#brocade blouse

[kaurtrends]

Stylish Brocade Fabric Blouse Collection #blousedesign #brocade #banarasi #kaurtrends

Stylish Brocade Fabric Blouse Collection #blousedesign #brocade #banarasi #kaurtrends

[tradeunofabrics]

Dive into the world of textiles as we explore the contrasts between jacquard and brocade fabrics, unraveling their unique textures and intricate designs. Discover how these two exquisite fabric styles differ in their weaving techniques, patterns, and overall aesthetics.

[ayushkejriwal]

The Lady in Red A #beatiful #red #weddingsari styled here with the #taj motif #brocade #blouse. For purchases what’s app me on 00447840384707 or visit my website ayushkejriwal.com. #ayushkejriwal #benarasi #silksaree #redweddingsaree #handloomsaree #madeinindia #sareestyling https://www.instagram.com/p/CjYGugtMl_l/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[gothiccharmschool]

LET ME TELL YOU: so many of us romantigoth types in the 90s asked for gift certificates to Pier One Imports and then hoarded them until the holiday sales. Everything with the blue and gold celestial theme! Flowing velvet skirts with beads and sequins! Long velvet vests! Brocade blouses! Fancy metal trinket boxes!

… basically we all shopped there and hole-in-the-wall import stores for our gauzy scarves and skirts, incense, belled anklets and belts, and cheap silver jewelry. I miss those days.

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

We open on sexy swashbuckling STEDE then very quickly we see the reality of STEDE working at Spanish Jackie’s for a place to sleep. We made his dashing sash from a gorgeous brocade fabric with brass fringe detail. If you look closely at his Maitre de look you’ll notice his neckerchief is made of the very same brocade and fringe but broken down to buggary! STEDES sexy pirate shirt was reminiscent of a mills and boon cover. I made sure to incorporate sashes and ties and collars that could billow romantically in the wind. @annadeacon76 cut the most perfect blouse pattern for @rhysiedarby that hit all the romantic notes. I’ll discuss his towel boy look shortly and the inspiration behind Captain Zhengs crew (read here)

Source: Gypsy Tailor on instagram

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep1 Musings - Daciana: History through Visual Context in Ploiești, Romania

I immediately fell in love with The Vampire Daciana & her Romanian castle, and wanted to know more about it all.

We already know how much the set/costume designers on IWTV looooove attention to detail; they tell whole stories just through architecture, furniture, clothes, etc. So I was like OK, AMC, I see you; lemme start doing some reading up on Romania, so I can try to figure out what might be going on with Daciana. (Warning: I know eff all about Romania or Eastern Europe.)

ROMANIA

Map of Romania. Ploiești's the dot just under Muntenia, north of Bucharest, the capital. Ploiești's part of Wallachia, the IRL kingdom of Vlad Tepes (aka Dracula). Louis & Claudia went there in the 1940s, so I hope this map is accurate enough. (There's this map, but I dunno the date.)

DACIANA

The most obvious thing about her is that she's not dressed in the typical traditional Romanian folk clothing I see all over Google, full of white-red-blue/black palettes.

Daciana's not following traditional 19th/20th-century Romanian nationalist images. Her green/brown palette & silhouette is telling, as she lacks the puffy white blouses & dark skirts. (Despite her name, I'm ruling out her being Dacian (X X)--you think you're FUNNY, AMC! But IDK about Cezare Romulo (X X); might do a Pt2!)

Sleeves

First thing's her trailing slashed open sleeves, which were screaming Medieval! at me. Here's some 15th century Renaissance examples, but with surcoats, which is different, but the sleeves reminded me of hers so IDFK.

We could chalk this up to Daciana's design as just generic "medieval" fairytale stuff and keep it moving. But to give her a fair shake, I looked at local examples for anything similar that's more recent.

Traditional clothing from Huedin, Romania (north Transylvania), (X X).

Traditional clothing from Cluj, Romania (north Transylvania).

Keep Transylvanian/Muntenian cross-cultural contacts in mind when we get to Daciana's castle, cuz it's important!

Wrt rarer non-puffy sleeves, the square cut (light blue) seems to be more prevalent in Wallachia/Moldavia/Bessarabia (southern & eastern Romania); while the rectangular cut (dark green) is all over Romania, but definitely has a concentration in Wallachia & Moldavia.

And this makes sense, cuz the style seems to also be prevalent in 19th - 20th century Bulgaria, just south of Wallachia. Hrm....

Daciana's sleeves hang very long--the only example of super long sleeves I could find is a 19th century one at the Met (C.I.47.3.4a–d). The only example of slashed sleeves I could find is in this museum exhibit at Bran Castle (yes, THE Bran Castle--I'll get to it in a minute!)

Belt, Bodice, & Fabric

Daciana's belt is so plain compared to everything else. Is it supposed to be a leather Romanian chimir (worn by mountain/forest folk)? Those are only worn by men though? Or it depends? Or is it a just a plain cloth belt? It's reminding me of these examples (X X):

I wish I could see more of Daciana's bodice, if there's any particular kind of cut or patterns. Is the diamond netted/knotted/roped pattern on her arms significant? Her fabric is interesting, too:

What's this embroidery? Brocade? (Byzantine-Renaissance?) Damask? (c. 14th-16th century?) Lace? Something else? My brain wants to assume it's imported? Meaning: she's hella rich. Cuz like, the traditional Romanian blouse & skirt used to belong solely to peasants, b4 19th-20th century aristocrats started wearing it, too.

IDKY--more reading led me to a whole bunch of complicated stuff, that can probably be simplified by just saying: The Ottomans. XD

The pre-19th century Romanian aristocracy wore super opulent clothes, inspired by not just the Ottomans (X), but also the Byzantine Greeks (via 18th century Romanian Phanariote boyars (X X X)), etc. But aside from the hanging sleeves, Daciana's dress doesn't really resemble any of these foreign examples. However, it does track with my theory that Daciana predates the 19th-century Romanian nationalist/traditional clothes that became so iconic later on.

Like Louis & Claudia did, let's follow Daciana to her castle! ^0^

DACIANA'S CASTLE

I NEED to know if AMC filmed on location in Romania, or if Daciana's castle is just a studio set/green screen.

The interior's nowhere near what I expected, considering Daciana's haggard appearance. It's really nice--clean & tidy. No spiderwebs, no chipped plaster/paint, not even any bloodstains--but I've mentioned before that I think it's indicating that Daciana's a mother who takes better care of her home (and "child") than herself.

Archway

The first thing is the arch when they first come in (noticeable mostly cuz of how Louis had to bend down to get in, he's so tall).

These types of doors/arches are called "shouldered arches," dating from the Medieval-Gothic periods, which Europeans adapted from Islamic architecture during the medieval Crusades. (Examples inc. Lainici Monastery in Wallachia, and the Academy of Art in Cluj-Napoca (north Transylvania).)

The left pic's Biertan Fortified Church, in Sibiu (south Transylvania). (Another door.) The right pic's Bran Castle, in Brasov (south Transylvania). (Another door.) (Vlad Tepes/Dracula historically never owned this castle, but pop culture says otherwise.) Both places were built by the German/Saxon Transylvanians in the 14th-16th centuries; which might help date Daciana's castle, if not Daciana herself? (The Saxon Transylvanians were in Wallachia, too.)

