#rose brocade

[fawnvelveteen]

ROSE BROCADED SATIN DINNER DRESS, c. 1892

[paletapessoal]

Evening dress, red silk and black rose brocade , 1850s.

[bebemoon]

look for the name: SABINA

@a-doctor-not-a-fangirl

roberto cavalli gold brocade-print silk corset and skirt set, a/w 2oo4

regal rose "temple of chambers" garnet cathedral ring in gold + falconiere mid-length brass chanmail fingerless gloves

italian sterling silver lipstick mirror case lipstick holder w/ carnelian clasp, c. early 19oo's

christian lacroix paris satin heels w/ gold and silver side chain accent

lelet ny "jackie" pearl and gold chain headband

[nemainofthewater]

Best Character surnamed : Lin

Come and vote for the best characters with the same surname!*

What does best mean? It's up to you! Whether you love them, are intrigued by their characters, love to hate them, or they're your '2 second blorbos whose personality you made up wholesale', these are all reasons for you to vote for your favs!

*note, the surnames are not exactly the same in all the cases, as often there will be a different character. I am, however, grouping them all together otherwise things got more complicated.

Propaganda is very welcome! If I’ve forgot anyone, let me know in the notes.

This is part of a larger series of ‘best character with X surname’ polls’. The overview with ongoing polls, winners, and future polls can be found here

[carniistir]

top ten epic nicki fails

[rubynymphyy]

"This textbook has a picture of Lilia…"

i also believe in shapeshifting lilia but consider. twink terror general.

just the bangs being longer changes the look of his face so much i can understand why no other students would recognize him

been thinking about tiny past lilia since i read this post by @egophiliac

me, while designing this: lilia is this you???

so is lilia maleficent's pet raven but they decided since there was already a bird (crowley) he'd be bat themed instead??? the pink accents match pretty much exactly...

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue November 1, 1962

Jean Shrimpton in an evening suit, dinner, theater… Beige velvet metallic brocade, with a leafy pattern in gold and silver; pale blue chiffon blouse. By Helen Rose. Earrings by Castlecliff. Hair bow by Lilly Daché. Hairdresser Kenneth Battelle.

Jean Shrimpton en tailleur de soirée, dîner, théatre… Brocart métallisé velours beige,avec un motif feuillu en or et argent ; chemisier en mousseline bleu pâle. Par Helen Rose. Boucles d'oreilles par Castlecliff. Noeud à cheveux par Lilly Daché. Coiffure Kenneth Battelle.

Photo Louis Faurer vogue archive

[nelladlaen]

trying to find a good velvet brocade to make Plush Boromir a cloak + I found one I fell in love with but it’s sold out Everywhere. snagged everything else so now I’m just looking for an acceptable outer fabric : /

[lovenikkiclothes]

Based around the skirt ‘Gorgeous Red’.

[rai-knightshade-art]

Is it that Look in your eyes? Or is it this dancing juice? Who cares Baby, I think I wanna Marry You!

Marry You, Bruno Mars

The fic these outfits are featured in can be found here (link to be added).

This is a bonus Post for Pitch Perfect RarePair Week prompt #2, which can be found here!

Artist thoughts, explanations, etc etc below the cut; image ID in the alt text!

(In case anyone was wondering if the girls ever found a good wedding suit for Beca, fear not! Here's proof that they found one perfectly suited to our favorite alt-girl Bella Captain!)

Tfw you start out with an AU concept for a Pitch Perfect Next Gen story centered around a pair of OC's and the shenanigans they get up to, only to end up writing more or less a prequel to that concept instead telling the love story between one of the OC's parents.

And then that story shapes up to be at least 3x as long as any individual story you've ever written for any fandom. Ever.

Anyways that is a fic that is coming, and here is some of the concept art from one of the final events it'll cover: Jesse and Beca's wedding.

These two pages came up because a) I love designing fashion, especially formal fashion (like for weddings), and b) these outfits will be featured in a full-page illustration/cover art of sorts for the fic, so I wanted to properly design them before i get that far, and c) they'll barely be visible in said illustration, which is a damn shame, because they're good designs! So they get their own feature pages so y'all can properly appreciate the glory that is Beca's absolutely kickass wedding suit (because the girl who has canonly only ever worn 3 skirts total--and one of those was just the og Bella uniform skirt!--is absolutely NOT going to wear a dress to her wedding if she can at all help it, and you may quote me on that!) as well as Jesse's rose brocade waistcoat with corset style lacing in the back (it makes his waist look good y'all). It simply had to be done!

