#back-flared lace cuffs

[greedyhoneyz]

On Bended Knee

ೃ࿔*:･pairing: bruce wayne x reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: upon newly blossomed wings comes the season of spring, freed at last as wedding bells ring.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none.

.ೃ࿔*:･authors notes: this is a modern take on bruce. like i imagine him being a major socialite (like jfk jr) in the late 90s/00s (him being so closed off from the media) and his kids (nepo babies) when they are older use social media and show off their parents for people who are curious about what bruce’s been up after his parents murder. ….or it can be hella modern like battinson or something idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

When the first day of spring bloomed, buds sprouted from beneath ageing trees and flowers sang hymns of spring’s deep soul and blessed the warm air.

April 15th. The early morning sun had peeked over the courtyard, and a pleasant breeze from the north rustled through, cooling the guests and family members as they waited in their seats, across from the walk leading to the pavilion. Flowers and white streamers decorated the bannisters, a ceremonial mixture of whites and champagne pinks.

Sweet strains of classical music fluttered through the air, tuning out the occasional conversation as the groom wadded through feelings of nausea and discomfort. He swayed on the heels of his dress shoes, his arms tightly glued to his back and nipped at his bottom lip. His careful eyes dressed the courtyard, scouring across the row of friends, family and his groomsmen before he squinted at the grand doors latched above.

The groom heaved, shifting anxiously on the heels of his feet, and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt for the fifth time that hour. He bit his lip, eyed the backyard door from afar, and mumbled a few words of prayer, interlocking his fingers together and peering up at the sky.

The bridal chorus, a vivid and light piece, began to play from the orchestra as the grand doors flew open, a wash of petals fluttering out into the air.

One by one, in a synchronised fashion, the bridal procession descended from the mansion steps towards the aisle. Flower girls, dressed in the sweetest whites, showered pink roses across the aisle as the bridesmaids, dressed in blush gowns veiled the accession of the bride with gleeful smiles.

The bride, arm in arm with her father, bared herself from behind the procession and merrily ascended across the aisle. Her gown, a princess-cut bodice encrusted with heavily laced beadwork, layered with a soft skirt flared below her veil, floating along as she waltzed, in her hands a bouquet of Stephanotis’.

She was magnificent, beguiling and alluring. All were words that floated through the depths of the groom’s head as he stood with bated breaths, gazing at her with a heavy heart and glassy eyes.

As they drew closer, the groom slowly stepped down from the pavilion and extended his arm to unravel the chain between father and daughter once the pair came to the end of the aisle. He peered at his bride with pride riddled through his eyes as her father turned and placed a longing kiss on the side of her head. He loosened her arm from around his and raised it. He set her hand in the groom’s and slowly retreated into the audience, watching with dread and contentment as the groom carefully guided her up into the pavilion.

The bridal tune faded, and the pastor stepped up to the microphone, Bible in hand. He smiled at the assembly of family and close friends and began. "Cherished family and honoured guests, I would like to thank all for coming out on this glorious day,"

The sound of his polished voice carried well from the speakers on either side of the pavilion as the pastor opened the Bible before him. "Let us begin by offering thanks to the Lord." The procession bowed their heads and the pastor began his prayer.

The groom’s eyes softened at the sight of the swooning silhouette of his bride. His bride gleamed, in awe at the pure poetry pooled within his eyes and replied with a flustered smile shadowed from beneath her veil, before fluttering her eyes shut.

“Dear Lord…”

Once the prayer had concluded, the pastor led the bride and groom through their vows. Their vows to each other expressed their tenderness and devotion to one another. And when it ended, their rings were exchanged.

Scampering across the aisle, the bride’s nephew dressed in a blue tuxedo waddled up the stairs, a pillow nestled between his tiny fingers and hurriedly handed the groom the rings before scampering off to his mother who waited expectantly at the bottom of the stairs.

With an enamoured smile across his face, the pastor turned to the groom and began. “Do you, Bruce Thomas Wayne take….as your lawfully wedded wife?”

Bruce gaped at the woman in front of him. Though her beauty was sheltered behind her veil and the glaring sunlight, he still caught a glimpse of the bashful smile that lingered on her face. “…I do.”

Twirling the ring between his fingers, Bruce grinned at his bride. He held her smooth hand, scoring his thumb across her skin and gently slid the ring onto her finger till it rested by her knuckles.

The pastor smiled and turned to the bride. “Do you…..take Bruce Thomas Wayne as your lawfully wedded husband?”

(name) giggled, flustered at Bruce’s bright stare and nodded. “I do.”

She took the ring resting in her palm and slid it onto his finger.

"By the power vested upon me, I now declare you, husband and wife." The pastor held up his hands, bringing the crowd to their feet.

"You may now kiss your bride."

Lifting her veil, Bruce gently draped the white fabric behind her head, letting it fall across her back and stared at his wife.

As their eyes met, the world seemed to fade away, the world around them forgotten. She felt his hand tenderly touch her cheek, his fingers tracing a line down her jawline.

She beamed, tilting her head ever so slightly and fluttered her lashes, luring him in with a simple, feathered whisper.

He kissed her, soft and gentle, then with a growing intensity. Their kiss was full of tenderness and passion, a dance of two souls perfect in harmony.

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close as they found themselves castaway, the world around them ceased to exist.

Their embrace lasted for what felt like an eternity, their lips parting only for brief moments for air. They explored each other's mouths with a gentle urgency, their tongues intertwining in a dance of passion and desire.

And as they finally broke free, they peered into each other's eyes with an inviting warmth. It was a moment that would be forever remembered, a moment of softness, tenderness, passion and pure exquisite love.

#black!reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #battinson x reader #battinson imagine #dc fanfiction #dc imagine #dc x reader

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 16, 19 avril 1902, Paris. Groupe de toilettes pour dames et jeunes filles. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(3) Robe de dîner pour jeune femme. Jupe en dentelle sur transparent blanc, bordée d'un volant bouillonné en liberty vert d'eau ou en crêpe de Chine. Au-dessus du volant, croisillons de velours noir.

Veste bouillonnée à la taille et formant basque mi-longue, ouverte sur un dessous de dentelle et rattachée devant par des velours croisés, avec de gros boutons fantaisie. Col fichu en mousseline de soie, souligné d'un volant froncé. Manche courte en dentelle, avec grand volant bouillonné.

(3) Dinner dress for a young woman. Lace skirt on white sheer, edged with a bubbled ruffle in water green liberty or crepe de chine. Above the ruffle, black velvet braces.

Jacket gathered at the waist and forming a mid-length peplum, open to a lace underside and attached in front with crossed velvets, with large fancy buttons. Silk chiffon kerchief collar, highlighted with a gathered ruffle. Short lace sleeve, with large bubbled ruffle.

Matériaux: dentelle en laize; 8 mètres de liberty.

—

(4) Robe de ville pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen, en lainage rayé abricot, de ton effacé. Jupe plissée derrière terminée par trois volants en forme, découpés en créneaux et bordés de biais. Au volant supérieur, un biais souligne la tête. Jaquette ouverte et découpée sur un plastron de liberty noir. Manche à coude, revers assez large.

(4) City dress for young women or middle-aged ladies, in apricot striped wool, in a faded tone. Pleated skirt at the back finished with three shaped ruffles, cut into crenellations and edged at an angle. On the upper ruffle, a bias highlights the head. Dust jacket open and cut on a black liberty bib. Elbow sleeve, fairly wide lapel.

