#1895 sleeves

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

WIP Re-Intro: Herald At Dawn

Title: Herald at Dawn

Genre: Steampunk fantasy murder mystery

Status: 30k, draft 0 mostly finished

POV: Third person limited, multiple POVs

Setting: A steampunk city called Volimere, loosely based on victorian/edwardian london. Fashion is 1890s based, technology is, uh, wherever I think is coolest before the 1940s. Technically, its set in september & october of 1891, but thats largely because any later and the sleeves on women’s shirts get unmanageable. 

Universal TW/CW: Murder, corruption, legal systems being really really shit at their job, implied homophobia, cheating/affairs on spouses (past), bribery, death, implied past sexual assault, severe injury

Plot/Synopsis: 11 years ago a woman named Marisol Ekker was murdered by the wife of her son's father, Evelyn Belmont. Despite all evidence, Evelyn Belmont was acquitted and faced no punishment. Nearly a decade later, investigative reporter Alexandrina McLelland approached Marisol Ekker's son, Nathaniel Ekker--who was 12 at the time of her death--, to write an article about the corruption in the case. It is published in The Clockwork Herald, the newspaper where Alexandrina works, and exposes the dirty laundry of one of the city’s wealthiest families, the Belmonts. Soon after a string of murders begins. At first suspicions point to someone entirely unconnected with the Ekker trial or Alexandrina’s article, but as the pressure mounts (and the danger gets much closer to home), it becomes clear that the article and the deaths are far more connected than anyone initially thought.

Main Characters & Important Side Characters (Character Into links to be added):

Alexandrina "Alex" McLelland. 31, she/her, aroace. Investigative reporter at The Clockwork Herald and the narrator for this story (most of the time. sometimes there's another narrator)! Possesses a strong sense of justice and a weak sense of self preservation. Firmly believes in pockets. She wants to finish what her father started and expose the crimes of the city’s wealthy and powerful. This is, unfortunately, going rather slowly.

James Blakely. 32, he/him, gay, editor at the Herald. Alex's childhood friend, and Leo's partner. Is best described as a golden retriever with anxiety. He worries too much for his own good. James inherited editor-ship of the herald from his uncle 10 years ago, but he had been working there in various capacities since he was a teenager.

León "Leo" Rivera. 33, he/him, bisexual & bilingual. Writes the pages on politics at the Herald & is James' partner. Leo wrote the original articles on the Ekker trial 11 years ago; he used to be a court reporter. He does his best to not get hurt by his job, but sometimes he’s terrible at it (Chapter 10. Chapter 10 is when he’s really, really terrible at it. Though to be fair it is not in any way his fault). 

Nathaniel Ekker. 23, he/him, queer. Tailor, and the son of the woman whose murder was the focus of the Ekker trial. He agreed to do Alex's article on the condition it would be anonymous (and it was). He was 12 when his mother was killed by his father’s wife. His aunts raised him, and he only returned to Volimere 4 years ago t0 reopen his mother’s shop. 

Arthur Hall. 30, he/him, cishet. Investigative reporter at the Volimere Daily, and Alex's (mostly friendly) rival. Also one of her closest friends. Despite this, they have a lot of disagreements. He was supposed to co-write the article with her but ended up not doing that.

Ronald Wilks. 65, he/him, bisexual & polyamarous. Sports & Entertainment reporter at The Clockwork Herald. He used to work with Alexandrina’s father (Donovan), before Donovan died. He was not supposed to be as plot relevant as he is and I do not have a lot to say about him (yet).

Taglist maintained below the cut, ask to be added or removed!

@thelaughingstag @gr3y-heron @another-white-void @amethyst-aster @akindofmagictoo

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 45, vol. 17, 10 novembre 1895, Paris. Patron gratuit (grandeur naturelle). Manche tailleur. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

No. 11.

Explication du tracé de manche. — Ce patron se compose de 4 pièces, bien suivre pour la montée les indications portées sur le tracé. La Fibre Chamois est recommandée comme doublure intérieure des manches.

Explanation of the sleeve layout. — This pattern is made up of 4 pieces, follow the instructions on the route for the climb. Chamois Fiber is recommended as an inner sleeve lining.

No. 12.

Manche nouvelle pour corsage tailleur ou jaquette. — Cette manche se compose plusieurs coutures qui réunies forment "côtes de melon" chaque couture est soulignée d’un cache-point en passementerie d’une baguette de drap piqué, la doublure très légère est taillée comme le dessus pour jaque ou veste pour corsage, on peut l’appliquer sur une des doublures ordinaires que nous avons données si souvent.

New sleeve for tailored bodice or jacket. — This sleeve is made up of several seams which together form "melon ribs" each seam is highlighted with a trimmings stitch of a strip of pique cloth, the very light lining is cut like the top for a jacque or jacket for a corsage , it can be applied to one of the ordinary linings that we have given so often.

Matériaux: 2 mètres tissu en 1 m. de large.

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Black Silk Embroidered Dinner Dress, 1890-1895, French.

Met Museum.

[marstelid]

i like her

[comicalfellow]

Costume based on 1895 walking dress (after Butterick 6537), and the making of :

[bebethsas]

my eyes: wide open

my jaw: slack

my tongue: rolling out the door

my heart: visibly pounding through my ribcage

*sniffles* it's- it's beautiful

...is there a matching skirt? I wanna see the full ensemble

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Fashion History

for your next poem/story (pt. 1/2)

1850-1879

The Civil War began in 1861 and ended in 1865, heavily impacting the lives of those living during the time period. In fashion, the rise of the sewing machine allowed more decorative effects to be used in dress, and new aniline dyes paved the way for brighter shades of dress.

This time is known as the Crinoline Period because cage crinoline made of whalebone or steel hoops replaced heavy layers of petticoats, and were commonly worn under dresses by women of the time.

