hers. “Just be patient, this is all new to me.” he told Christine.

Her heart skipped a beat as he accepted. Her other hand moved to grab his hand that was holding her waist. His fingers were cool to the touch and a little clammy with nerves. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed gently. “It is for me too.” she admitted.

Erik squeezed her hand back and hesitantly leaned down to kiss her again. His fingers curled around the back of her head, pulling Christine closer.

Their lips collided, this time more heated than their first kiss. His lips were gentle but asserted dominance as they moved against her own. Their clasped hands fell apart at their sides and Erik used that time to grab her waist and pull her against himself.

Christine gasped at the contact of his erection against her hip. It was empowering to know that his body had that response to her. Wanting more, she pressed farther into him, grabbing the backs of his arms.

“Have me,” Her breathy voice whispered.

Erik broke their kiss and swept her up in one fluid motion. His arms went underneath her knees and across her back to clasp her waist. Christine instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck as he began to walk out of the music room.

They strode down the hall and to what Christine guessed was his bedroom. It was simple, a dresser rested against the wall, sheets of music atop the dresser. The same colored gray curtains were draped over the window, shielding their world from the one outside.

His bed was a beautiful black swan bed with red coverlets and pillows. She had never seen a more unique bed. She wanted to ask him about it, but decided to wait.

Erik gently laid her down, placing her so her head rested against the pillows. Before he settled above Christine, he pulled his tailcoat off, feeling too constricted

Christine watched him as he flung his coat across the room, not having a care in the world as to where it went or how wrinkled it would become. Erik’s left knee held his weight as he kneeled on the bed, coming over top of her.

His hands came to rest on either side of her head as she peered up at him. “Are you positive about this Christine?” His voice sounded strained.

Her heartbeat picked up as she peered up at him. His eyes still had a puffiness to them from crying earlier, and there was now a flush across his cheeks. Her hand came up to cup the right side of his face. The feel of his bumpy skin was warm against her hand. His eyes closed at the contact for a brief second before meeting her gaze.

“I’ve never been more positive about anything before.” she assured.

Wasting no more time, Erik lowered his body and crashed their lips together. Christine returned his kiss almost instantly. The heat of Erik’s body was like a magnet to her own, drawing herself as close to him as she could.

Parting her lips, she swiped her tongue across his bottom lip. It seemed to Christine that he was very timid of touching her the wrong way and that she would be the one to make the first move for things. And she was okay with it, as long as he was okay with anything she initiated.

Erik’s lips parted and their tongues met. It was a different feeling then Christine thought it would be, but the rush of arousal hit her core, making her let out a soft whimper against his lips.

Erik’s eyes opened in surprise at the sound, making sure it wasn’t a sound of hurt before closing his eyes again.

The bed dipped as his weight held up by his hands was transferred to his left arm. He moved so his elbow was taking his weight and his right hand trailed down Christine’s right side.

The trail of his fingers followed just beneath her breast, to the petite curve of her waist, giving a firm squeeze. Christine gasped against his lips at the contact, resulting in her breaking their heated kiss.

Loving the feel of her skin against his lips, Erik left a trail of kisses from her cheek to her ear, giving a soft tug on her lobe with his teeth. Christine's body arched into him, and the pleasure of her hip against his arousal was almost enough to send him over the edge. He was no stranger to masturbation, and did it often while thinking of his angel, but having her underneath him, arching into him, needing him, was pure ecstasy.

A groan left him, muffled against her skin. His hot lips moved to the base of her neck, leaving open mouth, gently licking and sucking on her sweet skin. It tasted just of her berry perfume, almost better. While he occupied her neck, Erik helped guide the cloak off of her, letting it fall off the side of the bed.

Christine's hands moved to discard him of his black vest. He nibbled her soft skin, and helped shrug off the article of clothing, letting it fall to the floor beside the swan. The hand that was on her waist moved to her arched back and began to pull the ribbon.

His trembling hand fumbled with untethering the string, but eventually was able to loosen it enough to have it slide off with ease. Erik broke off of her neck and tugged her corset up. Christine lifted her arms off his sides and up over her head. He lifted off of his arm and kneeled over her waist, then drew the fabric over her top half.

Once the corset was in his hands, he carefully placed it on the ground next to the bed, and brought his attention back to her. The fabric that had been removed supported her breasts, but now the plunging neckline of her dress didn't hold the fullness of them anymore.

Erik’s breathing picked up and he looked down at her, now only in her light blue dress and white lacy stockings which peaked out of the slit on her thigh.