Wall Ornamentation

The last thing I'll discuss is the wall ornamentation/decoration:

The painted floral trim everywhere instantly reminded me of The Witcher 3, as found in Hungarian, Polish, Ukranian etc buildings. Apparently the designs are all related to fertility, growth/luck, and the Tree of Life. Walls (X X X) and doors (X X) were painted. You can see northern Romanian painted ornamentation in Suceava (Bukovina).

There's painted wall designs in southern Romania, too.

"The research of the popular interior in the Argeş and Muscel areas leads to the determination, along with a local specificity, and some Transylvanian influences, in the contact areas between southern Transylvania and northern Muntenia. In the researched areas, two lines of development of the popular interior can be observed, one relatively simple and the other complex. If the first is the prerogative of a typical Subcarpathian interior, the second represents a distinctly Transylvanian form, which was also imposed due to the presence of the Transylvanian population in the south of the Carpathians, settled in numerous villages." -- (Google Translated from Arta populară din zonele Argeș și Muscel, 1967)

(The website RomaniaDacia has A LOT to say about Transylvania, and the impact of the Germans, Saxons, Hungarians, etc on Wallachia & the rest of Romania.)

Sure enough, I was finding way more carved ornamentation (X X X X X X) than painted ones.

But I wonder if that's why a lot of southern traditional Romanian interiors I've been finding have totally plain whitewashed walls, too, with no painted ornaments, just tapestries (X X). I did find Romanian interior floral wall painted trims (X), but not nearly as much.

Cuz actually, the closest comparanda I was finding for Daciana was Northern European rosemaling (X X), which is also giving me medieval vibes (X); specifically: trims on illuminated manuscripts like the Book of Hours (X X X)--which we know from Lestat in S01E06.

And we do see some Romanian medieval fresco borders & frescoes that had been plastered over & whitewashed, in Biertan's 15th century churches, and in 13th-15th century Darjiu (Transylvania).

So, I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of Romanian buildings (especially castles with whitewashed plastered walls) were formerly painted similar to Daciana's. Unfortunately, I just can't find an example or figure out what AMC might've been inspired by--Romania has hundreds of castles & churches.

So, I'm tapping out--this is the most I could find so far. U_U

Results? Inconclusive! 😭 My Google-fu has failed me, LOL!

I still have no idea what time period Daciana could be from. We could go several routes:

Go by her name, and say she's ooooold AF, an actual Dacian. She's just been collating Eastern European culture as she ages, but stopped at some point (as her mind deteriorated)

She's medieval, somewhere roundabouts the 14th-16th century (making her ~500 years old, the same age as Armand--but she's weaker (as I've theorized b4), which is why she was able to burn herself up.)

Settle on her being a local Wallachian from Southern Romania, likely pre-19th century / pre-industrial early-modern Europe

Handwave everything aside as Renn-Faire fairytale fantasy; let the tale seduce you~!

OR, we can just bully AMC until they give us an extended BTS look at how Daciana was conceptualized, telling us all the tea about her! 😈

[txnarisims]

Timeless Thai Lookbook  

Note :  *  (In game items)

General :  Hair 1* | Hair 2 | Hair 3,6 (Vega hair) |                    Hair4  | Hair 5 (WINGS_HAIR_ER0408)

🌺 Look #1 (1820s)  :  Top  /  Female sarong  /  Shoes*  /  Belt and Sangwan 🌺Look #2 (1900s)   :  Top (VV_JacketIII) /  Pants  / Necklace (Dimitrescu Pearl necklace)  /      Earring  / Shoes 

🌺Look #3 (Northern Thai 1900s)        :  Top(VV_ShirtwaistI)  / Long skirt (bottom)  / Necklace(Audrey collar) / Earring      / Sangwan (BODY-ACC-RING-RIGHT)  / Shoes* / Hair accessories

🌺 Look #4 (1920s)   :   Blouse(Olivia brocade)  / Long skirt (bottom)  / Earring (Alice earring)       Necklace (Choker_Volindur_F)  /  Headband [1] (Hat) [2] (Bracelet option) /       Bracelet  / Shoes* (Cottage Living EP)

🌺 Look #5 (1940s)   :   Top (Tie Ribbon Blouse) / Bottom (Pei Skirt) / Hat (BigHeatBeret)        / Shoes (lissa shoes)

🌺 Look #6 (Northern Thai Wedding outfit)   :    Blouse (Magnolia top) / Long skirt (belt with bottom) / Earring*     /  Sangwan (Nose ring option)   / Hair accessories       /  Breast cloth (Sabai | สไบ)   / Shoes*

In Siam late1860s -1910s (aka called Thailand), The royal court inspired of European fashion and mixed Victorian blouse fit to traditional pants at that time. So I found some of google photos searching keyword “ Queen RAMA V ” they gave me an idea to choose Pose and Umbrella for women character in Thai renaissance period.

✨ Thanks to all gorgeous cc creators  ✨  @serenity-cc  @sentate @rustys-cc  @gilded-ghosts @javitrulovesims  @marsmerizing-sims @ommosims @glitterberrysims @pralinesims @bedisfull @zurkdesign @arethabee​ and others are not currently in tumblr.

[ourflagmeansbts]

Source (Season 2 - October 7th 2023)

gypsytaylor: STEDE COSTUME DETAILS.. We open on sexy swashbuckling STEDE then very quickly we see the reality of STEDE working at Spanish Jackie’s for a place to sleep. We made his dashing sash from a gorgeous brocade fabric with brass fringe detail. If you look closely at his Maitre de look you’ll notice his neckerchief is made of the very same brocade and fringe but broken down to buggary! STEDES sexy pirate shirt was reminiscent of a mills and boon cover. I made sure to incorporate sashes and ties and collars that could billow romantically in the wind. @annadeacon76 cut the most perfect blouse pattern for @rhysiedarby that hit all the romantic notes. I’ll discuss his towel boy look shortly and the inspiration behind Captain Zhengs crew

[violettduchess]

Yay! I'm excited for this idea of yours!! Could I ask for Silvio + Vampire/Detective (either works!) + Fluff? I felt like Pirate was too obvious 😂😌

A/N: We talked about this and the request changed a wee bit. So here is your Silvio, a vampire MC and something spicy! I hope you enjoy it my sweet @xbalayage 💜

Silvio x female vampire Reader

WC: 2.7 k

It is a night of gleaming silver stars and a sharp sliver of moon. The ancient manor, hidden within the protective shadows of the forest, stands regal, with its seven gables and heavy velvet curtains. Inside, its occupants yawn, rising to greet the darkness, readying themselves for an evening of meetings, treaties and hopefully, revelry. 

You’re in the banquet room, watching the others eat merely for the pleasure of it. None of them actually needs food. Mortal cuisine is appealing every now and then but it’s been so long since you were human, you hardly ever feel the need to indulge in such nostalgia. 

Although…..maybe indulging would be better than….this. Lifting the crystal goblet to your lips, you tell yourself it won’t be that bad. Just give it a chance. This time the blood substitute given to all the vampires attending the gathering could actually taste good. You tilt it upwards and the cool, thickly-clotted, crimson liquid creeps down the glass in fits and stops, crossing the line of your red lips and coating your tongue.