One trend that hit its peak in the 1870s was the bustle, an item women secured under the back portion of their skirts to add volume.

In terms of silhouette, a narrow waist with a fitted bodice and full skirts was the recurrent style. Popular sleeve styles included pagoda sleeves, gathered bishop sleeves, and the coat sleeve.

During the day, high necklines were appropriate, but women often wore lower necklines in the evening.

Wraps and shawls were commonly worn, and accessories such as parasols, gloves, snoods, and bonnets were highly desired.

1870-1900

The years 1870-1900 include what is known as the Bustle period, in which the popular silhouette shifted from full skirts to a more fitted look characterized by fullness in the back.

Throughout the Bustle period of the 1870s and 1880s, a variety of padded devices were utilized to create back fullness, as the bustle took on different forms.

The bustle of the first stage (1870-1878) was achieved through manipulation of drapery and the use of decorative details such as flounces and bows at the back.

From (1878-1883) fullness dropped to below the hips and decorative effects of the skirt became focused low as a result.

Long trains and heavy fabrics also helped to emphasize the focus on the rear.

The latter part of the decade (1884-1890) saw the bustle at its largest. Often referred to as the shelf bustle, it was rigid and took on the appearance of an almost horizontal projection. At this time, skirts shortened to several inches above the floor and rarely had trains, with the exception of some evening dresses.

Additionally, they include the 1890's, which are often referred to as the Gay Nineties or La Belle Epoque. Times were good, Paris was the center of high fashion, and for those who could afford it, dress was lavish and highly decorative.

The corset continued to be worn, aligning with the fashionable silhouette of a full bust and hips with a narrow waist.

Dress ensembles typically consisted of two pieces -- a bodice and matching skirt.

The one-piece princess dress, worn by some during the latter part of the period, was an exception. Bodices were often fitted, with the cuirass bodice style emerging from around 1878-1883.

Sleeves were close-fitting and ended at either three quarters or at the wrist.

Evening dresses were differentiated by their lavish trimmings, level of ornamentation, trained skirts, and short sleeves. Weighted silk offered greater body and was a popular choice for dresses beginning in the 1870s.

Full sleeves were at their largest in 1895, before they gradually decreased in size towards the turn of the century.

By the 1890s, sleeve with fullness were only seen with small puffs at the shoulders.

Tailor-made costumes consisted of wool or serge skirts worn with a shirtwaist blouse. and were considered ideal for traveling.

Shirtwaist blouses were often accessorized by cravats and jabots. The variety of outerwear for women increased during the late nineteenth century and was dominated by coats, jackets, and wraps.

Accessories of the period included small hats, gloves, muffs, decorative fans, and parasols.

1900s

The first decade of the twentieth century is often referred to as “La Belle Époque” - French for "the beautiful age." During this time, Paris reigned as the capital of art and fashion, extravagance and opulence was in, and French couture became all the rage.

Edward VII became King of England with the death of Queen Victoria in 1901, ushering in the “Edwardian Era.”

Additionally, Henry Ford's Model-T was introduced in 1908.

Art Nouveau influenced fashion and ornamentation with the popularity of curvy shapes, floral prints, and ornamentation.

And with the introduction of Ford's Model-T, "motoring garments", such as duster coats and goggles, became essential for automobile riding.

The dominant silhouette of the period was the S-bend hourglass shape, which was achieved through the use of long bell or trumpet skirts that swept the ground, and the “monobosom” fullness of the front bodice.

Voluminous sleeves were another popular feature of turn-of-the-century fashion. Women still wore tightly-boned corsets, along with layers of petticoats. Two-piece ensembles were introduced, consisting of a skirt and a shirtwaist blouse. Garments often featured necklines with high standing collars for daytime and exceptionally low décolleté necklines for evening wear.

Lingerie dresses — flowing white gowns with lace detailing — were a popular choice for outdoor hot weather. Pale colors and un-patterned fabrics adorned with lace or embroidery were favored in this style. Shoes and boots exhibited pointed toes, and parasols were a must-have accessory for outdoors. Elaborate, often large hats decorated with bird feathers enjoyed heightened popularity.

1910s

The War Years (1914-1918) resulted in simpler styles, with moderation in fabric usage as well as the use of darker hues. As a result, garments of this period often have a more utilitarian and masculine appearence.

The “teens,” as the 1910s are often referred to, saw sweeping changes in fashion due to the work of French designer Paul Poiret, who was largely inspired by both the exoticism and color of the Far East and the Ballet Russes. “Orientalism” in fashion became all the rage and was seen in kimono-shaped coats, capes, saturated colors, and exotic embellishments.

Popular trends included the “peg-top” silhouette with hip fullness, Paul Poiret’s narrow-at-ankle “hobble skirt”, and Mariano Fortuny’s “Delphos gown” which featured his secret pleating technique.

Tunic dresses were also introduced, and featured a short skirt layered over a longer one. Necessitated by the new shapes in fashion, the hourglass S-bend silhouette transitioned into a more column-like, tubular form with a higher waistline. Brassieres replaced tight corsets and accommodated the soft, unfitted tea gown, a popular choice for afternoon hosting. The wide-brim hat continued to be a fashionable accessory and shoes began to replace boots.

1920s

The year 1920 marked the beginning of Prohibition, as well as the end of the Suffrage Movement, with women gaining the right to vote.

King Tutankhamen’s tomb was discovered in 1922, further fueling the taste for the exotic, and creating an obsession with all things Egyptian.

The Harlem Renaissance ushered in the Jazz Age; sleeveless dresses with shorter hemlines and sequin, bead, and fringe embellishment enhanced and enabled the fast-paced dance movements of the Charleston and Fox Trot.

The "Roaring Twenties" were years of major change for both fashion and society.

Besides major cultural events inspiring change, fashion was also influenced by Art Deco through the use of straight lines and geometric forms in both silhouette and decoration. The twenties silhouette was straight and tubular, and dresses deemphasized female curves, breasts, and hips.