Christine had grown inpatient and yearned for his touch. She leaned up on one elbow and grabbed the front of his white shirt, pulling him flush against her and crashed their lips together. Their sighs of content were music to each other's ears.

Erik pulled his body back a couple inches and began to unbutton the front of her dress, fumbling every other one. His nervousness made Christine smile against his lips.

Finally freeing the last one, Erik freed their lips and guided the fabric over one of her shoulders, then over the other. Her silky chemise revealed itself, the tiniest bit see through on her breasts where her nipple was. Sucking in a sharp breath, he allowed himself to look briefly but couldn’t let himself stare. He was a gentleman afterall.

The material of her dress bunched at Christine’s waist, folding in soft ruffles. Erik’s hands found the fabric on her hips and he leaned down to peck her lips. Finding some confidence, Erik mumbled, “Lift your ass, Mon ange.”

Christine’s stomach erupted in butterflies at his use of language, though she happily complied. He wasted no time pulling it down her legs and neatly folding the dress in half, setting it down with the corset.

Settling back over Christine, his cock strained hard against his trousers. Erik adjusted himself and almost moaned at the touch against his erection. He was aching, but he would not risk touching himself again in fear of finishing before her.

“You are wearing far too many clothes for my liking,” she said and began unbuttoning his white shirt. Before she could make it to the second one, Erik grabbed her hands gently and pinned her to the bed. “Christine, you cannot see my body,” his voice shook.

“There are scars from my past and it is not something you should ever have to look upon.” He explained, finally meeting her gaze.

Erik released her arms, and settled his weight like he had previously, on either side of her head. Longing for his touch still, Christine wrapped her right arm around his neck and brought the other to his cheek. “Erik, I love you,” She began, trailing her thumb back and forth over his deformity. “I love everything about you. I will never look at you differently for your body having a story. Scars or not, I will never love you less. To me, you are perfect.” Her eyes never strayed from his, which now pooled with tears.

“Mon ange,” he quaked, vision becoming blurry. “I love you, Christine.” He responded back to her, leaning down to give a passionate kiss.

Christine returned it instantly, feeling his tears drip onto her cheeks. “May I?” she questioned. Christine never wanted to make him uncomfortable, so his consent to anything she did was always needed.

With a sharp inhale, Erik nodded. Christine carefully unraveled her arm from his neck and dropped the one at his cheek. Her hands found their way back to his buttons and began to unfasten them.

His shirt buttons only traveled down to the middle of his chest, exposing his skin in a sharp V shape. Unable to control herself, Christening brought both hands up to his collarbone and let her warm fingers explore his muscular chest.

She almost moaned at the feel of his broad chest. The muscles under her palms were large and toned. Her hands met the soft curl of his chest hair as she let her curious hands wander aimlessly around his chest.

Finally pulling away before she lingered too long, she brought her hands down to his waist and pulled the shirt out of his trousers. Before she pulled the material up more she looked at Erik who was already watching her with a vulnerable gaze. “I love you,” She assured.

Erik felt his heart pull in his chest at her words. She loved him. She really loved him. It was something he would have never dreamed of happening and he never wanted to wake up from this dream. “I love you so much, mon ange.” he replied and let her pull the shirt over his body.

His muscles that Christine had run her hands over were sharply defined in the soft glow of the gas light. His dark chest hair left a light trail down his stomach and into his trousers. Along his ribcage, a large scar ran to the front of his chest, following the length of a rib. She grit her teeth together, noticing a lot more small ones no bigger than an inch long all over his torso.

“You’re beautiful,” she told him, trailing her fingers along some scars.

One of his hands cupped her cheek and he gave a weak smile. Too overcome with emotions in the moment, all Erik could do was lean down and kiss her passionately.

Christine sighed in content and brought her hands down his body to the loops in his trousers. Giving a soft tug forward, Erik’s hard on ground right into Christine’s sex.

Their moans joined together in their kiss, becoming more heated by the second. One of Erik’s hands moved to grope her breast under her chemise, no longer able to contain himself.

Christine moaned in delight, tipping her head back as his fingers rolled her nipple in between his fingers. Her skin was even softer, if that was possible.

With each light twist and roll of his fingers, waves of pleasure shot to Christine’s sex. Her hand that was pressed against his chest moved to his side to hold onto him. The pleasure pooling to her center caused a deep ache to settle between her legs.

Erik removed his hand briefly to pull her chemise off both shoulders and down to her waist, exposing her full breasts. His mouth watered at the sight, wanting to take her into his mouth. Before he could act upon his thoughts, Erik tore his gaze from her breasts and looked at her to make sure this is what she wanted.