Your body heaves and your throat closes in a gag. A full body shudder runs through your limbs from the top of your head to the tips of your toes in their black boots.

Ugh, enough of this.

The goblet is set down in one violent motion, clanging as it hits the polished onyx of the banquet table. Ignoring the curious gazes of other clan members, you push your chair away and flounce from the extravagant dining room in a flash of dark satin and black leather.

“Still revolting,” you mutter to yourself as you storm through the manor, down hallways lined with oversized, dour portraits of vampire nobility, lush carpeting absorbing the fall of your heels. In a cloud of indignation you fume all the way back to your guest suite where you throw open the ornate wooden door……

…..to find Silvio lounging on your bed, sipping a glass of the vile liquid you just rejected while thumbing through your black, leather-bound notebook.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

He glances up, not one ounce of shame on his extraordinarily handsome face. 

“You told me I should read your notes on all the other clan members. So I’m readin’ ‘em.”

“Oh for fucks sake, I didn’t mean break into my room and take over my bed.” 

You’ve known Silvio Ricci for so long. A century ago, you worked together to broker a trade deal/ peace agreement between the Benitoite vampire clans and those of your native Rhodolite. Its massive success ensured that you have been working together ever since. 

He sits up, stretching out his long body, his impossibly blue eyes still scanning your notebook.

“You got the better room. And you keep annoyin’ me about learnin’ more about these Jadean vamp clans so-” He stops talking when he notices you lifting your velvet travel cloak from the armchair it had been draped over.

“What do you think you’re doin’? “

The dark cloak falls over your shoulders, settling with a soft, satisfying whoosh around you. Turning, you view your reflection in the mirrored front of the wardrobe, smoothing down the front of your elegant, sable blouse.

“I’m going out for a real drink.” A pat to your hair and then you spin on your heel, already feeling that prickling thrill that rushes through you at the beginning of any hunt.

But when you face the door to the bedroom, Silvio is there, blocking your exit. He must have shadow-jumped, moving in seconds from one place to another, using the shadows of the bedroom as conduits. Your notebook is facedown on the brocade carpet, abandoned.

“You’re not goin’ out there.” 

Despite the height of your boots, you’re still forced to tip your head up in order to meet his gaze. You forget how tall he is sometimes. His moonlight hair falls forward, the tips brushing the tops of his slanted cheekbones, a celestial curtain behind which his ocean eyes burn bright.

Your brow arches in question as you force yourself to look into all that endless blue. 

“The hell I’m not. Silvio. Move.”

“No fuckin’ way.” His jaw tightens, the words spit out through clenched teeth.

No, don’t throttle him yet. You draw a patient breath. “Why not?”

He rolls his eyes with a huff that tells you how very idiotic he finds that question and your fingers curl inwards, red nails pressing into the palms of your hands. Maybe time to throttle him?

“You know the woods outside this place are crawlin’ with Slayers, just lookin’ for a prize.”

A soft hiss escapes you. Fucking Vampire Slayers. They know the clans meet once a year and somehow they always find out exactly where that is. It makes arrivals and departures especially challenging and not every vampire survives it.

But you are not every vampire.

You fasten your cloak with one hand, the large rose-shaped ruby of your signet ring twinkling in the wan candlelight. “I’m a big girl, Silvio. I can handle myself.”

He growls as he shakes his head. “Stop being so fuckin’ stupid. Just drink the substitute for a few days and feed once we’re outta here.”

What is going on? Why does it even matter to him whether or not you take the risk of going out into the night?

"Silvio…..what the fuck? So I want to find some real blood. So it may be a bit dangerous. Who cares?!" Your voice is sharp with frustration, bright with an annoyance ready to ignite into anger.

"I do!! I fucking care!"

Silvio's words are torn from his throat by raw emotion, swift and fierce. Something in his eyes flashes, the piercing shine of a lighthouse beacon skimming the unknown darkness of the sea. His cheeks are uncharacteristically flushed, as if he’s embarrassed himself with his own outburst. 

You’re stunned into silence. You can hardly breathe. All you feel right now is the atomic fallout of a heart suddenly blown to pieces by the most unexpected, shocking wave of desire. The world as you know it, have known it for ages, tilts, breaks into a million tiny pieces as you move towards him. Your hand slides over the rich silk of his shirt where you feel his heartbeat thunder against your palm. This is Silvio Ricci. He’s the most aggravating man you have ever known. Arrogant. Commanding. Excessive.

Your hand slides up, gripping the nape of his neck, your gaze never leaving his.

So many hours of correspondence. So many days over so many decades in each other’s company. And while you always had to admit that he was attractive, never had you felt the need to know what his mouth feels like under yours, to find out what sounds he makes when he surrenders to you, to hear the rasp of exhausted desire in his voice as it stutters your name.

And yet…..here, on a night when you expected to be battling enemies for a drink of fresh blood, here you are, your blood practically singing in your veins as you stare into his eyes, now dark as the sea in winter.

“Silvio…..” His name slips from your lips, unbidden, a whisper rounded by yearning.

It is oil to the smoldering heat in his veins. His strong hands reach for you, pull you against him as he dips his head to capture your mouth with his. You gasp at the feel of the strong lines of his body, how well they fit against yours. And you gasp at the feel of his lips, his tongue. Hesitation dies, burned to ash by lust. His fingers press into you, greedy, almost needy. His mouth is demanding, hardly giving you a moment to adjust before he moves, head tilting from one side to another, tongue demanding access over and over. He kisses you as if he is drowning man and you are oxygen, as if you are the lifeblood essential to all vampires. You feel the sharp scrape of his teeth against your lips, the way his skin grows warmer under the hand that still grips his neck.

With a throaty growl, you jerk out of his arms, stepping back. He hisses, taking a step toward you. He can’t drink in the sight of you fast enough. Your electric gaze, your lips, red and kiss-swollen, the graceful movement of your hand as you unhook your cloak in a single motion. It falls to the carpet soundlessly.

And then, with vampiric speed, you are back in his arms and he’s lifting you, carrying you to the bed he had been lazily lounging on not that long ago. He lays you down on your back, one hand reaching down to brush away several locks of hair that have fallen across your neck and shoulders. His gaze follows his own fingers as they brush over your skin as if entranced by the sight, as if he can’t believe that he’s actually touching you. When you reach up and take his hand, he blinks, his cheeks flushing as if he’s been caught doing something too private, too intimate. He lowers his body, burying his heated face in the curve where neck meets your shoulder. Your fingers slide through his moon-spun hair and the aesthetic of your sharp, crimson nails dragging through all that silver pleases you deeply. 

“I knew it,” he murmurs, his nimble fingers somehow already nearly finished undoing the front lacing of your blouse. “I knew you wanted me.” His tongue traces each new expanse of skin as it is revealed. But the blouse only opens so far. He curses the innocent piece of clothing, impatiently grabbing the hem and pulls it over your head.

“You are such an idiot,” you gasp, fingers curling inward of their own accord as he leaves a string of heated kisses down your abdomen, his eager fingers already skimming over the waistband of your leather pants. 

He lifts his head, pushing himself up with one hand, his eyes as bright as twin stars. His fingers pause and it is torture. 