Chemise dresses hung straight from the body and helped created this fashionable linear silhouette. The “flapper,” with her bobbed-hair and boyish silhouette, became the epitome of the fashionable look of the period. Hemlines rose, revealing more of the female leg for the first time in dress history, and shifting the focus to shoes for the first time.

During the period, Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel popularized costume jewelry — as well as wool jersey suits.

The cloche, a bell-shaped hat, was “the” hat to have.

Small beaded purses and long beaded necklaces were popular accessories.

1930s

The defining event of the 1930s was the Great Depression.

The stock market crash of 1929 and the ensuing depression created a need for less expensive garments without elaborate ornamentation. Designers of the period therefore relied on seam lines and darts as major forms of embellishment. Clothing that was cheaper and diversified was critical, thus creating the need for ready-to-wear fashion.

The overwhelming popularity of the movies in the 1930s helped perpetuate the ideals of “Hollywood glamour.” Women began looking to screen stars for inspiration in fashion, hairstyles, makeup, and even demeanor. The movies, and the glamorous lifestyle they portrayed, were a way for the public to escape the harsh realities of the Depression.

Designers such as Elsa Schiaparelli incorporated concepts of Surrealist Art into fashion designs, offering fantastical creations that also provided a flight from reality.

The 1930s also saw the birth of American sportswear and two-piece bathing suits for women. The decade saw a continuation of the linear shape of the 1920s, but with a leaner, longer, more feminine silhouette. The waistline returned to its natural position and hemlines dropped. Evening fabrics tended to be pale or white solids of silk or satin, and the backless evening gown was introduced at this time.

French designer Madeleine Vionnet created the “Bias Cut”, which produced a “liquid” clinging effect on the body. Hats of all varieties were widely worn, and a right-angle tilt was a common way hats were styled. Shoes featured low heels and rounded toes. Costume jewelry and fur added the final touch of fashionable glamor.

1940s

World War II began in 1939, ushering in a new conservatism in fashion. Fashion designers were forced to close their houses in Paris, and “practicality” became the new buzzword in fashion, with a focus on producing sensible styles and “utility garments” which required a minimum quantity of fabric.

In the United States, the L-85 Limiting Order aimed to freeze the war-time silhouette and stop rapid seasonal changes in styles in order to conserve fabric use. Tailored suits and military-influenced styles were seen in items such as belts, breast pockets, high necklines, and small collars. Both clothing and hair were influenced by the war.

For women who worked in factories, superfluous decoration and long hair posed safety threats. Hairstyles and makeup became an integral way to achieve personal style, since clothing and accessories were rationed.

Hollywood stars such as Veronica Lake, Rita Hayworth, and Bette Davis were significant influencers of fashion. American designers began developing sportswear collections, spurred by the necessity of the war-time focus on the ideals of simplicity and utility.

Casual separates, shirtwaist dresses, slim skirts with patch pockets, and halter and square necklines became popular. Women could also be seen wearing trousers, although it was mainly for utilitarian purposes, not everyday wear. 

The 1940s silhouette was tailored and narrow, with a nipped-in waistline and squared shoulders achieved through the use of shoulder pads. Hemlines rose to just below the knee. In light of rationed fashion, hats allowed an individual fashion statement, and small styles such as veiled pillboxes and berets, often worn at a right angle, were most popular. Shoes were usually chunky with rounded toes and featured either low-heeled or wedge soles.

Leg makeup was also introduced and offered women a remedy to the rationing of nylon stockings.

More Notes: On Fashion ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[thethirdromana]

I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.

Here's an example from April 1895* of the kind of new fashions that Lucy is bored by:

Note the relatively muted colours (at least compared with earlier in the century), high necklines, low waistlines, skirts that are fuller towards the back (though the hardcore bustle era of the 1880s was over) and obviously, the massive sleeves.

*putting it halfway in between 1893 and 1897, probably the two most popular options for when Dracula could be set.

[thedeafprophet]

i dont. actually like 1899 day fashion that much </3

can i make. a historical fashion confession

[bi-writes]

again and again | the mandalorian

he comes when i call. every single time.

type: one-shot pairing: the mandalorian x afab!fem!reader word count: 4.3k (quick work while i try and finish the 10k+ monster in my drafts) warnings: mature language and content, mature written sexual content, 🔞⚠️ (warnings under the cut) summary: the mandalorian is not very nice when he's jealous. but he can be nice to you. complete masterlist

concept art chosen: "envy" (2007), "jealousy" (1895)

detailed warnings: 18+ smut, size kink (reader is described as smaller than the mandalorian, able to be moved by him easily), possessive!mandalorian, soft!dom!mandalorian -> read at your own discretion

You had been here before.

Not this cantina, exactly. Not this planet. But you had been here before, in an outfit this small, in a room much too loud, feeling the glare of eyes you didn’t even know the fucking color of.

You were not quiet about your presence here. If you were being honest with yourself, you left a messy trail to your whereabouts in hopes a certain bounty hunter would follow your breadcrumbs. You had a feeling he would not be able to resist. You had a feeling that he would get a whiff of you, and not be able to stop himself from getting a peek, a glance, a taste of even just a strand of your hair or a trace of your footprint in that big, shiny helmet of his.

You smoothed out the front of your skirt as you shuffled your way to the bar. You had to elbow a few organics out of the way, but you finally had the droid in your sight, and you banged your palm against the bar counter for a refill.

If you were being even more honest with yourself, you would admit you dressed up just for him. You were in a bright red two-piece, a short mini skirt with a matching long-sleeve top made of shiny, geometric leather. Your midriff was on display, leaving little to the imagination, and you paired it with matching leather boots and an exposed thigh holster with your favorite blaster strapped to it. You wanted to put your hair up, but you had a feeling the style would only get in your way tonight.

Besides. He liked it when you had your hair down.