Christine watched Erik’s questioning gaze and gave him a nod, not giving him time to ask. She lifted her hips to give him easy access to pulling her chemise off.

Suddenly, Christine was met with a wave of nerves that made her stomach flop as Erik began to move the fabric slowly down her hips.

The sound of a choked groan got caught in Erik’s throat as he caught sight of her fully naked for him. The curls hid most of her beautiful flesh but the knowledge that she was bare for him, made him want to cry tears of joy. He had longed for a woman to devour and now he could finally act upon his desires.

Christine looked up at him with an obvious flush to her features as he took in her full body. Only her stockings remained with her garter holding them up, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of removing either.

Putting her chemise with her other articles of clothing, Erik broke out of his trance and hovered over Christine. He left hot, sloppy kisses from her belly button up to the base of her breast.

His hot breath fanned over her hardened bud, making Christine shiver. Goosebumps pimples her skin, raising the hairs on her arms.

Giving light kisses to her breast, he suddenly took her right nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue over her nub, glancing up at her.

Christine’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as her head thrust back into the plush pillows. The wetness of his tongue was enough to drive her to insanity. The lapping of his tongue flicking over her bud sent pulsing waves of pleasure to her center. Her hands flew to his hair, pushing him more into her breast, resulting in him sucking harder.

Erik’s left hand groped her left breast and began to roll her nipple between his fingers, giving an occasional pull. A whimper left Christine as she bucked her hips to his, needing to relieve some pressure. “Erik,” she moaned once her hips met his.

He glanced up at Christine, his cock twitching in his trousers at her moaning his name. “More… I need more,” she begged, her chest heaved in uneven breaths.

Erik’s right hand which was resting against her side gave a slight tremor as he thought of his next action. Bringing his shaking hand off of her waist, he rested it on her upper thigh, having to work up the courage to touch the sacred area of his angel.

His once cold fingers had become warm from Christine’s body heat. The weight and warmth of his hand made her hips buck up to try and get him to move. “Please,” she whimpered.

Erik grazed her nipple softly with his teeth, his fingers trailed steady circles into her leg. At an agonizingly slow pace, he began to move his fingers up to her core.

Not wanting to leave her waiting for long, he sucked in a sharp breath, pulled her breast out of his mouth and switched sides so he sucked her left breast and his hand played with her wet bud. His right hand cupped her warm core.

Christine gasped at the feel of him against her. Her stomach coiled and her hips moved involuntarily against his hand.

Erik sucked her nipple hard, earning a cry of pleasure. He began to move his fingers gently between her folds, the wetness of her desire surprised him. His fingers coated in her dripping heat. He had to stifle a groan from the feel of her.

Erik pulled off her nipple with a “pop” and watched his hand move through her now slick folds. His thumb found the bud that he had read about before in many explicit books. Curiosity got the best of him as he applied light pressure and swirled it in a circle.

“Oh god,” she cried and pushed against him, applying even more pressure. Feeling satisfied with knowing the books had not failed him, he applied even more pressure eliciting a cry from Christine.

Watching his hand move against her, Erik’s erection twitched, begging to be released. Self control had always been an enemy of his, but he was not letting his own desire get in the way of hers.

Releasing her nipple with his hand, Erik leaned down to leave featherlight kisses to her collar bone, never stopping the circling of this thumb.

Her hands found the back of his head as he kissed her neck. Christine pulled him up to her lips and kissed him feverishly.

Erik returned her kiss and ran his middle finger over her entrance. Her sigh of satisfaction was quickly replaced with a gasp as Erik pushed his finger into her tight, wet center.

“Christ,” she breathed, arching her back at the new feeling of fullness inside her. Erik slowed the circling on her bud to a halt, not wanting to overwhelm her with the sensations. He kept his finger still once her slick walls enveloped his finger, letting her get used to the feeling.

The coiling in her lower belly grew as he sunk his finger inside her. With every inch of his finger moving inside of her, the butterflies flew wild.

Very slowly, he began to move his finger, pulling back until the tip remained and then pushed it back in until his palm met her folds. Her whimpers ghosted over his lips as her eyes remained closed, ravishing in the feel of him.

Erik took the time her eyes remained closed to observe her as he kept moving his hand. Her brows pinched together, curving upwards at the front. The very few smattering of freckles across the bridge of nose, Erik burned into his memory so he could draw them later. Her plump lips formed a soft ‘O’ in her pleasure.

Erik glanced down where their flesh met and added another finger, letting her adjust to the two digits. The crease between her brow deepened as he stretched her. Her bottom lip had now been drawn in between her teeth. Erik placed his other hand on her jaw and gently used his thumb to pull her lip out from her teeth.