Matériaux: 8 mètres de lainage, 0m,75 de liberty noir.

—

(5) Toilette de visites pour jeune femme, en foulard rouge glacé. Jupe en forme; au bas, quatre volants légèrement badinés, soulignés de comètes de satin noir et surmontés de quatre rangs de comètes. Jaquette dentelée devant, bordée de biais à dépassant noir. Un biais semblable s'arrondit par des pinces en arrière. Ceinture de satin noir passant sous les devants. Col arrondi incrusté de guipure. Guimpe de soie noire. Manche pagode à pèlerines dentelées; celle du milieu est semblable au col.

(5) Visiting ensemble for young woman, in iced red scarf. Skirt shaped; at the bottom, four slightly embellished ruffles, highlighted with black satin comets and topped with four rows of comets. Serrated dust jacket in front, bias-edged with black protruding. A similar bias is rounded by darts at the back. Black satin belt passing under the front. Rounded collar inlaid with guipure. Black silk wimple. Pagoda handle with serrated capes; the middle one is similar to the collar.

Matériaux: 14 mètres de foulard.

—

(6) Robe élégante pour jeune fille ou jeune femme, en bengaline bleu-pastel. Jupe plissée devant, ornée d'un volant en forme que surmonte un large entre-deux. Corsage plissé; col empiècement en guipure; sous ce col commence un pli genre Watteau qui s'évase sur la jupe. Manche plissée sur l'épaule et séparée en deux bouffants par un bracelet de guipure. Poignet haut et collant en guipure. Ceinture ronde en taffetas blanc, rayé de velours noir.

(6) Elegant dress for a young girl or young woman, in pastel blue bengaline. Pleated skirt at the front, decorated with a shaped flounce topped with a wide in-between. Pleated bodice; guipure yoke collar; under this collar begins a Watteau-style pleat which flares out on the skirt. Pleated sleeve on the shoulder and separated into two bouffants by a guipure bracelet. High, sticky guipure cuff. Round belt in white taffeta, striped with black velvet.

Matériaux: 12 mètres de bengaline.

—

(7) Robe de visites pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen en drap satin chamois. Jupe en forme cerclée de biais en taffetas pékiné. Boléro très ajusté, ouvert sur un gilet de drap blanc à revers. Grand col de moire, rayé et bordé d'entre-deux. Cravate de mousseline de soie noire. Manche courte à petits revers.

Bas de manche collant en soie blanche moucheté de noir.

(7) Visiting dress for young or middle-aged ladies in chamois satin cloth. Bias-rimmed skirt in pekiné taffeta. Very fitted bolero, open over a white cloth vest with cuffs. Large moire collar, striped and bordered with insertions. Black chiffon tie. Short sleeve with small cuffs.

Fitted cuffs in white silk speckled with black.

Matériaux: 5 mètres de drap; 1 mètre de soie mouchetée; 0m,30 de drap blanc; 0m,50 de moire.

—

(8) Robe de visites pour jeune femme, en lainage fantaisie vieux rose. Jupe en forme, cerclée de biais posés en dents de soie et tombant sur un volant en forme liséré de biais. Même garniture au corsage et à la manche demi-pagode. Devant, coquillé de dentelle; au col montant, liséré de liberty noir; ceinture ronde en l'étoffe de la robe.

(8) Visiting dress for young women, in fancy old pink wool. Shaped skirt, surrounded by bias placed in silk teeth and falling on a shaped ruffle edged at an angle. Same trim on the bodice and half-pagoda sleeve. Front, shell of lace; with a high collar, lined with black liberty; round belt made from the fabric of the dress.

Matériaux: 7m,50 de lainage.

—

(9) Toilette de réception pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen, en surah vieux rouge très pâle. Plis cerclant la jupe. Veste Louis XV en grosse dentelle. Plastron et manche de dentelle. La manche se termine sous un revers arrondi orné de plis. Col arrondi en forme. Echarpe de mousseline de soie, même ton, nouée sous le col et tombant jusqu'au bas de la robe.

(9) Reception ensemble for young or middle-aged lady, in very pale old red surah. Pleats encircling the skirt. Louis XV jacket in large lace. Lace bib and sleeve. The sleeve ends under a rounded lapel decorated with pleats. Rounded shaped collar. Silk chiffon scarf, same tone, tied under the collar and falling to the bottom of the dress.

Matériaux: 10 mètres de surah; dentelle en laize; 4 mètres de mousseline de soie.

#La Mode nationale #20th century #1900s #1902 #on this day #April 19 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #collar

[chocolatepot]

THE Captain Bonnet suit is, of course, the light turquoise one from the first and ninth episodes, the one most fanart depicts him in.

This is wildly different from what he wore in his old life! The color is vivid - colorS, actually, because the waistcoat is slightly different in both iterations - and the coat and breeches are made of very shiny satin. The coat is also dripping with braid, and actually has shaping to accentuate his waist and flare out into skirts. Each end of his cravat has two lacy ruffles, and they are not hidden at all. He's still wearing the secondary tie, but it's much thinner than the others, hardly covering the main cravat. There are rosettes on his shoulders, like military epaulettes but more delicate. And the shoes, of course, have adorable white bows rather than buckles.

The other outfits Stede wears as a pirate have lots of similarities. Very bright colors, contrasting in the same outfit. The lacy cravats, frequently without a colored necktie on top (especially after he gives the black one to Ed). Closer fits. Velvets and satins. Embroidery. The all-white "man for sale" outfit!

It's tricky to situate these costumes with regard to normative English masculinity of the period. Duller colors go all the way up the social spectrum ca. 1717, but satins and velvets and embroidered waistcoats were very much a part of elite men's fashion; at the same time, the idea of the proper English gentleman went along with plainer things - see the example portraits from the last post. There were a number of effeminate male stereotypes in the 18th century, even before the macaronis of the 1770s, usually incorporating a supposed feminine interest in fashion and an affected way of speaking and acting not unlike more modern stereotypes; it wasn't unusual for them to be referred to as "neuter" and assumed to be either (what we would now call) asexual or homosexual. In that sense, the issue is less exactly what Stede would wear, and more that he clearly cares a lot about it, amassing a large wardrobe and being exacting in having it made up a certain way.

Within the context of the show and the way other gentlemen dress in it (not counting the party aristocrats because they're basically clowns, but Stede's father and the men in Bridgetown), Stede's pirate style is definitely not normative. It's queer. It's not just Stede bringing his aristocratic/gentry style to sea and reveling in his class privilege, it's him taking up a style that he is not allowed to wear as a supposedly heterosexual patriarch. It's even in his nightclothes - the nightshirts he wears on the Revenge have ruffles and lace, and the ones at home range from "basically just a shirt" (1x10) to "well, there's a tiny bit of embroidery" (1x04 flashbacks).

There is one outfit - well, technically three - that does something really subtle with this.

Stede apparently owns three fairly similar coats trimmed with gold braid and two matching waistcoats, one on sea and two on land. The one he wears in 1x05 is made of a damask (you can see the pattern woven into the fabric if you look at it full-size) and uses two different types of braid; he also wears it with a prominently knotted cravat that ends in a van dycked lace, which matches the lace on his cuffs. The 1x10 suits, on the other hand, are wool broadcloth (or something approximating it). The collarless one, which is bluer onscreen, has gold trim without as much of a pattern, and the trim on the one with a black collar is actually black with gold details.