You hopped onto a barstool as the droid poured you your refill. You sat up straight, putting the straw to your lips and sucking it down almost entirely, letting the sugary alcohol seep into you and warm you from the inside out. You swung your feet and giggled to yourself, loving the feeling of his attention. It sent a lick of adrenaline shooting down your spine. Your toes curled, and your nipples hardened under your top, and you hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet.

“Need another?”

A warm voice motioned for the droid to give you another generous pour, and you smiled brightly at the unsuspecting human taking up space on your right side. He was wearing a uniform of sorts, dark and pressed, and he had a dazzling smile. Pearly white teeth, curly locks, and a sweet, innocent face. He was adorable. Too bad you didn’t care much for adorable.

“Oh, I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” you laughed, nodding as he put a few credits down for you. After another fruity refill, you were finding yourself being pulled off your seat, soft hands gripping your bare waist as he tried to coax you onto the dancefloor. Your flirtatious banter was less than subtle; you knew he had so many gadgets adorned in that helmet, and if he was going to hide in the shadows away from your eyes, then you would give him a reason to come out.

Those fingers around your waist stiffened suddenly. Instead of a warm touch guiding you to move, you felt the change your stranger’s demeanor. His palms went clammy, and he went rigid at your side. You licked your lips, your eyes shutting for just a moment as you smelled that familiar edge—blaster residue, leather, iron and something dark and tangy and his.

“Come to ruin my fun?” You asked over your shoulder. You couldn’t see well in the dark of the cantina, but the Mandalorian was a ghostly, towering figure, nonetheless. He caged you into the bar, and you realized then that one of his hands was occupied—his blaster aimed right at the boy’s middle. “Maker, you just can’t help yourself!”

You stepped in front of the blaster, the point of it pressed into your bare stomach, and his helmet tipped down just enough. You would described the stiffness of his movements as unamused. He drew the blaster back immediately, away from you, but the damage had been done. The boy behind you fled before you could blink, and you huffed out an angry sigh, glaring up at the Mandalorian. You opened your mouth to say something, but he holstered his blaster, and with that same hand, he gripped your waist tight, yanking you forward until your middle pressed against his. Your bare stomach pressed against his utility belt, soft breasts squished up against that cool beskar. You fought the chill that ran through you, letting your eyelids flutter a bit as you fell into that comfortable headspace that could only be had right here, with him, in his arms. You lit up inside, fighting a grin.

Yes, yes, yes—

“You’re taunting me,” the Mandalorian growled finally. The edge in his voice should have scared you, but it enticed you instead. Lit a fire under your feet. The Mandalorian was nothing short of the being you craved the most, and every time you set eyes on him, you were reminded how much of an effect he had on you. He was all-consuming, and you were a bunny in a trap.

“Bite me,” you snapped, but a smile broke out on your face, nonetheless. You tilted your head to the side, standing up on your toes. Even in your heels, you craned to be level with him. You tucked your fingers into his belt, pulling him that much closer. “No, really…bite me.”

You let out a light giggle of surprise when the hand on your waist slid down to grasp you under your thigh tight, the gloves doing nothing to cool the heat of his touch. One of his hands reached to smooth over the handle of your blaster, a pretty little silver gift that he had given you some time ago. The sight of it strapped on your person didn’t go unnoticed; he was rather excited with the view, if the warmth against your thigh had anything to say about it.

“Maker, you missed me, didn’t you?” You cooed softly, leaning forward to kiss the beskar of his pauldron. The tone of your voice was almost pitiful, a childish reassurance that sent a pang of annoyance straight through him. “It’s okay…” You put your hand over his on your thigh, dragging it up until it slipped under your skirt, guiding him to touch you. “I missed you, too, baby.” You closed your eyes, kissing now just under the jaw of his helmet. “I knew I could get you here by leaving something along the way for you…wearing something pretty and shiny just like you…” You mewled softly as he kneaded the flesh of your ass in one large hand. “…getting boys to buy me drinks…”

Bunny in a trap, bunny in a trap—

“You’re coming with me,” he said simply. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. An order. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pouting just a little.

“Don’t be mad,” you whined. “Or jealous. If you think for one second that I have eyes for anyone else, you’re blind.” Your fingers rubbed gently along the nape of his neck. He wore too many layers for you to feel those soft curls you adored pulling on. “If you weren’t such a stubborn piece of work, maybe you’d let me call you my boyfriend—”

A disgruntled sound left him, and his grip on you tightened. You met his visor for just a moment before realizing if you wanted any conversation of substance, you needed to get him alone, in private. You liked playing games, but the Mandalorian seemed as if he wasn’t in the mood. Most times he found you this way, he let hands wander just a tad longer so he could take pleasure in breaking their noses.

You took his free hand in yours, turning and guiding him out of the cantina. The crowd parted for you immediately, patrons not wanting to bump into the armor accidently. When you were outside in the quiet, you moved to the alleyway, covered in privacy by tall walls and dark light.

“I-I don’t know why you get so mad at me—” You started, tucking yourself into his side. He was hard to cuddle against with the rigid layers, but you wanted to be close to him. “You always get so jealous, but at the slightest whiff of commitment, you run the other way…” You looked up at him, right into the visor, hoping to find his eyes. “I miss you when you go,” you whispered. “I miss you all the time. I know what you do is dangerous, but Din—” His head tilted sharply at the use of his name, “—I miss you, and I know you miss me, too.”

You stood up on your toes and cupped the cheeks of his helmet in your hands, kissing the space where you thought his lips might be. You smiled, eyes glossy with sadness, and you sighed with relief when you felt two gloved hands slip up your short skirt again and squeeze your ass firmly, possessively. You adored having his undivided attention, adored being at the center of it. Seeing only yourself in the reflection of his helmet brought more peace to you than he could ever know. The Mandalorian was always so cool and calm and collected, and you loved that he lost complete sense of it around you.