Her lids opened and she met his gaze. “Does this feel okay?” He asked, looking over her face for any hint of discomfort.

She nodded and wiggled against him, trying to get him to move. “Yes, it’s perfect,” she responded.

Capturing her in a sloppy kiss and tracing his tongue along her bottom lip, he began moving his fingers, picking up the pace. Instinctively, she allowed him inside her mouth as their tongues danced together.

Erik returned his thumb to her sensitive bud, earning the reward of her moan to his ears. Once she felt stretched enough, he curled his fingers, attempting to give her a new form of pleasure.

Christine’s hands flew to his back and clawed gently, making sure not to hurt him where his scars were. “Keep doing that,” she told him as he brushed against a spot that made her see stars.

Erik complied, giving her exactly what she wanted. He moved his head down to her neck and began to suck on her flesh, leaving a light mark just above her collarbone, not wanting to hurt her.

“F-Faster,” she pleaded. He looked up at her and saw small beads of sweat coating her forehead.

Speeding up pace, he curled his fingers just like she had asked him to, her moans coming out more sporadic.

Knowing the reaction it elicited from her earlier, Erik drew her breast into his mouth again and lapped over the perky bud. “Oh god, Erik.”

He hummed in response, the vibrations adding to the waves of pleasure flooding to her core.

As his fingers curled inside Christine, she could feel herself becoming higher and higher, chasing the ultimate peak she could feel herself nearing. The tingles flooded over her body, small at first but began to feel like fireworks as she neared the precipice of ecstasy.

Shocks and jolts suddenly took Christine, feeling as though electricity had run through her sex. Her body clenched around his fingers as she reached the edge, the pleasure becoming too much for her to handle. Her legs began to shake and her hips lifted involuntarily, grinding harder against his hand.

The electric shock in her core eventually subsided to small jolts once her orgasm passed. Her chest heaved as Erik pulled off her breast and smiled up at her. “Was that okay?” He asked.

Her lids felt heavy but she kept them open and smiled at him while nodding. “That was better than anything I could have imagined,” she told him. Erik moved up towards her, his fingers slowly eased out of her, glistening in her orgasm.

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean of her desire. Christine gasped watching him, her stomach coiling as arousal hit her almost immediately regardless of her just experiencing an orgasm. “I need you in me,” she begged.

“Anything you command,” Erik said and shifted above her so he could unbutton his trousers and pull them down his legs, exposing his briefs.

His erection strained against the loose material, though it was not polite to stare, Christine couldn’t help but keep her attention focused on his length.

He tugged at the elastic band and in one swift motion, his cock sprang forward against the skin of his abdomen.

Drawing in a breath, Christine stared at the flesh. It was an impressive length and the girth of him was commanding. She had no clue how it would fit inside of her.

The tip was extremely red with the tip glistening in the lamp light. He had the slightest curve to his length, which made Christine wonder if it would hit that spot inside of her that he had found minutes earlier.

He settled between her legs with one hand bracing his weight by her shoulder. Her knees rested against his hips, opening herself up to him. Erik looked at her, a flush over his cheeks. “This may sting a little, I’m sorry,” he told her. “I promise I will go slow,”

Christine nodded and rested her arms on either side of his ribs. She suppressed a moan as he guided his length over her folds and through the remnants of her orgasm. Once he had himself slicked up, he pushed the tip into her warm sex.

Closing his eyes at the feel of Christine’s tight walls, he had to use every ounce of control left to not plunge into her.

The pleasure she had once experienced had been replaced with a burning sensation as Erik pushed himself into her. Christine whimpered once the hilt of his body reached hers. The electric shocks she felt minutes ago now pulsed around Erik as she adjusted to his size.

The sting of tears burned her eyes. She closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her discomfort. “I’m sorry,” Erik whispered, kissing her gently.

Christine nodded and after a minute the pain finally subsided so a light sting. “Okay, you can move,”

Erik studied her expression for any hint of pain before he withdrew his hips, pulling his erection almost all the way out before plunging back in, at a slow pace.

He rested his head in the crook of her neck, biting down hard on his lip to control his lust. Again, he gently removed himself before pushing back into her, keeping an agonizingly slow pace for himself.

After a few more thrusts, the stinging gave way to pleasure for Christine and she began clawing his sides, meeting his thrusts.

Erik moaned in her ear, causing her stomach to tighten.

Feeling herself becoming more aroused with every push of his hips, Christine brought her hand to her mop of curls and began rubbing slow, sensual circles. Needing him impossibly closer, she drew her legs up and hooked them around his waist.