Also featured is a rough drawing of Beca's engagement ring, aka a family heirloom passed down through 4 generations of Swanson men to their intendeds; it's a 20's era Daisy-set ring done in silver, with a single diamond in the center surrounded by tiny rubies and sapphires (which, why yes, that DOES sound like it would perfectly meld the color aesthetics of the Bellas and the Trebles and thematically represent Jesse and Beca's union, however did you know??)

Anyways, yes, these two are going to be the best looking married couple LA has ever seen, celebrity mega weddings eat your hearts out!

[keeksandgigz]

hi i am here with a horny thot. 😈

eddie buying witchy one of those dildos made of rose quartz and making her fuck herself with it while he watches.

MARIAH THE WAY I RAN TO MY LAPTOP

Horny hours indeed omg

"Eddie this is stupid" you say, huffing at the sight of the suggestively shaped crystal on your counter.

He claimed he had a surprise for you. He had you close your eyes while he stood behind you. He put it in front of you while you opened your eyes, a puzzled look on your face.

"It's rose quartz, witchy. S'gonna make your pussy love me so much, huh?" he's relentless in the way that he touches you. The way he knows that if he grazes your shoulders with the tips of his fingers he can have you whimpering in a matter of seconds.

Hands, fingers, mouth, tongue.

"It looks... cold" you look at it with a raised eyebrow, a bit offended at the idea that Eddie has boiled down your witchy interests down to sex. A pink rose quartz dildo on the kitchen counter.

"Warm it up then" he says, biting your earlobe. You sigh. He always has to win.

And so you guide him to your room, shedding yourself of your clothes in the process, aside from a pair of black knit knee socks that your pervert of a boyfriend seems to enjoy a little too much.

He perches himself on the pink brocade armchair in the corner of your room, the rose quartz tight in your hand.

"Need me to warm you up, witchy?" he asks, smug and annoying as always. A devilish smile on his lips as you shyly lay yourself down on your silk sheets, back against your headboard.

You don't need to be warmed up. You'd been ready to go since that morning, when he'd worn a cutoff shirt with a pair of sweats that were hung low on his tummy, letting his happy trail peek through the fabric.

You shake your head.

His demeanor is different than his recent submissiveness. Eyes dark and alert, contrasting yours- hazy and half- lidded.

"Gimme a show then, my pretty witch" he commands, his hands gripping the armrests of the seat as he watches you run the crystal down your body. The coldness of the surface makes your skin jump, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Your eyes don't leave his for a moment, as it reaches the apex of your thighs, you shudder at the cold object, and at how sensitive you are.

It is by no means as big as your boyfriend is, but the idea of the heavy object being inside you makes your clench around the feeling of nothingness.

"God, witchy, you're so fucking hot like this." He's palming himself through his jeans, the impatience of seeing you play with the crystal seems to be eating him alive.

"C'mon put it in" he urges, as his belt clinks open, and almost like a pavlovian training, your mouth opens a little bit. Enough for him to notice.

"My strong and powerful witchy brought down by me taking my cock out. Aren't you sweet" he chuckles, taking his dick out, letting it rest against his tummy.

His chin moves, urging you to put the crystal in. A wordless command, no more playing around. You oblige, and the feeling of it filling you up, with the cold surface of the object against the warmth of your walls provides a pleasurable contrast as you begin to fuck yourself with it.

"How's that feel, witchy? Is your pussy falling in love yet, or do I gotta give it a couple kisses first?" he taunts you, beginning to touch himself at the sight of you relentlessly fucking yourself.

You don't like the way that it's not curved, unable to hit the spot you so deeply crave. So you whine, the stretch of it so delicious you can't help but keep going, albeit it not being enough.

"Eddie- oh- please" you hiccup, looking at the way he's stroking himself, head thrown in pleasure as you're tempted to take advantage of his distraction to use your magic, to match up the thrusting movements of your hand to match up his. Perfectly in sync.

You decide against it, as his distraction is only momentary. His eyes are fixed on yours once again. A sheen of sweat on his naked torso, a lusty Adonis, as you try to thrust the quartz further inside you, eliciting a weak moan from your mouth, as an unabashed hand comes down to play with yourself.

A broken moan coming from your boyfriend, hooded eyes looking at you through his sweaty bangs.

"Witchy, you should see yourself. You look like a fucking goddess, Jesus Christ" he whispers through gritted teeth as he lets his cock go, standing up and walking towards you.

You stop with him, intrigued by the change in action. You stare at him with glassy eyes, begging him to make you feel better than the quartz inside you.

"Let's see how in love that pussy is, shall we?" he chuckles, dipping his hand in between your legs, taking the object out. You shiver at the feeling and the feeling of being empty.

A low whistle comes from Eddie.

"God, she must love me, huh? This thing is soaked. M'flattered, witchy" he says, examining the crystal.