“Say you missed me, Din,” you murmured. “Say you were jealous tonight and that you missed me.”

The smile on your face never left. The Mandalorian thought you could not look more precious than right now, waiting eagerly for him to murmur in your ear the praise you so deserved.

“I was jealous,” the Mandalorian admitted, slipping one gloved hand between your thighs and guiding those fingers against the seam of the lace there. You swallowed a bit, knowing that he would be able to feel how wet you’ve been for the last hour. “I was jealous, and I missed you.”

You broke out into a bigger smile, giggling with delight and moving to take his hands out from under your skirt to hold, but he held tight. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head slightly.

“No…” He manhandled you, turning you around and pressing you up against the alley wall chest-first and caging you in with the broadness of his figure. It happened so fast, and your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you tried to keep up with him. “I’m taking what I deserve, right here, right now.”

You hummed softly, your body turning liquid in his grasp. There was no place safer, no place more tranquil and perfect, than in his arms. It didn’t matter to you that you were out in the open, that anyone could walk by and see you. The Mandalorian would never let anything happen to you. You were safe, always. You feared nothing except for losing him, perhaps.

“You’re such a good girl,” he muttered in your ear. His modulated voice was honey in your ears. You leaned back against him, your ass pressing against the front of him eagerly. ���Always letting me have what I want, no matter where we are, huh?”

You nodded, reaching up and wrapping an arm around his neck, the other hand bracing yourself against the wall. “I’m safe with you, Din,” you whispered. “Always have been, always will be. Not afraid of anything when I’m with you.” You reached down and slid your skirt up until it was bunched around your hips. “And I’m yours, whether you want to admit it or not—” You moved your hips at an angle, the hardness of him now pressed against your ass, and he stiffened, his grip on your middle bruising. “Yours to do whatever you want with…whenever you want.”

The Mandalorian grit his teeth under the helmet. It was infuriating how much of an effect you had over him, and he couldn’t even punish you for it because you were being so good. You were saying all of the right things, talking sweetness into his bones, making him feel that hot, scorching satisfaction of his claim over you and everything you were. There was no need to convince you that you were his, there was no need to remind you; in fact, it was you that was begging for him to do the one thing he had refused all this time—to simply acknowledge you.

You were so pliant. Doe-eyed and soft, gentle and easy, so small and moldable. The Mandalorian felt a warmth in his chest every time he towered over you. He was big and bad and rough around all of the edges, but nothing ever seemed to cut you. His touch only warmed you from the inside out, only had you gasping and making such pretty noises.

“Just…promise me one thing,” you said over your shoulder, meeting the visor with your eyes. He said nothing, but he smoothed a hand over your waist and squeezed you there to encourage you to continue. “Tell me I’m yours, Din—” You rested the back of your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. He brought that hand up to wrap around your throat, but his touch was more soothing than anything. “Please,” you begged softly. “I need to hear you say it.”

The Mandalorian sighed deeply, his other hand moving to unzip his flight suit.

“If you want to know why I don’t want you to call me your kriffing boyfriend—” he spat, shaking his head, and you gasped as you felt his cock hard and leaking against your back, “—you should know it’s because that title is insulting.” You whimpered as he gripped the lace of your panties and pulled, ripping it apart easily. The delicate fabric was no match for those hands, and you squirmed under his grasp. The show of strength was enough to send another wave of need through you, wetting the place between your thighs even more. With no panties to soak, you could already feel yourself dripping slowly. “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not your lover.” You moaned loudly as he notched himself at your entrance, hissing as he felt you immediately drenching him with your arousal. You were so wet, it was almost pathetic, but this was your Mandalorian, and by the chuckle that left him, you knew there was only satisfaction and need in the air, no room for embarrassment.

“I am yours, and you are mine—” His voice was muffled by your cry when he pushed into you, meeting little resistance as he pressed his hips into you until there was no space between you. You were tight, but so, so slick, sucking him in and squeezing him as another rush of slickness coated him. He groaned lowly as he felt you, realizing now just how much he had missed being so close to you, inside of you, intertwined and all around you. He hoisted you up in his arms, easily maneuvering you until you were right where he wanted you, full and squirming and drunk on the feeling of him. “—I could devour you here, and I would still be hungry, do you understand that?”

His voice in it of itself was enough to send you into another wave of pleasure. Deep, crackling static enveloping the roughness and neediness that he spoke of. It wasn’t a secret between the two of you the amount of times he had brought you over the edge with just his words, talking in your ear as your shaking fingers abused the soft, wet center of yourself.

My sweet girl. My perfect girl. Pretty, pretty girl, all mine, all mine, all mine to look at, all mine to touch, all mine to eat—

You moaned softly, clawing at him from behind as you tried to gain any kind of stability, but the Mandalorian was using you how he pleased, not giving you any sort of control. All you could do was cry and whimper and beg for more as he used the wall for leverage, fucking up into you. You managed to grab onto his forearms, digging into the clothed flesh there, feeling the pulse of him.

“What you mean to me…” He let out sharp groans, savoring the soft cries from you as he watched you take him so well. Your legs were shaking, your toes barely touching the ground as you tried to be coherent enough to say something back, but you were rendered speechless. There were tears forming at the corners of your eyes, the piercing feeling of the Mandalorian filling you and taking over you and consuming you almost too much to bear. He was so big in so many ways. Big enough to hold you, big enough to crush you in his arms, big enough to split you in two and put you right back together with those skilled, deadly hands of his, big enough to fuck a mark into your cunt so well that you would never ever forget that he had been there. “…mean more to me than anything in this world…wanna tie you up and stow you away all for me…wanna hide you from anyone and everyone—wanna have you every minute of every day and keep you full of me—” You squeezed him hard at the very thought, “—oh, you like that, yeah? Like that thought? Like the thought of me right here, all the time?”