Crucially, in 1x10, his cravat is tucked completely into his waistcoat to hide any potential lace on the ends, and his sleeves have plain or barely trimmed ruffles. He's squeezing himself back into the straight mold society requires, but at the same time ... this is a more exuberant look than his flashback outfits. The only teal he wore in them was in the family portrait, and that coat was totally unfitted and had no trim. He's fundamentally changed, both from getting to be himself on the Revenge and from the kiss on the beach - that's good and bad, encompassing both his realization of his own queerness and, you know, the whole "unhand me or bleed" thing. Instead of burying himself in books and quietly crying by himself, he's now doing things like getting drunk and confidently making scenes in public. "I don't fit here anymore, do I?" he asks Mary when they have that nighttime conversation.

I definitely get where people are coming from when they portray him as more rugged, and I'd be surprised if s2 had him acquire a full wardrobe again immediately, unless it picks up after some time's gone by. a) This show isn't overly concerned with realism, but I mean he did just arrive at the island in a dinghy with absolutely nothing and b) we do need the symbolism of him starting over. But be careful of interpreting his clothes as just a representation/extension of his class, as @appleteeth pointed out here. The way Stede dresses throughout most of s1 is very much part of his self-expression.

(Part I)

#ofmd #ofmd meta #ofmd costuming #our flag means death #our flag means death costuming #18th century english masculinity #history

[inkyteaart]

DISTRACTIONS

Dick Grayson x Reader (vaguely implied that reader is also a vigilante)

Rating: M for Implied nsfw

Tags: Established Relationship, Flirting, Fade to Black

" Do we have to go to this Gala? I'm sure Bruce can handle it without us." Dick sighed at your complaint, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He glanced to the full length mirror against the wall, and adjusted his tie. The couple was getting ready for one of the Wayne Enterprises charity galas. It was something none of the Wayne children excelled at, but they did it to support Bruce.

"We told B we would be there, we can't just not show up…" He called to you as you were fixing your make up in the en suite bathroom. He heard the annoyed sigh, and the distinct clink of a compact hitting the bathroom counter.

Moments later you walked out of the bathroom, heels clicking on the hardwood. You were gorgeous, and while irritated, you had more confidence than when you first attended a Gala. Your confidence made Dick swallow down a lump in his throat. There wasn't enough time. The dress you wore was tight on your lean muscular body, defining your curves.

He was fixing the cuffs on his sleeves to occupy his hands when you walked…no strutted up to him. Suddenly his collar was too tight, but he maintained his composure. That was, until you smiled at him and turned. Brushing your hair over one shoulder you lowered yourself to sit in his lap.

"Could you zip this up for me?"

Strong scarred shoulders were on display as the back of the dress hung open. He watched them flex as you shifted to glance back at him. There was no way that look was on accident. With bright entrancing eyes, encircled with dark make up. He wondered briefly how you'd look with it tracking down your face.

He couldn't lose focus, couldn't let you distract him. "I'm on to you…" He warned you, grabbing the zipper and pulling. Still he couldn't resist a kiss between your shoulder blades,, then on the back of your neck as the dress zipped closed. He relished in the soft gasp and gentle shiver he received in response. After. He would devour you, after the Gala.

With the dress zipped, you stood, and he realized the dressed hugged your figure even better now. His gaze dragged up your body. Starting at strong thighs that could end his entire career, one being revealed by a slit in the dress. The dress hugged snug on the flare of your hips, dipping with your waist line. Up to your breasts, pushed up and together by the material. What he would give to be the one holding them right now, to feel the soft give of your body. Something so powerful that gave only to his touch. It was addicting.

All thoughts were brought to a screeching halt as one heel pressed into his chest. You had lifted one leg to press your heel into him.

" I don't know whatever you could mean, sweetie. Now would you be a doll and fasten these for me?" He followed the line of your leg, noting the tantalizing bit of hip the slit exposed with the motion.

It was hard enough to maintain control before, but you really were testing him tonight. His slacks felt particularly tight, the formal suit now much too warm for him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

As though sensing him regaining control, you gave a small whine. You reached out, grabbing at his tie and pulling softly, making his eyes snap open. "You're not going to leave me hanging here are you? Come on, please Dick?" He couldn't help the choked noise that came up the back of his throat. There was no winning this for him.

A sweet kiss was placed to your ankle as Dick reached up to fix the strap of your heel. "Wouldn't dream of it…" You smiled at him, letting go of his tie to card your hand through his hair.

One heel was replaced by the other, with you looking down at him expectantly. With how the dress moved now he caught a glimpse of the black and blue lace underneath. How was he supposed to say no? He repeated the same steps as before, kissing your ankle as he secured the shoe. Then his hands trailed up the soft skin of your leg, and he watched as your head rolled back at the feeling.

" You don't play fair…" He whined, moving to kiss up you calf, your knee, then the inside of your thigh.

You laughed, he'd almost call it a devilish giggle as you pulled back. "I don't know what you're implying about me Dick Grayson…" You turned from him, looking over you shoulder. "But you don't get to seduce me out of going to the Gala…B needs us, remember?"

To hell with Bruce, he could survive one Gala without them. Dick stood, crowding up against your back. "Too late, temptress…You've already won." And you could feel that as he pressed against you.

He spun you round, and you saw the dark look in his blue eyes. One would think them black with how blown his pupils were. You shivered, grinning up at him. You didn't have time to react before he had you bouncing on the bed. Dick was on you in seconds, his hips slotting between you thighs perfectly.

"Now you get your reward…" He breathed against you lips, hands steadily sliding the dress up for easier access. His voice was dark, dangerous as he warned "But don't think it will come without consequences…"

#inkyteaart #inkyteawrites? #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #x reader #implied ns.fw #dc x reader #batfam x reader

[amuseoffyre]

I adore the significance of Stede’s clothing (and the way it and he get framed) in the flashbacks to his life before he runs away to sea. There’s colour, yes, but when you look at the colours he’s wearing in context, a lot of it seems to be chosen to let him fade into the background. 

He matches the shades of the decor, his cravats mimic the drape of the curtains, the gold trim like the edging, his green cravat like the greenery behind him, even the pattern of the lace in his cuffs matching the floral pattern of the tablecloth his arms are resting on.

In the scene in the carriage, his suit’s pattern matches the lining of the carriage in a moment when he’s being told that he is only useful as a sales chitty to get more land. He is Bonnet property, furniture and decor in his own home, bleeding into the background, present but not really seen.

By contrast, Mary and the children stand out clearly from the background and surroundings in lighter and more contrasting colours. Similarly, his father is dressed in stark black with not even a flash of colour or pattern anywhere.

It makes his return fascinating because he is back in a more staid version the teal suit that we first saw him in at the beginning of episode one.

On one hand, it almost looks like he is trying to blend back in - look at the lines and colours of the trim and the buttons, but his sleeves are exposed, highlighting him rather than letting him fade into the background. In earlier scenes, he almost always wore jackets (except in the playing pirates scene). We see him like this throughout his time on the Revenge, especially when he’s doing his storytime.