You can't do nothing but shake, as he stands there and ponders.

"Open up that mouth, messy girl. Gotta keep it busy while I fuck you."

God i don't know what this is I'm so sorry

[justporo]

i came uP WITH ANOTHER JUST NOW Tav has a bad dream about Astarion dying and is getting irrationally protective- Astarion must find a way to reassure that no, he is NOT going to randomly keel over, and after proceeding to Make It Worse with things like "it was just a dream" ends up resorting to trying to make Tav laugh to lighten the mood

My dear mushy, yet again you present me with a wonderful idea. This struck a chord with me for the last few days because I was feeling a little anxious and thus very much in the mood for some angst. So here you go! Also remember how I said I was taking a breather? I am! But I still love writing too much to not do it… Also this very self-indulgently helped me with some of my anxiety these past days. (Note tho: I am neither diagnosed with anxiety or a an expert, I can only describe what I can relate to and can imagine, just to put it out there)

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Talk of trauma and nightmares, descriptions of some violence and death

Wordcount: 2,3k

Tav wakes from repeating nightmares about Astarion. She sneaks out of bed in an attempt to hide it but gets caught by Astarion who immediately notices something is wrong and wants to comfort her.

It‘s where my demons hide (I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you)

You woke from your trancelike meditation. On your back, you felt paralysed for a moment, your heart still heavy with dream images that filled you with icy dread. You couldn’t move and felt a single hot tear running down your cheek as a silent sob left your chapped open lips.

The images were still vivid in front of your eyes: Astarion, full of blood, falling over, his face distorted in pain, agony and desperation in his ruby eyes, panickingly grabbing for you; and then: life leaving his ruby eyes until they were only hollow.

And in your dreams you screamed and raged with all your force trying to reach him in time, to prevent what was happening, to at least hold his head in your lap as life passes from him. Never reaching him before it was too late.

The nightmares had come for quite some time now. They always followed the same pattern - and so did you: waking up in the middle of your ‚night‘, freezing from cold sweat, tears running and desperately trying to not wake Astarion.

Because you knew it wasn‘t real. There he was, right beside you. Softly breathing in his own dreams. His face so peaceful and relaxed.

You felt an incredible urge to grab him and kiss him awake to truly know he was there and fine. You just wanted to know that whatever you had dreamt: it wouldn‘t happen, it didn‘t happen; he was alive and well and next to you.

You sat up and felt the goosebumps all over your body and you shuddered. Starting to rub your arms you looked over to where Astarion was. And he was indeed peacefully slumbering - or deeply meditating as was the custom for you elves. You spent quite some heartbeats to watch him - how his chest slowly rose and fell, how a single white lock fell onto his forehead, how his facial expressions softly changed as he was dreaming.

Your heart ached and you couldn‘t shake the dread that kept hold of you. It sat deeply in your bones by now, hands around your throat and closing it‘s fingers. You quickly started to get out of bed, grabbing Astarion‘s shirt that was still laying on the floor in front of the bed and threw it over your head. You felt that the sobs were coming and you wanted to be out of here before the vampire caught onto it - he had enough to deal with, so you wouldn‘t burden him with your brain harassing you with its bad, irrational nightmare fantasies.

The soft pat-pats of your naked feet being the only sound as you walked, you left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. There you grabbed some of the leftover milk from the day before and then went into the living room. As you lifted one of the thick brocade curtains you saw that it was already pretty dark outside. Some blue was still to be seen in the sky but it was surely and quickly to be chased away by the moon and the stars.

You drew the curtain away from the tall window and sat down in the alcove. Drinking your mug of milk your mind was still on your nightmares. You felt the wound up coil of anxiety in your stomach - it was bad this time. It surely would take some time before you would have calmed down completely. The tension was still way to present this time, making your foot that was on the floor tap nervously while you kept feeling restless.

„My sweet, it‘s way too early to be up…“ The voice of your subject of worry made you whip your head from looking out the window to Astarion. He was standing in the doorframe, sheets messily wrapped around his hips. He looked very drowsy and tired and not fully awake - a very rare look and mood for him.

„Also is that my shirt you‘re wearing because rawr, if I dare…“, his words trailed off when he realised that something was not quite right.

He saw the tension in your body, noticed the unnecessarily hard grip on your mug and your restless foot. Immediately, he was fully awake and rushing over to you: „My love, what is it, what‘s wrong?“ He sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap - no room for protest. His ruby eyes were clouded with worry, brows furrowed and his mouth in a tense line.

You tried to just shake your head and smile at him to assure him that everything was fine, you‘d just woken up a little early. But your body was traitorous, your eyes filled with tears and you could feel your chest start to heave - the urge to let out your sobs and howl in agony almost unbearable.