Erik used that opportunity to push a little deeper inside of Christine, resulting in a breathy moan falling from her lips.

“Touch yourself, Mon ange,” He told her, watching as her hand rubbed steady circles on her clit.

“It feels so good,” she breathed, moving her hand in faster circles.

“Just like that,” Erik purred, feeling his cock twitch inside her.

Feeling the need for more, Erik sped his pace up, the slapping for their skin becoming louder with each thrust. It was a sound Erik could listen to forever, he wanted to compose a song to the tempo. Christine rested her head against the pillows once more, seeking out her orgasm again.

Suddenly getting an idea, Erik halted his movements, and withdrew his length, earning a cry from Christine. He untangled her left leg from his waist and pushed it against her chest. Pushing his tip back in, Erik’s hips began moving at a faster pace.

Before Christine’s fingers could find her clit again, Erik beat her to it, rubbing the enlarged bud with his thumb. An audible gasp left her, the curling of her lower belly began. She had been amazed at how different it felt when he touched her versus when she touched herself. It was enticing.

Feeling himself becoming closer to the edge, Erik tried to push his release down, he needed Christine to come one more time before he would.

As Erik thrusted harder into her, he hit that familiar spot which he continuously grazed earlier. “Right there,” Christine moaned, feeling the pull of her pleasure building again.

Erik complied, thrusting into her again and again, finishing that same spot every time. With each snap of his hips, the same jolts of electricity found her core again, bringing her to the edge. “Erik,” she moaned, teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he demanded, adding more pressure to his thumb, feeling the same clenching around his length that he felt on his fingers.

Christine’s hands found his back and raked her nails down his back as her orgasm found her again. The waves of her release hit her harder this time, sending her body into a fit of convulsions.

Christine grabbed his face and kissed him with every ounce of energy she had left. Erik returned her kiss, just as passionately as she had. Feeling her walls clench around him, the familiar shiver of his orgasm quickly approached. His thrusts became uneven and sloppy, having no rhythm anymore. A whimper came from his throat as he pulled away from their kiss, needing air.

Suddenly his release crashed into him harder than it ever had before. A loud moan left him as he buried himself in her neck, quieting his whimpers. His hot seed shot inside Christine as he came crashing down on his high.

Erik’s chest heaved as he remained inside of her, trying to muster up the energy to pull out and get cleaned up.

Christine’s hands came to either side of his face and pulled him up to her. A sleepy smile found it’s way onto her face and she leaned forward to kiss him slowly. Kissing her back tentatively, Erik slowly pulled out of her.

Christine was thankful she chose to kiss him so he didn’t notice her wince when he pulled out. Pulling back from their kiss, Erik looked at her with a gentle gaze. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He questioned, looking around her face.

Christine shook her head and smiled softly. “No, that was amazing. Thank you,” she brushed some of his hair back that stuck to his forehead from sweat.

“Thank you,” Erik replied, giving her another kiss. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He asked, not waiting for her response since he was going to do it regardless of her answer.

“I will draw the bath for you, I shall return in just a few minutes, Mon ange,” he said, pulling himself off of the bed before he could let himself hold her. If he held her, there was no way they would be getting out of bed for the rest of the night.

“Erik,” she said, grasping his hand before he could walk away to the kitchen to get her the water.

“Yes, my love?” He asked, reaching down to grab his briefs that were thrown down by the bed.

“I love you,” she peered up at him, planning on telling him any possible chance he could get.

Erik smiled faintly. “And I love you, my Christine.” He kissed the top of her head and set off to get her the water for her bath.

-

About an hour after their exploration of one another, Christine lifted her head from Erik’s chest, who now wore a simple white shirt that exposed his chest in a V shape. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this for the last hour, but where did you find this bed?” She questioned, dragging her fingers over the soft coverlet.

Erik’s hand that was resting on her shoulder fell to her waist as she sat up and looked at him. He gave her a sheepish smile. “I.. found it,” he responded vaguely.

Christine hummed, not believing a word he said. Her expression must have given away her feelings because Erik gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “Okay, maybe I didn’t find it,” he trailed off.

Christine’s brow raised in silent question. “I stole it.” He admitted with a smile.

“Erik!” She scolded like a mother would who found their child eating sweets before supper.

He pulled her closer to him with his hand on her waist, missing the warmth she provided. She snuggled back into his side with a content sigh. “I’d hardly call it stealing. It was sitting out by a dumpster after a traveling show had left town. Since it was sturdy, I decided to bring it home.” He explained.