It makes me think about Stede using clothes as his armour and his shield. His battle jacket, if you will. Which makes his final costume all the more delightful to me because he’s stripped back all the show and flash and flare. He’s not hiding himself anymore, whether in a battle jacket or hiding himself in plain sight.

(I have a whole other set of flappy-handed thoughts about the fact that he and Mary have their breakthrough when they’re both in their most vulnerable and intimate clothing, stripped back as much as they can be to the bare essentials, no longer hiding in symbolism, clothing or anything else. Like his scene with Ed on the beach when they’re both pared back to the bland, beige clothes instead of the snazzy outfits that make them so recognisable. They are themselves. No decoration, no artifice)

He loves his clothing of course, he enjoys it and I don’t doubt he’ll come back to it as he finds his feet in his new and happier life, but when he finally leaves all his disguises behind, he leaves as a blank slate, ready for a new story.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #ofmd thinkie thoughts #stede bonnet

[myreia]

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER FOUR: TRANSPOSITIONS

Chapter Rating: Teen (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 2,078 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

Aureia examines her reflection with narrowed eyes.

The woman in the mirror is stunning. Her dress is a gorgeous confection of lace and satin, black intermixed with subtle layers of dark purple. Long sleeves extend to the wrists, their cuffs trimmed with exquisite embroidery. A structured bodice is overlayed with a decorative corset that laces up the back, giving her magnificent figure and accentuating the way the skirts flare out around her hips and fall flush to the floor. Despite the mussed hair and smudged makeup from too much trial and error with her outfits, the dress gives her an ethereal beauty and confidence befitting of the Warrior of Light. 

The woman in the mirror, however, is not her.

The sleeves are too tight, stretching awkwardly when she moves her arms and shoulders. Without her legs sheathed in leggings or trousers, she feels naked beneath the skirts. And then there’s the matter of the corset. Though she is more covered than her regular clothing, the corset does something to her chest that makes her uneasy. It’s not that she’s uncomfortable in her own skin. She likes her body the way it is and she has never really thought of it in these terms. But there’s no doubt that too many eyes will be drawn directly to her cleavage the moment she steps foot outside her room. The sensuality it gives her body is so divorced from her actual self she can’t help but feel she is putting on a performance by wearing it.

She is too busty for her own good. Which is rather unfair, come to think of it. Why should she be judged just for existing the way she is? 

She sighs and turns to the side, chewing her lip as she smooths down the dress. How long has she been carting this thing around? A year? Two years? It was a gift an adventurer friend in Mor Dhona and one of the few personal items she has dragged with her from adventure to adventure. It even survived her flight from Ul’dah to Ishgard. She has never had the opportunity to wear it.

Until now.

A sharp rap knocks on her door. Aureia turns in surprise, fingers clenched in her skirts, prepared to leap across the room and seize her weapons. Before she can move, the door unlatches and a familiar face pokes through the threshold, ruby eyes twinkling with mischief.  

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Hilda says, strolling in without invitation.

Aureia exhales, forcing herself to relax. Some instincts are impossible to break. “Is that common knowledge now?” she says, tugging on the trim of her bodice. If she could only move it up an ilm… “Don’t make me return to House Fortemps or I’ll never hear the end of it from Artoirel.”

Hilda smirks and pushes the door closed with a foot. “Oh, cheer up,” she replies. Her eyes flick over the mess, taking in the empty wine bottles stashed near the hearth and the piles of far-flung clothing. Only Aureia’s collection of weapons—staff, rapier, lance, even Fray’s greatsword, though it has gone unused for moons now—have any manner of organization. “You know my lips are sealed. That the great Warrior of Light prefers the local inn to her luxurious lodgings in the Pillars is a secret I’ll take to my grave.”

Aureia smiles half-heartedly and returns to the mirror, distracting herself with the dress. Words like this—and the playful, mocking tone—would have gotten a laugh out of her once. But now a dark, ugly feeling knifes inside her. She hates herself for it, this deep-rooted envy coursing through her veins, slowly poisoning one of her few remaining friendships in Ishgard. Hilda is dear to her and she can’t fathom pushing her away—but she also cannot bear to acknowledge what she witnessed the night of Thancred’s departure.

In the weeks that have passed since that night, Hilda has not mentioned or enquired about him once. Aureia thought perhaps she would broach the topic, but she has remained unusually silent. Then again, she has never been one to discuss her intimate relationships in depth.

Or perhaps she thinks Aureia doesn’t care.

“Well, that is quite the change, if I do say so myself,” Hilda says, sauntering across the room. She draws up behind Aureia and peers over her shoulder, taking in their reflection in the mirror. A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of her lips and she brushes Aureia’s hair to one side, running her fingers through the dark locks. “You look nice.”

Aureia pauses, a strange feeling rolling down her spine at her touch. The self-assurance Hilda exudes is magnetic. She can’t blame Thancred for falling for her. She may very well have, too—in another time. Or another place. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Hilda flashes her a grin and steps away, slipping her hands into her pockets as she surveys the room. “What’s the grand occasion?” she asks. “You never struck me as someone interested in that much frippery.”

“It’s not frippery, it’s—”

Aureia flushes and cuts herself short. Hilda raises an eyebrow, shooting her a questioning look, and comes to a halt in a stream of later afternoon sun. Dust motes dance around her as she curiously pokes at a line of terracotta pots on the windowsill.

They were once filled with flowers from the meadows outside Idyllshire. Aureia had been nurturing them for moons, finding small joys in her little attempt at gardening. The Dravanian Hinterlands will never not make her heart ache. Since the moment she first stepped foot on its grassy slopes, the land reminded her of the lost Scions—and of Thancred. But the flowers are dead now, wilted and lifeless. When did she stop caring for them? It must have been before the Grand Melee, around the time he returned to Ishgard.

“Right, then,” Hilda says, taking a serious tone as she turns around. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”  

Aureia blinks, jerked out of her thoughts. “It’s nothing. Really.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Aymeric invited me to dinner.”

She snorts with laughter. “He did, did he?” she says, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “About time.”

Aureia frowns, irritated by the tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she retorts, watching through the mirror’s reflection as Hilda tosses herself casually onto her bed and leans back on her elbows. 

“You’ll find out tonight, I’m sure,” Hilda says wryly. “Particularly if you wear that—provided the sight of you doesn’t stop the poor man’s heart first.”

A shiver of annoyance rolls down her spine. Matters of romance, attraction, sex… She may not have an inherent understanding of them like so many others, but even she isn’t so oblivious as to not take her meaning. But Aymeric is Aymeric and the dinner is between friends. It would have occurred moons ago had events not spiralled out of control. The only difference is that they have even more in common now than when he had originally proposed the idea.

Between the two of them, how many dear friends have sailed in and out of their lives? Estinien vanished from his sickbed only a handful of days ago, and, true to fashion, left without so much as a goodbye. His abrupt departure shook them both in different ways, and yet it was the last push they needed to finally determine a date. In a way, tonight’s dinner may not be occurring at all if it wasn’t for him.

Aureia pauses, flushing as she recalls the moment in the hall. The feel of Aymeric’s hand on her cheek as he brushed her hair behind her ears. The chaste kiss he pressed to her hand. Something passed between them that night—something honest and genuine and kind—and yet whenever she is alone, she is desperate to pretend those feelings do not exist.  