And as Astarion softly moved a strand of your reddish-brown hair behind your ear and then let his thumb softly wander over your cheekbone, then over your lips and then placed it on your chin lightly, it became too much to bear.

Sobs came and shuddered through your whole body, tears flowed openly. Astarion grabbed you and held you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him back hard - really having to feel that he was there. The vampire carefully placed his chin on the top of your head and softly swayed you from side to side. He said nothing for a while only humming softly - an old elven lullaby -, knowing that nothing he could put into words would make a difference in this very moment - he just held you. Because he knew what it felt like and had had to go for it alone, two centuries of nightmares, and he‘d never wish on another living soul having to go through something like this with no one there to spare you a little solace. This and the way you could feel his chest slightly vibrate while humming calmed you down slowly.

„Having nightmares again?“, Astarion whispered softly when the acute shudders of grief had calmed down a little. You burrowed your wet face at his chest, not wanting to admit that he had caught you. „Don‘t deny it, my love, don‘t think I didn‘t notice you getting up in the middle of the day and sometimes only returning hours later“, he continued. You could basically hear that his brows were furrowed. With a soft nudge on your shoulders he pushed you a little from his chest so he could take a look at you: „I‘m not one to pry and I respect your privacy, Tav, but I‘m worried. When was the last night of a full rest for you, hm?“ His eyes were so full of warmth and worry that you were sure yours were immediately filled with immense guilt. But you were still reluctant, having promised yourself to keep these problems your own.

Astarion softly cocked his head. „Don‘t you think, just a little bit, my love, that I deserve to know? Wouldn‘t you like to know? I bet if it‘d been me you would have already wreaked all Nine Hells‘ havoc upon me to find out what‘s bugging me“, he said while his tone turned sassy slightly. One eyebrow was raised, signature smirk was now turned on at least to half force.

And he knew you well and he was right, that bastard.

You cleared your throat. „It‘s nothi-“, you started. Astarion‘s face immediately dropped: eyes half-lidded, lips pouting. „We can play this the easy way, my heart, or the hard one - I have all the time in the world“, he threatened but his tone was still soft.

You sighed in desperation and looked up to the ceiling. Then you let your gaze drop. You had withdrawn your arms from around him and now nervously pressed down on your one palm with the thumb of the other hand. „I keep dreaming you‘re dying - and I can‘t do anything about it“, you admitted flat-out but did not look up.

„That‘s it?“, Astarion responded. Now you looked up - did he just say that like it was nothing? You kept staring at him in confusion and you surely felt anger rise up inside you. The vampire‘s gaze jumped from yours to the side and back, obviously not grasping what was so harrowing. When you kept staring, he said: „Well, do you have any idea how often I dream about stuff like that happening to you - and me for that matter? And I‘m here, am I not? It‘s irrational, nothing is wro-“ „You insensitive prick“, you yelled and weakly hit him on the chest with your flat hand.

„Do you know how it feels? Watching you die - vividly- over and over again! Covered in your own blood and I can do NOTHING! Only watch you as the life flows from your body…“ The tears were back and you could see how through your blurring vision Astarion‘s face changed from surprise to shame.

He pulled you in again: „I‘m sorry.“ This time he borrowed his face in your hair - you could feel how his face scrunched in agony as he kept squeezing you. „I‘m so sorry, I… didn‘t know how it is for you…“

You lifted your head from his chest with a gasp. The sobs had subsided once more and you were now at this awkward hiccupy phase of a really bad cry. „It‘s like… something burning in my chest“, you said, emotions still crushing over you, wanting to let it all out this time; to rid yourself of it if possible. Your hands rose to your chest, one grabbing the other. „Sometimes it‘s constant, for days on end, a constant buzz. Sometimes it claws its way up to my throat and I feel this pressure. And it‘s just sitting there, reminding me of the fear I have. And at worst it‘s like this impending doom - it holds my heart in its hand and it squeezes from time to time to make me hurt and my heart can only flutter against it like a hummingbird in a cage that‘s way too small. I don‘t know how it feels for you, but that‘s how it is for me…“ You squeezed your hand so hard it hurt - but still not even remotely close to the hurt you felt in your chest sometimes.

Astarion softly grabbed your hands with his and looked at you, sorrow in his eyes. „Well, if it wouldn‘t be so sad that would almost be poetic“, he replied with a sad smile. „I know the feelings you describe well. Too well. Perhaps I‘ve grown too accustomed to it to no longer relish their absence“, he explained his eyes slowly drifting from yours into a gaze that was a thousand leagues away. And now you understood his reaction a little bit better: his was one of an animal knowing nothing but abuse and imprisonment. While yours had barely scratched the surface of the sorrows of this world.