Christine closed her eyes and tried to imagine him moving this bed all by himself and couldn’t help but giggle. “How did you move this all by yourself? I must admit, it is quite amusing to think,”

Erik looked down at her and twirled a finger around her damp curls, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. “I have an acquaintance from Persia that I asked to come help me move it. Cesar pulled the weight once we got it onto the wagon.” He told her, kissing the top of her head.

Knowing that he had been a stranger to friendship and relationships most of his life, Christine smiled at the idea of him having a friend. “I’d like to meet him,”

Erik nodded and rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes. “I will write to him soon to request his company,” he smiled, thinking of his only friend meeting his lover.

“You’ve also been to Persia?” She asked him, not knowing he traveled.

“I’ve been to many countries, my dear,” He told her, thinking of all the countryside he had seen in his 34 years of life.

“Would you tell me about your travels?” She peered up at him through her lashes.

He smiled and laced their fingers together. “Of course,” he told her and began to recite all the different cultures he had seen throughout his travels across Europe. Through his explanation, Christine leaned further into him and absorbed every word that came from his lips. Her heart squeezed being in his arms, finally feeling complete.

you can find me on AO3 (Lickkuid) where I am currently writing a Royal phanfic of Erik and Christine (it’s gonna be 🌶️🌶️)

#erik destler #erik x christine #poto #imagine #erik poto #christine daae #phandom #phantom of the opera #creative writing #romance #andrew loyd webber #gaston leroux #poto 2004 #phantom of the opera fanfic #gerard butler #gerik

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Purple Taffeta Visiting Dress, 1868-1870.

Augusta Auctions.

#purple #taffeta #1868 #1860s #augusta auctions #womenswear #extant garments #silk #dress #19th century #visiting Dress #1860s dress #1860s visiting dress #1869 #1870 #1860s extant garment #1870s extant garment

[archduchessofnowhere]

I once accompanied my parents [king Albert I and queen Elisabeth of the Belgians] to Saint-Germain-en-Laye where the peace treaty between the allied powers and Austria was being drawn up (September 10, 1919). I can still see, in the great room of the castle, the table with the green carpet, from which were born, alas! more thorns than roses.

The same day, we paid a visit to my maternal great-aunt Marie, widow of Francesco II of Bourbon-Sicily, last king of Naples. Aged eighty-years-old, she lived in exile in a modest apartment where horse engravings displaced family portraits. Some Neapolitan servants remained faithful to her. I can't forget this almost spectoral vision, a true resurgence of the past: great, straight, extremely thin, dressed all in black, her waist tightened by a leather belt: from it escaped a tight skirt that barely covered her button boots. But what struck me the most, was the haughty carriage of her little head crowned with a double graying braid and her periwinkle blue eyes, which literally devoured her face. When in the course of the conversation, this questioning and heartbreaking look fell on you, it made you wonder from what catastrophe the world was going to perish…

My frather spoke in German with the queen of Naples. She shook her head in sign of indignation while evoking, among other things, “the awful Treaty of Trianon which, through the stupid dismemberment of Hungary, dispossessed three million Magyars”. She spoke with a handkerchief over her mouth, no doubt out of coquetry, to hide her bad teeth… imitating her sister, the empress of Austria. The interview was interrupted by heavy silences, reminiscent of the distressing atmosphere of certain Russian novels. Finally, we took leave of this strange sovereign. At the moment of our parting, Marie asked if it was true that I was engaged to the heir to the Italian throne? Before the hesitation of my mother, she added that she would disapprove of her great-niece's union with a Savoy. It is very obvious that the one who was still called the “heroine of Gaeta” could only condemn such a union.

Let us remember the heroic gesture of the wife of the king of Naples, sharing the dangers of her soldiers to save the city, the final bastion of her kingdom besieged by the troops of Vittorio-Emanuele II. The first king of Italian unity represented, in the eyes of Marie-Sophie, nothing but a vulgar usurper.

Marie-José of Belgium (1971). Albert et Elisabeth de Belgique, Mes Parents

[Pictured, left: Princess Marie José of Belgium, circa 1910s. Right: Queen Marie Sophie of the Two Sicilies, circa 1870. Via Flickr and the Royal Collection Trust]

#finally i found this book and could read this anecdote in marie josé's words! #marie was a professional hater lol #queen marie josé of italy #queen marie sophie of the two sicilies #albert i of the belgians #queen elisabeth of the belgians #albert et elisabeth de belgique mes parents

[victorianchap]