Why is she like this? Why?

Is it too much to accept that something good could happen to her, of all people?

“Aymeric’s a friend,” Aureia says finally, turning around. She crosses her arms protectively over her chest. “Nothing more.”

Hilda smirks. “That’s the second man you’ve said that about. But I reckon—”

Aureia rolls her eyes and reaches behind her, gritting her teeth as she tugs at the corset’s laces. The dress may be pretty, but it isn’t her. It isn’t right. And she wants it off. Maybe it’s delusional to think that a single gown could cause such a drastic change, but the performance of it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. She can only be herself. Not someone she is not.

Gods know she’s spent too many years denying herself that freedom.

Hilda purses her lips together, a look of concern flashing across her face as Aureia tangles her fingers in the laces. “Here,” she says, rising to her feet. “Let me help.”

Aureia says nothing and lets her seize the laces from her hands. She drops her arms to her sides and stands still, heart thundering in her chest as Hilda tugs the corset loose.

“By the Fury, what did you do to these?” she grunts, struggling with a knot.

“The last thing I wanted was for it to come loose—”

“This ain’t coming loose, it’s as good as a rat’s nest back here—”

Hilda grunts and the knot slips, loosening the final lace. She jerks back and presses her hand to her mouth, cursing as she nurses red fingertips.

Aureia pulls the corset off and tosses it into the pile of discarded garments. Breathing a sigh of relief, she yanks the layers of lace and satin off over her head, ignoring the tangles it makes in her hair. Stripped to her underclothes, she strides across the room and crouches down, searching through the mess for her favourite shirt, trousers, and coat. They should be here somewhere…

She can feel Hilda’s eyes on her.

She kneels in the cushion of clothing, a strange flush prickling across the nape of her neck. Her back is on display and every scar along with it. The series of gnarled brands that snake across her skin. Her robe melted into her flesh that night in the Praetorium, creating a distinct pattern not unlike a circle of power. It took her moons to recover from the wounds Lahabrea dealt her almost two years ago.

And Thancred—she is quite certain—never fully recovered from his.

Gods damn it all.

She squeezes her eyes shut, her mind racing. She has done so much, tried so hard not to think of him—or how furious she is with him, and yet frightfully worried. Where is he now? No one—not even Alphinaud or Y’shtola—has heard from him in weeks. How many times must he run off on his own, determined to see things through on his terms and his alone?

“Time for me to go, eh?” Hilda murmurs, the floors creaking underfoot. “You have enough to be concerned with tonight.”

Aureia glances over her shoulder. “Wait,” she calls. “Hilda, Thancred hasn’t tried to contact you, has he?”

“Hm? Oh.” She pauses, a strange look flickering across her face. “No, I haven’t. I reckon he’d speak to you before me, no? Given you’re both Scions and all.”

Aureia bites her tongue as several responses come to mind, each more questionable than the last. Though the ugly part of her—the envious part—is desperate to lash out, she can’t bring herself to do it. Their friendship is too dear to her, too important to risk ruining over this.

“Thanks,” she manages finally, her throat raw.

Hilda smiles hesitantly. “Enjoy your dinner.”  

The door thuds closed behind her. Aureia sits in her heap of clothes, absently searching through the pile, distracted by her thoughts. It isn’t until the sunlight fades from the windows and the dark of dusk creeps in that she jolts herself out of her stupor. Cursing her tardiness, she dresses as quickly as she can, hastily washing her face and reapplying her makeup for good measure.

She may not be able to bring herself to dress formally, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be presentable.

Aureia shrugs on the long red coat and grabs the nearest weapon out of habit, attaching her rapier and focus to her belt. Taking one last look in the mirror, she brushes her hair over her ears and strides from the room.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv wol #hilda ware #aureia malathar #oc tag #writing tag

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 8

Nice sunday to everyone. As far as I can spoil all that read, next chapter will be a mother reveal.

Masterlist

Chapter 8: The persistence of the Kaminoans

The call for another mission echoed through the quarters of Clone Force 99, drawing the attention of the squad members. Their shared routines and moments of camaraderie were interrupted by the reminder of their duty as soldiers. As the squad began to prepare for the mission, the air was charged with a mixture of determination and anticipation. However, a new presence entered the scene, a group of Kaminoans, their expressions a mix of professionalism and hidden intent and Lama Su on the front the long arms folded behind his back. Tech's gaze sharpened as he recognized their purpose, a sense of unease settling in his gut.

Lama Su, the leader of the Kaminoans, addressed Tech with a calculated smile. "Tech, we understand the nature of your responsibilities. However, we believe it would be in Orion's best interest to remain in our care during the mission." Tech's grip on the tiny armour pieces he had been assembling tightened, his protective instincts flaring to life. He cast a quick glance toward the Havoc Marauder, his mind racing with the decision he had to make.

Hunter stepped forward, his stance assertive. "Orion stays with us. He's part of our squad." Crosshair's voice was firm as he added, "We don't leave family behind." Tech's gaze remained fixed on the Kaminoans, his expression resolute. "Orion's well-being is my responsibility. He stays with me." As the tense standoff continued, Tech shifted his attention back to the crate in front of the Havoc Marauder. The sight of Orion's tiny armour pieces placed next to the baby, gleaming and waiting, served as a reminder of the bond they shared and the lengths he was willing to go to protect his son.

With practiced hands, Tech began to carefully outfit Orion in his miniature armour, the process both meticulous and deliberate. The squad members observed in silence, a mix of respect and understanding in their expressions. As the tiny armour was put on piece by piece, it became a symbol of Tech's commitment to Orion's safety and his determination to stand by his decision.

Lama Su's expression remained unchanged, but his tone took on a hint of impatience. "Tech, consider the benefits of cooperation. We can ensure Orion's safety and well-being while you fulfil your duty." Tech's voice was unwavering as he replied, his attention still focused on Orion. "Orion's safety is not negotiable. He stays with me." The tension in the hangar remained palpable, the squad members united in their resolve to protect their own. The sight of Tech's meticulous preparation, the glint of Orion's armour, and the unspoken determination in his eyes served as a testament to the strength of their bond and the lengths they were willing to go for the sake of their makeshift family. Lama Su watches with an unchanged gaze as Tech places Orion in the carrier on his chest. Which is not a part of the equipment, but for now he allows it.

Hunter's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his words measured and assertive. "Prime Minister, Lama Su, we've been through enough of your experiments. Orion is not a clone, and he's not a subject for your tests." The squad members stood united behind Hunter, their expressions unwavering. Tech continued to outfit Orion’s ear cuffs in his miniature helmet, a symbol of his commitment to protecting his son from any potential threats.

Lama Su's gaze shifted from Hunter to Tech, his expression remaining inscrutable. "We simply wish to ensure his safety. Our intentions are genuine." Tech's voice was firm as he replied, his gaze steady. "Orion's safety is my responsibility. We've made our decision." Crosshair's voice was laced with scepticism as he added, "Funny how you're suddenly concerned about safety when it suits you." Echo's tone was laced with determination. "Orion stays with us, with his family."