„Astarion“, you whispered softly, withdrew one hand from his and touched your fingers to his face, pulling him back to you - to the here and now.

The vampire closed his eyes for a short moment. When he opened them again he‘d come back to you. „It was still an insensitive reaction of me, for that I apologise.“ „You shouldn‘t have to feel like that or even get used to it. And I‘m sorry I shouted at you“, you answered with a whisper. You felt guilt now.

„No, my love, it was absolutely right to call me out on that and if it helps: it‘s getting better. Slowly, but better. And I‘m sure these storm clouds will pass for you too“, he answered and pulled your face to his, leaning his forehead against yours and his hand softly cupping your cheek. Warmth filled his ruby eyes again and a soft smile danced on his lips.

„Now, I propose whenever you wake with a horrendous nightmare you poke me in the side so the following yelp and curse tell you that I am still very much alive - or unalive for that matter, you get it - and myself and here with you. Promise?“, he spoke and his eyes widened as he made you look into his eyes.

„Only if you do it too“, you answered as you felt some more sobs threateningly bubble up in your chest; this time they weren‘t in sorrow though.

„Only if you promise to not smother me with your pillow when I raise you from your precious and much needed beauty sleep, my love“, Astarion answered with a big smirk now. You pushed away from him but couldn‘t stop yourself from laughing at the banter: „You‘re such a dick sometimes.“ Astarion just laughed dirtily in response - nothing you didn‘t tell him at least three times a day. „Yes, and you‘re a hag sometimes, my sweet“, he replied with a grin, fangs showing, ignoring the obvious contradictory statement he had just made.

You stuck out your tongue at him and as you did it you realised that he must‘ve very well known what he was doing. The tension and anxiety had actually left your body for good. You hoped it would stay this way. And you hoped Astarion might feel the same. Grabbing his hand, you leaned back against his chest, snuggeling up to him. You pressed your spread fingers against his, watching how his hands and fingers were quite a bit larger than yours.

There was still much to talk about, to unravel, to work through; for both of you - but maybe not tonight. Maybe it was enough that you unraveled just a tiny piece tonight. You had so many more nights to slowly get to the rest.

Astarion stared at your hands that pressed together, obviously lost in his own thoughts. But then he smiled and crossed his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly: „Now, promise?“ „Promise and promise“, you replied solemnly and waited for Astarion to say it back. „Now, you say it!“, you said pushingly and squeezed his hand.

The vampire rolled his eyes but with a smile on his face, twisted your joint hands and pressed a kiss on the back of your hand: „Promise!“

[bookishdream]

Something he wants

kaz brekker x fem!reader word count: 2k CW: a bit of unpleasant touching, but nothing further than that

If one peered carefully into the dark, they would see a pair of young adults walking down the cobblestone street. One of them – a man – limping and clicking his cane. The other one – a woman – with long hair and a magnificent dress, its colors conveying the moonlight. And they were arguing. 

“I said no,” the man’s voice was hoarse, loud enough for his companion’s ears but quiet enough so that no one else could hear. “Your complaining won’t help change my mind.”

“You’re unbearable, Brekker,” she remarked, crossing her arms on her chest. The gown had puffy, tulle sleeves. The pattern of roses with thorns was woven into the fabric, cleverly covering her crow tattoo. “I told you I would go no matter what you’d say, so here I am. And you know we have a better chance of obtaining information using me as bait.” She let her arms loose, playing with the cuffs of her dress. It was cold in Ketterdam and her dress had a wide opening that showed her entire back. 

“I don’t care,” Kaz rolled his eyes. The crow on his cane blinked mischievously, sending shivers down the woman’s spine. 

“Kaz, no offense, but you’re as pretty as Pim’s rear,” she looked into his eyes. Obviously she lied. However, she would never admit that to anyone. “I am your best shot at getting whatever you need. And it will be a lot easier than breaking into his house.” 

“You’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you?” he sent a smirk her way. Only later that night will he realize that a bit of red on her cheeks wasn’t from the freezing temperatures, but from the way he looked at her. And did he look at her, all right. Kaz didn’t pay attention to anything unless it looked like a stack of kruge on his desk. But when she had entered the Crow Club, demanding an audience with him, he had been stunned to say at least. Her hair had flown when she’d darted past Jesper, straight into Kaz’s cane. 

“Pardon?” she’d asked, eyeing the crow on his walking stick. “Are you Kaz Brekker? If not, get out of my way”

“Saints,” Jesper had whispered behind her, his palms loosely on his revolvers. 

“Why are you seeking him?” Brekker had said casually, the cane still in between the fierce creature and the staircase. 