Fuck, he was rambling. The Mandalorian was never a man of many words. You had seen him have conversations with just a nod and shake of his head, with just that steel glare alone, but whenever he was buried inside of you, he could never stop. Sputtering, grunting, spitting—maybe this was how he grounded himself, maybe this was how he kept himself just sane enough to not completely lose his self-control while he was inside of you.

Right here, all the time—mine, mine, mine—

You nodded, your jaw loosening and falling open in a silent cry as he snapped his hips quicker. His unwavering thrusts hit you deep, and he squeezed your throat gently before lowering them to your hips, spreading you open to give him more room to take you. There was something still soft about the way the Mandalorian fucked you. It was filthy this way, out in the open where someone could catch you, but his towering figure hid you from display. He held you tight, crowding you in his warmth. He was always possessive, but never cruel, and your pleasure came before his. You thought you couldn’t be anymore wet, but one gloved hand slipped up the front of your skirt, cupping your mound to give you the heel of his glove to grind against, your clit throbbing against the leather.

Oh, fucking—Maker—more, more more—

“Din—” Did other words even exist? Why couldn’t you form a coherent sentence? The only phrase you could muster was his name. Had his cock really dwindled you down to something so simple, so pathetic? The sounds between you were flushing you with embarrassment almost. So sticky, so wet, your thighs were glistening with sweat and your sweetness, and you nearly cried when you noticed one of his gloved hands smear his fingertips with that pretty creaminess and slip just under the lip of his helmet—

Yes, yes, yes—taste me—

“I’m gonna take you away,” he babbled. He was talking, just talking to fill the space, talking to keep himself from moaning too loud or cumming too fast, “Gonna take you away from here, keep you with me, yeah?”

He cursed under his breath, his hand finding its place spreading you open better, and his tongue was warm with the tang of you. It was enough to have him canting your hips just that much more, the tip of him prodding at the softest parts of your walls.

Soft, tight—she’s so cute, look at her, nothing there but me, all me, can’t think of anything except for how good she takes it.

“Yes, Din, please—!” You begged, your hands gripping his forearms harder and nails digging in hard to hold yourself steady. “Please, please, please—wanna be with you, please…”

“Shhhh…it’s gonna be alright,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna tease you today, don’t worry…gonna give you what you need, yeah?”

You nodded, gripping onto him tighter and grinding down against his hand, feeling the dull ache in your belly become sharp and buzzing and hot. Sex with the Mandalorian was always messy, but you were soaking your bodies, the wet squelch echoing in the alley and giving the Mandalorian an audible reminder of just how cockdrunk and dizzy and absolutely crazy you were for him. If you could eat him alive, you figured you just might.

“Know you’re close, yeah?” He panted. “Give it to me. You’re mine. Need you to show me.”

You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes tight. He dropped one arm to grip your leg, hiking it up to angle himself deeper, kissing your cervix and hitting a soft spot that had your tears falling quickly down your face. He was so good at this, too good at this, hitting it again, again, again—Din—right there—please—! Sheer, rippling, hot pleasure trickled down your spine, feeling so hot that your blood ran in your ears and your legs gave out underneath you. Like always, the Mandalorian caught you, holding you up so he could pound you through your orgasm. You could hear the thick wet of your release smearing between you, reaching up to grip the back of his neck and force him close.

“Inside me, Din,” you whimpered. “Need to feel you…”

He’s so warm, he’s so big, he’s mine, I want more—

“I know, I got you—”

You relaxed when you felt him, frantic thrusts and deep grinds as his cock pulsed and emptied and branded you so tenderly. You mewled happily, nuzzling back into him. His arms wrapped tightly around your middle, holding you close, and you hummed softly. The coming down was always sweet with the Mandalorian. The way he would press you to him, no space for air between your bodies. If the Mandalorian could fuse you to his beskar, you figured he would. You would let him, if only it meant he would take whatever he needed from you always.

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” you mumbled in a daze. Your mind was still fuzzy, your vision trying to straighten itself out as it basked in the rush of sweetness and calm and utter pleasure that seeped into your very bones. He brushed your sweaty hair back and off your shoulder, letting his heartbeat steady as he held you. The Mandalorian was the only thing holding you up straight, but you knew he would not drop you. “Were you serious, Din? About taking me away?”

He pulled out of you slowly, soothing you with gentle fingers through your hair as you winced a bit. You could feel the warmth of him slowly making its way down your thighs, a familiar, aching feeling that you wished could stay.

“Yes,” he murmured. “My ship is in the landing bay. I have more than enough room for you.”

The Mandalorian carefully moved your skirt back into place, slipping the cowl out from his chest plate and draping it over your shoulders. Something fluttery and nice settled in your belly at the gesture, and you were grateful that his hands didn’t leave you, still settled against your bare midriff and squeezing there absentmindedly.

“Why now?” You asked gently. “Every…every other time I’ve asked, you…you’ve refused.” You sniffled a bit, and he brought a hand up to wipe your tears. Tender, sweet, apologetic. “You never let me come with you before. You…you always…you always leave. Why is this time different?”

The Mandalorian tucked your head into his chest, smoothing a hand down your back.

“I guess I just can’t be away from you anymore,” he said simply. He took your hand in his, but you realized quickly that you had to hold onto his arm for support as you followed him towards the landing bay. You smiled up at him as you walked.

“So…does this mean I can call you my boyfriend?” You joked, biting your lip cheekily. He reached down and gripped your ass tight, squeezing it harshly for good measure.

“No,” he clarified, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. You picked up your pace when you saw his ship in the distance. You had been on his ship before. You had enjoyed many nights there, tangled up in warm sheets and small spaces. You planned to take full advantage of your new privileges in it. Before you could make it inside, the Mandalorian tugged on your hand gently, bringing you to face him. You smiled up at him, and he kept a hand busy adjusting the fabric around your shoulders.