Chapter 9

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag:@spectacular-skywalker @aalizazareth @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal

#tbb #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #bad batch tech #daddy tech #tech and orion #the bad batch #the dad batch #the uncle batch #tech clone force 99 #clone force 99 #tech bad batch #tech fanfic #tech fanfiction #tech fluff #tech as a father

[phrynefishersfrocks]

The fifth outfit of “Framed for Murder” (Season 2, Episode 9) has Phryne arriving on set in a commanding look of a sharp green jacket and hat, tan jodhpurs, and aviator boots, complemented by a patterned blouse and bright green gloves.

Her jacket is green wool with two buttons and a cinched matching belt. It has a wide peak notched collar and angled flaps over the pockets. She pairs it with tan jodhpurs - a type of pants originally designed for horseback riding based on traditional South Asian style. Jodhpurs are flared at the hip and tight from the calf to the ankle, worn by women in the 1920′s as they began to switch from riding sidesaddle to astride. Buttons can be seen on Miss Fisher’s jodhpurs just peeking above her boots, creating a snug fit below her knee.

Underneath her jacket is a complementary gray-green blouse with matching scarf, which looks to be silk printed with floral and dotted patterns. The blouse is long sleeved with fitted cuffs and dark buttons.

Phryne wears her leather aviator boots to add to the masculine lines of her outfit, with tight lacing and criss-crossed straps over the ankle. These boots were appropriately seen back in “The Green Mill Murder” (1x03) when she takes to the sky to solve a different mystery.

Her green "director's hat" has a dashing brim and a matching band. It was made in Italy by Borsalino - the oldest Italian company specializing in the manufacture of luxury hats since 1857. She pairs this with jade earrings seen in the center of this photo.

Season 2, Episode 9 - “Framed for Murder”

Screencaps from here, promotional photos from the official Facebook (x, x, x) and various sources (x), hat photo from the official Pinterest. Research on jodhpurs from Wikipedia.

#mfmm #miss fisher murder mysteries #phryne fisher #2x09 #s2e09 #Framed for Murder #leather boots #vintage fashion #costume breakdown #costume design #period costume #season two #1920's fashion #essie davis #tv costumes #historical costuming

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Iron Blood.

A Whumpy AF snippet from my Lancewain fic, based off of Cursed on Netflix.

Spoilers for the TV Show, and aforementioned fic which may or may not ever be posted. This can be read as a whump piece, just replace the names with the relevant titles;

- Lancelot/The Weeping Monk: Whumpee

- Gawain/The Green Knight: Caretaker/Whumpee

- Brother Cain*: Whumper

*OC, Brother Salt's tutor and a feared torturer in employ by the Trinity Guard/Pope/Red Paladins.

Premise:

Years after he was previously tortured by Brother Cain, Lancelot is recaptured, and awakes to find himself alone in a room, injured and restrained. As Fey, they are allergic to iron, which causes burns on contact with skin, and the shackles at his wrists are made of iron...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Lancelot listened to the curious sound, slowly opening his eyes and wrinkling his nose at the sickening stench of fear that mingled readily with the similarly heavy scents of iron and blood. The air was cold and damp, and, feeling a fresh twinge of pain in his aching shoulder, he turned his attention to the sound.

Blood dripped steadily from his fingertips. Oozing slowly from the carving upon his left shoulder, it traced rivers of crimson down his arm before collecting between the iron shackle and his skin. So severe were the iron burns, and so close was the metal to his sore, abraised skin that the blood now pooled up and over the outside of the cuff like an overflowing dam. It offered his burned wrist a modicum of relief. Scarlet glistened in the low light as it invariably flowed down down down, following the swell of his knuckles and the length of his fingers to splash into a coagulating puddle on the floor, steadily staining the cold ashen stone into a dirty red.

As Lancelot's eyed adjusted to the low light he was struck with an air of... familiarity.

No, it couldn't be.

It was...

This, the very same room he had once been tortured in before, but as a boy, not a man, this, the room he knew without a shadow of a doubt had been picked on purpose to hold him, to break him. This, the place that echoed in his nightmares day after day, the same sight, the same scents, even the sounds were achingly, hauntingly familiar.

His own, shuddering breaths. The incessant sound of blood splattering across the floor. The flickering of the torchlight in the brazier across from him. The awful tang of iron, the pain of his wrists... the restraints bolting him upright to the slab of wood and metal he was strapped to. The thick belts across his chest, hips, and thighs. The shackles at his wrists and ankles. All of it, all of it, the Goddamn same.

Shit. Shit!

They had let him keep his boots and trousers this time, but his torso was bare, his back and his healing scars pressed firmly into the slab. As if on cue, pain flared within them, yet this was different, somehow... it took him a moment to figure out why. The realisation that the wood was laced with iron nails struck as sharply as they did when they bit into his skin.

This was new...

Lancelot struggled first to swallow his panic at what him being brought here, now, must mean. Brother Cain would have been the one to order this, for he was the one- the only one- who knew such... intimate details of his time here before. He tried to focus on what was different, the nails, but it did nothing to stop his fear as it threatened to consume him. Nausea, fear, desperation all swelled within him, giving in to blind panic he struggled fiercely against the restraints, biting back a groan as the nails pricked into his back, slicing him with every slight movement and every gasp of air. No matter how hard he tried it was utterly in vain.

He felt something snap within him as the terror gave way to a soothing wave of icy numbness, it set his teeth on edge and his head spinning, his arms, legs, face even his tongue prickled and tingled like he'd been struck by lightning. Some part of him knew well enough if he'd had thought enough left to speak, it would have been slurred and nonesensical and if he had not been chained, he would have passed out. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't.

From the eerily detatched state now found himself in, he recognised that the only movement they had allowed him was that of his head. All the better to watch when Brother Cain would surely arrive...

He knew better than to hope that particular time came quickly.

The hours stretched on and on in the dark, and in the biting swarm of his own panic, Lancelot found himself losing every shred of will he'd held onto so firmly. His body shook and quaked. At times he cried out, whimpering and weeping, whilst at others he laughed near maniacally from the utter absurdity of the situation he had somehow found himself in. Again. He knew not whether he was now as he was before a boy of just ten years old, screaming till his lungs gave out and he could scream no more. He knew not whether he was locked into his nightmares, tossing and turning in a cot in some Paladin's encampment somewhere, just begging, waiting, praying to wake up, just wake up, just w-

The sound of a man screaming down the hall stirred his mind- no... he was not dreaming. Lancelot the boy craned his small head towards the sound with an urgency he could not understand, why, what was so familiar about this sound? A man was screaming, men often screamed here. The boy knew no others here so--

Gawain.

The screaming was Gawain.

No...

And that realisation jolted him from the depths of his brush with madness, the boy retreated back into his memories once more. Brother Cain surely must be here, and he had focused his attentions on the Green Knight... Leaving Lancelot blissfully, silently alone in the dark. For now...

Lancelot couldn't explain why the sound of Gawain's agonized cries made his chest clench in grief, why he wished he could scream instead, why he knew in his heart that to spare the Green Knight the pain he, the Weeping Monk would not hestitate to take it all... Yet he could not. And to ask for that would be to betray a weakness, to show these bastards that hurting Gawain hurt him too.

To show anything other than apathy in the face of Gawain's torture would be to give their torturers another way to break them both...

He stayed silent and listened.

So it was, that the sound of Gawain's agony that succeeded in keeping Lancelot grounded against his memories for the hours upon hours that continued, no longer a boy, no longer dreaming, listening in helplessness to the one man he trusted succumb to the same tortures that had broken him before and would surely do so again...