“Unless you’re Brekker, I won’t be speaking with you,” she had crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing Kaz. “But you are him, aren’t you? The cane, the gloves, Nina said you’d be unusual.”

“Un–” Jesper had started, but one look from the Dirtyhands had made him stop. “I’ll go guard the door”

“Good idea,” Kaz had finally let his cane drop, leaning his body on it. His eyes focused on the woman. “What do you want?”

“I need your help,” she breathed. He’d only raised his eyebrows. “I need you to kill my father.”

Since then, they had been working together. Y/n with her striking beauty would seduce merchants, when Kaz was robbing their pockets. In more or less legal ways – depending on their mood. Not a single soul was aware that Brekker had such a compelling ace up his sleeve. 

“Kaz, please,” she whispered, her dress swooshing on the wind. “I dressed up, you can’t let my efforts go to waste.”  

Brekker rolled his eyes, but he must have admitted that the dress, in fact, looked magnificent on the woman. The color lit up her eyes and the brocade corset was making her skin glow. Yet, he didn’t speak another word, pointing his cane in the direction of the perpendicular street. Y/n tilted her head. “Which house?”

“The one with the green door.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” she nodded her head in acknowledgment. “No mourners.” 

“No funerals,” Kaz replied. 

Y/n went down the street. The lamps were dimmed, not giving much light, yet she could see the path clearly. When she was younger, she would wander around this district, dreaming about being an important persona herself. She would pretend that she was a grisha. One day she would be an Inferni and the other she’d be a Heartrender. She would have to be careful so as not to get caught by stadwatch or worse – her father. He despised grisha, the littlest mention about their kind got his blood boiling. He would murder them. And he would make her watch. 

When she got close to the door, she took a breath in. Her body tensed and her heart beating so fast, she could swear people down the street were able to hear it. She knocked, once, twice. No one answered at first, but a moment later she noticed a loud noise of someone making their way to the door. 

“Who’s there?!” a man’s voice echoed from behind the entrance. 

“Please, I need your help,” she strived to make her voice sound as desperate as she could. She forced her palms to tremble and she bit her lower lip. She promised twenty minutes and she needed to be a bit faster than that. “I-i got lost,” she stammered. 

The door opened with a wide swing, the man’s face was wrinkled and he didn’t look as pleasant as she remembered from the photo. When his eyes laid on her body, she knew exactly when he thought about taking advantage of her. She knew what he saw. A broken girl, who looked like a doll, with her big, princess-looking dress, smeared make-up and a trembling lip. She couldn’t look longer than a few seconds at him, which he also took notice of. She was nothing but a broken piece to him. And she made him believe in whatever he wanted. 

He helped her get up and while still touching her arms, he led her to the office or a living room, she didn’t know. His breath reeked of whatever alcohol he was drinking prior to her interruption. She wanted to grimace but kept her face straight, Kaz trusted her to get this work done and she didn’t plan on doing otherwise. 

“So, darling, what are you doing in this neighborhood?” He forced her to sit in one of the armchairs standing opposite to the big, oak desk. “Such a fine, little thing getting lost in the night? You never know what can get from behind the corner.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She suppressed a shudder and only smiled, hoping she looked as coy as she wanted to convey. She wanted to punch him. 

“My father was playing cards in one of the clubs,” she started, her fingers were trembling so she intertwined them. “I just wanted to take a breath, but I went too far and I got lost. I don’t know what to do…” she forced her voice to break. The old man’s face was focused on her lips the entire time she was talking, her heart beat with a new dose of uneasiness. Where the hell was Kaz?

“It’s okay, doll” he placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her head. She could smell a cigar smoke somewhere in the room. She didn’t notice that the lamps were dimmed and the heavy, dark curtains were blocking out the light from the street lamps. She discreetly scanned the room, looking out for any possible exits, but the merchant wasn’t as stupid as she originally had thought. There was only one way in and only one way out. Right behind her. 

The merchant was looking into her eyes, searching for something. “You think you are so clever huh?” his hold on her chin started growing stronger, soon he moved his palm to her throat, squeezing it, cutting her airways. She sucked in a breath but couldn’t do much about her situation. “Do you think I haven’t seen you around this bastard Brekker?” He squeezed her neck harder, she could feel her eyes water. “Do you think I wasn’t aware you would be coming here tonight?” 

She tried speaking, but her efforts came out fruitless. She saw in his eyes that he had no intention to let her go. She was happy she would die in a gorgeous dress, at least. 

“Oh, no, no, no,” he tsked. “You won’t die tonight, doll, not until I get my answers.” The merchant let go of her neck, just so she could utter a sentence.

“I will never betray Kaz,” she spat on his face, clawing at his palm. 