“I just need you to know that you didn’t have to tease me this way for me to come get you,” the Mandalorian said lowly. “I know I hadn’t given you any reason to believe that I care for you more than…” Your eyes lowered a bit, a little sheepish, but the Mandalorian cleared his throat. He put his fingers under your chin and lifted your gaze back to him. You couldn’t explain the feeling, but you knew you had his eyes on yours. “I would’ve come for you. All you had to do was ask.”

You stood up on your toes, leaning forward until you could put your forehead to his. You closed your eyes to savor the kiss, and he followed easily.

“But did you like it?” You asked playfully, holding back a laugh. You felt the tips of his fingers playing with the hem of your tiny skirt, and he let out a low hum.

Teasing, little girl.

“Yeah…I liked it.”

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 5, vol. 16, 2 février 1895, Paris. Costumes travestis. Carnaval 1895. Dessin de Marie de Solar. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Sirène. — Corsage blouse, et jupe en mousseline de soie pailletée nacré sur transparent vert d’eau. Manches de soie découpée rose corail très clair. Coiffure faite d’un coquillage nacré avec perles fines et corail posée en cas que très en avant.

Mermaid. — Blouse bodice, and skirt in pearly sequined silk chiffon on transparent sea green. Sleeves of very light coral pink cut silk. Hairstyle made of a pearly shell with fine pearls and coral placed in a very forward case.

—

Jeune fille en 1900. — Manteau sans taille absolument droit en drap livrée. Piqûres, revers et parements de velours beige. Col très haut. Cravate de satin prune Melon de feutre de soie livrée. Canne et monocle. Gants blancs à rayures vertes. Souliers vernis.

Young girl in 1900. — Absolutely straight waistless coat in livery cloth. Stitching, lapels and facings in beige velvet. Very high collar. Plum satin tie. Livery silk felt bowler hat. Cane and monocle. White gloves with green stripes. Patent leather shoes.

—

Vigne. — Corselet de velours, blanc raisin brodé de bandes de velours violet raisin de deux tons. Jupe plissée accordéon en mousseline blanche. Coiffure de pampres, avec motifs d’or, posés à la provençale.

Vine. — Velvet bodice, grape white embroidered with strips of grape purple velvet in two tones. Accordion pleated skirt in white muslin. Vine headdress, with gold motifs, laid in the Provençal style.

—

Sévillane. — Corsage collant en mousseline ou percale unie ou à fleurettes, fond criard rose vif, vert cru on safran. Jupe longue à deux volants. Châle crépon chine. Coiffure devant, fleurs jaune et rouge dans les cheveux, une près de la tempe. et l’autre sur le sommet des cheveux.

Sevillian. — Tight bodice in plain or flowered muslin or percale, bright pink, raw green or saffron background. Long skirt with two flounces. Crepe chine shawl. Front headdress, yellow and red flowers in the hair, one near the temple and the other on the top of the hair.

—

Chanteuse des rues. — Corsage fait de volants satin vert, rose, et jaune alternativement. Chapeau feutre mou gris cendre, cabossé à l'air de la figure. Deux plumes de paon très hautes. Banjo retenu par un ruban.

Street singer. — Bodice made of alternately green, pink, and yellow satin flounces. Ash-gray soft felt hat, dented to match the face. Two very tall peacock feathers. Banjo held by a ribbon.

—

Amour. — Blouse vague en mousseline de soie pailletée or et argent. Guirlandes de roses au corsage et à la jupe. Couronne de roses et cœur de satin rouge posés sur les cheveux. Carquois doré et sceptre d’or avec cœurs rouges.

Love. — A wavy blouse in gold and silver sequined silk chiffon. Garlands of roses on the bodice and skirt. Crown of roses and a red satin heart placed on the hair. Golden quiver and golden scepter with red hearts.

—

Abat-jour. — Coiffure faite de mousseline. Blouse Loïe Fuller en mousseline de soie accordéon blanche sur transparent rose. Petit empiècement de satin blanc, diamanté retenant la blouse vague plissée accordéon.

Lampshade. — Hairstyle made of muslin. Loïe Fuller blouse in white accordion silk muslin on pink transparent. Small white satin yoke, diamond-cut holding the accordion pleated wave blouse.

—

Souris grise. — Blouse et jupe à godets, en velours gris souris. Coiffure de velours gris souris avec oreilles grises, doublées de satin rose. Souris blanches en velours posées sur la robe.

Gray Mouse. — Blouse and skirt with gores, in mouse gray velvet. Headdress of mouse gray velvet with gray ears, lined with pink satin. White mice in velvet resting on the dress.

—

Neige. — Blouse de satin blanc froncée. Garniture de cygne blanc au corsage et à la jupe. Coiffure russe faisant toque en velours garnie de cygne. Cheveux ou perruque blonde. Bas et souliers blancs.

Snow. — White satin blouse gathered. White swan trim on bodice and skirt. Russian headdress in the form of a velvet cap trimmed with swan. Blonde hair or wig. White stockings and shoes.

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Black Silk Dinner Dress, 1894-1896, American.

Met Museum.

[bambiraptorx]

[I.D. Two digital drawings of Draxum from ROTTMNT in different Victorian dresses, from 1895 specifically. In both drawings, he has the same pose: looking to one side and elegantly raising a hand. He has faint mutton chops and smiles gently, his curly hair spilling over his shoulders.

The first dress has black puffed sleeves reaching to the elbow and then form fitting ones that reach to the wrist, a black shirt, and a vibrant red bodice. It has lacy detailing reaching from the neck to mid-chest, with an extra section of the lace in the middle reaching down to his stomach.

The second dress is greyish-purple, with lighter areas of fabric around the sleeves and a strip going down the center of the dress's skirt. It has a fancy pattern around the neckline, covered with tiny white pearls. The sleeves have a diamond shape that reaches the elbows, and the light fabric puffs out around it, pearls scattered lightly across them and outlining the darker diamond shape. There are also pearls on the lighter stripe on the skirt, both going down the edges and scattered across its width, somewhat like stars.