All he could do was wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#daniel sharman #the weeping monk #lancelot #whump #cursed netflix #lancewain #cursed #gawain #writing #whump fic #whump writing #whump whump whump #blood #injured #restrained #whumpee #caretaker whump #caretaker #recaptured #whumper #torture #pain

[padme-looks-showdown]

[image description 1: a stock photo of Padmé wearing her indigo senate dress. the outfit consists of a beaded gown under a velvet overcoat. both layers are floor-length, and the collar of the overcoat is an open turtleneck. the sleeves of the underdress are slightly flared & have small undersleeves that cover her knuckles. the sleeves of the overcoat are cape sleeves that are almost as long as the coat itself. she is wearing a multi-layered gold choker, and her hair is pulled back into a cage like gold headpiece tray shapes her hair into a cylinder. end image description.]

[image description 2: a promotional photo of Padmé in her refugee disguise from attack of the clones. her dress is floor-length and mustard yellow with a repeating floral pattern. the sleeves are loose and flax yellow, while the cuffs are fitted and mustard. the shoulders are covered by a short capelet, and an amber-colored cloth veil is wrapped around her head & neck. she is wearing a golden lace veil to cover her metal headdress, giving it a distinct disc shape. end image description.]

#padmé outfit showdown #round 1 polls

[gogmstuff]

Susan, Mrs. Henry Hoare by William Hoare of Bath (auctioned by Sotheby's). From their Web site; navigation marks and a few spots in the background removed with Photoshop 1595X2077.

#Georgian fashion #Rococo fashion #Louis XV fashion #Susan Hoare #William Hoare of Bath #van Dyck revival #lace collar #brim hat #hat feathers #paned sleeves #back-flared cuffs

[royaletiquette]

I was gonna talk about Hibi’s fashion preferences and Edo trends but instead I couldn’t stop thinking about pretty maid outfits so hi, uniforms. A simple, mostly focused pinterest board though while I figure[d] out real world logistics. 

Their family crest (which I rejected the idea of deciding because I’m not visually creative but I accidentally found this and it touched me) is stitched to the back of the shirt collars and cuffs, as well as inside of different parts of the lining of all clothing. This is to keep a sense of uniformity from the gradual flexibility adopted for peoples’ personal preferences in dress and appearances, which are the two easiest sections to split this up in. 

Clothes: 

Maids are given five of each full uniform, three shoes and one pair of winter boots. These clothes are uniquely made for the Suburashi maids, down to the placement of seams, unnecessary details, fabrics and weave types. When a maid is let go, they must return all items that were catalogued to be in their possession. If anything that is not returned, they are given a hefty fine and all current uniforms are then changed with the ‘help’ of that previous-maid’s pay.

The specific design of the uniforms changes periodically, after a none specific span of time (not just because they make a fired maid pay for it, but) for concerns of security and the adoption of current fashion trends. 

What they’re given in the package of clothes: long sleeve blouses or polos (they may choose which but not go back and forth between them), short sleeve blouses/polos, long and knee-length skirts, and pants. 

Summer and winter uniforms are dictated by the average highs and lows of the month. 

In the winter, employees are allowed to wear black leggings for extra warmth if desired and are given one jacket, hat, and gloves each that can be worn if working outside. The jacket can be layered over something outside of uniform, so long as it is a neutral color and is mostly covered by the jacket. 

Nothing outside of uniform is allowed on their person unless given explicate permission.

Between verses, the core concepts are the same, but the style of dress changes to of course fit the fashion of the time. 

The historical verse non surprisingly is more stereotypical of what you might expect of maids. Suits and ties vary based on the occasion and long dresses/skirts and blouses varying on the weather. Aprons can either be provided by the home or made/bought by the maid themselves as a way to have a sense of separation from other employees, but they still need to be approved of before being worn and have the family crest stitched into it.

The uniforms are more uniform in this verse with less room for a personal touch because such stark difference between kingdoms isn’t as welcoming to visitors. Guests don’t want to guess who is who.

Appearances: 

Hair should look well groomed and put together (ie, it’s okay to do what you want until someone decides it’s not). 

Longer hair that would cover the crest on the collar must be pulled back and up as to not cover the crest and to prevent hair from getting in the way. This rule has significantly loosened over the years to allow for more individualism among employees. Again, one of those rules that’s in place as an excuse to flex it whenever someone feels like drawing a line.

Like all great private schools, no unnatural hair dyes/styles are allowed. 

Jewelry is fine so long as it is not dangling or a possible hindrance to work. Rings are heavily suggested to leave in personal lockers. 

General exceptions:

Uniforms during special events (parties, balls, more important dinners and events) are different. Depending on the event, a new uniform may be made and worn for that one evening and never again. These can be so much as a colorful, thematic dress and pants suit, to so little as being their regular uniform but with added flare like lace, trims, so on; stuff that would make their every day uniforms less practical. 

These “one time use” uniforms are typically for birthdays and balls, large parties of the sort, where a drab muted uniform sticks out poorly and doesn’t reflect wealth. The more subtle different uniforms are for the smaller events such as dinners. Typically the changes to these uniforms can be undone to save waste.

These events, if there are children in the home, are the only times nannies are in a uniform coordinating with maids in style and color as to not be confused as a non-employee. 

Butlers have no specific uniform out of ease and are largely left to dictate themselves what is and isn’t appropriate. They are also the ones to enforce the other rules. 

Other Heads like the top chef, maid, gardener, etcetera, are also welcome (forced) to have more of a decorated uniform, but one that still correlates with the rest of their team. This is of course to separate them from the pack since they’re in charge, but not so much so that it is distracting. 

#if i was REALLy cool i would format this like a job contract #but im fucking not #world building #this is from july lmao #posting especially now that so many of you have put your muses in the line of fire and are now working for Hibi

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 1, 4 janvier 1896, Paris. No. 11. Groupe de toilettes. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) Dos du No. 3.

(2) Dos du No. 4.

(3) Toilette de promenade, en lainage Suède uni. Corsage-veste Louis XVI, rond devant et à petites basques godées derrière où elles sont retenues par deux boutons; devant, ceinture suissesse en satin bleu; sur les épaules, bretelles retenues par des boutons, entourant une pèlerine revers en satin bleu brodé, col montant, manches empire. Jupe à godets, très evasée du bas, garnie devant par deux bandes de galon retenues en haut par des boutons. Chapeau Louis XVI en feutre Suède, garni par une bande de soie plissée relevée droite et par deux plumes d'autruche droites sur le derrière.

(3) Walking ensemble, in plain Suede wool. Louis XVI bodice-jacket, round in front and with small basques at the back where they are held in place by two buttons; front, Swiss belt in blue satin; on the shoulders, straps held by buttons, surrounding an embroidered blue satin cuffed cape, high collar, empire sleeves. Godet skirt, very flared at the bottom, trimmed in front with two strips of braid held at the top with buttons. Louis XVI hat in Sweden felt, trimmed with a band of pleated silk raised straight and with two straight ostrich feathers on the back.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage grande largeur.