“There’s no shame in it, ya know. Lots of people want me. You probably wanted me for centuries, huh.”

Oh this jerk, this ridiculous, infuriating, beautiful vampire jerk.

You tilt your head, your hands roaming over the luxurious material of his sleeves. A corner of your mind pulsing with want wonders if he would mind you tearing it to shreds. Ah but he needs to be taught a lesson for such arrogant talk. Using your supernatural strength and speed, you roll, easily flipping him onto his back, pinning him down with one hand even as you straddle him invitingly.

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let me leave. Who told me….what was it? How much you care. And then started kissing me like the world is ending.” You run your thumb over his lips, slowly enough to feel the way they tremble.

His breath hitches in his throat and you watch, fascinated and oddly turned on by how red his cheeks suddenly glow. Who knew he blushed so easily? He looks away, brow scrunched in irritation even as his hands slide over the curve of your hips, over the leather that is molded to your form, holding you firmly in place against him.

“The fuck you talkin’ about…,” he mutters before reaching up for you, pulling you back down towards him. “Shuddup and let's get back to how much you want me.” 

You pause, your lips scant centimeters away from his. “I believe the evidence of how much you want me is much…..clearer.” You roll your hips against his, demonstratively and there is no denying the hard truth of your words.

He groans, shaking his head and the world tilts again as he flips your positions, covering you with the lean, muscular length of his body. The bed groans at all this gymnastics.

Your pants join your discarded blouse and travel cloak in a forlorn heap on the floor. How he managed that between kisses that leave you dizzy and aching and fighting for air is a mystery for the ages.

You’ve managed to wrangle him out of most of his clothing, without tearing anything, when suddenly you grow still, your eyes closing as a wave of true, overwhelming dizziness crashes over you. Silvio feels the way your body stiffens and freezes, his hand growing still on the inside of your thigh. He raises his disheveled head from the line of red marks he was leaving along your lower stomach.

“You ok?” 

You blink, trying to clear the sloshing in your head.

“I….I think I’m just hungry.” You try to smile, to lighten the violent shift in mood. “I was trying to go get something to eat when you so….expertly distracted me.”

He scrambles into a sitting position and then carefully, almost tenderly, reaches down to help you sit up as well, propping you up against the pillows.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t had a drink since we got here?” The paleness of your face, the way you’re holding yourself is answer enough. “The fuck?? We’ve been here a week! You ain’t really that stupid, are ya?”

You wince at his justified admonishment and he sighs heavily. He reaches down, grabbing a handful of his own billowy white shirt from off the floor and pulls it over your head, covering the body he had so eagerly uncovered just moments ago. The sight of you in his shirt has him swallowing, a tangle of complicated emotions tumbling through him.

Standing, he crosses the room in nothing but his silken braies, heading for the table next to the dresser and even through your light-headedness you can’t help but admire the lean cut of his body. He reaches for the crystal decanter, the one filled every evening for all attendees with fresh blood substitute, the one you have ignored for days despite how often they refresh it. The liquid flows from the lip of the decanter into the intricate glass that has lived untouched on that same table and with a determined set to his jaw, he strolls back to you, lowering himself to the edge of the bed. He shoves the glass in your direction, his expression a scowl draped in the embarrassment of caring.

“I know you can’t stand this shit but you ain’t gonna be able to handle all the things I’m wanna do to you unless you got some strength in ya. So stop actin’ like a stubborn jackass and-”

You yank the glass from his hand and, your gaze never leaving his, knock down the contents in one long swallow. You almost manage to hide your revulsion. 

Silvio takes the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours, softly, like small flames licking at your skin. He grins slowly and any lingering feeling of disgust is incinerated by the sudden desire that flares through your body.

“Ya want me that bad, huh?”

The blood substitute has renewed you, has sparks exploding like tiny supernovas through the pathways of your veins. You feel reborn, a phoenix bursting from the ashes in a fiery explosion of wings and want. You move faster than a human eye could see, too fast for his own enhanced vision. One moment he’s grinning at you, licking his lips like a cat that’s caught the canary and the next he’s pinned beneath you again, looking up into a face bright with eagerness, eyes glowing with satisfaction.

And when your fangs slowly protract, it’s all he can do to stop himself from taking you then and there.

“The lady is still hungry,” he rasps as your hands slide over his chest, your strong fingers curling around the hard muscles of his shoulders, sharp red nails biting pleasurably into his skin. 

You lower yourself down, tracing the shape of his ear with your tongue, fangs scraping the delicate skin. Beneath your body, you feel the tremor of lust that rolls through him and you smile, the apex predator clutching its prey within possessive talons as you whisper in a voice raw with yearning, “The lady is absolutely…..famished.”

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @mastering-procrastinating @namine-somebodies-nobody @queen-dahlia @nightghoul381 @bubblexly @ozalysss

[johannestevans]

apologies if you've addressed it already, but where *do* you buy your shirts from? the local charity/thrift stores seem to have a lot of fast fashion these days, but i might not be looking in the right places.

So, my ruffled front pirate blouse with the ruffled sleeves is from Violent Delights, and so are the black brocade trousers I wore out tonight and a few other things - Violent Delights is absolutely on the pricier side, but for me it's well worth it for the construction and design of their clothes, many of which emphasise the waist, have good layering and warmth to them (which many of this sort of "costume" clothes don't consider), and also have a huge range of sizes, going from XS and sometimes XXS right up to XXXL.

When not wearing that blouse, the most common pirate-adjacent shirts I wear are actually plain old Ghillie shirts, which are intended for formal highland dress - you want it to be of good, breathable 100% cotton, and then you can either lace it with string or ribbon or leather strings.

And other than that, I actually have quite a few Western shirts (collared shirts with pop-buttons and cuffs, with and without detailing on the shoulders and waists) that work really well in combination with my gothier and more vintage wardrobe.

In general, I recommend that if you want good quality piratical gear and similar and you're not in a good area for finding that sort of stuff by thrifting, your next best option is genuinely specialty costume shops - not the ones that sell you a packet with a basic sexy French maid's outfit, but the ones that cater to LARPers, specialty performers, sex workers, etc; and similarly, non-high street stores that cater to alternative lifestyles and fashions, especially ones that are likelier to favour a high level of architectural and constructive appreciation for their clothing and/or are subcultures more likely to involve themselves in the construction of their clothes, i.e. Steampunk, certain Goth strands, Lolita.

And as well as the above, this is much more of a niche, but we used to have a fella when I worked at a rare book shop who dressed exclusively in cast-off costume pieces from theatres in London - whenever the opera or ballet or I think some of the Shakespearean companies sold off or auctioned off excess from their wardrobes, he'd buy that stuff and have it tailored to fit him. So like, he would just be wandering on a casual Thursday in a velvet Phantom cape, and that fucked.

So if you do live near to a city and you're likely to see this sort of costume auction or sell-off of excess, especially toward the end of a show's run and/or the end of a season at the ballet or opera, that's certainly an idea as well.

It's so hard to avoid a lot of cheap fast fashion things, and especially like, what my dad always ends up sending me is extremely poorly made of poor materials pirate costume shirts that are literally for someone's like, last minute Jack Sparrow costume, and they're literally bought and sold with the assumption that they'll be bought and worn for one night only, at the very most once every one or two years. It sucks, especially when it even invades charity and secondhand shopping as well, or when vintage stores end up stocking loads of 90s and 00s stuff that's not actually much better constructed then shite today.