🔸 Matilda Alice Powles (13 May 1864 – 16 September 1952) was an English music hall performer. She adopted the stage name Vesta Tilley and became one of the best-known male impersonators of her era. Her career lasted from 1869 until 1920. Starting in provincial theatres with her father as manager, she performed her first season in London in 1874. She typically performed as a dandy or fop, also playing other roles. She found additional success as a principal boy in pantomime. By the 1890s, Tilley was England's highest earning woman. She was also a star in the vaudeville circuit in the United States, touring a total of six times. She married Walter de Frece, a theatre impresario who became her new manager and songwriter. At a Royal Command Performance in 1912, she scandalised Queen Mary because she was wearing trousers. During the First World War she was known as "England’s greatest recruiting sergeant" since she sang patriotic songs dressed in khaki fatigues like a soldier and promoted enlistment drives. Becoming Lady de Frece in 1919, she decided to retire and made a year-long farewell tour from which all profits went to children's hospitals. Her last performance was in 1920 at the Coliseum Theatre, London. She then supported her husband when he became a Member of Parliament and later retired with him to Monte Carlo. She died in 1952 on a visit to London and is buried at Putney Vale Cemetery. Her life story was commemorated in the 1957 film After the Ball in which she was portrayed by Pat Kirkwood. #victorianchaps #victorian #edwardian #vestatilley #vaudeville #theatre #goodolddays #dandy #oldphoto #retro #vintage nostalgia #1870s #1880s #1890s #1900s #1910s #pastlives https://www.instagram.com/p/CjclkwOAwcp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#victorianchaps #victorian #edwardian #vestatilley #vaudeville #theatre #goodolddays #dandy #oldphoto #retro #vintage #1870s #1880s #1890s #1900s #1910s #pastlives

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 11, 17 mars 1878, Paris. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1800s #1870s #1878 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #retouch #Forney #dress #day #visiting #polonaise #trainhard #lace #bow stim #brown #purple

[linkles-art-blog]

Darling, I forgive you, after all Anything is better than to be alone And in the end I guess I had to fall; Always find my place among the ashes…

So, a short time back, I released a poll asking people if they wanted new angst art for Cherish, and the replies given were overwhelmingly positive, so here it is: the first work in a two-part set of angst art pieces.

There is a lot I would like to say in regards to this particular piece and the symbolism behind it, but I think that I will save that for under the cut, due to post length, zoomed in images, and talk of some much heavier subjects.

The idea behind creating these two art pieces was initially to participate in Domestic Violence Awareness Month (which is of course in October, which is also coincidentally Arthur’s birth month), if that gives you any idea of some of the subjects that will be below the cut (along with the usual stuff that I include in all of my art posts).

…And most importantly, if you can, please consider donating to some of the lovely organizations that help victims of various forms of abuse. I don’t want to recommend any particular ones in this post, as I don’t want to accidentally link to a place that may not be as on the level as some others out there, but if you have the time, please explore the Domestic Violence Awareness Month topic online, as I’m sure there are many lovely folks who can direct you to some great ones.

Also, if you think you or someone you know is being abused, or you just want to educate yourself on domestic violence and abuse, please visit thehotline.org and loveisrespect.org, which are two very very lovely sites dedicated to helping people in abusive situations that I myself have visited in the past.

I love you all so much.

Do not repost this artwork anywhere without my explicit permission or claim it as your own. See F.A.Q.s for details.

So, let me start off by saying that Arthur in this artwork was originally supposed to have a similar injury on his head to that which is described in Chapter 13 of my fic, but that was ultimately scrapped as I decided I did not want to be quite that heavy-handed and obvious with the imagery.

With that out of the way, let’s examine the finished piece a bit closer!

First, let’s talk about the (slightly crooked) painting in the background: this piece is actually not created by me at all, but rather, it is a painting from 1870 called Little Red Riding Hood at Her Grandmother’s Door, by Frederick Warne — with the subject, as the title implies, being Little Red Riding Hood arriving at her Grandmother’s cottage.

This sets a subtle nod for the main theme of this piece — with Arthur dressed in an outfit inspired by and matching the same coloring scheme of Little Red Riding Hood’s iconic garb. Paul, on the other hand, sports the gray, white, and black colors of the Wolf, with his shadow coming out behind him as an unsettling and somewhat uncanny wolf shape, grinning with its teeth bared.

The purpose of this symbolism is threefold: Firstly and most superficially, the music video for the song that the second piece was most inspired by also has a slight Little Red Riding Hood theme to it, so this can be seen as a subtle nod to it, but more importantly, it not only sets the precedent of Paul as the predator and Arthur as his prey, but also is meant to hold the same implications of sexual trauma — as well as the old physical violence and “wolf in sheep’s clothing” adage — that the fairytale is commonly viewed through the lens of and thought to represent in modern times.