‘You bitch,” he let her go. Y/n saw an opening and kicked him into his stomach. She turned on her heel and made her way to the door, but the man managed to grab her waist and kept her in one place. “I wonder if Brekker cares enough for you to come here,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers along her spine. She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rising. She tried wiggling out of his hold, but to no avail. 

“Actually, I’ve been here for quite some time now,” came a voice from behind the desk. This husky voice, whose owner she wanted to murder with her bare hands at that moment. “You have something I want, Marcus.”

Y/n saw Jesper on the threshold, pointing both of his guns in their direction. When she looked up, Zemeni winked at her, letting her body relax. She forced herself free out of the merchant’s arms and made her way towards the exit. She was trembling. She saw Kaz motioning for Marcus to sit on the armchair she was previously on. The merchant was making his way to this direction slowly, never letting Brekker out of his sight. How clever. 

“I must admit, your bitch is a feisty one,” he put his ankle onto his other knee, resting his hands on the armrests. In a second his head flew to the right and blood was leaking from his cheekbone. 

“Call her a bitch one more time and I will break every single one of your fingers,” Kaz remarked calmly, his demeanor still the same. “I came for the money.”

“I don’t have your money,” Marcus countered, clutching a handkerchief to his face. “I have never stolen from you.” 

“You are mistaken,” he got up, pulling a paper out of his pocket. “You were about to steal from me, Marcus. That’s what you wrote to your acquaintance, isn’t it?”

The merchant sat there, wordlessly, his eyes wide. Y/n smirked into his direction, whistling. “You’re a naughty boy, Marcus, a naughty boy.”

The man only snarled at her, she rolled her eyes in response. 

“Well, since you wanted to steal from me, all I want is a percentage of your shares in one of the clubs in the Harbor,” Kaz looked at Marcus, his eyes still locked on the merchant. 

“You are crazy,” he yelled. 

“And you are a dead man unless you agree. It doesn’t have to be a big part, just a small one would be enough.” 

After some time, Kaz had his shares and she had a bruise around your neck. She could still feel the phantom of Marcus’s hands on her throat. Until it heals, she won’t make it go away. 

“So now what?” Jesper asked, his revolvers back in his belt and a smirk on his lips. “You’re going to sabotage the rest of his clubs?”

She was looking at the pavement, but not hearing Kaz’s response, she lifted her head and sent him a look. “Saints, you really want to do that.”

“Why else would I want shares from only one club? It wouldn’t be much if there were five others now, would it?” 

Jesper whistled at his words and resumed his vigorous steps towards the Crow Club. Y/n stayed behind, her legs heavy. 

“Kaz?” she whispered. She saw him lifting his eyebrow. “Why didn’t you help me when you saw him strangling me?” 

“I didn’t see it,” he replied. 

“What?”

“I only saw him holding you and you were trying to elbow him. And y/n I wanted to smash his skull so hard that his brain would leak out of his ears,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“That’s disgusting,” she breathed a light laugh. Her brows knitted together. “How did you get in?”

“A magician never tells his secrets,” he smirked, leaving her behind him. 

[jewellery-box]

Woman's dress

1825–30, American

Silk brocaded satin, net trim, and glazed linen lining

Dark brown satin bodice with all over sprays of roses, candy tuft and other small flowers brocaded with polychrome silks, short waisted, with wide flaring neck, hooked down center back, long straight undersleeves with short full puffed oversleeves, boned and lined with white linen; narrow ruching of stiffened sheer cotton at edge of sleeves. Tag saying, Mrs. Inches.

MFA Boston

[historical-closet-raider]

Floral Friday

Today's Floral Friday dress is this American 1825-30 dress from the MFA Boston collection.

Description from the MFA Boston website:

"Dark brown satin bodice with all over sprays of roses, candy tuft and other small flowers brocaded with polychrome silks, short waisted, with wide flaring neck, hooked down centre back, long straight undersleeves with short full puffed oversleeves, boned and lined with white linen; narrow ruching of stiffened sheer cotton at edge of sleeves. Tag saying, Mrs. Inches."

[violettduchess]

A/N: This is an entry for my and @lorei-writes Shapes of Love creation challenge. It was originally a spicy holiday prompt that I retooled a bit.

This fic's type of love: Eros with a touch of Mania

Gilbert x Reader

WC: ~1k

It is your first ball in Obsidian, the first ball since you made the decision to leave Rhodolite behind and remain here, at Gilbert’s side. Your nerves are tangled, electric under your skin. You want to make a good impression on those you know he works closely with. Or those he has a close eye on. You’re no longer a foreign guest but have been declared his consort, a position of considerable power. You hope tonight, at the winter ball, you will be able to earn the respect of those who may still be skeptical of the union.....well, secretly skeptical since you know Gilbert would have the head of anyone who dared even breathe a word against you.