In the background of both pictures there is a circular pattern in pink, typical to the Victorian era, of vines curling in on themselves at various points. The pattern is symmetrical vertically, framing Draxum at the center.]

It is once again 'putting Draxum in pretty dresses' hour. Also full disclosure he was supposed to be holding a fan but I simply did not want to draw it lol

[sadmushroomgoblin]

My costume designs for Mina Harker in Dracula: The Danse Macabre

Right to Left: School Teacher; Waiting for News; Vampire Hunter; The Voice In Her Head.

School Teacher: Based on the typical outfits seen in photographs from the late 1880s early 1890s. The silhouette is similar to that of the 1880s but with a small vertical shoulder puff.

A full length black dress, flat boots, a white cotton blouse underneath. The lack of a bustle is expected by the mid 1890s and the puffs on the sleeves are small for the era but practical for a teacher. This is before the widespread introduction of the straight-front corset and so Mina has a high collar and collar stays with a long line bodice. This isn't the height of fashion but not rocking the boat.

I kept Mina's school teacher design simple and conventional with a simple but practical bun and white gloves. She is restrained by the expectations of her gender and position and dresses to conform.

Waiting for News: Masculine styles were becoming more integrated into women's fashion and as Mina starts failing to conform as much and fights to protect Lucy, while also maintaining her place in society, I tried to give her an outfit that speaks to that duality. Her hair is based on portraits from the era and is a little fancier than her School Teacher bun. She wears white gloves and boots and a blouse with a high collar. The dress was specifically designed after the dress Gertrude wears in the 1895 Punch cartoon on the Bicycle Suit. Mina, despite her private frustrations, still isn't letting herself drop conformation. She is playing the role of Mina Harker and it's taking its toll. There are the puffed sleeves and expected silhouette. However, her colour pallette plays with the typical vampiric colours with the hints of red in her clothing. Her clothing here is her shield as she tries to play the role society expects of the wife waiting for news of her husband.

The Vampire Hunter: This outfit is a Victorian Cycling outfit with the split skirt and cycling jacket. Mina is on her mission to capture Dracula and thus needs to travel and move often. Her hair is braided up and she probably isn't changing her outfits often, focussed on her mission. The design in simple and practical and follows the "Rational Dress Movement" trends. She isn't wearing gloves and is getting her hands dirty.

The Voice In Her Head: here, Mina is embracing her Van Helsing heritage and the voice of Dracula in her head. This outfit is based on a 1898 style travelling outfit with a fashionable cape and hat. The cape is red with black lace patterning and the lace patterning around her collar of reminiscent of the traditional Vampire bite marks. The gap in the cape over her heart reveals her blouse which is white, showing that Mina hasn't let Dracula corrupt her fully, even as she is now integrated with the monster. Conversely, her skirt it white but with a red lining as she has Dracula's blood inside. The diagonal design on her skirt is fashionable for the time but is also reminiscent of the Christian cross which abjures vampires. Her cape's black lace also mimics the epaulette style as seen in her Waiting For News Design but also pauldrons as seen in armour. Her hat includes a red ribbon and a veil with red detailing as she is concealing the part of herself that contains Dracula from the rest of the world. Tucked into the ribbon are garlic flowers as used by Van Helsing in Dracula (Stoker).

I hope you liked these and go listen to @draculathedansemacabre

(Please forgive my lack of design skills and knowledge of historical dress)

[mysterioussorcerysummonspirits]

Evening Coat, House of Worth, Designer is Jean-Philippe Worth, ca. 1900, French, Silk

Historicism was a major hallmark of the House of Worth beginning with Charles Frederick Worth's interest in studying historical costume through museum research. This evening coat readily includes iconography of the Tudors with a Tudor rose pattern alongside the silhouette of alternative 16th century negligées in the full sleeves, standing collar and unfitted style. Worth ingeniously manipulates the textile to create an entirely new pattern on the back panel and has a keen eye for the creating the subtle black on black patterning on the top to counteract the stark contrast of the roses in the skirt.  

Jean-Philippe Worth began as an assistant to his father, Charles Frederick Worth, in 1875. Gradually he was allowed to create his own designs and when his father died in 1895, he became the lead designer for the house. He was praised for making elaborate artistic gowns with intricate trimmings on unique textiles, much like his father had before him. Although the House of Worth was still favored by royalty and celebrities through the turn of the century, their styles were no longer the forefront of French fashion after 1900. Around 1910 Jean-Philippe limited his design work to important orders and hired his nephew, Jean-Charles Worth, as the new lead designer before leaving the company entirely after World War I.

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

i actually got around to coloring Marigold's updated design!!! it's still not their current design *just* yet, but I'm excited, and wanted to rework them for their 1 year anniversary!!!

a few details:

Marigold has green-lensed glasses, these are to help with their migraines by filtering out red light, not for their sight.

A sight cane, made of Parabolan wood, grown to be incredibly light. The vine wrapped around the top portion (the handle) keeps it on their hand, and acts simularly to a wrist-strap! Being a sight cane, it's very long, and reaches to their collarbone! (it also has a decorative marigold)

Marigold's chantelaine! the attachment broach is a flower, and it can have 5 to 7 chains at a time. usually carrys a spoon, a small purse, and a sentimental charm, but can also carry their glasses if they get tired of wearing them, or anything else Marigold needs

they also have very large pockets in their dress

the dress itself is anachronistic, it's a Parabolan mash-up of multiple remembered dresses. A 1905 dip belt. a 1880s bustle. sleeves from 1895. An odd train, and a lowered neckline. It's meant to be disparate, and is still tattered.

They wear the Princess' neckbow still, despite it being more and more shredded, and her tattoos are a touch visible nowadays.

recovery will take a while yet, but they've made steps in the right direction