(4) Toilette de lainage gris souris. — Corsage à revers, orné de petits boutons, ouvrant jusqu'à la ceinture sur un plastron bleu brodé de soutache, col montant, basques à godets en velours. Manches gigot à crevés de velours, avec hauts poignets ornés de petits boutons. Jupe à godets, avec petits boutons dans le bas. Chapeau rond en velours plissé, orné d'un côté par un groupe de coques semblables, de l'autre par deux plumes d'autruche.

(4) Mouse gray woolen ensemble. — Lapel bodice, decorated with small buttons, opening up to the belt on a blue bib embroidered with soutache, high collar, velvet basques with godets. Velvet leg-of-mutton sleeves, with high cuffs decorated with small buttons. Godet skirt, with small buttons at the bottom. Round hat in pleated velvet, decorated on one side with a group of similar shells, on the other with two ostrich feathers.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage grande largeur.

(5) Robe d'intèrieur en flanelle blanche, — Corsage-blouse à longues basques; dessus, col carré en broderie entouré par un grand volant de dentelle, séparé derrière; col montant, bretelles de ruban brodé devant, et bande semblable au milieu dans le dos. Manches ballon, relevées par un nœud. Jupe à godets.

(5) Indoor dress in white flannel, — Blouse-bodice with long basques; above, square embroidery collar surrounded by a large lace ruffle, separated behind; stand-up collar, embroidered ribbon straps in front, and similar band in the middle of the back. Balloon sleeves, raised with a knot. Godet skirt.

Métrage: 12 mètres flanelle.

(6) Toilette d'intèrieur, en lainage vert grenouille, corsage à petite pinte ouvert sur une chemisette en mousseline de soie rose, col montant, grand col à pointes en passementerie, faisant pointe derrière jusqu'à la ceinture, jockeys semblables sur manches ballon courtes. Jupe à godets, très plissée derrière.

(6) Indoor dress, in frog green wool, small pint bodice open over a pink silk chiffon shirt, high collar, large pointed collar in trimmings, pointing behind to the waist, similar jockeys on sleeves short balloon. Godet skirt, very pleated behind.

Métrage: 9 mètres lainage grande largeur.

(7) Dos du numéro 6.

(8) Dos du numéro 5.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1896 #on this day #January 4 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #gigot #collar #devant et dos

[vvrcths]

where: One Man's Trash when: mid-evening whom: @javiervidal

When Lucretia had gotten the call, she understood nigh-immediately that she was likely the last on his list of people to talk to. She wasn't offended though, no, she was thrilled. It meant that she still had some semblance of meaning to him. His eat, pray, dick tour through another country had not lessened how she effected him and, whether she understood it or not, that made her happy.

No, instead she'd taken her time, deciding to be a little late to the appointment time SHE had agreed to and set up; just long enough for him to think she had almost forgotten.

Each step through One Man's Trash was calculated, as if looking for spots to make sure the sound of her heels resonated — reinforced with titanium with a removable tip to reveal a stiletto blade — as much as they could.

Who dresses like that to a first meeting with their new boss? Even if it is your ex-husband. A perfectly tailored deep red silk suit jacket buttoned just beneath her rib cage but left open to reveal the bare skin of her decolletage and sternum as she wore no shirt underneath; a pair of matching silk pants made for her, clinging against her hips and snug at her thighs but flaring out a little towards the ankle; a pair of black heels with six inch high heels and modifications to suit her tastes; her hair was pulled up, a messy bun that left pieces falling to frame her face, artfully done to seem as if it wasn't, but each aspect was perfectly planned; across her fingers — between the top and middle knuckle as well as beneath the middle knuckle — several rings of varying metals and gemstones, but all perfectly meshing with her entire vibe.

The real kick was, dangling on a long, delicate chain in the center of her bare chest, next to a tattoo of a black tattoo of an anatomical heart with lines of gold in the style of kintsugi, was a small charm — an arrow made of platinum pointing straight at her real AND tattooed heart — seeming almost fragile in the way it hung yet she never seemed worried.

No, this wasn't how one dressed to meet with their new boss; it's how one dresses when they plan to kill their new boss. Or, perhaps, other fun things.

She knocked on the door but didn't wait to be admitted, instead pushing it open and letting it close in behind her. Her arms would come to cross her torso, one hip cocked out and looking all at once excited and bored. He'd know better than anyone there wasn't a part of her outfit that didn't house some kind of weapon... the cuffs of her sleeves, in fact, had razor thin garrote wires, for instance.

"Javier," the name on her tongue felt like a forbidden prayer, a litany of gospel she had no idea of and dripped a venom laced sweetness, "so glad to see you made it back in one piece. Oh, I apologize."

A slight grin tugged one corner of her mouth, head cocking to the side, "I should say... Jefe."

#c: javier #otp: javier & lucretia #threads: javier 001 #threads #I hope this is okay it got away from me gslkndglsdg #LET THEM RUIN EACH OTHER GOSH #dead #okay lsngdls #r: arsenic in her veins

[trishmishtree]

In which I can't seem to stop revisiting old projects I'm dissatisfied with, instead of moving on to new projects...

Remember the lacy Gibson girl-esque shirtwaist with the high collar I made last summer? I've only worn that thing once, because I hated the collar. The blouse was front-closing, which makes it tricky to have a high collar because you need to figure out a front closure for it. I wound up making it close at the side instead, so the center front would be an unbroken row of lace. Except, the part where the lace wrapped around the front was unattached and gaped pretty badly, so I had to sew multiple hooks and bars to close it, and it still gaped. I also hated how I made the cuffs too tight so they bunched up around the elbows, and it was a pain to get my arms out of the sleeves.

And I figured, why make a blouse if I'm not going to wear it because I'm not happy with how it turned out?

So I ended up going back and ripping off the lace collar and cuffs and replacing them with interfacing-backed cotton. I made the cuffs wider and longer and interfaced them so they wouldn't bunch up. And then I self-drafted a Peter Pan collar, interfaced that, and added a ruffle. I don't think I got the collar pattern quite right, since I feel like the bottom edge still needs more flare in it, but this was my first attempt at a high-necked folding collar and it wasn't as disastrous as I'd feared.

(Idk if this style of shirtwaist with this type of collar was all that common in the Edwardian period, but it's historybounding. Wearability matters more to me than being HA. And now I totally want to make more Peter Pan collars, some with embroidery, maybe some detachable ones to move from outfit to outfit. This collar could be removable too, since it's just loosely whipped on. And I might just do that, since I don't love how it's covering the lace and tucks. More brainstorming to come on how to salvage this blouse. Maybe I'll try to make a detachable high standing collar to swap out with it...)

#historybounding #sewing #hand sewing #tricia sews (kind of)

[attaboyluther]

Edwardian Lady Gwendolyn Lilliette Garland

· Jan 14  ·

This amazing antique Edwardian era white pleated silk lace appliqué ruffle trim bell sleeve bodice blouse dates from 1910. It is made of an off white ivory color silk fabric with pleating, drawn thread cutwork, ecru cream color lace appliqués, chiffon ruffles and pink floral roses print silk moiré ribbon trim details. This fabulous fanciful frilly lace bodice blouse has a pouter pigeon layered trimmed front, a high neck lace collar, long full flared wide bell shape sleeves with pleating, chiffon ruffle trimmed cuffs, pink silk moire ribbon embellished trimmings, hook closures down the back. Paired with my light green dot silk antique Edwardian skirt.

#amazing photography #classic #vintage #antiques #1900s #fashion