So yeah, when in doubt, look for the specialty people - bop your head into a local tailor or seamstress' shop and be like, hey, do you know anyone who does x or y?

Even looking in your area for certain subcultures, especially different LARPers, ren faire or medieval performers, metal band enthusiasts, leather dykes and daddies, steampunk and formal goth enthusiasts, costumers and especially historical costumers, lolita enthusiasts, et cetera - these are all communities that even if they don't have specifically what you're looking for when it's a specialty or specific garment, will almost always know the right person to ask or refer you to, or at least have a vague direction to point you to.

[bebemoon]

look for the name: RAULIN

@a-shimmering-tear

uma wang brocade embroidered waistcoat over black velvet blouse (+ oversize wool infinity scarf), a/w 2o18

yohji yamamoto black triple-layered wool gabardine trousers

christian lacroix metal and quartz crystal necklace, c. 1985-9o

études brown mouline fingerless mittens

dirk bikkembergs brown leather ankle boots, c. 1998

[chinesehanfu]

【Historical Artifacts Reference】

Murals in the Tomb of Princess Xin Chang, Liquan County, Shaanxi Province/陕西省礼泉县新城长公主墓壁画 （663 AD）

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Tang Dynasty (618–907AD) Traditional Clothing Hanfu & Hairstyle Based On Relics Murals in the Tomb of Tang Princess Xin Chang

Women’s Clothing, Hairstyle in the Early Tang Dynasty Period （663 AD）

—————-

【History Note】

After the establishment of the Tang Dynasty, with the completion of the great unification and the recovery of the social economy, the stable status of a big country brought a confident and enlightened cultural atmosphere, which was fully reflected in clothing and social customs.

At that time, all the noble ladies in the palace liked towering hairstyles, and advocating slender clothing was the fashion, showing a tall and elegant temperament as a whole. In such popular aesthetics, the combination of high buns and inter-color skirt became all the rage and became a representative attire in the early Tang Dynasty.

In addition, the makeup gradually deviates from the relatively plain style in the past, and develops into more gorgeousness. The red makeup that put on the cheeks becomes thicker and the range gradually expands. The shape of eyebrows has changed from slender eyebrows to bold thick eyebrows, and face decorations such as Huadian(花钿) and XieHong斜红() are also more prominent.

※ Huadian(花钿) ：traditional Chinese ornamental forehead makeup

※ XieHong (斜红) ： a special kind of face decoration in ancient times. When dressing up, a red crescent is drawn on both sides of a woman’s eyes.

In this set of attire, the model hair in a double bun, wears a narrow-sleeved blouse with brocade margins on the inside, half-sleeves with brocade margins on the outside, and a inter-color skirt,a light gauze wrap around her body. It was a popular dress in the Tang Palace during this period.

On the occasion of the Spring Festival, 裝束复原 Team wishes more people get to know about the traditional Chinese costume culture. At the same time, wish every friends around the world have a happy New Year!

————————

Recreation Work： @裝束复原 ​​​ & @桑纈

🔗Weibo：https://weibo.com/1656910125/Mpl9wlxE5

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[gingertumericlemon]

When Last We Met

@pearlypairings sent along a sweet little prompt for "crashing the party" and here we are. A stupid little bonbon for the Hellcheer crowd❤️

The captain’s quarters looked empty but by now she knew that meant nothing. Instead of rushing inside, she took her time to peer intently around the room.

The walls were lined with hide-bound books and maps to skies she did not recognize. The few spaces on the shelves not packed with texts showcased arcane curios and dazzling artifacts–few she recognized; but their intricacy and value was apparent to even those who had not traversed the Holy Seas and the Nine and Twenty sky channels besides. In stark contrast to these trophies of taste and sophistication were the instruments of murder mounted on the wall–blades and rifles frugal in design, the easier for claiming lives. Their simplicity spoke of their danger. Her starry, lavender gaze landed on the bay window framed by cobalt velvet curtains behind the wide desk (strewn about with telescopes and astrolabes and a cinnabar opium pipe) through which nothing but clouds could be seen. If she looked through, she’d see nothing but clouds until the faintest smudge of earth some 15,000 feet below. A beautiful emerald-green bird with elegant curling tailfeathers sat contentedly on a perch beside the desk, looking at her with a curious expression. Beneath her feet was a persistent but not unpleasant hum–the tell-tale sign of the pumping pistons and firing steam engines which kept this magnificent, mysterious vessel afloat above the unwitting citizens of Faerun. 

Cosette raised her wrist to her flushed lips and whispered into the little topaz token embossed with her party’s totem. “The coast is clear.” Then she tugged her blouse up. It somehow kept riding down beneath her corset. 

Luthandriel entered first, his radiant broadsword at attention as he scanned his flank for more pirates beyond those they’d already left gutted in the galley. Dumas followed, his halfling form obscured at first to Cosette by a massive globe depicting a far-off celestial landscape. He whistled in admiration as he absently strummed his zither, trailing silver sparks of enchanted music behind him. “Good taste for a barbarian,” he muttered as he pocketed an hourglass of fine dwarvish make. My’thias came last, his massive golden wings barely squeezing through the door such that he had to kind of half turn-out and scooch sideways to fit.  He wiped pirate blood from his snout with a scaly claw. “Is it here? The codex?”

The Beggar’s Mercy spread out and began to search. All except Cosette who was made to stand by the door and keep watch because she. Well. Because they all told her she was the best at it, she guessed!

She shrugged her shoulders (pale, shimmering like quartz in the light) and sighed. Somehow the top of her bodice had gotten all pulled down again amongst the hooks and stays of her corset which was brocade and the color of a new dawn. You could almost see her nipples for um Tyr’s sake! She turned her gaze downward for just a moment to adjust herself and froze. There was something cool and violent positioned at the nape of her neck. 

“You would do well,” a voice like charred and honeyed meat dripping with fat murmured into her ear, “To leave your garments as I fancy them.” 

She did not move. There was the subtle but unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol. “Should have been more thorough in your search, pet,” the voice continued. A hand–huge and calloused and covered in rings–seized her by the waist….

Weakly, Cosette bleated, “Um, guys….” Luthandriel, Dumas, and My’thias turned and groaned. 

“Did you investigate the room?” Dumas didn’t sound angry. Just deflated. Cosette blushed. “I did, I mean–I thought I did–”

My’thias flapped his wings in draconian agitation. “Passive perception isn’t the same thing, we TOLD YOU–” but Luthandriel cut him off. “The lady is new to our land and new to our laws,” he said in a lofty voice. “You would do well to extend her grace and courtesy.”

Against her neck, Cosette could feel the captain smirk. She squirmed in his incredible mighty  powerful grip but no matter how hard she fought she couldn’t break free! “Your paladin speaks sense. I’d pay him mind. Now. Let us be reasonable. We’re all men of business here.”

“You’re no businessman! You’re a murderous sky-pirate!!!!” Cosette thought that sounded pretty good!!! 