You take a deep drink from your glass of chilled wine, reminding yourself that this is a celebration. It is Obsidian's final embrace of winter in all its beauty in the face of an encroaching spring. And you have done your best to dress for the occasion. Turning, you face the full-length iron-wrought mirror that leans against the wall of your dressing room. Your gown is a confection of black lace overlaying soft, shimmering silver. Black gloves, so fine they are almost transparent, stop just beyond your elbows and the smooth skin of your shoulders is bare. Black roses hang from your ears and your hair is pinned up by the pearlescent hair combs shaped like crescent moons that Gilbert gifted you the evening you told him you were staying. A wide, black silk ribbon is tied around your neck, hiding the dark blossoms left by his insistent mouth this morning. If anyone could see underneath the voluminous skirt of your beautiful dress, they would notice matching love-bites in almost symmetrical rings around your thighs and hips. 

You’re just smoothing down the bodice when the door to the room opens and Gilbert, a vision in black and gold, steps in, the crisp, chill scent of winter following him wherever he goes. And although many would think you insane, you find yourself smiling at his presence. “There you are.” You fuss a moment with one of your hair clips, adjusting it ever so slightly. “I hope you like the dress? I know the tailor made it according to your design and I think she did an excellent job. But I know you’re very particular….”

You glance at him through the mirror and your words wither and die, dropping like fallen petals. It takes you a moment to recover, your voice and breath robbed by what you see. He has not said a word. He has not moved a centimeter since entering. His leather-gloved hand is still wrapped around the golden handle of the closed door. But there is hunger clearly etched into every line of his tensed body. It flickers in the deep red of his eye, a flame born the moment he entered. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lets go of the door handle and crosses the brocade carpeting towards you.

……why is your heart fluttering so recklessly in your chest, a butterfly trapped under crystal glass, erratic and beautiful and wild….

He comes to a stop behind you, staring into the mirror at your reflection. His gloved hands slide up your bare arms, up until they rest on your shoulders. There is possession in his tight grip, something dancing the border of discomfort as he drinks in the sight of you, held in place by the press of his fingers.

“Oh Häschen….this won’t do.” One hand slides up higher still, his fingers curling around the sensitive nape of your neck. His head tilts to one side, regarding the reversed image of you both in the glass. “You can’t go out there, like this.” He lowers his head, catching the tip of your ear with his sharp, white teeth before whispering. “This sight is for me and me alone.” His voice drips with dominion, rasps with barely-reined in restraint. Your chest rises and falls with every shallow breath, pressing against the black lace of your gown's sweetheart neckline. 

He watches you for a moment, drinking in the paradox of your body, so perfectly still in his grasp and yet beneath the surface, chaos. Your blood courses frantically through your veins, pumped by a heart gone wild, lungs gone turbulent. Leaning against your back, he reaches around, holding his hands in front of you and very slowly removes one soft black leather glove. You’re hypnotized by the revelation of each lithe finger.

“Maybe…..”, he murmurs, tossing the glove aside where it falls listlessly to the floor, “Yes…maybe like this….” And you feel the cool kiss of his fingers touch the ribbon at your neck. It comes undone, a snake unwinding. Gilbert wraps it around his wrist as he thoughtfully studies the marks he left upon your skin this morning, in the gray, predawn light of his bedroom. “Like this, you are marked as mine. Maybe it would not make a difference who lays eyes on you if this is the first thing they see.”

He truly sounds like a man puzzling out a problem. Your mouth goes dry at the thought of being so brazen in front of all of Obsidian’s nobility and important citizens. Heat blossoms in your body, rises to your cheeks as you realize the idea of showing the world how he claimed you…is not unpleasant.

He can see the way your skin flushes, the gleam in your eyes and his breath catches in his chest where something hard and hot is born. “No….”, he whispers savagely, his blazing eye holding your gaze as captive as his hands are your hips. “No one else gets this. You are not meant to be seen looking like this by anyone else.” He has solved his puzzle.

The world shifts as you are gathered into his arms, held by a strength fueled by desire, by infatuation, by greed. He carries you away from the door with its golden handle, deeper into the shadows of the dressing room, towards the black velvet chaise longue in the back corner where he lays you down, covers you with his long body, his mouth already hungrily claiming yours, swallowing any protests you may try to make about waiting guests and making appearances. 

Soon you won't have enough breath to even attempt forming words. All that you will be able to do is give in to the furious storm of his desire, bending like a reed under his voracious touch, his endless onslaught of exquisite, stinging kisses. 

The ball, the guests, your beautiful new gown soon to be pooled on the floor in a heap of black lace and silver….all willingly, wantonly, blissfully forgotten.

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