everyone and their mother likes a tudor silhouette for the lannisters and i understand why! BUT I DISAGREE! i see your sleeves (which are BEAUTIFUL i will never argue that) and your skirts and i raise you:
insane elizabethan gaudiness. skirts that force the riff raff to Keep Their Distance! ruffs god the RUFFS! embroidered and beaded until moving becomes a workout. stiff busks and small waists (looking even smaller next to that TENT of a skirt). ribbons and pearls and lace and rubies (RUBIES! DID SOMEONE SAY RUBIES? CERSEI I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU!) are these dresses not Dripping in luxury and finery? the silhouette is just slightly absurd enough to Stand Out okay you KNOW what era this, therefore the people of westeros KNOWWWWWWW who these people are the second they see that right angle waist. plus added benefit: those bodices are probably stiff enough to stop a blade. not that i dont literally gain years on my life every time i see cersei’s cunty chest plate.
i mean (yes these are closer to costume than recreation BUT YOU GET IT OKAY YOU UNDERSTAND) its theatric its dramatic it has me looking at paintings going What is the point?????? and then i remember the point is to stop the show and draw attention and really leave a mark and is that not the lannister way? now i am known to also be a pre-tudor Plantagenet era slim silhouette yards of fabric Typical Medieval Dress fan for cersei BUT CERSEI TRANSCENDS FASHION OKAY. this is her at casterly rock. this is THE WESTERLANDS. this is who she REALLY IS. i can see it in my mind like this is a vision i KNOW it to be true
i mean come on. guys its too easy. i can see her plotting scheming in a giant skirt and a beautiful ruff. she’s analyzing the minuscule beadwork of other court dresses trying to figure out what message she’s being sent (she is not being sent one). she orders EVERY detail of her own gowns to make sure she’s communicating properly back. ladies in waiting carry their own secret messages in beads and lace and decoration and cersei feels SOOO smart because they dont even know it. she wears gold and jewels in a pattern to mimic a maesters chain because at this point she deserves one. think also how easy it is to hide poison in this shit. so many stones that could be hollow. so many layers and folds. and listen when they’re kids and she and jaime trade clothes to pretend to be each other its EVEN EASIER cause nobody knows what you actually look like in this anyway
the wedding look went crazy okay. ruffs and the fucking. peacock head thing i can’t remember the name of. embroidered lions shimmering with ruby eyes and gold thread, dress tinkling with every move because its dripping in pearls and gold and emeralds. alright this fabric is Stiff with beading and stitching and Layers. you can’t look at cersei directly because the torchlight gleams off of her like some demented early stage psychosis medieval disco ball. golden haired golden dressed golden skinned Gold Gold Gold she exudes richness and beauty and fashion. this is fucking crazy to a baratheon court. she upstages the new king. she upstages the memory of rhaella. everyone sees now that she should have been a targaryen queen. DO YOU SEE IT. like i am such a zealot for this like this is SERIOUS TO ME. red and yellow and black and red and red and yellow and GOLD and in her insane mind these are snide allusions to rhaegar and elia and robert to everyone who can see her. and to jaime. this is a lannister woman marrying in lannister colors and she fucked her twin brother That Morning. okay that is also a silly little reference she’s making. THIS WOMAN IS CRAZY SHE DESERVES THE GAUDIEST FASHION HISTORICAL RECREATIONS CAN PROVIDE!
also if it were real (it is real. im grrm.) the allusion to elizabeth i the virgin queen sole female ruler… that just makes me giggle in and of itself.
i rest my case!
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Still got that Horror Mafiafell Sans brainrot
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It wasn’t the first time Sans had pulled you into his lap, by any stretch of the imagination. The wads of cash he so often put in your pocket to ‘make up’ for the time you spent trapped had been difficult to explain to the bank at first- by now, it had happened so often that the tellers just got a look on their faces when they saw you walk in
They called you by name without looking at any paperwork. They probably thought YOU were in the mafia.
It was common bar knowledge how fond he was of holding you through his meals. Nowadays, Lisa would jokingly 'warn' you when he came through the doors and his mood was visibly stormy... the deeper his glower, the more likely he was to pull you in without warning when you passed his table, those giant claws sealing tight around a body that immediately became tiny in his presence.
So you should've been used to it.
...
... Something was very new about this time. And it wasn't just the lit cigar between his phalanges, different to his usual brand of choice.
Up against his huge chest. Your cheeks were hot, your heart was thumping. His touch was... different. Sat sideways across his lap, he kept you tucked against him with a hand on your thigh. Though on your thigh was a little bit of an understatement- his hand was so huge, he had nearly all of your thigh in his hold.
The other hand, resting on the table, had the cigar held between the index and middle finger. It felt like an impenetrable barrier between you and the outside world... his gold rings gleaming in the low light.
... Perhaps it was the position of his hand. Holding your thigh gently, but with a possessive hint in the curl of his claws that slightly pressed into your flesh. Big, warm bones, the cold metal of the rings... he was holding you like he owned you.
Either way, you were just staring at his jacket lapel. Finding it very hard to cool down. The smell of smoke and gold was overpowering.
(You’d grown pretty adept at just tuning all table conversations out, for fear of overhearing something dangerous. But today, you couldn’t have concentrated on what was being said to Sans by the other two men at the table, even if you tried to.)
You didn’t know what the meeting he was having was about, and whatever it was, he didn’t seem happy about it. But he wasn't furious in a way that would usually frighten you. His energy was much more... reserved. There was a low scowl written across his face, he looked serious, dark. The crack and his scars cast deep and expressive shadows across his face. You were protected from the entire world, like this.
... Usually, you just felt like a tiny plushie in the arms of a big child who needed comforting. Not this time. And as he brushed his thumb slowly, back and forth across your leg... the prickles ran up your spine.
What's wrong with me? You swallowed. Your heart hadn't slowed down, not one bit, hands balled in your apron. What's going on?
... You heard Sans move, above you. You couldn't help but look up at him- and his big eye moved down to you. He seemed to register your altered state, for the first time, emerging a little from his obvious frustration at the other members of the table.
...
... His expression changed. Something about him shifted, ever-so-slightly.
His grin lifted, sharpened... his sockets fractionally lidded.
He was smirking at you.
You’d grown accustomed to gleaning as much as possible from Sans’ expressions. It was how you judged his mood, how you saw his grabs coming, how you guessed what he was trying to say with the few words he had available.
Perhaps you were too good, now. Because when he leered down at you like that, gently squeezing your thigh... you could practically hear his words purring through your mind.
“aren’t you cute~?”
You immediately broke eye contact, staring at your own knees. But it to was too late- you felt heat completely flood your face.
... Sans returned his attention to the other people at the table. But not before he gave your thigh another little stroke with his thumb. As if making sure you absolutely knew he saw that.
...
You faintly recalled hearing that Sans, before his famous injury, was something of a... playboy. If you were completely honest, it had been very hard to picture the Sans you knew successfully wooing someone.
...
You could imagine it, now. Very, very well.
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