Into his fist My’thias could be heard to mutter, “Sky-pirates aren’t even high fantasy, they’re steampunk,” and dodged a caltrop aimed at his eye by the captain in return for his insolence. 

“All men have their price. What’s a pretty rogue like this trade for on terra firma these days?” The captain punctuated his query with a hot swipe of his tongue along the side of Cosette’s face. She liquidated and swooned in his grasp. The party stared in flat-eyed disbelief.

Luthandriel whispered, “Nasty.” 

Then the halfling, the paladin, and the dragonguy thing went into a huddle. 

As they conferred, the captain rumbled in her ear, “Love the corset.” Cosette frowned. “I messed up the–the spying.” He laughed and rubbed his–no she wasn’t gonna say that part!!!!!!!–himself against her. “Little one, that’s half the fun.” 

The huddle ended and Dumas stepped forward. He had an unconcerned expression on his face, like, he was actually pretending to clean his fingernails!!! 

“What use have we for such a silly rogue? She brings us nothing but misery and ill-fortune. Take her. Have your way with her. All we ask is safe passage from your quarters and use of a lifeboat.”

Cosette gasped. “You…you little WORMS!!!” She stamped her foot! What the FUCK! She’d barely even gotten to DO ANYTHING! 

The captain threw his head back and laughed, drawing Cosette ever closer against him. Her nipples were basically entirely exposed at this point, like there was some force outside her control drawing them out as if with a magnet. “I have her already within my power, halfling! You presume you have leverage? You’re lucky I don’t slit her throat where she stands.” Which, like–no. But also, like—hmmm! 

Dumas sighed. “I thought you might say that. To sweeten the deal, we’ll throw in this.” He reached into the pocket where he’d stashed the stolen hourglass except now it looked like a freaking enormous diamond which twinkled and shone just like that one in The Rescuers! Cosette gasped. There was a pause. She could feel the captain settle and consider as he stared at the diamond. She wriggled a little against him, just once, just in case he like. Forgot his hostage!! Or something! 

The captain tilted his head which she knew because the plume from  his hat tickled her face. “That’s a fine stone, halfling. What’s to stop me from taking it from your cold fingers right now?”

Dumas tried to stand a little taller. “It’s four against one, Dreadnought.” Cosette felt a pink sweet thing uncurl in her chest at being included as one of the four. She should have known! Good old Dumas! The captain made a faux-thoughtful noise. “You’re right. Seems hardly fair.” And he snapped his fingers and three sky-pirates rushed into the room!

Foul and heartless they were, these pirates, with not one wink of compassion gleaming in their dull and greedy eyes. These were no mercenaries, who might be bargained with for a higher salary. These were bloodthirsty men, hardly men at all, expelled from the earth’s warm soil to the cold and bitter reaches of the heavens to better indulge their lawless appetites for treasure, ale, flesh, and murder! Their leader of sorts headed up the pack with a cutlass in his hand–in his horrible grin, the party could glimpse he had razors for teeth (ew!) which flashed with malice in the candlelight of the quarters. His companions each boasted pistols which they aimed at the party. 

The Beggar’s Mercy sort of jockeyed for position amongst themselves, and Cosette took advantage of the distraction to wrest herself free from the pirate captain’s grip! Yeah!!! She heard him grunt once in surprise and maybe something else, oh my GOSH ANYWAY she was free. Then she reached to her belt (oooh it was pale deerskin from a market in Neverwinter and studded with silver coins from her finest heists!) and withdrew Shiver by her ebony handle. She steadied her hand and remembered her extremely tragical backstory in the dew-drenched woods of Collum’s Close. Then she took aim and threw Shiver directly into the heart of the farthest pirate! It was a deadeye hit! Her best shot ever!!!! Luthandriel and Dumas cheered. The pirate made a noise like “AURGH!” (everybody always kind of sounded the same when they died…..) and slumped to the floor. Viscous black blood began to drain from his lifeless body. 

Dumas’s eyes went wide with glee. “Does that mean he’s–”

“He’s not undead,” the captain interrupted. Cosette could see his face now and it was VERY handsome :)  “For the last time. These are not fucking undead pirates. Black blood is just cool.” 

Dumas played a pissy little riff on his zither and pouted. “I think undead pirates are pretty cool too but what do I know….”

“She doesn’t have a bonus action,” My’thias said.

Everybody was like, um. 

“She used her whole–”

Dreadnought popped one fearsome eyebrow. My’thias went sort of pale around the edges of his scales and corrected herself.

“She used all her strength to escape from you. She can’t–it doesn’t seem NARRATIVELY PLAUSIBLE–” and here Captain Dreadnaught nodded like you may proceed, “That she could do both things at once.”

The dead pirate’s head lifted off the ground by a half-inch, with one eye cautiously open. The other two lackeys exchanged a look. 

Cosette knew who she was attacking the next chance she got. 

Sheepishly, Shiver withdrew herself from the chest of the pirate with a noise like schlorp, shook off the black blood like a wet dog, and floated back to Cosette’s hand. The rent flesh and shattered bone at the center of the no-longer-dead pirate’s chest knit themselves neatly back together and he scrambled to his feet. Cosette caught Dreadnought’s black and wild eyes and mouthed sorry. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” the emerald-colored bird squawked from the perch. 

“Happens all the time,” flapped an ancient open caster’s tome with dry pages.

“It’s called a learning curve!!!” Three pewter goblets with lids of horn chorused from the captain’s shelves. 

“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!” My’thias snarled. Smoke poured from his nostrils and tongues of flame flickered along the edge of his snout. “GIVE US THE CODEX OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!”

Dreadnought laughed. “You know, our galley’s amateur theatrical society is looking for someone to play Faithful Madeline in MY WANDR’ING TIEFLING’S HEART. If you’re auditioning.” 

“Oi’m playin’ Sweet William,” offered the pirate with razors for teeth. 

More smoke–dark and sulfurous–leaked into the room. “I GROW WEARY OF YOUR GAMES!” My’thias’s snarl grew to a full-throated roar. His scales began to glow white-gold. “I CAST–”

“Do not even THINK ABOUT IT–” Luthandriel shouted at the same time that Dumas groaned, “Are you fucking kidding me dude–!!” but all this was drowned out by My’thias’s screech of, “FIREBALL!!!!!”

In the split-second before the explosion, Cosette saw the faintest glimmer of a smirk pass over Dreadnought’s face. He made a complicated little sigil with his fingers. She braced for her own incineration, but instead there was an enormous shattering of glass and a feeling like whiplash as suddenly she was jerked towards the bay window at the end of the quarters, which was no longer a bay window at all but a massive, gaping hole in the ship’s side. There was a horrible roaring, whooshing noise, loud enough to deafen all other sounds. Then a terrible pounding in her ears as she desperately clung to a chair which luckily seemed to be bolted to the floor. The air was freezing and wild, yanking her without mercy towards the yawning chasm of clouds. She tried to breathe but could not–the air was sucked from her lungs by the change in pressure. Her yards of lilac hair were ripped from their extremely adorable braided buns festooned with ribbons and charms, and now whipped painfully behind her as she clung with a weakening grip to the armrest. She turned towards Dreadnought, silently pleading, her lips were turning blue–!! 