Continuing forward from that idea, we can see Paul’s right hand reaching uncomfortably close toward Arthur’s inner thigh, whilst Arthur’s hands are in chains — lending not only to the sense that the teen is trapped in this relationship, but that his significantly older lover very simply does not care if he wants to be in it or not, and will do whatever necessary to keep him where he wants him — even if it means mental or some variety of physical harm.

Furthermore, if we examine Rimbaud’s hands, we can see that he is making a careful attempt at signaling his distress to the viewer of the photo — using both of his hands to try to show off the chains and also subtly form and display the two phases of the sign for help — at the same time trying to keep his pose seeming as natural as possible in front of his abuser by not facing them towards the camera, but rather letting them rest downward in his lap.

And to further drive home the point that Verlaine is keeping him trapped in their partnership, we can see the key to Arthur’s cuffs dangling from the chain of the stopwatch in the elder poet’s pocket that is fastened to his lapel.

If we then look to Arthur’s and Paul’s faces, we can further determine the mood of the two men by examining their eyes and expressions.

Whereas Paul is staring intently into his young affair partner’s eyes and grinning widely — with the slightest shimmer visible in his irises — unbothered and uncaring of the wedding ring he still has boldly worn upon his hand, Rimbaud will not look him in the eyes, instead glancing off to the side (almost in the direction of his lover’s ring) with lightless eyes (this is the first time I have drawn Arthur without any form of eye shine to emphasize this point), furrowed eyebrows, and only a half-smile on his face, as barely visible tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

…And yeah, that’s been my little deep-dive on the symbolism of this art piece! I really wanted to create something that at just a quick glance would mostly appear happy and cute, but which — like the painting which is only very slightly tilted) would get increasingly more unsettling the longer and closer you looked at it, and I really hope that I successfully captured that feeling in this work and that you enjoyed reading along with my notes on it!

See you in the next piece!

—

Songs I listened to while drawing this:

My Cherish Playlist (the public and currently only partial version of which you can listen to here.)

Lithium — Evanescence (also linked above in lyric excerpt)

Call Me When You’re Sober — Evanescence

Love the Way You Lie — Eminem ft. Rihanna

Love the Way You Lie (Part 2) — Anson Seabra

His Hands — Jennifer Nettles

Concrete Angel — Martina McBride

Alyssa Lies — Jason Michael Carroll

Do Me a Favor — Anson Seabra

Walked Through Hell — Anson Seabra

Haunted — Evanescence

Surrender — Evanescence

Narcissist — Lauren Spencer Smith

My Heart Can’t Tell You No — Sara Evans

My Heart Can’t Tell You No — Rod Stewart

It’s A Heartache — Rod Stewart

I Don’t Want to Talk About It (1989 Version) — Rod Stewart

The Last Song I’m Wasting On You — Evanescence

I Fell in Love With the Devil — Avril Lavigne

My Happy Ending — Avril Lavigne

Because of You — Kelly Clarkson

Please Don’t Leave Me — P!nk

Try — P!nk

Everybody’s Fool — Evanescence

Tainted Love — Chase Holfelder & Tom Evans

Animal — Chase Hofelder

Vampire — Olivia Rodrigo

Memories — Conan Gray

Summer Child — Conan Gray

How Could You — Jessie Murph

(And mostly unrelated to the vibe but I listened to these too)

The First Cut is the Deepest — Rod Stewart

Half a Man — Dean Lewis

Complicated — Avril Lavigne

Before He Cheats — Carrie Underwood

Raise Your Glass — P!nk

Don’t Speak — No Doubt

Whisper — Evanescence

Taking Over Me — Evanescence

Footnote — Conan Gray

Family Line — Conan Gray

#linklethehistorian #linkle’s art blog #bungou stray dogs #bsd #my artwork #my original content #digital art #procreate #iPad Pro #apple pencil #cherish #spoilers #cherish spoilers #Arthur Rimbaud #paul verlaine #my fanfic #verrim #rimlaine

[resplendentoutfit]

She Wore Blue Velvet...Bluer than velvet was the night...Softer than satin was the light...

Visiting dress • c. 1883

Navy blue velvet two-piece dress • Velvet and silk satin bodice • Pearl buttons and hooks and eyes • Decorative bead-work • Swagged fabric in the front • Interior bustle • 1881

Auguste Toulmouche (French, 1829-1890) • La Robe Bleu • c. 1870

#fashion history #antique dresses #1880s fashion #victorian women's fashion #blue velvet #silk velvet #beautiful old dresses #the resplendent outfit #auguste toulmouche #art history #19th century european art #19th century fashion #french artist #oil painting #painting