And suddenly she fell to the floor. It was still. It was warm. Strong hands, calloused hands, drew her up gently from the ground. “Steady there, little one,” Dreadnought murmured. “Take your time. Find your breath.” She looked up into his eyes and felt her heart shimmer. He had a scar running from his right eyelid to his Cupid’s bow. Oh wow. Like. Haha! WOW! He held her aloft as she breathed for a moment. 

Then she looked down. Her tits were completely out. 

The captain shrugged. “Call it my savior’s fee.” The beautiful bird had somehow found sanctuary too. It was perched on his shoulder. “SAVIOR’S FEE, SQUAWK!” it echoed. It did not sound very much like a bird at all, actually. 

WHATEVER. She looked over her shoulder and saw there was a thick veil of golden mist sealing her, the captain, and the rest of the ship from the charred ruin which was once his quarters. There was no sign of Dumas–he must have been instantly sucked into the sky. Poor dear Dumas! He never was very strong. Luthandriel was holding on with what little constitution he had left to another bolted-down chair, as My’thias twisted his claws into the splintering wood for grip. “THIS IS PUNITIVE!” he screamed, but it was muffled as if shouted through a thick sweater. “YOU ARE RAILROADING–”

A ballast beam ripped from the side of the ship and hit him in the face. 

“But Captain Dreadnought, what of all your fine treasures?” Cosette trembled as the beast advanced hungrily upon her.

“IF YOU SAY SHE’S ALL THE TREASURE YOU NEED I’LL–”

BONK. Another beam.  

“You heard the dragonguy thing,” Dreadnought pushed a lavender curl behind one of her lovely, slender, pointed ears which had two diamond earrings and a couple really sweet silver hoops pierced through it too! “The time has come for me to claim my bounty.” When he kissed her he tasted like caramel rum. (This part was private too but when he pressed her body to his her nipples rubbed against the rough flax of his unlaced shirt and it was like ooooooh it was so NICE!!!!!) 

Just before My’thias lost his hold entirely and vanished into the void, Captain Dreadnought broke away from Cosette’s warm and tender (aw!) embrace. “By the way, lads,” he mentioned. “The bird was the codex.”

“AWK! I contain the key to all mythologies!” the bird said. “Ok, that’s pretty cool–” Luthandriel tried to add but was lost to the sky. “I HATE STEAMPUNK, I HATE IT SO MUCH!!!” My’thias screamed, but then he was lost to the sky too.

“Now, little one,” the captain whispered in Cosette’s ear. “Have you ever heard of an acrobatics check?”

“Oh my GOD–I mean TYR–” Cosette tried to roll her eyes but then he was kissing her once again so she had to check if she got a bonus on splits or anything like that. 

It turns out she did and everybody except them got mad about it!!!

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 47, 21 novembre 1896, Paris. No. 11. — Corsage de dîner. No. 17. — Corsage blouse. No. 20. — Corsage fantaisie. No. 22. — Corsage habillé. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 11. — Corsage de dîner en soie tilleul, sous empiècement de satin blanc brodé, faisant la pointe; dessus, bretelles de satin rose s'allongeant en pointes sur une ceinture-corselet en velours noir. Manches plates, à parements en satin blanc brodés et manchettes de dentelles, avec petit ballon dans le haut.

No. 11. — Dinner bodice in lime silk, under a yoke of embroidered white satin, making the point; above, pink satin straps extending into points on a black velvet corselet belt. Flat sleeves, with embroidered white satin facings and lace cuffs, with a small balloon at the top.

—

No. 17. — Corsage blouse en surah bleu ciel, mis sous ceinture boutonnée et ouvert du haut sur un petit plastron de satin vert; jockeys en pointes sur les épaules.

Manches courtes, ballon aplati.

No. 17. — Blouse bodice in sky blue surah, placed under a buttoned belt and open at the top on a small green satin bib; jockeys in spikes on their shoulders.

Short sleeves, flattened ball.

—

No. 20. — Corsage fantaisie en soie vieil or plat, sur lequel est placé un second corsage de satin rubis, brodé de perles et se dégageant en figaro dans le bas; dessus, bretelles de vieil or; manches satin semblables avec manchettes de dentelle et petit ballon dans le haut.

No. 20. — Fancy corsage in flat old gold silk, on which is placed a second corsage of ruby satin, embroidered with pearls and emerging in a figaro shape at the bottom; above, straps of old gold; similar satin sleeves with lace cuffs and small balloon at the top.

—

No. 22. — Corsage habillé en soie brochée vieux rouge sur noir. Corsage froncé mis sous ceinture de soie rouge; devant, gros pli rond semblable, orné de boutons bijoux; col renversé orné d'une bande de fourrure, sur les épaules, bandes de satin blanc plissées et garnies de fourrure faisant jockeys sur manches plates avec petit ballon dans le haut.

No. 22. — Bodice dressed in old red brocaded silk on black. Gathered bodice placed under a red silk belt; front, similar large round pleat, decorated with jeweled buttons; reverse collar decorated with a band of fur, on the shoulders, bands of white satin pleated and trimmed with fur jockeying on flat sleeves with small balloon at the top.

[graveltrapping]

Female Marc Marquez Fashion Part 2

Part One (More about Championship Ceremonies)

Dresses, suits, silk, velvet, sequins, brocade, gold, pearls, Mar will wear it and wear it absolutely beautifully. She has the confidence to try and wear many different styles and cuts of dresses/suits and its how she holds herself that really pulls everything together.

The sequenced black dress from 2018 if definite considered one of her bigger moments with the cutouts, going back to the more Monroe style hair, and what people theories being a callback to the 2015 Divorce Dress but 2019, her last Championship year, is what many really consider as her best look.

Her bike had been trying to kill her, she's at the tail end of the 2018 Argentina media frenzy that had been kicked back up and only beginning to die down again, and she had still won with no-one coming close to her.

It's a moment in history really. How can it not be?

Mar had never not like putting on a show, it just had to be by her rules and what she wanted and she wanted this so bad. Every championship was amazing but this one just seemed so much more significant, so much more hard won, and it brought her so much closer to beating Valentino Rossi and no one could ignore that. She was going to celebrate.

Her club/party dresses are just as iconic. All short and flashy, showing everything off that couldn't be shows at galas, all perfect to entertain and entrance and dance in.

Shes a lot more simple in her casual clothes though.

Originally, she was strictly jeans and a T-shirt kind of person, everything worn for rather function and comfort especially when she was further involved in the male dominated motorsport social circles but as her confidence grew she began to experiment there as well with different fabric textures, different shapes and silhouettes, as well as with dresses and skirts.

She enjoys her femininity but she's not incredibly traditionally feminine. She enjoys simplicity with maybe some nice sunglasses and a bit of jewellery to dress something up. She settled into a very earthy and chill palette that is more representations of her off of that track with looser fits, lots of silky blouses, linen, comfy sneakers. She's no fashionista, but everything is flattering and makes her look a little bit softer. At home though, she will happily live in cycling shorts/hoodies/sports bras.

She is also cunty enough to pull of leopard print if she wanted<3

[ervona]

Day 7: Profane / Sword for @tes-summer-fest

Out on the Inner Sea, where Ebonheart had crossed to Vvardenfell with one one bold leap set in stone, the port was rocked to sleep by languid waves. Southwards lay the vast expanse of Thirr, eastwards the City of Swords over which loomed a frozen moon, and thence a ferry sailed in worn and weathered. One of the passengers, a young lady, bowed to the boatman as she disembarked. 

Rather undistinguished in her clean but simple clothes, she was glad for it and took a deep breath of sea air that mixed with the cooking from Six Fishes, watching as stevedores hauled barrels and crates onto a merchant ship. For a few more paces across the cobblestone, she needn’t have been a duke’s daughter up until the bridge to the castle, so she took a slight turn at Forth Hawkmoth.

In the Skyrim Mission hall, she asked of a friendly ambassador all the latest rumors brought in on western winds, while in the neighboring Argonian Mission she exchanged a courteous greeting and hidden scrap of paper with the consul. The significance of each meeting was not as it must have seemed, and she continued to Castle Ebonheart whither the Imperial knight at the bridge led her in without issue.

The guards inside were all aglint in silver, but the mer that strode up to her was in beetle-green silk, embellished with countless shimmering wings. Uncle appeared to her more boyish than ever, though he’d never been older, as his face and hands showed no signs of age that more closely followed the working mer. She leapt into a hug, for the illusion of their friendship was always worth upholding.

“You look like a pilgrim,” he said with a smile; she trimmed the condescension off of it like the hands of Fishmongers’ Hall fileted fish and moved on, carving a smile on her own face. “I see them crossing the lakes daily now, all sorts of pleasant people, long traveled–”

“Good evening to you too. But where’s Father?” Often enough he would have been holding court at this hour, now his seat was an empty ornament flanked by his personal guard.

“Up in his dining hall. Shall we go, then?” So she took him by the hand and followed up the spiraling staircase, soon liberated from his idle chatter by the fact that the chamber with her drawers stood afore Father’s. She excused herself to go change her clothes before sitting at the dinner table, and he proceeded rather than wait for her, which was suitable just fine.

It was apt to call it a guest room, but it had more or less been reserved for her, and all the things she hadn’t taken with her were where she’d left them. She wasted no time dressing, though she did not miss the more restrictive, overly ornate clothing she’d worn at court. Her neighbors in Saint Delyn on the other hand would work themselves to the bone for a brocade blouse like hers. 

Once when in Tear visiting Mother’s kin, she’d taken a liking to the airy anther fabrics they favored in the humid marshlands. Grey was their color, but the city had soon been wreathed in black after a high councilor’s undisclosed passing, strife had been sown and blood ran cold. These days the young, the dissidents, and all those who’d lost their spirits and loved ones in the war had many high seats to fill. 

Her time there had taught her not the evils of slavery, for she’d already looked upon them in Empire-chartered lands, but certainly more ways to strive against it. Even with her Serano cousins had she found kindred spirits, and through them much needed contacts, Black Marsh and beyond. The Dren side of the family was truly no better or worse, distinguished Hlaalu nobles as they were, but she would put that thought aside for dinner. 

Father awaited her in his golden moth robes, and she sank into a silent embrace with only the murmur of endearments into her hair and the clatter of cutlery. There was no need to say too much. He already had the perfect image of her in his mind, carefully cultivated, unable to grow beyond it even when they were alone, for too much shared grief weighed on them. The table was set for three, each with ample space of their own and the appetizer already served. 

She nibbled on a wickwheat biscuit as Uncle seemed to continue what he’d been talking about, his newly established netch ranch, the fine leather it brought, and she bit her tongue in frustration. Him and his blood-stained netch leather and the yoke that pulled lives and souls asunder. The three of them were in different worlds by now, though still only a ferry away from each other in the isles where the sacred and worldly embraced with hidden blades. 

Then he turned to her, wondering aloud why she’d chosen to live in a pauper’s residence. Without breaking her composure, she took a sip of her mineral water. She’d explained it enough to Father, and had lived well for a better part of the year, so where had he been?

“I’d seen it and thought to myself of what wisdom I could take from living in modesty. Our kin in Tearmarsh live simple but the light of the Three hardly touches them, unlike us,” she recited something akin to what she had before and before. Uncle whose kena had been a blademaster of Saint Felms giggled at that, and Father cut him a glance across the table.

“What? We’re not in Vivec, but in Ebonheart,” he stressed that last word with a Cyrod lilt, “I’d hazard to say the Three are asleep at the helm when the people are wanting for them.”

“The Three do not judge mere ill-spoken words, but the people do. Let us eat,” was all that Father had to say before calling the next course, ornada marinated in plum and comberry.

She continued to sup in silence, but imagined if they’d cleared the table and dueled in a knightly manner. A challenge of honor, for the gods at that, had been more common in warlike times but the custom was very much alive. Say they fought to the death, Uncle if he by chance won would get his final rival out of the way and send her to wed the King’s heir Ser Talen Vandas. Father had planned much the same, though not urgently, and he would hesitate to kill his brother in the first place but if he did, she would carry the Dren name.

What did she want, then? For the dinner to carry on in peace, not to lose her composure, and not have to marry the King's dear nephew. But perhaps a queen of Morrowind would carry power, more so than a duke, only the profane ruler of all Vvardenfell. There was a cloak of decorum about Father that fit a very refined doll, having his armor shined as if every day was a holy-day, little else for him to do but dictate legally worded letters for contractless builders on Azura’s Coast and hang his head. She could never become so complacent.

Father ate rather delicately to not stain his bead-woven beard and mustache, and his younger brother followed the lead, though prior stabbing his cooked ornada without grace. The knife he sliced with, dueling the carapace, was as her cutlery gilt and engraved to go along with the ebony plating. Overhead the chandelier of green glass hung as a sword pointed at them, a thousand shimmering blades. Cruel and acute was the castle, had been from its very first stone.

After dessert, she retreated to her chambers still chewing on the apple sweetcake. Father and Uncle having bid her good night continued talking, for which she was too tired, tired of her studies at the Temple and the fragile cover they made, of parlaying with smugglers or worse playing as abolitionists, of crossing betwixt and across sharp edges, and most of all knowing that she was ill-fit for their beautiful world even if she’d ever wanted to return.

She fell upon her bed face-first and rose back up, hair tousled from the impact giving her the feeling of peeking from a thicket. Through her eastward window she could see the lanterns of the city below, Ebonheart’s diadem. Further still across the water was the palace dome awash in cold fire, circled by celestial spheres that seemed like marbles from this distance. In there did Vivec dwell, as far from the cries of the helpless as one could be in the Ascadian Isles.

Once the gods had walked among them, before her time. Perhaps it rang true that they were asleep at the helm, or had spun the wheel and left it to turn uncontrollably as gods were wont to do. It fell to the people to take hold of, but only in hands that meant well could a better tomorrow be spun from the frayed yarn of the past. 

Her bed here was softer than in Saint Delyn, only the finest, most delicate fabrics for the Duke’s household, but it didn’t let her rest easy. In the morning, or the next, depending on how much Father wanted her to stay, she would disembark once more. She would watch the waves play, sway corkbulb boats like merlings on the seaside who had been told the world was their oyster. 

There was much work to be done, but it could wait the morning, or the next, as it had waited for far too long. And she cast a wish, just a small one, to each of the three moons that adorned the sky and sea.